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Chapter Three: Les Garçons et L'Eté
What happens
: This chapter focuses around Sirius's and Remus's developing friendship. Among other things, of course.
Main Characters
: Remus J. Lupin, Sirius Black
Subsidiary Characters: James Potter, Lilly Evans, Peter Pettigrew; Professor Voldemort; Etienne Ibert
Couples You Will Find In This Fic (Whether You Like It Or Not): Sirius Black/Remus Lupin; James Potter/Lilly Evans; a hint or two of Lucius Malfoy/Severus Snape; other relationships of both a homosexual and heterosexual nature
Dedication: This fic is dedicated to Lins, who continually rekindles my joy of SiriusxRemus whenever I am losing it.
This is: chapter two of a work in progress. Like all my works in progress, it is possible that you will be waiting a very long time between installments, or they could come out daily in a psychotic and rather frightening fashion. Do Not Worry! Just take it as it comes, and feel free to send me demanding fan mail (all demanding fan mail should be sent to IremusJLupin@aol.com) if you feel you've been waiting an egregiously long time. Demanding fan mail is annoying sometimes, but on the whole it makes me feel incredibly cool. And that's what it's all about, right? Oh yes. And I am also constantly updating chapters that have already been uploaded, whenever I find a hideous spelling error or a problem with grammar. So check back often.
C&C: is demanded. Or, you know, desperately longed for, in a rather pathetic sense. Just gimme some of that good ol' fashioned R&R, and let me know you actually do want to see more of my work.
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Chapter Three: Les Garçons et l'Eté

The summer passed too quickly for Etienne's liking.

It was true; Remus was a changed boy. He was stronger, and more alive, his once dulled eyes holding a hidden sparkle reminiscent of the days when they'd been back in France. He still spent most of his time in his room with a book, but he spoke more around Etienne, and didn't shy away from the outside world any longer. It wasn't that he'd ever been simply painfully shy -- it was that human contact terrified and revolted him, so he stayed inside at all times to avoid it Now, though Etienne could still see his obvious discomfort in a public situation, Remus could bite his lower lip and bear it.

Etienne saw how he missed the school, and his friends, and felt a lonely sinking in his chest to know he was no longer enough for his son's happiness. Then again, he knew somewhere he had never truly been enough, and that one term in Hogwarts had done more for Remus than two years with Etienne had. He could only spend as much time in the three summer months with Remus as was possible, and let him go to that unfamiliar world once more when the time came.

"Tell me about your friends," Etienne asked once, over a carry-out dinner. "I never got to meet them, only to hear about them from your letters."

"Oh," Remus murmured over his packet of fish and chips. "Which one do you
want to know about?"

"Well," Etienne said, then found himself faltering, "there was a James-- and a Sirius" Remus's eyes lit up, and Etienne smiled just slightly underneath his mustache.

"James spends most of his time hanging around Lilly-- Lilly Evans," Remus explained. His lips twitched with the urge to speak about Sirius, but he waited for Etienne to question him again, not wanting to seem too eager.

"And Sirius?" Etienne asked, as if on cue.

"Sirius Black," Remus said softly.

"Yes."

"We met-- sort of before Hogwarts, even. On the platform. He punched Lucius Malfoy for me."

"My. Did he now."

"Yes. He says, it only makes sense that we had to be friends, after that."

"Sounds sensible."

"I didn't think so, at first. I thought he was a bit-- you know. Un homme fou." Etienne's lips quirked up, salt-and-pepper mustache trembling. "But then-- we were friends-- and so, he was right, after all."

"He was, on the platform, that tall boy, with the long, dark hair?"

"Yes. That was him."

"Is that how all this business between you and Lucius Malfoy began?"

"Yes. I suppose so." Etienne nodded, satisfied. Remus ate his chips with a lonely look on his face. "Il est un bon homme, Sirius Black?"

"Oui, papa."

"Il ne dit pas les mensonges?" Remus laughed, softly and huskily.

"Non, papa. Il ne ment pas." Etienne joined in the laughter. He had never before laughed with his son over their fish and chips dinners. In fact, he had never once laughed like this with his son over anything. If he owed this change to Sirius Black - and he got the feeling he owed a lot of things to Sirius Black - then he would have to find a way to thank him properly, in the future.

"Perhaps," he suggested off-handedly, cleaning his glasses on the corner of his sleeve, "we could find him something when we pick up your school things at Diagon Alley?"

"Oh," Remus said, thinking of the satchel that sat by his bed and the chocolate wrapper he had, saved, tucked away safe inside it.

"What do you think?"

"Perhaps-- his birthday is in November, soon after we go back"

"Then it's settled," Etienne said firmly. It seemed to him he owed Sirius Black more than just a birthday present, or souvenir. He didn't mind.

"I wouldn't know what to get him."

"I'm sure we'll think of something." Remus had a dreamy, lost look on his face, his fish and chips forgotten completely. For a moment, Etienne wondered about this Sirius Black, and how his son quite obviously worshipped the very ground he walked on. He paused in a quick prayer to whoever it was who had guided the two of them thus far, that Sirius Black would treat Remus as the boy deserved. If Sirius Black should hurt him - then it would be he who would be needing prayer.



It was a nasty day. The wind whipped Sirius's long hair around his face, slapping and stinging his skin. Even his father's old raincoat didn't keep him warm, or even remotely dry. Still, he needed to think - and when Sirius needed to think, he came to the wharf by the river, and sat, and thought the hours away.

He was thinking of Remus.

He'd been thinking of Remus a lot lately, he realized, because he missed him, or because he would have thought of the right thing to say or do when Sirius grew bored. Little things like that. It was getting on his nerves, and he would have yelled at Remus for it, only he couldn't, because Remus wasn't there.

And that was the whole problem, in the first place.

"Your head in the clouds again, boy?" Michael Black sat down next to his brother, peering into his face to catch any flicker of recognition. Sirius pulled back, and then scowled half-heartedly at the older boy, puffing hair out of his eyes. He was annoyed at the interruption, yes, but he felt tired and drained. He'd been thinking for a long time about Remus's monthly disappearances, and it made him feel uncomfortable and unsettled just remembering the state his friend would be in, when he came back.

"I suppose so."

"You've kept it there for too long. It's time to come back to earth, Sirius."

"What, and be a real man?"

"Well," Michael smirked faintly, tucking his own knees against his chest as he settled in next to his brother, "something like that, yes."

"I've heard it enough times. I don't need to hear it again." Michael snorted softly.

"That's bull and you know it. We'll stop saying it once you start paying attention to it."

"You'll be waiting a while."

"I know We all have been." There was nothing but the sound of the rushing river and the wind, howling like a wolf through the trees. It had been a cold, gray summer, which had done nothing to improve Sirius's unusually somber mood. Remus had started making him think, about a whole lot of things he hadn't even paid attention to, before he met the other boy. It was going to either drive Sirius completely nuts or make him one of those really damn smart people, like Remus himself was. Another thing Sirius wanted to yell at him for, but couldn't.

"Mh."

"What've y'been thinking about, Sirius?"

"A lot of things."

"Like what?"

"Hogwarts."

"Ah." Michael ran his coarse, coal-stained fingers through his hair, and then dropped them to his lap, staring emotionlessly at the cracked, dark fingertips. "It isn't that y'don't like the school, is it? You could tell mum and da. They wouldn't mind."

"It isn't that."

