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Chapter Seven: Mon C¦ur S'ouvre A Ta Voix
What happens
: Well, I surmounted extremely painful writer's block and here it is! Chapter Seven, in which Sirius finds out at last about Remus's secret, among other things. Writer's block sucks. :/ ::sigh:: R&R! I'm beggin'. ;.;
Main Characters: Remus J. Lupin, Sirius Black
Subsidiary Characters: James Potter, Lilly Evans, Peter Pettigrew; Severus Snape, Lucius Malfoy; Professor Voldemort, Professor McGonagall; Etienne Ibert
Couples You Will Find In This Fic (Whether You Like It Or Not): Sirius Black/Remus Lupin; James Potter/Lilly Evans; Severus wanting Remus's body; a hint or two of Lucius Malfoy/Severus Snape; other relationships of both a homosexual and heterosexual nature
Dedication: This fic is dedicated to No one, who's always been there for me no matter what. .;
This is: chapter four 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 VII: Mon C¦ur S'ouvre A Ta Voix

It was a pleasantly cool day, the sun bright but not overbearing, the breeze light, kind enough to filter over you and keep your body at just the right temperature. It was the sort of day where you felt comfortable in your skin, where you couldn't help but lean into life calmly, coolly, with all your eagerness swelling up in your chest, glinting only through your eyes.

Sirius stood on Platform 9 and 3/4, leaning satisfactorily into life. He held a lit, half-burned fag between his fingers. It made him, he figured, look significantly matured. It also made him feel as if he weren't a child any longer; had passed smoothly through into being as much of a man as he felt was necessary for his purposes.

And, he had discovered, the hardest part about being a man was looking patient, even as he scanned the crowed for that familiar, tousled head, those familiar gold eyes catching the sunlight, that familiar smile tugging up Remus's lips as Sirius caught his gaze.

Sirius had been waiting all summer for this. His fingers itched. He brought the fag to his lips and took a long drag, blowing the smoke out into the air before him. It flowed out in a steady stream before his face, and then floated off lazily into the air above his head, rising up but dispersing long before it could reach the burning of the sun.

"I didn't know you'd started smoking."

Looking like a man also happened to require keeping your cool, no matter what, unless you were trying to be truly manly, in which case you had to yell a lot and seem in general as if you were highly opinionated, knowing just what you were talking about, too strong-willed to ever back down from your beliefs.

Therefore, simply hearing Remus speak from behind him proved to be a problem for Sirius, for it was all the dark haired boy could do to keep his cool, and keep from whirling around and grabbing the owner of that voice up into his arms.

"Just started," Sirius murmured softly, tilting his head back and managing to stay perfectly still, "a month or so ago."

"Ah." Sirius's body ached in that way, and he forcibly kept his hand steady as he took another drag lazy, nonchalant. "Any other changes?"

"Nah," Sirius said, tossing his cigarette to the ground and crushing it beneath his heel. Only then did he allow himself to turn around and face the smaller boy eye to eye, and he still had to restrain himself from giving in to that eagerness for touch.

"Hullo, Sirius," Remus said, very softly.

"Hullo, Moony," Sirius replied, lips quirking up into a grin he just couldn't help. No man, Sirius figured, should ever need to hide how good he was feeling, if he was feeling that good. "S'been a while."

"No," Remus said wryly, "it hasn't. But it feels like that, doesn't it?" And Sirius laughed, out of sheer happiness.

When you were truly young, you could do that, laugh for all the gladness that you felt and all the intensity of your yet un-callused heart, emotions tender and made all the more fierce for that youthful, callow tenderness.

Like the softest of roses with the sharpest of thorns, protecting in fierce determination the velvet petals, the delicate scent, the sensitive blossom.

"Let's get our own seats," Sirius said, smelling slight of tobacco, a darker tan to his skin and a brighter sparkle to his eyes. "We don't have to wait for the others, do we?"

"No," Remus murmured softly, "I don't think we have to. I don't think I want to, either."

As they both leaned down to pick up their bags their cheeks nearly brushed together, light as a whisper, the add sliding between them. Remus felt himself shiver, but he didn't know why, even as little fingers of hesitant excitement, tickled down his spine.

"C'mon," Sirius murmured to Remus's cheek as they straightened, "let's go." Remus nodded and kept himself carefully close by Sirius's side. Conversations brushed by his ears, words seeming almost tangible, though he let them float by unimportantly.

Inside the train the air was chill, as if the train were air-conditioned as a ward against the summer heat. Perhaps it was a new invention by the Ministry of Magic. Lately, they men and women who worked there had been coming up with all sorts of new ideas, most of their efforts going towards the development of new 'technology,' which combined muggle inventions with a dash of magic here and there as improvements. Remus had read a few interesting books on the topic over the summer and wondered if perhaps there might be a class offered in Hogwarts teaching such skills, one day. His interest had been caught by the idea, certainly.

The two of them picked out a car filled with sunlight and slid their suitcases underneath the seats, sitting down together afterwards, side by side.

"So," Sirius said, his eyes fixed bravely upon the faraway, flushed curve of Remus's cheek, "how have you been?"

