*
The reason for Peter's safely could be explained quickly, in few words, but for the purposes of the story… well, it will be considerably more words.
Sirius Black felt a restraining hand grab him by a fistful of fur and growled in confusion. Padfoot transformed; Sirius turned sharply, wondering what Remus could be warning him about. "What?"
"Stop; we don't want you caught," Remus Lupin replied.
Sirius immediately made a noise of exasperation and attempted to wrench from his friend's grasp; unfortunately - or perhaps not - Remus was stronger than he looked a kept a good hold of him. Sirius's infamous temper, fueled by the desperation of being so close to Wormtail, flew.
"Do you realise that he's out there?" Sirius spat. "Let me go, Remus!"
Remus didn't obey. "Can you Apparate back to Serendipity?"
Sirius was finding it hard to keep his voice quiet. "Remus!" he said through clenched teeth and a fruitless jerk. "I - am not - letting him - go!"
"Think of it as prioritising."
"Have you got your priorities mixed up!" Sirius felt as if he could barely stand it. He couldn't very well kill Peter, having practically promising his godson he would not, but he sure as hell was going to get the rat where he belonged, and get his name cleared, and be able to take Harry, and not least of all, avenge Lily and James.
And here was Remus - whom Sirius had thought was at least one kindred person he had left - holding him back from that, in his typical aggravating calm manner. Sirius thought he might explode with frustration.
"What?" Remus asked coolly. "Attempt to capture Wormtail now, with everyone having heard that ruckus and having you sent to Azkaban? Whose priorities are we considering?"
Sirius didn't reply and both men tried to stare the other down.
"You don't think," Remus added softly, "that Harry would be heartbroken if his godfather was a vegetable? You're all he has left."
Sirius sighed. Sometimes he really hated when Remus put things in "perspective". On the other hand, Remus had another point - and Sirius had been detained too long already; the rat had gotten far too much of a head start.
"Fine. Can you please let go of me now? I promise to be a good boy."
Remus did so, eying Sirius levelly, but his thoughts were not quite as calm. Not to be selfish about it or anything… but if Sirius was caught, Remus would have lost yet another friend, just when he had discovered The Truth… Stop being so self-centered. Good goal, wrong reasons. Think of what Sirius would go through… Remus had. The thought of Sirius in Azkaban for twelve years made him feel sick, with underlying sadness and anger and even guilt.
"I want to get him so badly, Remus," Sirius whispered, a terrible longing and desperation in his voice. It hurt both of them to hear it.
"I know."
There was a pause. They didn't even appear to exchange a glance as they abruptly Apparated to Serendipity with heavy headaches - and heartaches. So close. So close.
Depressed, neither spoke as they fell into positions of defeat. Remus leaned against the intricately carved wooden banister between the dining and living areas, staring at the floor, eyes nearly hidden by the tilt of his head and the hair he purposefully, if subconsciously, never had gotten cut very short. In a world he was excluded from, he had learned to hide.
Sirius restlessly gripped and rapped the cedar table by turns, knocking his fist against it lightly. His eyes were slightly narrowed, and his angry glances about the room, along with his profile and dark eyebrows, made him look like the murderer he was widely believed to be.
Finally he tired of this and instead sat on a small loveseat in the living room, before jumping from that into an armchair instead. The loveseat had been almost exclusively Lily and James's; Sirius didn't feel he was worthy. More uncomfortable, but he could deal with that. It was whatever-it-was that was gnawing away inside of him that he could not.
"Where d'you think he'll go next?" Sirius asked abruptly, voice dull.
Remus pulled his stare from the corner with effort. "I suppose… I don't know. I keep wondering if he'll go to Voldemort."
"I can't see him having that much backbone," Sirius growled.
"Depends on which he thinks is worse - us or him." Remus's use of pronouns was becoming decidedly vague for a schoolteacher, but neither had trouble understanding the other.
"He better hope Voldemort gets him before I do." Sirius's head snapped up with new resolve. "I swear - where is he rumoured to be?"
"Albania."
"I can get to Albania, that's not a problem. It's - hopefully not the Black Forest - when I have to -"
Remus looked up sharply. "No. Absolutely not."
Sirius stood. "You know, Professor, I think you've been teaching a bit too long. It's getting really quite annoying. You also don't seem to trust me a bit."
The realisation of those last four words hit both of them. Trust was an important thing. Furthermore, both had been walking on eggshells while working together during the past few days.
"No," Remus said quickly, "it's not that I don't trust you, Padfoot. It's just that you might -"
"Yes, caught, I know," Sirius said wearily, sitting again.
Remus had no such intention of quitting just yet. "No. Sirius Black is not going to be captured."
Somewhere in Sirius where fear of being trapped by hordes of hungry dementors ruled felt incredibly better. The statement showed that Remus was on his side, and the matter-of-fact wording - Remus might have just as well have been teaching a class and stating a simple, clear, and direct fact. The countercurse for the Blinding Hex is oparusgodium. Hinkypunks will not attack a specific someone if you carve that person's name on a cucumber and chuck it at them. Grindelwald was defeated in 1945 by Albus Dumbledore. Sirius Black is not going to be captured. But there was also a determined sort of conviction in his voice as well - it seemed to tacitly end with: or else I'll die trying to prevent it.
"I'll go to Albania if someone has to," Remus continued.
"Excuse me? Why do you get all the fun?" Sirius asked with a small grin. It was nice to know he could joke again. The reclaiming of his sense of humour had been a long process, but worth it.
Remus stared. "Sirius?"
"Yes?"
"You have a strange idea of fun."
Sirius smirked. "And here I thought you didn't have one at all." It fell rather flat. Remus didn't appear to be the least bit riled. In fact, his eyes clearly showed that he was lost in thoughts again.
Sirius was pretty put out by this as well. It seemed that the two of them had a problem communicating during the past week. Sometimes they could joke with and rib the other freely, but it always sort of shut off quickly. Sometimes they could still silently agree on something without saying a word; other times they seemed to have lost their method of quiet communication. Often there were long awkward silences where no one knew what to say.
Suddenly a replay of the chase flashed through his mind, and he remembered jumping after Peter, clawing wildly, and hurting Remus. Utterly disgusted with himself for forgetting that, he looked up at his friend instantly.
"Rem - where I hurt you - is it all right?" he asked, sounding alarmed.
Remus lightly traced several red marks on his cheek with his hand. "A few cuts. They're fairly shallow. Nothing to worry about."
"I'm sorry, Moony. I didn't mean to do that."
"Padfoot - it's all right - it's nothing." Remus took a shaky breath, hoping it was a silent one. He had told the truth and didn't blame Sirius a bit. It was the heat of the moment. But on the ground - having the huge Padfoot jumping on him and attacking - for a moment his mind had been sharply drawn to the night he had been attacked and bitten. The image was so sharp and painful that he had yelled. "I'm sorry. The noise I made then was really what the villagers would have heard; what I was worried they might trace to you if we stayed."