"I'm serious, Sirius." Michael laughed humorlessly. "They'd let you get out. We'd always planned more for you than the mines, but if you wanted-"

"Don't be daft. I love it there. It's fantastic." He sighed wistfully, curling up into a tighter ball. The wind, howling like that, like a wolf stuck in a bear trap. It made him feel cornered, caught It made him ache for a freedom he'd never known, because he'd never needed it before.

"Then what, Sirius? What is it? We've all been-- we've all been worried for you! Or haven't you noticed."

"I have noticed. Don't be."

"It isn't that simple."

"Mh."

"Well?" Michael pressed, insisted, dark blue eyes flashing with their father's stubbornness. Sirius realized suddenly that Michael wasn't going away until Sirius told him something. Anything at all.

"I miss one of my friends there. That's all," he gave in at last, "so you don't have to worry about it, anymore."

"You've never been this way over a friend before."

"Well-- he's a good friend."

"Not James?"

"No. Not James." They were both silent for a while, Michael watching the water, Sirius watching his own knees. He felt like saying anymore would be a violation, somehow, of the sanctity of their friendship. His family had nothing to do with Hogwarts. His family - much as he loved them all - wasn't cultured enough, smart enough, even good enough, for Remus J. Lupin.

Funny, Sirius mused, I don't even know what the 'J.' stands for.

"Who, then?"

"Just a friend."

"You wouldn't be this way over just a friend."

"Well, I am." Sirius faltered. "I'm worried about him. He was- was kind of sick, last I saw him." It wasn't a total lie. And his voice sounded distressed enough for Michael to believe him. Hell, Sirius almost believed himself. He was a convincing actor; he always had been.

"Ah"

"Mh."

"Do you know if he's all right, then?"

"Last I checked."

"Then why are you worried?" Sirius shrugged faintly, staring at his sneakers. There were holes in the toes, fraying through the fabric.

"I'm not," he muttered to his knees.

"You're lying," Michael said, and sighed. "At least it isn't school, then. I can tell mum and da they don't have to worry about that anymore."

"Could've told you that."

"Who is it?"

"What?"

"Who is it-- this friend you're worried about."

"Remus," Sirius mumbled, looking off to the side.

"Ah. The one you bought the bag for."

"Mm." Michael clapped a hand down on Sirius's shoulder in what he hoped was a reassuring gesture. Sirius remembered the way Remus would flinch at such touches, and tried his best not to shrug it off. After all, his brother was just trying. Remus himself probably wanted to push Sirius's hand off him more times than Sirius could remember having touched him.

It was just the privacy of the matter. Sirius wanted ­ wanted, more than anything ­ to be left alone to think and have his private thoughts. Michael meant well, but with his coarse hands and his rough voice, he was only intruding.

"You're worrying mum," Michael said finally. "That's all I'm here for. Cheer up. Let her bake you a pie. Something like that. Stop mooning about like a pregnant cow."

"I'll keep that advice in mind." Michael stood and stretched, and Sirius listened to his footsteps as he trotted down the makeshift wharf. It was good to be left alone.

The wind whipped around the boy's form, making him seem smaller and more unimportant than he had ever before felt in his entire life.

The crowd at Platform 9 and 3/4 was not unfamiliar to Remus now. The throng was less foreign and less terrifying. The crush of people was intimidating but bearable. He didn't feel like running back to his father's side to hold his hand, as he had once.

Besides, he was too eager and excited to remember anything else but where he and Sirius had planned on meeting.

He stood on his toes, trying to get above the taller children, trying to see if he could catch sight of those blue eyes, and that bright grin. It was like looking for a needle in a haystack. He saw the top of Lucius Malfoy's pale golden hair, and next to that, Severus Snape's slicked black ponytail. But Sirius was nowhere to be found.

At last, he decided upon just giving up, and sunk down dejectedly to sit on the edge of his suitcase. He rested his chin on his folded hands and stared out at the crowd sightlessly.

At any moment now, he decided, he would hear Sirius calling out his name, and another year would begin. Remus had full faith. He just had to wait for it to happen, and he was a patient boy. The other, nameless students in the crowd grouped and broke apart and regrouped again. Remus felt excluded, suddenly, and terribly alone. He had been the type of boy who had had a group to return to, but somehow, he'd lost the rest of the group.

"-- Remus." Remus stiffened. His back grew a little straighter. The wolf could smell Sirius on the air. Even the beast was excited.

"Sirius." Remus half turned. The bigger boy -- who had grown at least an inch since they'd last seen each other -- was standing there, once again blocking out the sun, his whole body at an awkward angle.

"Been waiting long?"

"Not really."

"You have been."

"All right." At that, Sirius broke out into a wide, relieved smile, taking a slow step forward. It was Remus, all right, in the understated flesh. Only Remus would say 'all right' to something like that.

"The car broke down on the way here. We had to push it through the mud." Sirius lifted one leg to show the muddy state of his sneaker and the hem of his jeans.

"I haven't been waiting long."

"Well, I have been."

"Hm?"

"All bloody summer." The tension between them cracked. Remus stood, looking sideways at the ground, until Sirius leaped forward and wrapped his arms around him, crushing him against his chest. Remus lifted his hands, and just clutched them tightly in Sirius's t-shirt. Sirius had a comforting scent that reminded Remus of hot chocolate in bed, and pie in the summer, and the river, and clean clothes. Remus smelled to Sirius's untrained nose of stuffy books, and a certain sweet smell that might have been apples. Sirius buried his face against Remus's soft hair and took in a deep breath, feeling the velvety locks against his cheek and tickling his nose. Remus took in slow breaths, his lips pressed against Sirius's long, silky-black hair. "Missed you, you stupid git."

"I missed you, too."

"You could have insulted me, or something, too."

"I didn't want to." Sirius tightened his arms suddenly, so that Remus made a little 'ooph' of surprise. All the air had suddenly left his lungs, and his stomach was rather uncomfortably compressed. Still, they were making up for three months of being separated. Two minutes of being unbearably close might not have been the way to do it, but it was surprisingly pleasant, once Remus got used to it.

"Always so mature."

"Yes."

"Remus." Sirius gave him a half-chiding, half-fond scowl, ruffling through his hair as he pulled back. "I'll stop-- you know. Crushing you, now."

"All right." His lips twitched faintly, tugged upwards. "I didn't mind it." Sirius nearly burst with pride.

"Oh."

"I missed you."

"You already said that."

"I know."

"Oh." Sirius stood on shaky feet. He didn't know what else he could, or what else he should say. Remus was bending over, picking up his suitcase. The way his hair fell over the left side of his face was particularly catching. The rusty, burnished gold had a particular way of shining just so in certain spots of sunlight. It was catching. Sirius felt his eyes resting for just-too-long on the other boy's hidden features. He knew that little wrinkle of strain would be forming on Remus's brow right about now, as he picked up his suitcase. "Here-- I'll carry that, onto the train."

"I've got it."

"It isn't any problem." Remus judged immediately that Sirius wanted to carry his suitcase for him, and though he felt rather foolish giving in to let his friend do something he himself was perfectly capable of, it was best to give in and keep Sirius happy.

"All right." Sirius leaned forward and grasped the handle of Remus's battered old suitcase, taking its weight onto himself. "Thank you."

"Like I said-- it isn't anything."