"All right," Remus replied, calmly. A moment later, upon some unspoken cue directed by their lonely palms, they took each other's hands. Remus blinked down at their clasped fingers, tan in pale, warm against cold.

"Hey," Sirius said softly, "your hands are cold." Remus moved closer to Sirius's side, the familiar and comforting line of it. They drew up against each other, the blanket of the deep blue sky against the inconsolable moon. Once the train started they, in their singularity made of two, in their privacy that could never indicate loneliness, shared their first kiss of the school year, Sirius tasting and smelling of tobacco over Sirius, Remus tasting of chocolate over Remus. "Things that would always be the same, their lips together, despite the small things that could and would change with the passage of time. Sirius took Remus up on his lap and whether they kissed or touched or simply lay still but for their breaths in each other's embrace, they felt and heard and understood their heartbeats pumping together.

Time did not seem to pass. It was as in sleeping, a loop in your conscious, when one moment you closed your eyes in the night and the next, when you blinked them open, you saw the first rays of morning through the windowshade. They pulled away from each other and tugged on their robes in a silence finally broken by the announcement of their fifteen minutes to Hogwarts warning.

"You excited?" Sirius tugged his worn robes on careless, shaking his hair out once he had pushed his head through.

"A little," Remus replied with a wry smile. His own robe made Sirius's look brand new, but neither of them ever commented on such shabbiness.

"You're never excited about anything much," Sirius said, without any accusation in his voice.

"That's not true." Remus smoothed out the wrinkles in his patched, threadbare robe, brow furrowing just slightly.

"Oh?" Sirius caught him suddenly around the waist, pulling that smaller form up against his own. Remus's breath caught in his throat in a gasp, then exhaled long and deep in a satisfied sigh. "Yeah, so what, then?"

"Hm," Remus said, eyes flashing, and then he grew that soft, serious look once more, "I looked forward to seeing you." Sirius turned him around swiftly and kissed him, after the moment of abashed silence had passed.

"Why," he asked softly against RemusÕs lips," do you always know just what to say?"

"Because you always know what to do," Remus replied evenly, "and there has to be some sort of balance of talent." Sirius kissed him again, cupping his cheek studiously, fingers brushing over his chin. He was looking at, studying, Remus's face with his hands.

"Yeah," Sirius sighed, his thumb moving over the corner of Remus's mouth, "see what I mean?"

"I suppose." They kissed again. The train barreled down the tracks in the sunshine, light pouring in through the open and shameless window. Outside the world was as proud and warm as Sirius's heart, each end of summer bird, intent upon staying in the North for as long as they could, were on the same sort of arctic precipice as Remus himself was, risking it all for that which he could call his home. A nest. The late summer heat drowsy and lazy. Fat approaching, them approaching fate, but they thought of nothing about the snow or the cold or the coming of winter. Neither did they think of the shadow that lurked, frigid and jagged, behind the splay of the sinking sun.

Things lay in wait, but they were young yet, had all the world to hold, had no need for the dark corners which housed equally dark things.

The sunlight caught in Lucius's hair and the color of that precious gold was mulptiplied, made almost holy and inhuman in its near impossible illumination. The sun was setting low over the horizon; they never arrived at Hogwarts before the moon rose and night fell.

Severus watched him from the corners of shadowed eyes. When they had touched it had been oddly cold, and the shivers that ran down the dark haired boy's spine were chilling ones, strangely pleasant. While Lucius was, as always, far from tentative when he was taking something he wanted, Severus was hesitant to be kissed, to be touched, and far more nervous when it came to kissing and touching in return. But Lucius wanted it, had made it explicitly clear that for the first time in both their lives it was Severus that Lucius was after, putting his energies towards, setting his sight on. Knowing this was warmer than the cold touches and the cold feeling in his chest combined, a heat great enough to assuage the chill tenfold. Severus was proud, and Lucius had what he wanted.

In their own ways, for the time being, they were happy enough, Lucius taking and Severus giving.

"After all," Lucius had said at one point against the pale, warm skin of Severus's neck, blond hair tickling Severus's cheek, "everyone needs someone loyal to them, and them only. Professor Voldemort knew that."

Severus hated it when he mentioned that name.

"Do we have to talk about him?" Severus sighed, more of a plea than a request. It was pointless, he knew. They always did. Lucius lifted a slim brow high in his pale forehead, looking sideways at the other boy in arch amusement.

"Why not?"

Because it had been feeling so comfortable, Severus thought wearily, because it had been so nice for a while.

"It doesn't matter."

Severus, Lucius thought, almost regretfully, you are such a fool sometimes. Such a fool about everything you don't understand.

"No. You meant something by it. What?"

I wish I could trust you completely, Severus thought, feeling his heart tighten in want, I want to trust you like I trust...

Remus Lupin, unbidden, half-smiling, in his mind.

"It's nothing. ...really, nothing."

He's not of the same caliber as I am, Lucius thought, and to himself it seemed as if he were mourning this fact, he is not strong enough for the future. He's just not a visionary. Just not the right type. A disappointment, really.

"Now you're distracted."

Severus hated Voldemort. But he loved the idea of Lucius Malfoy, and Lucius Malfoy loved the idea of Voldemort.

