Shadowed Souls

Chapter 6.

You know where to find all the disclaimers.

Chocolate tree decorations to all reviewers.

Pie: Thank you so much for the offer. You may get the new chapter soon (once I've dealt with a side-issue called work).

Farewell: I've just watched Priscilla – gaah. Hugo Weaving *goes into a dead faint*. I spent so much of the film wanting to hug him (and other things… *grins*).

A/N: Bit like *this* is Sirius' thoughts.

The huge black dog stalked through the deep chill of the Hogwarts corridors, thundering past a pair of second years sneaking out of the Hufflepuff dormitory, who shrank back against the wall at the palpable aura of menace which flowed with it. Pausing to ensure that he was not seen, the Animagus quickly resumed his human form to mutter the password at the entrance to the Headmaster's office. Returning to canine guise for the sake of security, he bounded up the moving staircase, leaping steps, and crashed through the doorway. Immediately, he transformed, rising from a crouch, out of breath, to regard the other occupant of the room.

"Sirius, how can I help you?" Dumbledore asked mildly, looking up from the pile of scrolls on his desk, as if nothing out of the usual had occurred.

"You never told me that Remus was here. I presume that he is one of your … your sort of Aurors protecting Hogwarts … He is here."

"Actually, I believe he is living in Hogsmeade," the Headmaster replied, with a glimmer of amusement.

"You know what I damn well mean. I had to find out by seeing him in the street. You should have warned me. It changes the whole idea of my being here. It … it … it was unfair not to tell me…" Sirius' trailed off, arrested by the stern expression on Dumbledore's face. "I'm … I'm sorry, Sir, it's just that it was a rather unpleasant shock."

Dumbledore motioned for Sirius to sit, and he hunched his long frame into one of the comfy chairs.

"Sirus, I must confess that it did not occur to me to tell you. I rather presumed that you knew of Remus' appointment, or would at least have guessed," he sighed.

"I can't imagine why anyone would make that assumption," Sirius snapped. "We have not been close for over a decade: it is hardly likely that we would share the mundane details of our lives. Nor can I see that there is any reason why I should think that there would be any reason why I should think that he would be here. I presumed that Jeremiah Silvering and Sarah d'Etoile would be the natural choices …"

He slid deeper into the chair, a restless expression shadowing his face, as Dumbledore contemplated his own hands on the desk before him.

"Surely you realise that Remus Lupin is one of the foremost experts in Defence against the Dark Arts. He would have been a great Auror. He was an even better teacher." Sirius blushed, as he realised that his own desperate agitation had provoked him to denigrate his old lover. The Headmaster continued, "As such, I could hardly afford not to use his skills in defending the school. He has bolstered the wards considerably."

Dumbledore gazed thoughtfully at Sirius, who looked even more acutely miserable with every word.

"Sirius, is there anything which you would like to discuss? I find it unusual that you are not talking to Remus."

Hurriedly, the Animagus shook his head, prepared to deny with every breath that anything was amiss with the situation. Unfortunately, Dumbledore's mild stare undid Sirius' intentions. He considered fleeing, escaping the now inevitable confessions, but, at length, he sighed, and began picking at a loose piece of upholstery on the chair's arm.

"I don't think I can work with Remus," he began, hesitantly. "We aren't … friends any more. I find it … disconcerting that he's here."

*I won't be able to think straight when he's in the room. Every time I see him, it makes my brain burn. To know that I exist in such darkness when the light is close at hand is such misery*

The Headmaster merely nodded, and Sirius felt drawn to continue, compelled to tell the sympathetic old man what was bothering him. Not for the first time, Sirius mused that Dumbledore did not need the Imperius to persuade others to do exactly as he wished.

"I … I don't know how much you care to remember about out time at Hogwarts. In our fifth year - oh, God, this is hard to explain – Remus and I … well, we kissed. And then … then we became lovers. We were lovers until Lily and James died, and I was sent to Azkaban." The last few words were uttered in a soft mutter, barely more than a breath of air.

"Yes, I know. After all, you were rather inseparable," laughed Dumbledore, making Sirius bang his head against the back of his chair as he looked up suddenly. "And this is the problem? What was once, and is no more, has soured any possibility of friendship? That, indeed, would be a shame."

Sirius could swear that he could detect a distant twinkle in Dumbledore's eyes as he spoke those words.

"Yes … No … oh hell! I still love him. I think I always will. With him here, I feel on the verge of tearing myself apart, with my emotions asking me to do first one thing, then another. I don't believe I could work, or even think. But I can't be with him. It wouldn't be right. He deserves better. I will not … I should not…" Sirius replied agitatedly.

"Far be it for me to interfere," murmured Dumbledore, "but Remus still does love you."

No he doesn't, not really," said Sirius, with an impatient gesture of one hand. "He thinks he does, but he doesn't really love me. To think that he might would be absurd. He's just far too kind-hearted to notice that he only loves a spectre, a young man I can scarcely remember being."

Dumbledore sat lost in thought for a few minutes, then rose.

"I cannot change your mind, Sirius. But I trust that you WILL be able to work together or at least near to each other. Hogwarts needs the skills of you both."

Sirius nodded, conceding defeat, too numb to put up much resistance against the force of personality of the older man, and slipped from the room.

Dumbledore walked contemplatively back to his desk. Sighing, he observed his Pensieve for a minute, dipping his wand into it. The silvery liquid swirled, and then revealed the image of two laughing figures, arms around each other's waists, blue eyes meeting grey, oblivious to all else.

"You are blind, Sirius Black," the old wizard whispered to the empty air, "so very blind."

TBC

Positive feedback is like back-to-back viewing of Hugo Weaving films (I really have him on the brain).