"Mm." Falling into step beside Sirius, Remus shoved his hands in his pockets, trying not to be always looking up into the taller boy's face. "You've grown. You've gotten taller." Sirius's lips were pulled into a great big grin, and he straightened so that he was taller still. Remus felt oddly dwarfed, but it was in the way he always felt just small beside Sirius.

"Mm. Almost another inch and a half."

"I didn't grow at all."

"No, you didn't," Sirius murmured thoughtfully, looking down at him. Looking at him, again. "You'd better start telling your father to feed you more. You've lost weight, too."

"I hadn't noticed."

"No. You wouldn't have." They stepped onto the train and began to search for an empty car, Sirius dragging both suitcases behind him. "You were probably too busy reading. Am I right?"

"Of course." Sirius nodded firmly, satisfied, shoving their suitcases into the proper compartment, snagging an unoccupied section. It didn't seem like achingly long, dreary weeks had passed since he and Remus had last been together. It was like they had just stepped off the Hogwarts express, only to step right back on it again. Sirius flopped down in on seat and quickly put his muddy feet up on the seats across from him, forcing Remus to sit beside him.

"I'm sure whoever cleans the seats doesn't appreciate your feet there," Remus pointed out softly as he settled down beside his friend.

"Oh," Sirius muttered sheepishly, "right. Sorry." He took his feet down, slouching like an appropriate teenager, feeling very proud of himself.

"How was your summer?" Remus tried, after a few minutes of silence passed.

"Cold."

"Oh?"

"Bloody freezing," Sirius said, "so that it rained almost every day over break. Started to be sunny this morning."

"I'm sorry."

"Wasn't that bad," Sirius lied. It had matched his mood, at least, and while it hadn't helped to improve his spirits, it had at least justified them. "I built a boat for the river with Michael, and even went down into the mines a couple of times."

"That's-- I've heard that's dangerous," Remus murmured weakly. It was obviously the right thing to say, for Sirius began to inspect his knuckles in that way he had that signaled sudden and intense pride.

"It is," Sirius said, absently. "Mum had half a mind not to let me go."

"Really?"

"Really." He couldn't hold up the act of indifference much longer. His eyes flashed with excitement. "Nothing happened, after all, but it was bloody dark there, you can barely see where your own self ends and the coal begins!" Sirius held out one hand. There were the remains of dark stains beneath the fingernails. "See?"

"Mm. Yes."

"Mum was bloody mad with anger when I got back, black as my name." Remus felt a sudden burst of longing. What he wouldn't have given, to have been there, at that moment.

"I bet you'd gone down in clothes she'd just washed."

"How'd you know?"

"Just a guess." He shrugged faintly, leaning over Sirius just slightly to look out the window. "Where are the others?" He felt the bigger boy wilt a bit beneath him.

"I dunno."

"Just wondering."

"Mh." Sirius frowned faintly at nothing in particular. The idea of James, Lilly and Peter hadn't crossed his mind for a solid week. It had been all Remus, all the time.
But, naturally, the other boy hadn't thought that way. It only made sense. It crossed Remus's mind that, perhaps, he'd done something wrong, but he didn't know what it was, and couldn't even try to fix it. He looked worriedly to Sirius's face and then sat back, trying to relax for the rest of the trip. "Maybe they've missed the train."

"So long as you're on it." Remus nearly crossed his fingers in the hope that those words could fix it. Sirius blinked a little, eyes caught once more by Remus's face.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Just that-- just that I missed you, the most."

"Oh." Sirius's grin nearly split his face in two. "Oh," he said again, fidgeting faintly in his seat. "Well-- naturally-- you're the one I couldn't wait to see."

"I know." Sirius threw back his head and laughed, loud and strong enough to make Remus shiver.

"Only you," Sirius murmured wryly, "only you."

James, Lilly and Peter joined up with them once they got off the Hogwarts Express. As it turned out, they'd been in a completely different car altogether for the entire trip. Sirius was vaguely relieved they never showed up, but couldn't let anyone know it.

He and Remus talked about things, from the most important plans for the future to the littlest detail of their summer break: where they'd gone, who they'd met, what they'd done. Halfway through the conversation Remus had exclaimed softly, a look of shock, and then sudden terror, flickering over his face.

"Oh!" he cried out, and then, softer, "I forgot."

"What?" Sirius frowned at the look on Remus's face. "What is it?"

"I was shopping at Diagon Alley," Remus murmured, feeling his stomach twist in knots and his heart begin to pound, "and I-- bought you something-- for your birthday. Like-- you bought the bag, for me, for Christmas."

"If this is a 'thank you' gift--"

"No," Remus said hurriedly, "it's just for your birthday."

"All right," Sirius murmured warily, "what?" Remus dug into his pocket, pulling out a small wood box and offering it to his friend. 'Shy' didn't cover the panic he felt. 'Shy' wasn't nearly adequate enough a phrasing for why Remus was so terrified of doing this.

"Thanks," Sirius murmured, his face softening at the anxiety in Remus's usually warm eyes. He fumbled with the box top, and then managed to get it off, setting it beside him on the seat. He peered curiously inside, and felt his stomach drop through to his feet. "Oh, Remus," he whispered. He felt like a moron, but he found he was struck suddenly speechless.

"I thought you might like it," Remus said, miserably turning his head away, "only I wasn't sure what else to get you."

"I was looking at this when I came to Diagon Alley with my mum," Sirius breathed, "but she said I couldn't get it, it was too expensive and not on the list, and we 'can't afford things like that.'" Sirius reached into the box and tugged out a pendant on a strong leather cord, careful not to even smudge the glass with his fingerprints. "I can't believe you-- Remus..." Upon closer inspection, it was shown to be not a pendant, but a tiny bottle which held a liquid, shimmery white substance inside. They were on sale in all the best stores all over the place: bottles of Moonshine, they were called. They lit up when the moon was strong, and they could tell a friend from an enemy when commanded to.

"I wasn't sure," Remus repeated, helpless, bright red with pleasure and embarrassment.

"It's fantastic," Sirius went on, "you're bloody amazing." He undid the knot in the leather cord, and held it to Remus. "Well? Put it on me, I can't reach to tie it round back." Remus obeyed, managing somehow to keep his hands still as he did so. He brushed Sirius's hair away from his neck gently, and tied the leather in three tight, neat knots, letting the bottle of Moonshine dangle securely around his neck.

"Do you like it?" he asked shyly, settling back, hands on his knees.

"I love it," Sirius answered truthfully. "I'll always wear it."

That was the sort of thing he couldn't say around James, certainly couldn't say in front of Lilly or Peter. That was the sort of moment he preferred to have his privacy for, if only because he could tell Remus preferred to have his privacy for it, too.

As they made their way to Hogwarts for the second time, Sirius felt confident with his friends, with Remus, beside him. The bottle of Moonshine dangled to where his ribcage began, right over his heart, and was hidden underneath his robes. As he walked, he could feel it bumping rhythmically against his chest, and he was reassured by its steadiness. Remus had given him this.

He would always wear it. If it took never taking it off -- well, that's what he would do.

Their second year at Hogwarts was almost identical to the first. Crabbe and Goyle had both grown but so had James and Sirius. Lucius still clung to his everlasting grudge, Severus going along for the ride without any malevolence at all. The only difference Remus noted between his second year and his first were the new Gryffindor students that flooded the common room, and the sudden, quiet confidence he had acquired. He had lived through one year. Half the time, he'd even been top of his class. There was nothing he had to worry about with his curriculum.