Most of all, Severus loved the idea of being truly desired by someone. Truly wanted. His parents had never shown that want, and this, to his teenage hormones and teenage pride, was something wonderfully new as well as something wonderfully Lucius.

"Sorry."

Lucius refused to grow sad over the eventual loss of this friend, this one person so loyal to only him. It was his interpretation of Voldemort's teachings: never to let emotion get in the way of your progress. It was foolish, but at least it was a theory for living his life.

"Just pay more attention to what's important."

It was hard to pay attention to anything at all, the world slipping through Severus's grasp, pulling away the harder he tried to hold onto it. Lucius marred his sense of reality.

"Right. All right. Sorry, Lucius."

And there were little feather light touches from those delicate hands, hands that were capable of so much the fine bone structure did not convey. Hands that would one day be powerful, both Severus and Lucius knew. Powerful, deadly, and still as slim and graceful as they always were. It was enough to send fresh shivers down Severus's spine.

"I like it," Lucius murmured against his neck, "when you say my name, and I'm kissing you." He was possessive, like that.

He leaned forward and their lips met, Lucius's tasting of marble, as if Severus were kissing a most beautiful statue, intangible and inhuman as a dream.

"Lucius," Severus complied, into the place where their lips met.

It was the power the blond boy wanted, but there was none of the loyalty in the very seeding place of Severus's chest, longing for something or someone that he knew Lucius could not and could never be.

"Now that's how it's supposed to be," Lilly said at the end of the long day, stretching her arms above her head and neatly biting back a yawn. She seemed imperturbably satisfied with herself and with the world. James folded his arms over his chest and tried to look incensed rather than sulky. Lilly caufht, finally, the anger that radiated from him in the form of a pout. "...what's wrong?"

"Nothing," James huffed, and Lilly knew from his tone of voice that it was as far from nothing as it could possibly be.

"What's wrong?" she tried again. After more than five years of knowing the boy, she had learned to be patient. For all that James Potter was a gifted student and a brilliant young man, he had little to no emotional patience.

"It's just -- well, I mean -- don't get me wrong," James began, feelings all tied up into knots, tongue feeling much the same, "butt -- I'm happy for them, of course, Remus and Sirius, and all -- but -- but..."

"James Potter," Lilly said, cutting him off suddenly with a light of comprehension sparking to her eyes, "you're jealous, aren't you!"

"No," James began, but he wasn't allowed to get very far beyond that.

"You are," Lilly exclaimed, "I should think you've gone completely soft in the head! One too many falls from the Nimbus," she went on, shaking her head, "and even the best of them are rendered useless."

"I resent that," James muttered under his breath, and Lilly found it in her heart to soften.

"Look," she murmured with a deep sigh, "they're happy!"

"Yeah," James said, "I know, but they're happy without me! Sirius has been my best friend since we were four bloody years old, but now he has Remus, what does he even need me for?" He clenched his hands into fists, face flushed and grim. Already, Lilly mused, he had resigned himself to his fate, one which he assumed had no Sirius at all in it. It was sweet and endearing, in a slightly amusing way. "Don't know why I'm even talking about it," James continued, "that's just the way it is."

"James."

"And I'll miss him, you know. He's been like my brother all these years, but people change, I guess, you can't blame them for it."

"James."

"Isn't his fault he won't need me. And he'll be happy, too, so I'm glad for him. Glad he's got--"

"Oh, James, do shut up for a minute and think, will you?" James blinked and before he could get angry Lilly kept on talking, hoping against hope she would get through his thick skull. "It's Sirius. When you and I were, ehm, as you know, did you stop being his best friend?"

"Well." James blinked again. " Well, no."

"so if you didn't do that to him, would he to you?"

"Oh," James said, and he blushed, cheeks suffused with color, "I see, uhm, what you mean." Lilly sighed, though she was smiling.

"Well you're not all that dumb," she said, and kissed the corner of his mouth quickly, on impulse, "just a bit daft, on the occasion." James frowned, but his blue eyes were sparkling with the hidden shadows of a smile.

"Going to insult me and kiss me right after, then?"

"A kiss for every insult," Lilly promised, grinning.

"Insult away," James replied, "by all means."

And they laughed and kissed like whispers on into the night, the first day back to Hogwarts in their first year passing into the second, the second into the end of the first week, the first week into the second. Time flew by when you were young and you counted no days. Time flew by when you had all your youth to lose and you hurtled towards old age with foolish laughter and sightless eyes.

The sun winked through the pale cotton window curtains, slanting over the cover before him, splayed over his bandaged palms and wrists. His head ached, a pounding thrum behind his eyes and temples. In his lap his fingers curled as he tested himself. The muscles in his forearm screamed in protest. Al his body was a state of constant reminder, the ache of now reminding him unendingly of the torture from the night before. He hissed softly, lips pressed together, air easing from his nose slowly and painfully. This was as it was every morning after the full moon, the previous night's cuts and bruises making themselves known one by one all over his numbed body. On mornings like these he felt nothing other than impossibly gray, washed and bleached and colorless as the sun dappled his bedside, unable to soothe his heart or relieve him of any of his pain.