Sirius shrugged. He was still a little put out that his chase had been cut short. Remus was absolutely, right, of course, but that didn't help matters.
"You need to go somewhere the dementors won't follow," Remus said. He knew full well Sirius could outwit any person in the world, but dementors were another story.
Sirius made a face. He had thought about that a little, and had come to one memory: the holiday his family had taken to the tropics in the summer before his fifth year. He remembered picking up a piece of useless, obscure information (or so he had thought at the time) along with a lot of other stuff he wasn't too interested from an old native codger. Lethifolds were in the tropics, but dementors couldn't survive there very long, and when they did come, the sunlight weakened their powers.
"Remember old Brahma?"
Remus blinked at this sudden change of tack. "N - Yes - but - why?" The last word was suddenly stern.
Sirius suppressed a grin. Sadly, it wasn't as hard to do as it might have once been. Laughter came slower now, grins were rarer. Sirius didn't notice this change in him, but Remus did. He related what Brahma had told him.
"What an excuse for a holiday," Sirius surmised. He didn't sound too thrilled, however. Jamaica was a pretty far stretch from Surrey, where Harry was.
Remus looked thoughtful. "I never heard that confirmed," he said cautiously at last, "but I never heard it challenged, either. That sounds like the best of our ideas thus far."
Sirius did grin now. "Like going to Mount Everest?"
"Pyramid of Eselilnac?"
"Carquel's stronghold?"
Remus smirked. "Malfoy Manor?"
(A/N: Forgive the boys. They needed something to discuss the past week, and they weren't always completely serious. Sometimes total goofiness is good at breaking up tension, and you know that Marauder sense of humour.)
"Yeah. I think this is slightly better." Sirius's favourite idea had been to threaten the Dursleys at wand point to board him, but Remus had seen fit to reject it for some reason. Sirius decided not to bring it up again. Remus's comment about Harry having a vegetable for a godfather had sent a message home. "Now you need an excuse to go to Albania." He growled. "Hopefully the Howlers won't manage all the way there."
Sirius had been none too pleased upon discovering that Remus had been receiving a good couple dozen Howlers after he had left Hogwarts. After meeting up in London, Remus had considered putting a Stunning Spell on Sirius about, well, a couple dozen times. Although secretly he couldn't help but feel a bit better, knowing that Sirius was upset on his behalf. It had been a lot of years since anyone had done that.
"Let it drop about the bloody Howlers."
"Let it drop about the incident in Diagon Alley," Sirius countered smartly.
The "incident in Diagon Alley" had been when the two had crossed paths.
Remus was quiet another moment. (Merlin's wand, Sirius thought in slight exasperation, can he talk anymore without proofreading every word before it comes out of his mouth? We're going to separate soon - less thought, more talk!) "Sirius, your dad wasn't after me, y'know."
"Yeah, and that's what it looked like," Sirius scowled, words dripping in sarcasm. "That's just why he was punching you in the mouth. I'm sure you were just having a pleasant conversation about the weather."
Remus sighed. "If you had, by any chance, listened before jumping into the fray, you'd've heard him. He was yelling the whole time about you, demanding that I tell where you were."
"Oh, great. I knew he must've been friends with Barty Crouch. Now he wants to capture me and send me back to Azkaban. Was this supposed to make me feel better about anything?"
Remus glared. "He wasn't trying to send you back to Azkaban. What I heard was a man who was going mad with the thought of his son being free, but not being able to know where he was or how to talk to him."
Sirius sat stock-still for a moment, digesting this. Then -
"How hard did he hit your head again, Remus?"
Remus's head snapped up. He scowled at his friend. "Take this seriously, Sirius!"
(A/N: Aren't you proud of me? No serious/Sirius joke. Sirius might have easily said: "That's quite a mouthful, Moony" - in fact, I had to resist the temptation to add it in. But since I'm such a wonderful person - cough, cough, cough…)
Apparently Sirius did so, for after a considering silence, he returned the scowl. "So I reckon that means that if I hadn't cut in, you'd've told him where I was?"
If Remus had been sitting, he would have jumped up in outrage. As it was, he turned quite red for a pale man. "How could you believe I'd do that? Of course not!"
Sirius did jump from his seat, sweating furiously. He tried with every iota of energy he had to push images of Arisuis Black from his head, without success. After pacing the room once, he turned back to Remus. "So then why are you suddenly taking his side?"
"I am not taking his 'side'!"
"That's sure what it sounds like."
"You know who you sound like?" Remus shot back coolly.
There was no need to elaborate on whom it was. Both knew precisely whom Remus was referring to. Sirius felt himself literally chill before his temper flamed.
"It must have rubbed off from you; you sound exactly like your father. Cynical, cold, bossy, rude, and unfeeling, if I remember correctly. Bloody hell, you even look a lot like him. Wonder why I never noticed it before."
Sirius and Remus were possibly the masters of the silent glare. They stared each other down lividly.
"I can't stay around all night," Sirius snarled at long last. "We've gotten rather noisy and I wouldn't want to attract anyone who'll spot me and have me arrested."
Remus breathed heavily before replying, watching Sirius rummage in the walkway side closet for a cloak. In his anger, he noticed vindictively that Sirius took his own. "Oh, you finally caught on, have you?"
"Yeah. I want to enjoy my stay in the tropics, so I'll be off." Sirius swept the cloak on. He hadn't lost the trick of looking impressive and even intimidating without even trying. His dark profile, combined with his new thinness, and the swept of the cloak, which didn't look half so threadbare in the dark, was impressive and intimidating. Out of old habit, this drama always came in his spats with Remus, probably born of what both of them knew: Remus had never had the knack of being so melodramatic. It was balanced play, if not fair: Remus was not the sort to not use his own strengths to counter Sirius. "Have fun in Albania."
At the door, Sirius turned on his heel and added innocently: "It's rather chilly down there this summer, if I remember correctly."
Remus didn't bother asking where Sirius got that information. He listened in silence at Sirius's quiet - oh, yes, Sirius was stealthy, no doubt about it, it was the only reason he hadn't been expelled from Hogwarts sixteen times over - barely rustlings, at the barely audible opening of Serendipity's shed and coaxing of Buckbeak.
Serendipity's banister was dark and silent. The night sky was dark and silent. Both men brooded.
*
Peter could hardly believe his luck. Somehow or another, his pursuers had suddenly stopped their chase. Cautiously, Peter made his way to a dark part of the woods nearby, and was forced to transform. After so much excursion, his limbs were dying to be released from their tiny form of Wormtail. Panting and rubbing at a terrible pain in his side, he didn't have the energy to reason out why Sirius and Remus had stopped. They had never quit before their goal was achieved before. He didn't expect them to start now, either.