There was only the full moon, but he'd dealt with that his whole life. Nothing had changed.

Sirius and he were partners for potions again, scraping past Voldemort's watchful eye by the skin of their teeth with only Remus's skill to save them. Sirius's idea of making a potion was still to throw whatever ingredients were on hand into the mix, and then duck for cover immediately afterwards. Remus had tried many times in their first year to explain the delicate measurements and precise nature required to make potions properly, and had at last given up, letting Sirius sit by and watch as Remus himself did the experiment correctly.

Transfiguration was the one place Sirius truly excelled. Professor McGonagall, who knew the dark-haired boy as a troublemaker in the hallways and a sort of brute in Potions, never ceased to be amazed by the easy way he picked up the simpler spells she taught him, and soon began to tutor him privately on Thursday afternoons. Sirius then did what any normal boy would in his situation, promptly repeating to James, Peter and Remus all that he'd been told during his private lesson.

One major difference between their second and first year was James's and Sirius's sudden obsession with the game of Quidditch. James had been given, for his birthday, the newest model of the Nimbus, and both he and Sirius spent at least half their waking hours out on the Quidditch field with it. Peter, Lilly and Remus tagged along to watch like faithful, dutiful friends, but they themselves had no skill at the game, and stuck to being the audience.

On a broomstick, James was quite obviously the more skilled, but for all that Sirius lacked real talent he made up in sheer speed and spirit. James could find the ball faster, but Sirius himself could get to it in the blink of an eye.

Remus found himself spending many afternoons and early mornings sitting in the stands with a book, half paying attention to the game, half paying attention to the words. Sometimes, he'd be drawn so much into the game that he'd cheer himself hoarse, and suffer for such unruliness the next morning. Still, James had Lilly in the sidelines to cheer him on, and Remus had figured that it was only fair for Sirius to have him. Between them, they made enough noise for a full-blown Quidditch game, which pleased both Sirius and James to no end.

Remus prided himself on being yet more devoted to the game than even Lilly herself was. Come rain or shine, when Sirius and James took up their brooms Remus would take up his book and perhaps an umbrella, and follow them out to the field. His only other choices for pastimes were to work alone or to read alone, and he really did prefer watching the other two boys do what they were good at to curling up in bed around his book and feeling painfully . Sometimes, he wished he could join in, but the idea of swooping through the air on a broom made him feel sick. A wolf's paws belonged on the ground. For the same reason, Remus had never enjoyed boat rides, and the one time he'd been on a plane he'd sat, huddled into a tiny ball, with shivers running fiercely through him. No, Quidditch was for Sirius and James, and Remus would be satisfied with simply watching.

At Christmas break Remus once again stayed behind This time, however, Peter went back to visit with his family, and Sirius chose to stay behind with Remus.

"Didn't like the idea of leaving you here all alone," he explained in an awkward mumble, which told Remus he didn't want to talk about it further. Remus took this as a sudden stroke of impossibly good luck, and left it at that.

They ate like kings in the all but deserted Great Hall, and retired each night to their beds, where they had the entire room to themselves. On the first night, Sirius had questioned Remus about the book he read, and the idea of Remus reading to the older boy was adopted.

Sirius flopped himself down comfortably on his back on the couch in the Common Room, his head resting in Remus's lap. Once, such a close proximity to another body would have made Remus recoil in disgust and fear. Now, he barely flinched, letting one hand absently stroke Sirius's silky hair as the other turned the pages of the book.

"Edmond took the old man in his arms," Remus read softly, his voice light and warm, "and laid him on the bed.

" 'And now, my dear friend,' said Faria, 'sole consolation of my wretched existence,--you whom Heaven gave me somewhat late, but still gave me, a priceless gift, and for which I am most grateful, at the moment of separating from you for ever, I wish you all the happiness and all the prosperity you so well deserve. My son, I bless thee!'

"The young man cast himself on his knees, leaning his head against the old man's bed," Remus went on. Sirius was enthralled by his voice. It was why he had suggested the reading in the first place. It had seemed like one of the more exciting stories that Remus read, so he didn't mind sitting through it. Now, though, he was enraptured, listening to every word with bated breath.

Remus's hand, too, was in his hair. Remus had small, soft fingers, with none of the harsh calluses his mum or da had from years of hard work. It felt nice, the way he petted him, like he might a cat or a dog. Sirius had to bite his lip and tense his body to keep down the urge to purr.

He didn't know how to purr, but the last thing he needed was to do it unselfconsciously.

" 'Listen, now, to what I say in this my dying moment. The treasure of the Spadas exists. God grants me that there no longer exists for me distance or obstacle. I see it in the depths of the inner cavern. My eyes pierce the inmost recesses of the earth, and are dazzled at the sight of so much riches. If you do escape, remember that the poor abbe, whom all the world called mad, was not so. Hasten to Monte Cristo - avail yourself of the fortune - for you have indeed suffered long enough.'"

Sirius shivered. A strange sort of passion was laced into Remus's voice. As Sirius looked up into his friend's eyes he saw they were lost and golden, faraway and different, as if he were looking into another time and another place. It made Sirius feel hungry, to see what Remus's eyes saw, and know what he knew. Caught up in how Remus looked, Sirius was shocked back to the story as Remus's voice grew louder, stronger, with the same fervor that filled his eyes:

" 'Monte Cristo! forget not Monte Cristo!'

"And he fell back in his bed." Another shiver ran down the center of Sirius's spine, like fingers against his vertebrae. Remus was stronger than people knew. It made Sirius feel oddly powerful, to know this side of his friend that no one else knew. Sirius listened to Remus's voice tell of Edmond Dantes's escape with his breaths catching painfully in his throat and his heart beating.

The story itself was beautiful and exciting, though he'd never admit to thinking so highly of what was considered 'old literature.'

It was listening to Remus tell it that made it fantastic.

"It was six o'clock in the morning, the dawn was just breaking, and its weak ray came into the dungeon, and paled the ineffectual light of the lamp. Singular shadows passed over the countenance of the dead man, which at times gave it the appearance of life. Whilst this struggle between day and night lasted, Dantes still doubted; but as soon as the daylight gained the pre-eminence, he saw that he was alone with a corpse.

"Then an invincible and extreme terror seized upon him, and he dared not again press the hand that hung out of bed, he dared no longer to gaze on those fixed and vacant eyes which he tried many times to close, but in vain - they opened again as soon as shut. He extinguished the lamp, carefully concealed it, and then went away, closing as well as he could the entrance to the secret passage by the large stone as he descended."

Sirius liked the idea of secret passages. He intended upon discovering as many as he could, starting within the winding halls of Hogwarts, and then taking his work on to the rest of the world.

Again, Sirius found his mind wandering It was aimless, he knew, but Remus's voice had that effect on him. It made him start to wonder, and when he wondered, he analyzed.

He'd kissed Ellen Abbott thirteen times in the past four months.

She'd counted and told him before she went away on break. She told him she would miss him, and think about him every day. It was flattering, and a little frightening, too. Ellen Abbott was the prettiest girl in the entire school, or, at least, that was what all the boys said. Just two weeks ago, she'd caused a fight between a Slytherin third year and a Ravenclaw second year that had nearly gotten the two boys involved expelled.

Ellen Abbott was the prettiest girl in the entire school, or at least thought to be, and that was what counted, and Sirius had kissed her thirteen times in the past four months.