It was mornings such as these that made him dread and despise opening his eyes and allowing sleep to slip away from his trembling fingers.

And there was the oddest of familiar scents coming to him, one he knew so well, though for a moment his mind could not place it, scrabbling along a slippery plane of unfamiliar confusion.

"Remus," Sirius said softly from beside him, on one of the infirmary chairs. Remus could feel it in the air as the other boy leaned forward, closer to him. Sirius was looking, actively storing every bandage and every old scar revealed in his memory. Something tight with sharp claws clutched suddenly and agonizingly at Remus's heart in his chest. His eyes flew open to the bright light of day."

"Sirius?" Of course, his throat was dry and his voice was rough, run ragged with his howls the night before. "Sirius, what are you--"

"Doing here?" By his thighs Sirius's fists clenched, the fighting anger so easily aroused, so that spots of bright passion burst at the backs of his eyes. "This is the third time this year already, Remus! How can you possibly ask me what I'm doing here?"

"Sirius," Remus began feebly, by Sirius cut him off immediately.

"I'm worried!" he cried out, standing, shoving his chair vehemently aside, "I don't know what you think I should be but you lie to me, every month, and you disappear all night and wind up like this every morning, all torn up, in the damn infirmary! And I'm not supposed to be here? I'm not supposed to even be worried?" Remus lifted his shaking hands to his ears, trying to block out the headache, the heartache, the sudden surge of November terror that had settled cold over him now. "Don't do that! Don't stop listening to me, Remus, you can't shut me out like this because I won't let you!"

"Please," Remus whispered, begged, "please, stop, you don't understand. Please, Sirius --"

"I don't understand because you're lying to me!" Sirius interrupted once more, his voice lower now, but just as enraged as it had been before, just as wounded and therefore just as accusatory. "I don't understand because you don't let me! You don't want me to!"

"Please," Remus repeated, "Sirius, stop."

"I won't! It's not going to work, Remus, I'm not stopping, there's something wrong and I'm not letting you be hurt like this, no matter what you say to me!" Sirius stood by the window, leaning against the window-sill as his body radiated helpless rage. "Why?" And suddenly the anger was gone. "Why are you lying to me?"

"I told you," Remus whispered, face gray beneath the palor, "you don't understand."

"So help me," Sirius pleaded, moving to the foot of Remus's bed quickly, "so tell me. Let me understand. I can't understand if you won't help me to." And beneath that, the lingering request which Remus could not, could never, grant: please help me.

"I can't."

"Why not?" The anger surged up again and mixed with that lonely misery in Sirius's voice.

"I can't," Remus said again. Sirius's eyes narrowed, and Remus saw in those blue depths, so warm so often, the glitter of frigid pain at this unexpected betrayal.

"That's bloody bull," Sirius snapped through clenched teeth, "but if that's what you want, then fine. Fine. I won't bother you, Remus Lupin. Iw on't bother you by worrying about -- about -- whatever this is!"

"Sirius--"

"Yeah," Sirius said, already moving across the room, his voice clipped and icy cool, "save it for someone else." And when he left he slammed the door behind him with Remus alone and white in the middle of the clean white bed in the center of the long white room. And as that whiteness settled gray and dirty as cobwebs or dust over him, all along the backs of his eyes, draped between his ribs, Remus knew that it had to happen one day, soon or far away, and that this dryness behind his eyes was as strong and as weeping as any tears would have been under the circumstances, this terrible lack of salt water in a land so parched.

"Go to Dumbledore," Lilly said finally, Sirius pacing the floor before her, James watching thoughtfully from where he sat across the way. At those words, James's eyes widened and Sirius froze, and Lilly thought for a moment that for all their redeeming qualities they weren't ever worth their incorrigible foolishness. She rolled her eyes a little and sighed, holding on tight to her patience. One day, she'd lose it, and they wouldn't know what hit them. "After all," she explained, "if he doesn't know what's going on -- which I'm sure he does, he knows everything -- then he should. And if he does, then he'll tell you, and you can stop pacing the bloody floor back and forth, because it's driving me mad!"

"She's right," James said, ignoring the common knowledge that Lilly Evans was always right and stating the obvious.

"Something's wrong," Sirius muttered softly for the fifth time that minute, hands clenching and unclenching into and from tight fists, "he's covered in scars. He's just fourteen, like you are me, and it's like he's been in a war or something. It's not right. There's a reason and I'm bloody well going to find out what it is!"

"So," Lilly said, watching Sirius's finger's and allowing herself to be touched by his devotion, despite how blind it was, "go to Dumbledore and ask him."

"He might not forgive you," James said softly and seriously. It was a tone he got only when the true caliber of his spirit shone through and Lilly thought maybe she could see what he would be as a man. Intelligent and kind and deeply sensitive. It made her feel terrifically weak-kneed, but she tried very hard not to let on, except for occasionally. Very rarely, in fact.

"...I know," Sirius whispered, head bowing for a moment as his fingernails dug deep into his palms. "Hey," he murmured after a moment, looking up, "Peter -- what do you think?" The sandy haired boy, sitting in a chair in the shadows, jumped a little in his seat with surprise at being included in the conversation. A weak grin tugged at Sirius's lips and he nodded to Peter's unspoken question: yeah, you.