They'd be back, searching for him again soon. Peter remembered an intense chase down London's obscure alleys, bystanders chuckling slightly at the sight of the dog-and-rat chase.
"Ain't the cat missin', Ma? Ain't the cat missin'?" one child repeated again and again. It was like the background noise of doom and terror to Peter, who only escaped Padfoot when crews from the dog pound showed up, and chaser became chasee.
Then there was the warehouse in another section of the city. Remus had trailed him persistently until Wormtail found refuge behind bags of cement. Then -
"Who're you, and what'll you be wanting here, running like the devil himself was after you," demanded the clerk, whose "you"s were very nearly "ye"s.
"I'm looking for a rat," came Remus's unabashed answer.
There had been a long silence. "Eh?" Remus had held firm and persuaded him to give him leave to let him search the warehouse. (This consent was revoked when the clerk observed him "sniffin' like a mad dog", much to Peter's relief.)
The point was, they have proved many times that nothing was going to stop them. Peter was clever, but no enough to outmatch the two of them together. He couldn't keep this up for too long. The number of close calls already…
Peter held his forehead in his hand. It hurt a lot.
One of the reasons you were so much more important to us than they were…
I thought you had some sense, Mr. Pettigrew…
"I only pick on people I like, Wormtail."
"Huhn. Then you must have a mad love affair with Snape."
In the silence of the woods, Peter whispered to himself: "I thought I had more sense, too."
Who knew what it meant. Peter was quite sure he didn't want to know. He didn't need to.
This is my friend, Peter Pettigrew… Casually. Easily. Assured.
"Sorry."
He needed someone else. Not the echoes of some dead wizard (whom he had killed, nonetheless). He needed Voldemort now more than ever. He needed those lessons on being a Death Eater…
Before he turned back to the side of fools, the side with Padfoot and Moony.
Mind made up, Peter transformed. He needed rest before he got the final goal, his master, because it was going to be a long journey.
And sleep shut out doubt.
*
Three weeks after the night at Serendipity, a large, colourful toucan bird sailed gracefully through the window of a dingy inn of Romania, near the border of Albania. Remus Lupin watched it, bemused. Yes, he had sent someone in the tropics a letter, but it was hard to imagine Sirius had sent a reply so quickly. Were toucans swifter than mere owls? Whatever they were, they certainly weren't inconspicuous. There was gasping and pointing from below his window.
Remus ushered the handsome bird inside and cast a Memory Charm into the evening streets. The bird opened his large beak, offering a letter with a familiar round scrawl.
Dear Moony -
I'm a git, I'm a terrible git. Are you happy at being right? You should be, because for once (okay, you are a lot, but let's not rub that in), you're right. Big-time right.
I can't believe it took us five days to have a huge fight all over again. I can't believe what sort of frame of mind I was in then. May I take twelve years in Azkaban as an excuse? Looking back on that night, I'm not terribly coherent. I was still struggling for sanity. Moony, I'm sorry. First you practically save my life about six times in succession and then I tell you off.
I've been here a while (hopefully you remember through our argument where "here" refers to) and I've regained sanity. I swear. Actually, it's sort of hard not to, here. It's such fun, really. Moony, if you ever visit "here" and start getting weird looks due to your ignorance, tell the natives you're a "British picture star". That exact wording works best. Works like, well, magic. Only make sure they don't think you're American, or you're just dead. (Is it a compliment to be mistaken for an American? Maybe Father's gotten to me too much; I don't think so. In any case, they certainly didn't intend it as one. All the old ladies behind the counters were chucking merchandise at me and yelling me from the shop.)
I hope it doesn't sound like I'm using Azkaban as an excuse… but let's face it: I'm using Azkaban as an excuse. It took a long time to get a hold on myself. I wish I could have done it more quickly.
James, for a long time, was very much alive to me, because I'd hallucinate or dream, and he had a way of getting into most of them. Hell, most were about him, period. I don't feel as if I can ever make it up to him; even when I get Wormtail and clear my name so I can provide for Harry, there's still going to be an empty void I can't fill. (Not to mention the fact that Harry's thirteen. Thirteen, Moony! In less than ten years, he's an adult. Did you hear him back in the Shrieking Shack? He's practically an adult already! He's more mature than I am!)
I felt one more thing I could do to make up for what I did is to apologise to you. I really am sorry. If you're still reading by now I'm amazed.
I was a stubborn headed hippogriff (meaning no offence to Buckbeak) about our fight for the longest time. Then I realised that the full moon is tonight. I never got around to asking, is the Wolfsbane Potion the same as some of those other said-miracles that Lola dreaded so much? Does it have the same effects after you stop taking it? I hope not. If so, I'll go after Snape with his own cauldron over the head. I wish I had time to find you and stay with you tonight. If you are reading this, apparently you're alive, which is a good sign. Even if you address it: "Hey, turkey!" please just let me know you're all right. (Don't mistake this for pity, which I know is the thing you hate most in the world. It's concern.)
It's sort of weird how it's easier to say this stuff in a letter than in person. Did you feel those few days we were tracking Wormtail together that we had communication blocks? While we're on this tack, I want to also apologise for the toucan. I used the one owl I could get for Harry's letter; no offence, but due to the fight, he was a little higher on my correspondence list at the time than you were.
In case I never get another chance to say this (and oh how much easier to write than to say face to face) I want to offer a decent apology also for what you have so long termed "The Prank". I am not sorry about that git Snape. I am sorry for dragging you in. Yeah, I said I was sorry before, but I don't think I meant it then. Everything post-Azkaban has a whole lot more meaning. Before, I just sort of wanted to be forgiven so I could move on with life. Now I need to be forgiven so I can live at all. And I especially need you. I've been in touch with Dumbledore and I wrote Harry, but you're my only friend left right now. And I do care about you, whatever my temperamental tongue might have indicated otherwise. I've hated to think of you alone for so many years, facing that pigheaded attitude people like our dear Minister (Moony, if you're willing to do me another favour, explain how Fudge got elected. Just how many strings were pulled for that?) have kept healthy.
This place is pretty cool; has a lot of perks besides toucan birds. For one thing, there's sun. That's something you don't find a lot of in England or Ireland. For another, stealing is so much easier. Everyone's so relaxed. How come throughout Britain everyone's so paranoid? Was that just because of me, or have we just all become shoulder-checking freaks? Let me know, I want to get in on the trend.