It was vaguely troubling to Sirius that he felt he should be more excited about this than he actually was. Sure, he was proud of it, and sure, he'd tell anyone who'd listen that Ellen Abbott had counted how many times he'd kissed her. Other than that, though, he wasn't quite sure what a proper response to such a bit of information was. Maybe, Sirius realized suddenly, the fact that he thought of this as a number, a statistic, a 'bit of information,' was the whole problem entirely.

That left him with a problem, and no way to fix it.

Ellen Abbott was a pretty girl. A very pretty girl, in fact, with dark brown curls and these huge sea-green eyes with eyelashes that could bat a cow to death. For a thirteen-year-old, she was definitely very mature, and very well-endowed. Sirius had been told more often than not since they'd gotten together that he was the luckiest bastard the school had ever seen.

Sirius was inclined to agree, but not on the account of Ellen Abbott. Rather, he would have said yes to it no matter what because right now, his head was in Remus's lap, and Remus was petting his hair in an absent and utterly perfect manner. Everything smelled of Remus and sounded like Remus and felt like Remus. Sirius allowed his mind to, for just one second, wonder how it would taste, were it tasting like Remus.

Immediately, he thought of Ellen Abbott, and how she tasted -- sort of like fresh caramels -- and he could have kicked himself for thinking such things about Remus, of all people.

Still, he just couldn't keep his mind from wandering. Whenever he was with Ellen, it happened, too, only it was on a more drastic scale. Every one of those thirteen times he was kissing Ellen Abbott, with his hands in her hair, he was thinking about his best friend, and how Remus's hair was a thousand times softer and nicer than Ellen's. Every one of their fifteen dates, when Ellen had rattled on about some class or some girl or something wholly unimportant, Sirius had found himself acutely missing the way Remus talked, and all the things he talked about. Did Ellen Abbott read a lot? Sirius didn't even know. He did know that she hated Maeve Zabini more than any of the greater known evils. But that sort of thing just bored him to death.

So that was it, then, he decided. Ellen was all right, as people went, even as girls went. She was just wholly uninteresting. She was just bloody dull.

"Alone! he was alone again! again relapsed into silence! he found himself once again in the presence of nothingness!

"Alone! no longer to see,-- no longer to hear the voice of the only human being who attached him to life! Was it not better, like Faria, to seek the presence of his Maker and learn the enigma of life at the risk of passing through the mournful gate of intense suffering?

"The idea of suicide, driven away by his friend, and forgotten in his presence whilst living, arose like a phantom before him in presence of his dead body.

" 'If I could die,' he said, 'I should go where he goes, and should assuredly find him again. But how to die? It is very easy,' he continued, with a smile of bitterness; 'I will remain here, rush on the first person that opens the door, will strange him, and then they will guillotine me.'"

Sirius scowled faintly. He didn't like such words coming to him from that voice; it wasn't proper. It wasn't, at least, what he was used to hearing.

At least it had shocked him out of the dangerous pathways of his thoughts, and had jolted him back into the real world. Or, the world that didn't involve Ellen Abbott. The world of Christmas break.

"But as it happens," Remus continued, "that in excessive griefs, as in great tempests, the abyss is found between the tops of the loftiest waves, Dantes recoiled from the idea of this infamous death, and passed suddenly from despair to an ardent desire for life and liberty.

" 'Die! oh no,' he exclaimed, 'not die now, after having lived and suffered so long and so much! Die! yes, had I died years since; but now it would be indeed to give way to my bitter destiny. No, I desire to live, I desire to struggle to the very last, I wish to reconquer the happiness of which I have been deprived. Before I die, I must not forget that I have my executioners to punish, and, perhaps, too, who knows, some friends to reward. Yet they will forget me here, and I shall die in my dungeon like Faria.'" Remus licked his lips. Sirius felt his legs tense beneath his head. He frowned.

"'S crazy," Sirius muttered faintly, feeling suddenly uncomfortable, "wanting to kill himself, even though he got to live."

"Live for what?"

"What do you mean? Just- y'know! Live."

"Being alive isn't entirely wonderful, sometimes."

"But at least you are. Alive." Remus's lips curved into a haunting smile. Sirius watched the way it spread over his face and features, and felt something cold slide itself against his heart.

"Sometimes," Remus said softly, "that's not preferable to living."

"You've-" Sirius hesitated. "You've never felt like that?"

"Do you mean, have I ever wanted to die?" Remus gave him a direct look. It was hard not to look away.

"Well-- yes, I suppose that's what I mean."

"Yes." Sirius sat up instantly, their faces brought close.

"You- what?!"

"I've wanted to die, before."

"When?" Sirius knew he was getting too personal, yet asking these questions too impersonally. He couldn't help the sudden fear that threatened to engulf his heart. He couldn't stop the questions from coming out angry and accusatory.

"Do you want specific times and dates?" Sirius's face went white.

"That's not what I'm asking," he said, "I'm sorry if it seems that way." Suddenly he felt angry, his anger justified. The very idea of Remus, not wanting to live, not feeling as if life were worth living, offended Sirius to the core of him. He knew he was being selfish. He didn't care. What gave Remus the right not to feel as firmly attached to life as Sirius did? What gave Remus the right to understand these things, no doubt better than Sirius ever could?

"It does seem that way. But I know it's not." Remus slipped the cloth bookmark between the book's old pages and let it drop shut softly. He was watching the movements of his hands intently. Sirius saw his friend as a boy who went through life thinking it was just 'all right,' saying things were just 'all right.' Where was that secret passion that Sirius knew and admired? Where was the part of Remus that wasn't just Sirius's friend, but the being Sirius was in awe of?

The anger twisting Sirius's gut suddenly morphed into something cold and heavy. He wasn't angry at Remus. It wasn't Remus's fault. What he was angry at now was what had made Remus this way, whatever had caused him to feel like his own life wasn't worth the effort.

"It was when my mother died," Remus said softly, unexpectedly. Sirius's eyes widened as the anger faded, leaving just a shadow of emotion in his chest. He felt embarrassed and foolish and young. Something in him ached with how raw he'd been rubbed.

"Remus," Sirius began helplessly, "I'm sorry."

"It doesn't matter," Remus said softly. His eyes looked odd, seeing that distant something Sirius never would. "Je suis. Comme Dantes."

"That wasn't English," Sirius muttered, feeling stupid and therefore getting angry.

"No. It was French."

"What did you say?"

"I said, I am. Like Dantes."

"Oh."

"Should I keep reading?"

"All right."

Remus was, as always, a mystery. That was another one of Ellen Abbott's flaws. There were no layers to her. She was nothing like a puzzle. Plus, she didn't know French, and the language was beautiful, if not completely foreign, to Sirius's ears.

"As he said this, he remained motionless, his eyes fixed like a man struck with a sudden idea, but whom this idea fills with amazement. Suddenly he rose, lifted his hand to his brow as if his brain were giddy, paced twice or thrice round his chamber, and then paused abruptly at the bed."

Je suis, Sirius repeated in his head, comme Dantes.

" 'Ah! ah!' he muttered, 'who inspires me with this thought? Is that thou, gracious God? Since none but the dead pass freely from this dungeon, let me assume the place of the dead!'" Remus voice had grown soft, fascinated with his own reading. Sirius felt excluded and lost, wanting to live and eat and drink and breathe language like his friend did, and knowing he could not.