"Sometimes," Peter said, slowly and carefully, "people are hiding things for a reason. They want them to stay hidden."

"But what if hiding's hurting that person? Really hurting them? And if you...found out what it was they were hiding, then you could protect them from it? Or know, at least, that you tried...tried to protect them..." Sirius trailed off, searching Peter's gray eyes bathed in shadow from across the room. Peter's lips curved up in a tiny, knowing smile, and he ducked his sandy-haired head down, shrugging lightly.

"You'll help him, or try to help him, no matter what I say," he pointed out, "so go to Dumbledore. Lilly's right. That's the best -- maybe the only -- way."

"Mm," James agreed, his moment of maturity lingering still, as these moments stayed longer and longer, as of late, "go to Dumbledore. Find out what's wrong. If Remus can forgive anyone, it's you. I don't like the idea of him being hurt and our not knowing why, or by whom. This -- well, it has to be done," he concluded.

"Dumbledore," Lilly repeated.

"Dumbledore," Sirius echoed, steeling himself, and a moment later he was out the door while he still had the resolve and the adrenaline to spur him on, and therefore the strength to demand answers of Albus Dumbledore, Hogwarts' headmaster. The other three sat in silence, until Lilly spoke into the stunned air.

"Well," she said, "I didn't mean now." And were the situation not so serious, James would have laughed and envied his best friend's courage all at once. Lilly let one hand fall to James's shoulder and gave it a light squeeze. "Sirius'll charge right in there and fix everything, no matter what gets in his way." James covered her hand in his own and smiled, very slightly as he watched the far wall.

"I know," he said, "the idiot."

From his position on the outside of the circle, skirting along the circumference the other four made, Peter watched, and learned jealousy not of someone but of something: such as the secret looks that fluttered between James's and Lilly's eyes; the fierce devotion that Sirius had to Remus; the strength James and Sirius both had, as well as their passion and brightness for life, in life; the love that Lilly had in those soft touches reserved only for James. Peter did not recognize the feeling, but it was the seed of dangerous desire planted now within him, cultivated by his ignorance and his loneliness.

It would be their undoing.

Dumbledore was sitting calmly and patiently when the door burst open with a dramatic and perhaps unnecessary bang.

"Good afternoon, Sirius," Dumbledore said kindly, "I've been expecting you. Do have a seat."

"I will not," Sirius said, and secretly Dumbledore admired the passion and determination in the boy's eyes.

"Ah," Dumbledore said, leaning forward onto his elbows, "something too serious for sitting down?"

"What's wrong with him?" Sirius slammed both hands palm down on Dumbledore's desk, scaring the paperweight so much that it scurried for cover behind one of Dumbledore's arms. The headmaster kept a solemn face, not wanting to reprimand the boy, and certainly not wanting to laugh at him.

"Sirius," Dumbledore began, "I believe it would be best if you did take a seat, and a few breaths to calm down, as well."

"Don't try to distract me," Sirius said, but he sat anyway, hands balled tightly into fists in his lap. The older man met the boy's eyes and some of the wisdom, cool and collected, was imparted in that gaze. Sirius took a breath.

"That's better," Dumbledore murmured, and now, behind his just beginning-to-gray beard, he was smiling. "Now. Go ahead. What is it you want to talk about?" As always, the man was all ears. Sirius, who had been expecting, even craving, contradiction, felt the blood pounding through his veins begin to slow.

"It's Remus," Sirius said.

"Ah," Dumbledore replied, as he had expected as much, sooner or later. Such confrontation from the high-spirited black boy was something he had been waiting for ever since he began to catch the way Sirius looked at Remus, worship and the tinge of sadness in his eyes.

"You know he's all -- got all these scars. All cut up, all the time." Sirius kept his eyes on his hands in his lap, dark clouds roiling in shadow over his features.

"Yes."

"And that isn't right. How many he's got. He's just a little older than I am, for bloo-- just a little older than I am," Sirius corrected himself, hands clenching tighter.

"I know."

"And I've seen all of them on his face, sometimes on his neck, too," Sirius went on, jaw tight, "and he tries to hide them all the time. Like he doesn't want people to see 'cause he doesn't want people to ask."

"Yes."

"But when I saw them, the first time -- I just let it go. He wanted me to. But I can't anymore -- It's every month! Every month that he disappears and gives some stupid excuse and then he winds up in the infirmary with all these bandages and he won't tell me what's wrong"

"Sirius." Dumbledore was smiling sadly behind his beard.

"even when I ask, he won't tell me what's wrong! Like he doesn't trust me, or something, like he doesn't trust me to know what's going on!"

"That," Dumbledore said quickly, "isn't the case, I can tell you that much." Sirius's head snapped up, his eyes flashed darkly.

"What else can you tell me?" he asked, and his voice was low, more mature than Dumbledore had certainly ever heard it.

"I have made a promise," Dumbledore replied, "to both Remus and his father."