I know I'm asking a lot of favours, but now that we're not totally concentrated on Wormtail (and I sure as Morgana's wand would like to know how that's coming along if you've kept up on it) I want to know about Harry. Apart from the fact that he looks like James (but he's too thin) and has Lily's eyes and is mature and loyal and thorough and absolutely wonderful and also the best flyer of his age I've ever seen, I don't know a thing about him. What's he like, Moony? Is he in that state of total optimism like James, or mood-swingy like Lily, or just all a personality of his own? What does he do in his spare time? If he found five Galleons with obscure identification, what would he do? What subjects does he enjoy? What Quidditch team does he root for? What are his friends like? You know, the important stuff, not what I've found on Flitwick's file (which told me next to nothing, except that his Cheering Charms are a bit strong, which is about as useful as a Chocolate Frog in a hailstorm; of course, I've committed it to memory anyway).
Again, I'm sorry for being a git. About Father, well, maybe you're right. Maybe. (I never really thought of him as human, so I'm out of perspective, perhaps.) What's he been doing the past twelve years? (Probably nothing. He's too lazy. Don't raise any eyebrows at me. It's the truth and you bloody well know it.)
Another thing, scrap what I said about you sounding like your father. That was just… trust me, you couldn't be more different. I don't know if we ever discussed it, but I did see him before, at the Ministry cocktail party before Hogwarts that James and Sammy and I pulled the "we brewed a growing potion!" stunt (they fell for it, every one of them. It's a riot to remember!) I remember him and Chris meeting, and, well, you know Chris's temper better than I do. I thought the two were going to kill each other.
I don't know why I didn't realise it before, but we really aren't kids anymore. I don't know when it hit me. It wasn't in prison; I don't think I thought too much of use then. I think it was the night in that Shrieking Shack that it hit me, in the midst of our reasoning with Harry and his friends. Possibly you've figured that out, but I didn't, and it was rather shocking when I did. I think it was somewhere along the line when I learned Wormtail was Ron's pet (I'd need therapy to cope with that. From what you know of him, how'll Ron handle it? Or am I just out of perspective again?)
Again, sincere apologies. I know I have a temper. I know you've given me a lot of chances. Can I have one more to learn to control it?
Your friend (hopefully),
Padfoot
*
The exact same day - even within the same hour - that the toucan flew into Moony's window, a small rusty owl (who, coincidentally, had crossed the toucan mid-air) swooped against brilliantly light blue skies. Scanning the ground below, he spotted his receiver and bolted down.
Sirius Black, who had been roaming the more remote, less spectacular beaches so as to give Padfoot's paws a rest from their heavy use of late, snatched it. He realised he couldn't quite place the narrow writing for a moment. Was it Harry? No, it was - Remus. His writing had changed; still recognisable, Sirius would have known the distinctive capital "S" anywhere, but nevertheless startling. As startling as finding that Harry was no longer a baby; he was an able young teen able to roam the streets at night without whimpering.
Still, Sirius frowned. How on earth had his letter reached Remus so quickly? It still should have only gotten perhaps to its destination, not there and back already. Was it some new charm that blocked post and automatically sent a rejection letter to certain people? Tensely, he slit open the letter. Slowly, a smile crept over his face.
Padfoot and Moony were united again.
Dear Padfoot -
If you're reading this, realised who it was from, and haven't immediately tossed it into the sea yet, I thank you. I know I was rude and short during our last meeting and want to apologise. I feel as if I must do it tonight, because there is the chance that I won't live through it; I think you know why. (If, perchance, you are not angry with me, I beg you not to go after Snape with a cauldron. I agreed to the Wolfsbane Potion to begin with, and if I had just swallowed my pride I could have gotten an antidote to reduce excess effects tonight. You'd think that after this past year I would have learned something about the merits of conquering pride.)
Ever since I have learned of The Truth, I've spent every spare moment (and some that aren't) worrying for your safety. Lately I've also been running through our last meeting in my head over and over again, and have come to one conclusion: You're absolutely right; I've managed to become "cynical, cold, bossy, rude, and unfeeling".
All I can say in that I am sincerely sorry for my words and actions during the days we tried to track Peter together. "Sorry" is a rather weak word for it, but it's about the best the English language provides.
Somehow during that time I forgot that you have just spent over a decade in Azkaban; that it was amazing enough that you still functioned, let alone that you were recovering and gaining sanity so quickly. I forgot all this and expected you to be perfect, forgetting that you were still struggling every day.
About Azkaban - again, I'm sorry. I keep feeling there's some way I should and could have prevented it, by seeing through Peter or not acting in ways that aroused suspicion. I have tried many times since that night to fathom the hell you must have endured and haven't managed it. You've always been one of the strongest people I've ever known, and this only goes further to prove it (not that it's needed to illustrate that).
I'm also sorry for basically nebbing around where I didn't belong. Your relationship with your father is pretty much your relationship.
While I am sorry for being a good bit bossy at this point, I cannot say with complete honesty that I take back what I said. Frankly, I've always held a livid hatred of your father. But I do think that like everyone else, he's a person with tangible emotions and desires. But this is not my place to say anything. I don't even think I thanked you for "rescuing" me in Diagon Alley, and I'll do it now: thank you.
As for a good deal of the rest of what I've said, I realise that simply enough I've developed a self-centered view. Exemplified by lying to Dumbledore all year long (I suppose in retrospect I'm glad that I was a selfish spineless coward; who knows where you'd be now) and not being sensitive to your feelings lately. Having come to this realisation, I'm working to change it. In the past few weeks I haven't had a whole lot of success, but I'm only human mortal like anyone else. All I can do is keep trying, but I give you my word that I am trying. (If my word even means much to you any longer.)
Your friendship has meant so much to me, Padfoot. Learning The Truth (I always see it just like that - capital letters and all) turned the world upside down for a moment, but while in disbelief at Peter, I was overjoyed to know it hadn't been you. I can't say it doesn't hurt that Peter was in the end the one who caused it all; but somehow, the idea that you, the one James trusted more than anyone (not to mention the one my parents loved best), are completely innocent overshadows it. I can't pretend that in '81 the roles were reversed, but there really didn't seem to be any bright spots whatsoever then.
You said to Harry: "I as good as killed them." I wish you'd reconsider that. On the contrary, you did everything one person could possibly do to prevent James and Lily's death.
Even if you throw away this note in disgust and never reply, which I wouldn't blame you for, I'm still constantly hoping that your name is soon cleared so you can return to a normal life and care for Harry. I've chronically regretted that I wasn't able to do anything to keep him from being sent to the Dursleys. It's obvious that Harry needs you a lot and already cares for you a great deal. (How very perceptive of him.)
Hopefully you don't consider my closing ridiculous, and that you do forgive me. I promise to try harder to become a better one.
Your friend,
Moony
P.S. By the way, you were wrong about it being "cold" in Albania.
P.P.S. If the whole truth must be told…
It's ten bloody times worse.
