Disclaimer: Everything belongs to J. K. Rowling.

Author's note: If there was a genre title "Nonsensical Insanity," this story would probably fit the bill. A brief summary...hmm. Sirius has just left Hogwarts to search out Remus Lupin's current place of residence. Through a bizarre series of events, both of them end up entangled in a plot being hatched by the Death Eaters...and going back two thousand years in time. Remus is accidentally whisked away to Ancient Rome in the backwash of a certain spell and is left on his own to figure out what is going on. Meanwhile, Sirius needs to unravel his side of things in the modern world...and it isn't going to be easy.

Pottermaniac, you brought up a very good point, but needless to say, Dumbledore often has his own ideas about what he is "obligated" to do...and besides, there was rather a lot going on after GoF. My assumption is that certain imperative business, which my readers will find out about in due course, interrupted him from following up on his instructions the way he planned. And it makes a much better plotline this way. ( :- )

When in Rome

Sirius Black was tired, hungry, and, above all, irritated.

Part of it was the fact that he'd just taken a Portkey from Scotland all the way to Italy. His bones still hadn't quit rattling. Of course, there had been other options. Apparation was one, but he didn't have a wand of his own, and the one Dumbledore had lent him wasn't exactly the sort of thing he wanted to trust the proper assemblage of his body to. Then, of course, there was Floo Powder, but he would have to have a fireplace to come out of, and he doubted any witch or wizard in Italy would be willing to lend theirs to a convicted murderer on the run from the British Ministry of Magic. Except, of course, for one, but the whole point of the trip was that he didn't know exactly where that one person was. Floo Powder was out of the question. Broomsticks might have worked, but he hadn't been on a broomstick in years, and the idea of flying on one for well over a thousand miles wasn't something he felt like doing, especially with the risk of being seen. As a last resort, he might have ridden Buckbeak, but he'd spent too much time over the past year riding on that hippogriff, as well as feeding it, cleaning it, housing it...other than those, Portkeys had really been the only option.

No, that wasn't quite right, he amended, cocking his shaggy black dog's head to one side, glaring suspiciously at the dubious-looking Muggle aircraft that were taking off from and landing in Rome's Municipal Airport. He could have taken one of those--if it hadn't been for the fact that he was still liable to be recognized (it wasn't likely, but being on the run from the Ministry for nearly two years now had made Sirius a bit paranoid, not that anyone could blame him) and that he didn't trust those things as far as he could throw them--but after some serious consideration (which had taken him about half a second) he had opted to use a magical route.

So, he had used a Portkey. The journey had been awful and much longer than the other similar trips he had experienced. Still, the upset stomach and bruises this had awarded him were only part of the reason he was feeling so irritated. The other lay--hopefully--somewhere within a radius of six miles from the point at which he was now standing. The problem was, so did almost three million others, only one of whom was the person he was searching for.

Albus Dumbledore was a great man. Sirius would give him that. He was incredibly intelligent and powerful, and had been one of the very few that had believed Sirius hadn't committed the murders he was wanted for. He had done more for Sirius than he could ever expect to repay. That did not, however, mean that Sirius would ever be able to understand the man, or his instructions.

"Lie low at Lupin's for a while; I will contact you there," he had said. The instructions had seemed simple enough. Sirius had immediately set off for Remus Lupin's home in London, only to find it completely deserted, showing no signs of having been lived in for quite some time. Perplexed and not a little worried, he had returned to Hogwarts just after the students had left on summer holidays, only to find that the headmaster was also gone and couldn't be expected back for some time. This was all he had managed to drag out of Severus Snape, not that it was surprising. Snape undoubtedly knew more than he was saying, but the Potions Professor at Hogwarts needed little excuse to infuriate Sirius. Not sure what else to do, Sirius had decided to go to Minerva McGonagall, hoping to get more information from the Transfiguration teacher. He had neglected to account for the fact that Minerva had absolutely no reason to believe that Sirius hadn't murdered thirteen people at once nearly a decade and a half ago and had therefore nearly received a heart attack when the huge, shaggy black dog she'd seen once or twice before erupted into a tall, thin, black-haired wizard, half-starved and completely unkempt, inside her office. When she had recovered, she immediately stunned him and went for help. Fortunately for Sirius, the first person she saw after that episode had been Snape. Amused, and no doubt rather reluctant, Snape had lifted the stunning charm and proceeded to explain to the horrified Minerva that Sirius had, in fact, been framed.