Je suis, Sirius told himself again, so he wouldn't forget, comme Dantes.

I am. Like Dantes.

Not 'I am like Dantes.'

Just 'I am. Like Dantes.'

"Without giving himself time to reconsider his decision, and, indeed, that he might not allow his thoughts to be distracted from his desperate resolution, he bent over the appalling sack, opened it with the knife which Faria had made, drew the corpse from the sack, and transported it along the gallery to his own chamber, laid it on his couch, passed round its head the rag he wore at night round his own, covered it with his counterpane, once again kissed the ice-cold brow, and tried vainly to close the resisting eyes which glared horrible, turned the head towards the wall, so that the gaoler might, when he brought his evening meal, believe that he was asleep, as was his frequent custom; returned along the gallery, threw the bed against the wall, returned to the other cell, took from the hiding place the needle and thread, flung off his rags that they might feel naked flesh only beneath the coarse sackcloth, and getting inside the sack, placed himself in the posture in which the dead body had been laid, and sewed up the mouth of the sack withinside."

Sirius had lost track of that ambling sentence a few words in, but he was still listening hard, now, as he sensed that something important was about to happen.

"The beating of his heart might have been heard if by any mischance the gaolers had entered at that moment."

Sirius sighed softly. He had settled himself back against Remus's lap, his ear pressed up against the boy's hipbone. He could feel Remus's stomach as it grumbled in a familiar and steady rhythm. His eyes drooped shut and he yawned softly, turning to bury his face against Remus's stomach.

"Sirius."

"Mm?"

"What are you doing?"

"It feels comfortable." His words were muffled against Remus's robes. The smaller boy was warm, his body making a rather decent pillow, despite how thin it was.

"Oh"

"Keep reading. You've just gotten to a really good part."

"All right."

Je suis, Remus's voice repeated, far-away, in Sirius's head, comme Dantes.

But Remus wasn't anything like Dantes, Sirius mused. They had both talked about that when they'd first started the book. Remus had said quite plainly, 'Dantes reminds me of you, Sirius.' And Sirius had filled with pride as he realized that meant Remus thought he was like the hero of one of his favorite books.

So, Remus wasn't anything at all like Dantes.

Sirius himself was.

Another time, in the late afternoon, they took a walk together in the freshly fallen snow. Remus looked over his shoulder every minute at the footprints they left in the glistening white.

"Why do you keep looking behind us, like that?'' Sirius asked him, laughing softly. He had eaten a big lunch, and was feeling particularly cheerful. He hadn't thought about Ellen Abbott in four days, and the sun was burning brightly in the sky.

"To see our footprints."

"Why do you want to do a crazy thing like that?" Remus didn't respond, but took hold of his friend's shoulders, turning him around. Behind them was a long stretch of the tracks they had made, side by side. It was obvious to see that Remus's gait was shorter and hurried to keep up with Sirius's long strides. It was like, Sirius thought, seeing the both of them outlined in the crisp air and the shimmering snow. "Oh," he said. Remus wiggled his snub nose a bit. It was pink in the cold.

"You see?"

"Yes."

"C'mon." Remus shoved his gloved hands into the folds of his robe, fending off a shiver. They trotted along side by side for a few minutes of silence, and then stopped at their destined spot, a tree Sirius and James liked to climb in the summer. Now, the branches were covered in that powdery white, drooping low with their burdens.

"The world seems so bloody different," Sirius murmured softly, falling still. The crisp air made him feel acutely aware of Remus beside him. Their breaths puffed up and condensed into little swirls on the air, another marking of where they'd been. Remus shivered again, and Sirius frowned. "Cold?"

"It's all right."

"But you are." And it was no surprise - Remus's robes were so threadbare, it was amazing he hadn't frozen to death, already. Rolling his eyes a bit, Sirius took a step backward to stand facing his friend's back. A moment later, Remus felt Sirius's arms wrap around him from behind. He tensed at the contact, then relaxed. Sirius was very warm, and oddly comfortably. Remus felt himself leaning back against Sirius's chest, the cold kept easily at bay by Sirius's presence.

"Thank you. That is better."

"Mh." Sirius had his head bowed over Remus's shoulder, his breath warm against Remus's bright pink ear. "You still feel cold, to me." Remus had no answer for that. He tilted his head to the side so Sirius's mouth was closer to his ear. Every time he breathed, it was a little burst of relief from the stinging chill of the frost-hung air. He didn't know how this idea had gotten into Sirius's head, but he liked it whole-heartedly. "Before," Sirius said after a long while, breaking the comfortable silence, "when were talking about living and dying-- you never really answered my question."

"I told you," Remus said hollowly, "when my mother died, I wish I had gone with her."

"Gone with her-- you mean, died with her."

"She went into the forest, and I wish I had gone with her."

"She died in the forest?"

"Yes." "Oh. I see." He didn't. He tried to, but Remus wouldn't let him. If Sirius really did understand, he wouldn't have been standing there, holding Remus so close to his chest

"There've been a few other times, but they're not important."

"Of course they are! They haven't," Sirius went on, shakily, "been since you've come to Hogwarts, have they?"

"No. They haven't." Sirius breathed out a sigh of relief. It was hot against Remus's ear.

"Good," Sirius said. "That's been a while, then."

"Yes."

"I'm sorry," Sirius said softly, "about your mum. What was she like?"

"She was beautiful," Remus remembered aloud. "She used to sing to me."

"What sort of songs?"

"French songs. Arias."

"Arias?"

"They were wonderful."

"Not lullabies, or anything?"

"Not that I remember." Sirius laughed softly, not at him, but with the world. It was the laugh of Sirius's that Remus liked the most. He understood some great, wonderful joke, that made everything bright.

It was a laugh like Dalila used to have, when bouncing Remus on her knee. Remus could recall it, in the recesses of his mind, and sometimes he longed to hear it again, with his hungry wolf's hair. Most of all, he wished he could be the sort of person who, connected with the veins and the roots in the earth, could throw back their head and laugh that way, up to the sky. He knew that as Sirius laughed, his blue eyes would sparkle. They wouldn't burn, but they'd be warm. He could feel a few strands of Sirius' hair tickling his ear, and he shifted from one foot to the other.

"Well," Sirius said, "how did they go?" Remus's brow furrowed in memory. The words came to him surprisingly easily. They were like old friends, he and his mother's songs.

"Mon coeur s'ouvre a ta voix," Remus murmured softly, "comme s'ouvrent les fleurs"

"That was lovely What's it mean?"

"My heart unfurls at your voice as the flowers unfurl."

"Sing it."

"I couldn't."

"Sing it!"

"Right here? In the middle of the snow?"

"Where else?" Sirius laughed again, arms tightening around his waist. "Go on, Remus. Sing for me?" Remus's heart leaped lightly in his chest. He couldn't refuse him, not when he asked that way.

"All right," he said, and threw his head back against Sirius shoulders. His eyes closed, and he imagined the sky opening up before him, the stars shooting from his fingertips. "Mon couer s'ouvre a ta voix comme s'ouvrent les fleurs, aux basiers de l'aurore - mais, ô mon bienaimé, pour mieux séchers mes pleurs, que ta voix parle encore!" Sirius felt something tighten in his gut as Remus's voice echoed, rich and full with passion for life - and for love, too, he imagined - over the snow-covered ground, up to the heavens.

"You stopped," he whispered breathlessly against Remus's cheek. "Why?"