The End
The reason for Peter's safely could be explained quickly, in few words, but for the purposes of the story… well, it will be considerably more words.
Sirius Black felt a restraining hand grab him by a fistful of fur and growled in confusion. Padfoot transformed; Sirius turned sharply, wondering what Remus could be warning him about. "What?"
"Stop; we don't want you caught," Remus Lupin replied.
Sirius immediately made a noise of exasperation and attempted to wrench from his friend's grasp; unfortunately - or perhaps not - Remus was stronger than he looked a kept a good hold of him. Sirius's infamous temper, fueled by the desperation of being so close to Wormtail, flew.
"Do you realise that he's out there?" Sirius spat. "Let me go, Remus!"
Remus didn't obey. "Can you Apparate back to Serendipity?"
Sirius was finding it hard to keep his voice quiet. "Remus!" he said through clenched teeth and a fruitless jerk. "I - am not - letting him - go!"
"Think of it as prioritising."
"Have you got your priorities mixed up!" Sirius felt as if he could barely stand it. He couldn't very well kill Peter, having practically promising his godson he would not, but he sure as hell was going to get the rat where he belonged, and get his name cleared, and be able to take Harry, and not least of all, avenge Lily and James.
And here was Remus - whom Sirius had thought was at least one kindred person he had left - holding him back from that, in his typical aggravating calm manner. Sirius thought he might explode with frustration.
"What?" Remus asked coolly. "Attempt to capture Wormtail now, with everyone having heard that ruckus and having you sent to Azkaban? Whose priorities are we considering?"
Sirius didn't reply and both men tried to stare the other down.
"You don't think," Remus added softly, "that Harry would be heartbroken if his godfather was a vegetable? You're all he has left."
Sirius sighed. Sometimes he really hated when Remus put things in "perspective". On the other hand, Remus had another point - and Sirius had been detained too long already; the rat had gotten far too much of a head start.
"Fine. Can you please let go of me now? I promise to be a good boy."
Remus did so, eying Sirius levelly, but his thoughts were not quite as calm. Not to be selfish about it or anything… but if Sirius was caught, Remus would have lost yet another friend, just when he had discovered The Truth… Stop being so self-centered. Good goal, wrong reasons. Think of what Sirius would go through… Remus had. The thought of Sirius in Azkaban for twelve years made him feel sick, with underlying sadness and anger and even guilt.
"I want to get him so badly, Remus," Sirius whispered, a terrible longing and desperation in his voice. It hurt both of them to hear it.
"I know."
There was a pause. They didn't even appear to exchange a glance as they abruptly Apparated to Serendipity with heavy headaches - and heartaches. So close. So close.
Depressed, neither spoke as they fell into positions of defeat. Remus leaned against the intricately carved wooden banister between the dining and living areas, staring at the floor, eyes nearly hidden by the tilt of his head and the hair he purposefully, if subconsciously, never had gotten cut very short. In a world he was excluded from, he had learned to hide.
Sirius restlessly gripped and rapped the cedar table by turns, knocking his fist against it lightly. His eyes were slightly narrowed, and his angry glances about the room, along with his profile and dark eyebrows, made him look like the murderer he was widely believed to be.
Finally he tired of this and instead sat on a small loveseat in the living room, before jumping from that into an armchair instead. The loveseat had been almost exclusively Lily and James's; Sirius didn't feel he was worthy. More uncomfortable, but he could deal with that. It was whatever-it-was that was gnawing away inside of him that he could not.
"Where d'you think he'll go next?" Sirius asked abruptly, voice dull.
Remus pulled his stare from the corner with effort. "I suppose… I don't know. I keep wondering if he'll go to Voldemort."
"I can't see him having that much backbone," Sirius growled.
"Depends on which he thinks is worse - us or him." Remus's use of pronouns was becoming decidedly vague for a schoolteacher, but neither had trouble understanding the other.
"He better hope Voldemort gets him before I do." Sirius's head snapped up with new resolve. "I swear - where is he rumoured to be?"
"Albania."
"I can get to Albania, that's not a problem. It's - hopefully not the Black Forest - when I have to -"
Remus looked up sharply. "No. Absolutely not."
Sirius stood. "You know, Professor, I think you've been teaching a bit too long. It's getting really quite annoying. You also don't seem to trust me a bit."
The realisation of those last four words hit both of them. Trust was an important thing. Furthermore, both had been walking on eggshells while working together during the past few days.
"No," Remus said quickly, "it's not that I don't trust you, Padfoot. It's just that you might -"
"Yes, caught, I know," Sirius said wearily, sitting again.
Remus had no such intention of quitting just yet. "No. Sirius Black is not going to be captured."
Somewhere in Sirius where fear of being trapped by hordes of hungry dementors ruled felt incredibly better. The statement showed that Remus was on his side, and the matter-of-fact wording - Remus might have just as well have been teaching a class and stating a simple, clear, and direct fact. The countercurse for the Blinding Hex is oparusgodium. Hinkypunks will not attack a specific someone if you carve that person's name on a cucumber and chuck it at them. Grindelwald was defeated in 1945 by Albus Dumbledore. Sirius Black is not going to be captured. But there was also a determined sort of conviction in his voice as well - it seemed to tacitly end with: or else I'll die trying to prevent it.
"I'll go to Albania if someone has to," Remus continued.
"Excuse me? Why do you get all the fun?" Sirius asked with a small grin. It was nice to know he could joke again. The reclaiming of his sense of humour had been a long process, but worth it.
Remus stared. "Sirius?"
"Yes?"
"You have a strange idea of fun."
Sirius smirked. "And here I thought you didn't have one at all." It fell rather flat. Remus didn't appear to be the least bit riled. In fact, his eyes clearly showed that he was lost in thoughts again.
Sirius was pretty put out by this as well. It seemed that the two of them had a problem communicating during the past week. Sometimes they could joke with and rib the other freely, but it always sort of shut off quickly. Sometimes they could still silently agree on something without saying a word; other times they seemed to have lost their method of quiet communication. Often there were long awkward silences where no one knew what to say.
Suddenly a replay of the chase flashed through his mind, and he remembered jumping after Peter, clawing wildly, and hurting Remus. Utterly disgusted with himself for forgetting that, he looked up at his friend instantly.
"Rem - where I hurt you - is it all right?" he asked, sounding alarmed.
Remus lightly traced several red marks on his cheek with his hand. "A few cuts. They're fairly shallow. Nothing to worry about."
"I'm sorry, Moony. I didn't mean to do that."
"Padfoot - it's all right - it's nothing." Remus took a shaky breath, hoping it was a silent one. He had told the truth and didn't blame Sirius a bit. It was the heat of the moment. But on the ground - having the huge Padfoot jumping on him and attacking - for a moment his mind had been sharply drawn to the night he had been attacked and bitten. The image was so sharp and painful that he had yelled. "I'm sorry. The noise I made then was really what the villagers would have heard; what I was worried they might trace to you if we stayed."