"I need to know what's happening to him!" Sirius cried, standing suddenly, the comfortable chair he was sitting in sliding back loudly on the polished floor. The paperweight, which had ventured out of hiding at last, went scrambling for cover beneath a stack of papers. Sirius didn't notice, and if he had, he wouldn't have cared. This was far too important to be distracted from. "He won't tell me and he's being hurt and if you don't help me then I'll bloody find out on my own so the question is, do you trust me to protect him, or not?"

"It's not as simple as that, Sirius," Dumbledore murmured in his most patient and conciliatory tones, and he leaned forward once more over the desk, both to reach out to the boy, and to protect the poor, distressed paperweight. "Nothing's ever as simple as that. Perhaps you didn't stop to think that by keeping this secret from you, Remus is trying to keep you? As a friend. Trying keep all of you as friends." Sirius was silent, processing this, not wanting to accept it as sensible but unable to keep himself from doing so. "Perhaps, Sirius, he is quite afraid."

"I'll keep him from being afraid," Sirius muttered under his breath, "he doesn't ever have to be afraid of me."

"That's not what I'm saying," Dumbledore went on. "Not that he's afraid of you, but afraid of losing you. Afraid of giving you reason to hate him."

"I wouldn't!" Sirius exclaimed, but there was no anger behind those words, only an infinite despair. Dumbledore bowed his head to its great weight. "I would never," Sirius added, softer, "hate him. No matter what he did -- what he was doing."

"No matter what he was?" Dumbledore asked, looking up at the boy from beneath bushy eyebrows and motioning with a hand for him to sit once more.

"No matter what he was," Sirius replied stubbornly, and he sat.

"I believe you," Dumbledore said, "and though it is not my place to tell you such things, such private things, something tells me that to do so would not be untoward, and would, rather, be for the better, in the long run." Sirius sat up a little straighter, hope lacing his limbs.

"So you'll tell me?" he asked, hands grasping tight to the arms of his chair. Dumbledore nodded, though his brow was creased with lines of deep thought.

"Yes," he mused aloud, "yes, I think I shall." It had been oddly easier than Sirius thought, and some part of him was unsure. "No matter what he was?" Dumbledore questioned again, and Sirius found that odd, though he allowed no doubt to pang at his chest. This was Remus, after all, and Remus no matter what. Whatever caused those scars and those nights away wouldn't, and couldn't, change that essential fact. What had hurt Sirius was merely that the other did not trust him, enough to tell him lies every month, keeping him at bay.

"No matter what," Sirius promised.

"Next month," Dumbledore said, leaning back in his own armchair, the leather creaking comfortably, "next month, when Remus, as you say, 'disappears,' you must come to me, and I will show you where he goes those nights."

"A month?" Sirius frowned. "I have to wait another month to know?"

"Patience, Sirius Black," Dumbledore soothed, "patience. These are the terms -- you must see for yourself. All right?"

"Yeah," Sirius said, firming himself, "all right."

They kept their distance from each other. In classes, in the common room, in the halls, they did not speak, tried not to look, catching gazes only occasionally and pulling away in shamed or miserable silence, fixing their eyes to the floor, their feet. It was more uncomfortable than the end of the previous year had been, and after the first few months of their fourth year having been so, so wonderful, this was like torture. To be separated, to be alone. To have known what it was to be whole and now to be only a piece again, quiet and lonely, with no warmth to share the space and the air around you. Remus felt in him only the grayness of loss, the spider growing fat within him, weaving its webs and letting his insides turn to sand and dust. Sirius paced the Gryffindor Common wanting to punch something and picked more fights with Lucius Malfoy in the span of that month than he had in the years that had passed ever since they met. He needed something to do with his energy, his impatience.

Remus, therefore, needed to make no excuses for the day of the full moon.

But Sirius was watching, and waiting, and when Remus was in class for the first half of the day but gone for the second, the agitation that was boiling within him faded away. He couldn't concentrate.

Night fell.

Dumbledore, in his office, was waiting for him.

"You're sure?" Dumbledore asked, gravely, from behind the winking of his spectacles as they caught the weak light.

"I'm sure," Sirius replied, snorting softly. Of course he was sure. He'd been sure ever since he saw the boy, and maybe he hadn't known it then but he knew it now. He wasn't sure about what it was he was sure of, but he was sure he was sure of it.

Albus Dumbledore took up his wand and in the torchlight they made their way through the halls, down and up twisting staircases, until they had gone out a door and stepped into a world of bright moonlight. In the sky, the moon was a full and perfect orb, unshaded by the protection of the clouds. It looked oddly naked, so pale against the blue-black darkness, and Sirius tried not to keep his eyes on it as he had tried not to look at Remus for the past four weeks. It was hard. It was there and beautiful but its mysteries were too great. Around his neck, the miniature vial of moonshine glowed softly, comfortingly, and Sirius found that he was fingering it, the warmth it radiated soothing his fingertips. He smiled.

Remus had given this to him. It was one of his most prized treasures.

They crossed the grass, which seemed to be a dark gray-blue when there was no sunshine to make it bright, and the air was quite chill. Sirius refused to let himself be nervous, and let in only excitement. He would know, soon. He would know and then everything would be all right - no more scars on Remus's soft skin, no more haunted look in Remus's doe eyes. Dumbledore, beside him, was grim, fighting some inner battle that Sirius felt he need not pay any attention to.