"I forgot the words," Remus said.

"Who cares about the words? Don't stop." Remus licked his lips, scrabbling desperately for what came next.

"Dis moi qu'a Dalila tu reviens pourpour jamais," he went on, voice once again flowing like blood through Sirius's veins, "redis a maa ma tendresse, les serments d'autre foisces serments que j'aimais! Ah! réponds a ma tendresse, ver-se-moi, ver-se-moi, l'ivresse! Réponds a ma tendresse, réponds a ma tendresse, ver-se-moi, ver-se-moi, l'ivresse!" Again, Remus stopped. Sirius felt an ache well up from the bottom of his chest. "Next- next comes my favorite part," he whispered. Sirius held him tighter.

"Sing," he said.

"Ainsi qu'on voit des blés les épis onduler sous la brise légere, ainsi frémit mon coeur, prêt a se consoler,a ta voix qui m'est chere! La fleche est moins rapide a porter le trépas, que ne l'est ton amante a voler dans tes bras! A voler dans tes bras!" He swallowed thickly, feeling his body shake. Sirius must have felt it, too, for he tightened his arms once more. Remus heard the breath catch raggedly in his throat. He wondered if this was what his father felt, when he heard his mother sing for the first time.

But Etienne never spoke about Dalila.

"Ah! réponds a ma tendresse, ver-se-moi, ver-se-moi, l'ivresse! Réponds a ma tendresse, réponds a ma tendresse -- ah! ver-se-moi, ver-se-moi, l'ivresse -- Samson! Samson! je t'aime!"

"That last part," Sirius asked, his voice low, "what did you say?"

"It's a song to Samson," Remus explained, feeling breathless. "Dalila sings it to him - the last part is 'Samson, Samson, I love you.'"

"I thought so," Sirius said. "How do you say it? Je"

"Je t'aime," Remus said.

"Je t'aime," Sirius repeated.

"Right."

"You never told me you could sing, like that."

"I never knew I could sing, like that. I've never sung, before." Sirius cradled Remus closer, trying to keep the words fresh in his mind, but losing one even as he caught another. All he remembered was how Remus had said those last two words: je t'aime.

"I don't believe you."

"It's the truth. Whether you believe it or not is up to you."

"All right, all right, I believe you. You don't lie, anyway." Remus ducked his head down. He felt drained. His heart felt like it was beating too fast. When he had been singing, the sky and the snow and everything in between had belonged to him. His feet, planted firmly on the ground, had felt it pulse to the rhythm of his own heartbeat. It had been impossible, but it had happened.

He had loved it.

After that day Sirius realized he had a problem. How big the problem became depended on how soon he could talk it through with James, and how soon he could talk it through with James depended on how long it was until Christmas Break ended. He couldn't ask Remus's advice, though Remus was the smartest and closest of his friends.

It was agonizing, the way the days dragged by. He knew Remus could sense his impatience, and he tried not to show it. Still, the other boy was terribly perceptive. Sirius was a good actor, but he couldn't outsmart Remus Lupin.

No one could.

They exchanged gifts on Christmas morning, and ate chocolate for breakfast in the silent Common Room. Sirius could still spend the best times of his life with the smaller boy, just laughing with him, hearing him talk, listening to him read.

But Sirius needed to talk to James.

When James at last returned, along with the crowd of students coming back from their vacations, Sirius realized suddenly that it would be close to impossible to get him alone for at least a few days. Sirius had never been a patient person. His patience was running so thin it could have been the fabric of Remus's rattiest robe. On edge and miserable, the first few days after Christmas Break were like Hell for Sirius Black. He was jumpy whenever anyone spoke to him, and the only person who could get anywhere near him was Remus, even though his presence seemed to put Sirius even more on edge. Anyone else just pushed him off.

Finally, after what seemed like an impossibly long time of waiting for James Potter to realize Sirius was desperately trying to get him alone, Sirius had to wait no longer. Remus and Lilly had stayed behind late in potions for their after-class tutoring, one-on-two with Professor Voldemort. Peter rarely got in anyone's way, and he'd kept clear of Sirius, since he'd gotten edgy.

"James?" Sirius askes, as they trotted down the hall. "D'you have a minute?"

"Maybe," James said, grinning, "why?"

"I need to talk to you," Sirius said.

"Uh oh. Is it serious? Fantastic. Talk away." Sirius could have socked him one, but he didn't have the time. Plus he figured James wouldn't be too keen on listening to him if Sirius had just slugged him in the face.

"You see," Sirius said, "it's about Ellen." A familiar, James-like smirk played over Sirius's friend's face.

"And what about her, may I ask?"

"Not that. Get that look of your face."

"Fine, fine. Continue."

"I just-- I don't think I like her."

"Are you kidding me?" James's bright blue eyes were round and incredulous. "This has to be some sort of joke. This is Ellen Abbott we're talking about, here. Everyone likes her." Sirius rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably.

"Well, I mean, she's all right," he muttered.

"She's a little more than all right."

"No," Sirius assured him, "she's just all right. She's-- nothing. Sort of-- normal. There's nothing remotely anything about her. But do you know? Since she came back from Christmas Break, she's had all these plans. Like where we're going to go tomorrow, and the day after that, and every Friday for twenty years into the bloody future."

"She likes you," James said, "is that so terrifying?"

"Yes!" Sirius snarled. James was being thick. Again. "Not only is it terrifying, but it's the most bloody boring experience of my life!"

"This is Ellen Abbott we're talking about, Sirius!"

"I know who it is we're talking about!" Sirius felt like screaming, but managed to keep his voice to a soft roar. "I'm the one who brought it up in the first place!"

"You've gone mad," James said.

"I have not," Sirius hissed.

"Look at you, you're frothing at the mouth like a dog gone daft!"

"I am not! James, I came to you with a serious problem--"

"--you're right! Insanity is serious!"

"--and you're not helping!" Sirius eyes narrowed in anger. James realized suddenly his friend was giving him The Look. He sobered just slightly, enough to stop Sirius from killing him.

"Sorry," James mumbled, "I'll stop. Now-- for the record-- just repeat your problem, again?"

"Ellen Abbott," Sirius said flatly, "bores the bloody hell out of me."

"So." James felt helpless. "Tell her?"

"I mean-- I can't. She really-- she really likes me."

"No kidding." James wanted to kick him. He didn't, because Sirius was bigger and stronger than he himself was, but oh, did he want to. "You're real, uhm, chivalrous, Sirius."

"So I can't just tell her to bugger off."

"How kind of you."

"James."

"Right, right, I'm stopping, I'm stopping. I don't know what you want me to say."

"Tell me what to do!" Sirius cast about, desperate for advice he could hold onto, words he could make sense of. It didn't serve his cause that James didn't really want to help, either. "I'm with bloody Ellen Abbott and all I can think about is how she's not bloody Remus." There was silence. It felt good, at least, to get that sort of thing off his chest, but Sirius got the feeling he shouldn't have said so much, so fast. He swallowed, and ran his fingers through his hair, and tried not to let his stomach drop down into his shoes.

"Wait," James said, brow furrowing, "let me get this straight: the reason you don't like Ellen Abbott is because you like Remus more?" Sirius licked his lips and coughed softly. It wouldn't do to dodge this question or answer it half-heartedly. He either had to tell the truth or come up with a really good lie.

"Yes," he said finally, wincing. "Sort of. No. --Yes."