Sirius shrugged. He was still a little put out that his chase had been cut short. Remus was absolutely, right, of course, but that didn't help matters.
"You need to go somewhere the dementors won't follow," Remus said. He knew full well Sirius could outwit any person in the world, but dementors were another story.
Sirius made a face. He had thought about that a little, and had come to one memory: the holiday his family had taken to the tropics in the summer before his fifth year. He remembered picking up a piece of useless, obscure information (or so he had thought at the time) along with a lot of other stuff he wasn't too interested from an old native codger. Lethifolds were in the tropics, but dementors couldn't survive there very long, and when they did come, the sunlight weakened their powers.
"Remember old Brahma?"
Remus blinked at this sudden change of tack. "N - Yes - but - why?" The last word was suddenly stern.
Sirius suppressed a grin. Sadly, it wasn't as hard to do as it might have once been. Laughter came slower now, grins were rarer. Sirius didn't notice this change in him, but Remus did. He related what Brahma had told him.
"What an excuse for a holiday," Sirius surmised. He didn't sound too thrilled, however. Jamaica was a pretty far stretch from Surrey, where Harry was.
Remus looked thoughtful. "I never heard that confirmed," he said cautiously at last, "but I never heard it challenged, either. That sounds like the best of our ideas thus far."
Sirius did grin now. "Like going to Mount Everest?"
"Pyramid of Eselilnac?"
"Carquel's stronghold?"
Remus smirked. "Malfoy Manor?"
(A/N: Forgive the boys. They needed something to discuss the past week, and they weren't always completely serious. Sometimes total goofiness is good at breaking up tension, and you know that Marauder sense of humour.)
"Yeah. I think this is slightly better." Sirius's favourite idea had been to threaten the Dursleys at wand point to board him, but Remus had seen fit to reject it for some reason. Sirius decided not to bring it up again. Remus's comment about Harry having a vegetable for a godfather had sent a message home. "Now you need an excuse to go to Albania." He growled. "Hopefully the Howlers won't manage all the way there."
Sirius had been none too pleased upon discovering that Remus had been receiving a good couple dozen Howlers after he had left Hogwarts. After meeting up in London, Remus had considered putting a Stunning Spell on Sirius about, well, a couple dozen times. Although secretly he couldn't help but feel a bit better, knowing that Sirius was upset on his behalf. It had been a lot of years since anyone had done that.
"Let it drop about the bloody Howlers."
"Let it drop about the incident in Diagon Alley," Sirius countered smartly.
The "incident in Diagon Alley" had been when the two had crossed paths.
Remus was quiet another moment. (Merlin's wand, Sirius thought in slight exasperation, can he talk anymore without proofreading every word before it comes out of his mouth? We're going to separate soon - less thought, more talk!) "Sirius, your dad wasn't after me, y'know."
"Yeah, and that's what it looked like," Sirius scowled, words dripping in sarcasm. "That's just why he was punching you in the mouth. I'm sure you were just having a pleasant conversation about the weather."
Remus sighed. "If you had, by any chance, listened before jumping into the fray, you'd've heard him. He was yelling the whole time about you, demanding that I tell where you were."
"Oh, great. I knew he must've been friends with Barty Crouch. Now he wants to capture me and send me back to Azkaban. Was this supposed to make me feel better about anything?"
Remus glared. "He wasn't trying to send you back to Azkaban. What I heard was a man who was going mad with the thought of his son being free, but not being able to know where he was or how to talk to him."
Sirius sat stock-still for a moment, digesting this. Then -
"How hard did he hit your head again, Remus?"
Remus's head snapped up. He scowled at his friend. "Take this seriously, Sirius!"
(A/N: Aren't you proud of me? No serious/Sirius joke. Sirius might have easily said: "That's quite a mouthful, Moony" - in fact, I had to resist the temptation to add it in. But since I'm such a wonderful person - cough, cough, cough…)
Apparently Sirius did so, for after a considering silence, he returned the scowl. "So I reckon that means that if I hadn't cut in, you'd've told him where I was?"
If Remus had been sitting, he would have jumped up in outrage. As it was, he turned quite red for a pale man. "How could you believe I'd do that? Of course not!"
Sirius did jump from his seat, sweating furiously. He tried with every iota of energy he had to push images of Arisuis Black from his head, without success. After pacing the room once, he turned back to Remus. "So then why are you suddenly taking his side?"
"I am not taking his 'side'!"
"That's sure what it sounds like."
"You know who you sound like?" Remus shot back coolly.
There was no need to elaborate on whom it was. Both knew precisely whom Remus was referring to. Sirius felt himself literally chill before his temper flamed.
"It must have rubbed off from you; you sound exactly like your father. Cynical, cold, bossy, rude, and unfeeling, if I remember correctly. Bloody hell, you even look a lot like him. Wonder why I never noticed it before."
Sirius and Remus were possibly the masters of the silent glare. They stared each other down lividly.
"I can't stay around all night," Sirius snarled at long last. "We've gotten rather noisy and I wouldn't want to attract anyone who'll spot me and have me arrested."
Remus breathed heavily before replying, watching Sirius rummage in the walkway side closet for a cloak. In his anger, he noticed vindictively that Sirius took his own. "Oh, you finally caught on, have you?"
"Yeah. I want to enjoy my stay in the tropics, so I'll be off." Sirius swept the cloak on. He hadn't lost the trick of looking impressive and even intimidating without even trying. His dark profile, combined with his new thinness, and the swept of the cloak, which didn't look half so threadbare in the dark, was impressive and intimidating. Out of old habit, this drama always came in his spats with Remus, probably born of what both of them knew: Remus had never had the knack of being so melodramatic. It was balanced play, if not fair: Remus was not the sort to not use his own strengths to counter Sirius. "Have fun in Albania."
At the door, Sirius turned on his heel and added innocently: "It's rather chilly down there this summer, if I remember correctly."
Remus didn't bother asking where Sirius got that information. He listened in silence at Sirius's quiet - oh, yes, Sirius was stealthy, no doubt about it, it was the only reason he hadn't been expelled from Hogwarts sixteen times over - barely rustlings, at the barely audible opening of Serendipity's shed and coaxing of Buckbeak.
Serendipity's banister was dark and silent. The night sky was dark and silent. Both men brooded.
*
Peter could hardly believe his luck. Somehow or another, his pursuers had suddenly stopped their chase. Cautiously, Peter made his way to a dark part of the woods nearby, and was forced to transform. After so much excursion, his limbs were dying to be released from their tiny form of Wormtail. Panting and rubbing at a terrible pain in his side, he didn't have the energy to reason out why Sirius and Remus had stopped. They had never quit before their goal was achieved before. He didn't expect them to start now, either.