Dumbledore didn't know him.

Dumbledore didn't know the power of these childish emotions.

And then they were in front of the Whomping Willow. Sirius blinked up at Dumbledore but the man was not paying attention to him. After tapping a knot at the base of the tree with a long, twisted stick, the headmaster beckoned towards a hollow hidden in the roots. The tree branches, which had clawed and grasped out to hurt, to wound, to protect, had frozen, still in the chill of night. Sirius was brave. He had to remind himself of this as he made his way through the motionless branches, curved and bent in what appeared to be the most agony a tree could feel. He hunched himself down and pushed himself through, smelling the dirt and sensing the sentience in the roots and hearing hoot owls in the trees far off, knowing that Dumbledore was right behind him.

It was a long, dark tunnel, dirt moist and crumbling all around him, getting beneath his fingernails, in his hair. He closed his eyes to the panic that surged for a moment inside his chest, warning him of what might lie ahead, what could lie ahead when you were in utter darkness and there was no light to counterbalance shadow. There was no need to be afraid, he told himself, for Dumbledore was at his back, and the headmaster would not have led him to an unsafe place. And he knew, too, that Remus was somewhere at the end of this tunnel. This knowledge propelled him forward, allowing him to plunge blindly ahead even as the darkness ran ever on and on, swallowing him up, dirt muffling all sounds, except of his deep breathing. It was, Sirius realized suddenly, just as running towards Remus was -- moving forward but unable to see, knowing something was coming but never being quite able to see what that something was.

The earth had a wise musk to it, and Sirius recognized it as part of the scent he had grown to love when kissing Remus on the side of his neck, nose buried in his hair, lips brushing over the length of a scar that spoke tales of old wounds and old aches which Sirius himself could not understand.

He took power in the smell, and then he broke out into a spot of light, feeling wood beneath his hands and knees. After he had crawled forward Dumbledore burst out of the tunnel from behind him, shaking himself clean.

"Ah," he murmured softly, "here we are," and pressed a finger to his lips. Sirius nodded gravely. For a long time, he had been quiet. To speak would be to break the spell, which spread like a fairytale, or even a spider's web, between his fingers. Magic was a beautiful thing, and in this place it laced the air.

Dumbledore pointed to the stairs and as they began to climb them, creak after creak, however Sirius tried to keep silent, he was aware of a tension in the air, then a snarling, then an ache, then a growling, and then a silence that meant something was listening to his ascent with perked ears cocked back. There was no way to ask what. He was immersed still in darkness, and had only to wait a little longer for Remus to appear, the speck of light before him.

Dumbledore caught the back of his robes and he fell still.

Before Sirius was a window, without panes, just at eye level. Through it he could make out a room, bathed in darkness alleviated only by the full moon's light. There was a wire bedframe with a mattress torn to shreds on top of it, and a chair in gouged pieces scattered over the floor. The room was a mess, as if a great, savage mouth had ripped it apart, biting into wood and down alike in a frenzy of rage and feral despair.

In the corner, amidst old bedding and wood splinters, a wolf paced in shadow, fur a familiar and rusty color. There was blood on its teeth, catching the moonlight crimson and staining the fur around its muzzle. There was a proud, angry line to the beast's shoulders. All over, it was bleeding, wounds inflicted from its own claws, its own teeth. Sirius realized it was trapped. And then it dawned, slow and unbelievable, upon him. What -- who -- this was. Too, too familiar.

"I told Madam Pomfrey to come a little late, tomorrow morning," Dumbledore whispered, bearded, into Sirius's ear, "you have only to wait the night."

They stood there like that as the hours passed, in respectful, almost holy silence. Sirius's eyes fixed on the wolf as it paced the room and tore itself to shreds and could not look away. With Remus's own eyes, the wolf was angry. With Remus's own eyes, the wolf accused, snarled, bit, tore and hated. With Remus's eyes, the wolf was a prisoner. The pains, breathless, in Sirius's chest were unknown and unprecedented. He waited, but they did not fade.

When true dawn broke the terrible night and the full moon's power was displaced as mere echoes into the fading darkness, Sirius saw him change back, creature he never knew turning once more into the boy he adored, each cruel claw becoming simply fingertips with the sunlight as the air crackled in snags and surges of pain. Throughout the time of this changing Sirius was motionless, frozen and helpless to protect as the willow had been. He was pointedly aware of all his failures, all the times he had not fought to end such agony. It kept his feet rooted firmly in the ground. But when Remus crumpled at last to the ground, naked body as shredded as the room, blood on his lips and his fingers, long, jagged cuts like chasms in his flesh, Sirius burst forward, pulling away from Dumbledore as the man opened his mouth to protest, and then fell silent.

Sirius dropped to his knees at Remus's side, hands trembling but hanging limply by his sides. It was in this moment a hero, any hero who knew what he was doing, would reach out and take the fallen form into his arms, but Sirius found he was afraid. If he moved Remus too much, he might hurt him further. If he brushed against any of those bleeding gashes, the prostrate boy's pain would also be increased. Sirius couldn't bear to touch him because he was afraid of jostling his wounds. He remained that way for a minute of incompetent indecision, and then forced himself to move.