"So it's yes, then?"

"Yes." James nodded thoughtfully.

"Sirius," he said at last, "you've got a problem, and his name is Remus Lupin."

"Yes." Sirius was aware of the fact that James was smiling, lips curving knowingly upwards. He frowned, not liking the look. It meant James understood something, or knew something, that Sirius didn't. "What? What's that look for?"

"Of all the boys in the school, Sirius,"James murmured mournfully, "Ellen Abbott had to bloody pick you."

"I know," Sirius said, feeling helpless. "You've got to help me."

"I'll do what I can," James sighed, "but I can only do so much."

Remus and Lilly chose that moment to step out of Potions, Voldemort at their heels, and James waved to them, darting a nervous glance back to Sirius. But the boy seemed perfectly fine as he beckoned Remus over. They were still best of friends. It didn't seem to bother Sirius one bit that he'd just said what he'd said. James had to wonder if his friend was a bit thick in the head, or just so completely at ease with himself that nothing really mattered to him.

As they walked to Transfiguration, James felt a pang of jealousy. Sirius Black, ever-confident and ever-strong, ever getting the girl and ever not knowing what to do with her. It was the story of James's life.

And then Lilly said something, and James said something back, and the two of them laughed, and James realized he didn't want to change places with the charming Sirius Black for all the gold in Gringotts.

Remus threw back his head and howled up to the moon. The sound that came out wasn't from the wolf but from his own, human lungs. It was like a song, only there were no comforting words to it, and no tune. It was note-less and key less, and it ached to let it out.

Remus knew immediately that he was dreaming.

The great black body that haunted, or perhaps guarded, his dreams, was by his side once more. A nose nuzzled his side, which was suddenly his flank. He felt heavier, furrier. The full moon had been the night before, and this was the post change dream, where he was both, and he was neither. He felt a hand, maybe a paw, on his stomach. He threw his head back again. It was not to woo the moon but to let the great black creature have access to his neck.

He didn't want to dominate.

He just wanted to sing.

"Remus."

He parted his lips. Someone was talking to him and it was jarring to his senses. Everything had been quiet and low, to the thrum of the earth's core. His ears were suddenly, painfully sensitive to every disturbance in the air.

"Remus?"

He felt like baring his fangs, and realized that he didn't have any. There were only teeth in his mouth. His claws wavered, undecided, before they chose to become soft fingers again.

It took a great effort, but Remus opened his eyes. Sirius was sitting on the edge of his bed, peering down into his face while wearing a wonderfully nervous, worried expression.

"Are you all right?"

Remus closed his eyes again and grimaced. His throat felt sore. He didn't trust himself to speak, yet. He chose to nod slowly, and he could feel Sirius relax.

"Good." There were hands in Remus's hair. It took him a moment to realize they were Sirius's hands, the hands of a miner's son. He didn't know why he was thinking these things at such a late hour -- of course he knew how late it was, for he could feel the moon high up in the velvet sky. Sirius shifted closer, his rough hands moving over Remus's cheek. "I was worried."

"You're always worried." His voice sounded as rough as Sirius's hands, but passable. Sirius's fingers travelled around to the back of Remus's neck, rubbing the top vertebrae.

"Do you blame me?"

"A little."

Sirius had remarkable hands. They didn't feel rough anymore, just warm and powerful.

"I woke you. I'm sorry. Go back to sleep."

"All right," Remus acquiesced. Sirius was brushing the hair out of his eyes and off his forehead. How long had it been since he last had a haircut? Two years, at the least. No, longer than that. More than four years, now. His last one had been given to him by his mother's hands.

He was small, and he sat in the bathtub naked, his hair wet and clinging to his cheeks and neck.

"Hold still," Dalila Lupin said.

Only she didn't say that. She would never have said that. No, she had laughed, and sung to him in French, and he had joined in. He'd been sharp, but she didn't tell him. She let him open his mouth and throw his head back as she took the scissors away. Wet hair, severed from his head, stuck to his shoulders and pricked his soft skin.

"Samson!" he sang, "Samson!"

They finished the song together:

"Je t'aime!"

And then, he was in Sirius's arms, warm in the cold snow. Sirius was breathing hot puffs of friendly air on his ear. Remus threw his head back over one of Sirius's shoulders and sang to his friend,

"Je t'aime!"

"Je t'aime," said Sirius Black.

Remus sat up straight in bed, shaken at last from the strange dream. Sirius wasn't touching his face, and his hair was a mess. There was an uncomfortable knot in his stomach. He'd kicked all his covers off and became unpleasantly aware of how freezing he was immediately. With hands that shook he leaned down to pull the blankets up around his body, making a burrow underneath the quilt. That way, he was hidden from the world. That way, he was safe.

The bandage on his arm was scratching his skin. Sirius hadn't let that particular bandage go, asking him over and over what had happened to him, until Remus nearly snapped at him, and James and Lilly had to have a bit of a talk with Sirius. After a few words exchanged with James in secret, Sirius announced he was going to visit Ellen Abbott, and had promptly stormed out.

Remus suddenly understood, curled up in a ball of down comforter and pajamas, that he hated Ellen Abbott.

The only problem was: he didn't know why.

Voldemort folded his hands on his desk before him. "The world is changing," he said softly. He was smiling. "The world is changing and those who intend to change with it will inherit the power to rule it." Behind him were five or six faceless witches and wizards, draped in dark cloaks.

The whole room felt green.

Lucius Malfoy leaned forward a little in his seat, enthralled.

"There are some who are adverse to change. But it is inevitable, the only constant in this world. Things, people, and most importantly times, change. It is those who embrace this change that prosper. Those who shun it, or close their eyes to it, are left behind. There is no place for them among our numbers." Voldemort leaned back in his chair, so that his whole face was cast in shadow. All that could be seen of it was his smile, and above that his eyes, like two glowing emeralds in the mere silhouette of his face.

It signaled the end of the meeting. There was the ghostly sound of clapping behind him, and Lucius, along with the rest of the students who had come to listen to Voldemort speak of the coming events, burst into muted cheers.

Not too loud, of course. The dungeon meetings were always kept hushed, so that they would not be discovered speaking of Voldemort's envisioned future on Hogwarts grounds. Lucius stepped into the quiet hall, Severus sticking to his side uncomfortably.

"He's amazing," Lucius breathed. Severus flickered dark eyes over his friend's pale face.

"Mm." Lucius got too excited,too quickly. Severus was used to it, and always kept quiet as he waited for it to pass.

"The way he talks-- and what he says-- he's brilliant. He's more than brilliant!"

Severus thought he was a bit of a madman.

"He's going to be the king of that new world," Lucius said.

Severus felt ill.

"I mean, after all," Lucius went on, "who else could do it better than he?"

Severus kept his eyes on his shoes and kept walking, nodding absently.

"He does everything for himself. Doesn't trust anyone else."

Severus felt ill again. He felt that same, idiotic hero worship for Lucius that Lucius felt for Professor Voldemort. Personally, the man gave Severus the creeps. it was as if he had eyes everywhere, like a peacock's tale. He seemed nice enough, until you saw his face was smiling but his eyes were not.

"Next year, he said he'll begin. Next year, when the time is right."

Severus folded his arms over his chest and prayed to whomever he thought might be listening that Lucius would forget about Voldemort and his new world order in a month.

He didn't.

The phase didn't pass.

Severus had to tag along, or risk losing his friend forever.