They'd be back, searching for him again soon. Peter remembered an intense chase down London's obscure alleys, bystanders chuckling slightly at the sight of the dog-and-rat chase.
"Ain't the cat missin', Ma? Ain't the cat missin'?" one child repeated again and again. It was like the background noise of doom and terror to Peter, who only escaped Padfoot when crews from the dog pound showed up, and chaser became chasee.
Then there was the warehouse in another section of the city. Remus had trailed him persistently until Wormtail found refuge behind bags of cement. Then -
"Who're you, and what'll you be wanting here, running like the devil himself was after you," demanded the clerk, whose "you"s were very nearly "ye"s.
"I'm looking for a rat," came Remus's unabashed answer.
There had been a long silence. "Eh?" Remus had held firm and persuaded him to give him leave to let him search the warehouse. (This consent was revoked when the clerk observed him "sniffin' like a mad dog", much to Peter's relief.)
The point was, they have proved many times that nothing was going to stop them. Peter was clever, but no enough to outmatch the two of them together. He couldn't keep this up for too long. The number of close calls already…
Peter held his forehead in his hand. It hurt a lot.
One of the reasons you were so much more important to us than they were…
I thought you had some sense, Mr. Pettigrew…
"I only pick on people I like, Wormtail."
"Huhn. Then you must have a mad love affair with Snape."
In the silence of the woods, Peter whispered to himself: "I thought I had more sense, too."
Who knew what it meant. Peter was quite sure he didn't want to know. He didn't need to.
This is my friend, Peter Pettigrew… Casually. Easily. Assured.
"Sorry."
He needed someone else. Not the echoes of some dead wizard (whom he had killed, nonetheless). He needed Voldemort now more than ever. He needed those lessons on being a Death Eater…
Before he turned back to the side of fools, the side with Padfoot and Moony.
Mind made up, Peter transformed. He needed rest before he got the final goal, his master, because it was going to be a long journey.
And sleep shut out doubt.
*
Three weeks after the night at Serendipity, a large, colourful toucan bird sailed gracefully through the window of a dingy inn of Romania, near the border of Albania. Remus Lupin watched it, bemused. Yes, he had sent someone in the tropics a letter, but it was hard to imagine Sirius had sent a reply so quickly. Were toucans swifter than mere owls? Whatever they were, they certainly weren't inconspicuous. There was gasping and pointing from below his window.
Remus ushered the handsome bird inside and cast a Memory Charm into the evening streets. The bird opened his large beak, offering a letter with a familiar round scrawl.
Dear Moony -
I'm a git, I'm a terrible git. Are you happy at being right? You should be, because for once (okay, you are a lot, but let's not rub that in), you're right. Big-time right.
I can't believe it took us five days to have a huge fight all over again. I can't believe what sort of frame of mind I was in then. May I take twelve years in Azkaban as an excuse? Looking back on that night, I'm not terribly coherent. I was still struggling for sanity. Moony, I'm sorry. First you practically save my life about six times in succession and then I tell you off.
I've been here a while (hopefully you remember through our argument where "here" refers to) and I've regained sanity. I swear. Actually, it's sort of hard not to, here. It's such fun, really. Moony, if you ever visit "here" and start getting weird looks due to your ignorance, tell the natives you're a "British picture star". That exact wording works best. Works like, well, magic. Only make sure they don't think you're American, or you're just dead. (Is it a compliment to be mistaken for an American? Maybe Father's gotten to me too much; I don't think so. In any case, they certainly didn't intend it as one. All the old ladies behind the counters were chucking merchandise at me and yelling me from the shop.)
I hope it doesn't sound like I'm using Azkaban as an excuse… but let's face it: I'm using Azkaban as an excuse. It took a long time to get a hold on myself. I wish I could have done it more quickly.
James, for a long time, was very much alive to me, because I'd hallucinate or dream, and he had a way of getting into most of them. Hell, most were about him, period. I don't feel as if I can ever make it up to him; even when I get Wormtail and clear my name so I can provide for Harry, there's still going to be an empty void I can't fill. (Not to mention the fact that Harry's thirteen. Thirteen, Moony! In less than ten years, he's an adult. Did you hear him back in the Shrieking Shack? He's practically an adult already! He's more mature than I am!)
I felt one more thing I could do to make up for what I did is to apologise to you. I really am sorry. If you're still reading by now I'm amazed.
I was a stubborn headed hippogriff (meaning no offence to Buckbeak) about our fight for the longest time. Then I realised that the full moon is tonight. I never got around to asking, is the Wolfsbane Potion the same as some of those other said-miracles that Lola dreaded so much? Does it have the same effects after you stop taking it? I hope not. If so, I'll go after Snape with his own cauldron over the head. I wish I had time to find you and stay with you tonight. If you are reading this, apparently you're alive, which is a good sign. Even if you address it: "Hey, turkey!" please just let me know you're all right. (Don't mistake this for pity, which I know is the thing you hate most in the world. It's concern.)
It's sort of weird how it's easier to say this stuff in a letter than in person. Did you feel those few days we were tracking Wormtail together that we had communication blocks? While we're on this tack, I want to also apologise for the toucan. I used the one owl I could get for Harry's letter; no offence, but due to the fight, he was a little higher on my correspondence list at the time than you were.
In case I never get another chance to say this (and oh how much easier to write than to say face to face) I want to offer a decent apology also for what you have so long termed "The Prank". I am not sorry about that git Snape. I am sorry for dragging you in. Yeah, I said I was sorry before, but I don't think I meant it then. Everything post-Azkaban has a whole lot more meaning. Before, I just sort of wanted to be forgiven so I could move on with life. Now I need to be forgiven so I can live at all. And I especially need you. I've been in touch with Dumbledore and I wrote Harry, but you're my only friend left right now. And I do care about you, whatever my temperamental tongue might have indicated otherwise. I've hated to think of you alone for so many years, facing that pigheaded attitude people like our dear Minister (Moony, if you're willing to do me another favour, explain how Fudge got elected. Just how many strings were pulled for that?) have kept healthy.
This place is pretty cool; has a lot of perks besides toucan birds. For one thing, there's sun. That's something you don't find a lot of in England or Ireland. For another, stealing is so much easier. Everyone's so relaxed. How come throughout Britain everyone's so paranoid? Was that just because of me, or have we just all become shoulder-checking freaks? Let me know, I want to get in on the trend.