After Minerva had regained something similar to self-composure, she had agreed to help Sirius find Remus Lupin, though she hadn't heard from him for longer than Sirius had. After a good deal of poking around, she had returned with the information that he had apparently moved to Rome, Italy. Sirius couldn't help but wonder why Dumbledore hadn't bothered to mention that Remus had moved out of the country. He was, understandably, rather unhappy about this. Sirius had resigned himself to his fate, however, though Minerva hadn't been able to find anything as remotely definite as an address, and Portkeyed directly into the heart of Rome.

So, here he was, having taken on his Animagus form (as he assumed that a black dog--if a tremendously enormous, shaggy one--would be less likely to be noticed than a wanted criminal), trotting exhaustedly through downtown Rome. He had drawn quite a few stares by this time and been shooed away whenever he attempted to beg for food, and he still had absolutely no idea where to find Remus.

He growled to himself, earning startled looks from a few passing pedestrians. At the very least, Remus could have gone off to America. Or Australia, for that matter, or anywhere else where somebody spoke English. Not Italy. This was absolutely the most ridiculous thing he had ever done in his life, and that included showing up for his first Quidditch match in pink tights and a tutu. At least he'd managed to get ten galleons out of everyone who hadn't believed he would do that. Now he'd give a lot for ten galleons--preferably in the form of a large hamburger and a bed for the night. Or pita bread stuffed with beef, whatever they ate here--was that Greece? The point was, the last thing he felt like doing was dragging his exhausted body along one street after another in search of someone living at an completely unknown address. What had Dumbledore been thinking?

A methodical search was impractical, he knew. Stopping in at the Italian Ministry of Magic offices to see if they had a Werewolf Register was even more so. With no other plan in sight, he turned to his foolproof last resort--trust to his own luck.

Several hours later, it occurred to him that this last resort had rarely been all that successful. He should have known better. What kind of luck must he have if he'd ended up in Azkaban for twelve years? With a howl of surpressed frustration, he threw himself to the ground, staring from under a park bench at the multitude of feet shuffling by.

Sirius raised his head slightly in a self-pitying whimper. He knew perfectly well that he was being ridiculously pathetic and didn't care. What he did care about, quite suddenly enough to make him forget about his current predicament, was the face that had just caught his eye--a hauntingly familiar face. Except it wasn't the one he was looking for.

********

Something wasn't right, Remus decided, staring down at the paper in his lap. After all the fuss the Daily Prophet had made over the Triwizard Tournament, all the third task had gotten was a tiny paragraph saying that Harry Potter had won the cup and the thousand galleons prize money. There was nothing else to say what had happened to the other contenders or to describe the reactions at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. There were no interviews with the headmaster of Durmstrang Institute about their contender's performance, or any from Beaxbatons Academy about theirs. Hogwarts' other champion, Cedric Diggory, wasn't mentioned, and there were no pictures. Harry wasn't even quoted. Something was definitely not right.

He let the paper go and rubbed one hand across his eyes. He hadn't kept in touch regularly with anyone from Hogwarts after resigning from his post there a year ago. No one but Dumbledore even knew he'd moved, and he'd only mentioned that in passing. Perhaps now was the time to write....

Remus stood up and took a sheet of parchment and a quill from his desk. In doing so, he glanced out the window. From the second story, he could just barely make out the street below. There was a dog of some sort sitting under one of the park benches, he noticed absently. Somebody ought to do something about that stray...preoccupied and tired, he didn't think twice about what he had seen, and sat down again, smoothing the parchment to his desk.

Dear Albus....