I know I'm asking a lot of favours, but now that we're not totally concentrated on Wormtail (and I sure as Morgana's wand would like to know how that's coming along if you've kept up on it) I want to know about Harry. Apart from the fact that he looks like James (but he's too thin) and has Lily's eyes and is mature and loyal and thorough and absolutely wonderful and also the best flyer of his age I've ever seen, I don't know a thing about him. What's he like, Moony? Is he in that state of total optimism like James, or mood-swingy like Lily, or just all a personality of his own? What does he do in his spare time? If he found five Galleons with obscure identification, what would he do? What subjects does he enjoy? What Quidditch team does he root for? What are his friends like? You know, the important stuff, not what I've found on Flitwick's file (which told me next to nothing, except that his Cheering Charms are a bit strong, which is about as useful as a Chocolate Frog in a hailstorm; of course, I've committed it to memory anyway).
Again, I'm sorry for being a git. About Father, well, maybe you're right. Maybe. (I never really thought of him as human, so I'm out of perspective, perhaps.) What's he been doing the past twelve years? (Probably nothing. He's too lazy. Don't raise any eyebrows at me. It's the truth and you bloody well know it.)
Another thing, scrap what I said about you sounding like your father. That was just… trust me, you couldn't be more different. I don't know if we ever discussed it, but I did see him before, at the Ministry cocktail party before Hogwarts that James and Sammy and I pulled the "we brewed a growing potion!" stunt (they fell for it, every one of them. It's a riot to remember!) I remember him and Chris meeting, and, well, you know Chris's temper better than I do. I thought the two were going to kill each other.
I don't know why I didn't realise it before, but we really aren't kids anymore. I don't know when it hit me. It wasn't in prison; I don't think I thought too much of use then. I think it was the night in that Shrieking Shack that it hit me, in the midst of our reasoning with Harry and his friends. Possibly you've figured that out, but I didn't, and it was rather shocking when I did. I think it was somewhere along the line when I learned Wormtail was Ron's pet (I'd need therapy to cope with that. From what you know of him, how'll Ron handle it? Or am I just out of perspective again?)
Again, sincere apologies. I know I have a temper. I know you've given me a lot of chances. Can I have one more to learn to control it?
Your friend (hopefully),
Padfoot
*
The exact same day - even within the same hour - that the toucan flew into Moony's window, a small rusty owl (who, coincidentally, had crossed the toucan mid-air) swooped against brilliantly light blue skies. Scanning the ground below, he spotted his receiver and bolted down.
Sirius Black, who had been roaming the more remote, less spectacular beaches so as to give Padfoot's paws a rest from their heavy use of late, snatched it. He realised he couldn't quite place the narrow writing for a moment. Was it Harry? No, it was - Remus. His writing had changed; still recognisable, Sirius would have known the distinctive capital "S" anywhere, but nevertheless startling. As startling as finding that Harry was no longer a baby; he was an able young teen able to roam the streets at night without whimpering.
Still, Sirius frowned. How on earth had his letter reached Remus so quickly? It still should have only gotten perhaps to its destination, not there and back already. Was it some new charm that blocked post and automatically sent a rejection letter to certain people? Tensely, he slit open the letter. Slowly, a smile crept over his face.
Padfoot and Moony were united again.
Dear Padfoot -
If you're reading this, realised who it was from, and haven't immediately tossed it into the sea yet, I thank you. I know I was rude and short during our last meeting and want to apologise. I feel as if I must do it tonight, because there is the chance that I won't live through it; I think you know why. (If, perchance, you are not angry with me, I beg you not to go after Snape with a cauldron. I agreed to the Wolfsbane Potion to begin with, and if I had just swallowed my pride I could have gotten an antidote to reduce excess effects tonight. You'd think that after this past year I would have learned something about the merits of conquering pride.)
Ever since I have learned of The Truth, I've spent every spare moment (and some that aren't) worrying for your safety. Lately I've also been running through our last meeting in my head over and over again, and have come to one conclusion: You're absolutely right; I've managed to become "cynical, cold, bossy, rude, and unfeeling".
All I can say in that I am sincerely sorry for my words and actions during the days we tried to track Peter together. "Sorry" is a rather weak word for it, but it's about the best the English language provides.
Somehow during that time I forgot that you have just spent over a decade in Azkaban; that it was amazing enough that you still functioned, let alone that you were recovering and gaining sanity so quickly. I forgot all this and expected you to be perfect, forgetting that you were still struggling every day.
About Azkaban - again, I'm sorry. I keep feeling there's some way I should and could have prevented it, by seeing through Peter or not acting in ways that aroused suspicion. I have tried many times since that night to fathom the hell you must have endured and haven't managed it. You've always been one of the strongest people I've ever known, and this only goes further to prove it (not that it's needed to illustrate that).
I'm also sorry for basically nebbing around where I didn't belong. Your relationship with your father is pretty much your relationship.
While I am sorry for being a good bit bossy at this point, I cannot say with complete honesty that I take back what I said. Frankly, I've always held a livid hatred of your father. But I do think that like everyone else, he's a person with tangible emotions and desires. But this is not my place to say anything. I don't even think I thanked you for "rescuing" me in Diagon Alley, and I'll do it now: thank you.
As for a good deal of the rest of what I've said, I realise that simply enough I've developed a self-centered view. Exemplified by lying to Dumbledore all year long (I suppose in retrospect I'm glad that I was a selfish spineless coward; who knows where you'd be now) and not being sensitive to your feelings lately. Having come to this realisation, I'm working to change it. In the past few weeks I haven't had a whole lot of success, but I'm only human mortal like anyone else. All I can do is keep trying, but I give you my word that I am trying. (If my word even means much to you any longer.)
Your friendship has meant so much to me, Padfoot. Learning The Truth (I always see it just like that - capital letters and all) turned the world upside down for a moment, but while in disbelief at Peter, I was overjoyed to know it hadn't been you. I can't say it doesn't hurt that Peter was in the end the one who caused it all; but somehow, the idea that you, the one James trusted more than anyone (not to mention the one my parents loved best), are completely innocent overshadows it. I can't pretend that in '81 the roles were reversed, but there really didn't seem to be any bright spots whatsoever then.
You said to Harry: "I as good as killed them." I wish you'd reconsider that. On the contrary, you did everything one person could possibly do to prevent James and Lily's death.
Even if you throw away this note in disgust and never reply, which I wouldn't blame you for, I'm still constantly hoping that your name is soon cleared so you can return to a normal life and care for Harry. I've chronically regretted that I wasn't able to do anything to keep him from being sent to the Dursleys. It's obvious that Harry needs you a lot and already cares for you a great deal. (How very perceptive of him.)
Hopefully you don't consider my closing ridiculous, and that you do forgive me. I promise to try harder to become a better one.
Your friend,
Moony
P.S. By the way, you were wrong about it being "cold" in Albania.
P.P.S. If the whole truth must be told…
It's ten bloody times worse.
The End