"Oh," he whispered, hands moving first to smooth out Remus's hair from his forehead, then to dab the blood away from his lips, then to lift him lightly, gently, from the hard floor, taking him against his own body, "oh. Remus. Oh." He was shaking, he realized, and he took a deep breath to still himself so that Remus wouldn't be able to feel it. The other boy's eyes were closed, his lips parted and stained blood red.

And you wanted to know, after all, Sirius thought to himself. There was a weight lifted from his heart and another put there in its stead. This is what he is and there's nothing you can do about it. It wasn't that he was afraid for himself, for even if Remus did hurt him, it was Remus, and he would allow it. It was that he was afraid for the thin, limp form in his arms. It wasn't that he minded -- he was amazed to know, but he didn't mind -- for it was Remus, just as Remus always was. It was that this road his friend traveled was like none other he had ever been told about. He had no experience. In its face he was small, trying to stare down a beast of routine and darkness, a dark creature, while at the same time he was young, just a boy, just a helpless child leaning over Remus's pale, bloodied body.

Remus's eyelids fluttered. Pain crossed his face. Sirius watched the dark shadow of his own form over Remus's countenance and could not close his eyes. This had been his promise to himself, to face whatever it was with no fear and no accusation. To be strong, for Remus. And now, when his courage was supposed to be kicking in, he felt only tired and drained of any bravery he had once had.

He felt alone, and afraid. Now that he knew, would Remus push him away? How could he ever hope to help, or even to understand?

"...no," Remus whispered, his throat dry, "Sirius, no..."

"You're hurt," Sirius found himself saying, his voice steadier than perhaps it should be, and for a moment he had the distinct impression that he was a ventriloquist, throwing his voice to another, half-unrecognizable body that was stiff, and could not move, but could speak calmly all the same, "don't talk. Just -- quiet -- for now, Madam Pomfrey will..." His voice broke.

"Who told you?" There was a note of fear quavering in Remus's rough, low voice. "How did you...?" He did not feel as he expected. His heart beat faster but he had resigned himself a month ago to losing Sirius. Now, he was faced with it.

Soon, it would be over.

Soon, he would be alone again.

And what more in the world was there?

"Dumbledore," Sirius heard himself reply, "I went to Dumbledore, and he showed me this place. Took me here tonight. I didn't know. Forgive me, Remus. Please. I'm sorry. Please."

"Why did he?" Remus hurt, all over his body. He was small but per inch of him was more pain than the biggest of men could endure. He, too, could not move, but it was because ever muscle inside him was weeping. He wanted to push Sirius off and away. He wanted to grab Sirius close and never let him leave. Inside him the wolf howled that he was alone, that he was tired, that he should sleep. He clung to consciousness with desperate and inhuman strength, but that only made sense. He wasn't human. Once, he had been, but now, he was just a beast, a beast who felt enough to feel loneliness through, beneath, the pain.

"I wanted to protect you," Sirius mumbled, head bowed, hair covering his eyes, "I wanted to protect you. I want to protect. I can't. I'm sorry. I'm sorry, please."

"Why?" Sirius didn't know what Remus was asking. Sirius didn't know how to answer. Remus repeated himself. "Why?" he asked again.

"Don't ask me stupid questions," Sirius said, smelling Remus smell of blood, "when you're hurt." He felt wetness on his cheek. Blood, too. It stank of pain, reeked of it.

"...you haven't left, yet." Beneath the weariness in Remus's tone there was an incredulous tremble. Wondering. Hoping, perhaps, in that place which had sunk its teeth and claws into one dream and refused to let go of it. A place that would, he assumed, always let him down.

"'Course not," Sirius said. His voice sounded funny, even to him.

"Why?"

"Don't ask me that."

"Don't you understand?" Silence. "Don't you understand?" Silence again. "This is who I am," Remus whispered, his voice sounding not dry but so, so thirsty, "this is what I am."

"You're Remus," Sirius replied, "Remus Lupin."

"And it can't be changed," Remus went on, an internal speech he knew by heart, reciting it to himself silently every night before he went to bed, "I'm not like anyone."

"Never said you were," Sirius replied, his voice still funny.

"It's not the same," Remus murmured, eyes closed, redness playing over the backs of their lids, "it's not the same as that."

"It's who you are," Sirius replied, "Remus."

"You can't protect me from myself," Remus said finally. For all that his voice conveyed nothing it was a barren plane of desolation.

"I can do whatever the hell I want," Sirius replied. Almost as a sulky child would, but not quite.

"You're an idiot." Remus opened his eyes again and found that the world was not bright but shielded with comfortable shadow, shadow that smelled of Sirius above him, shading him, a bridge or a dome of peace stretched out and strong.

"Maybe."

"Don't you understand!?" Remus's voice cracked. "This is -- people hate this -- kill this -- hunt this and destroy this and they don't -- they don't -- they're not friends with this! They don't lo-- they can't -- it's not normal, it's never normal, it's who I am! This -- this..." He broke off, his body shaking, his voice pregnant with dry sobs he would give no voice and no sound to. "I hate this," he whispered finally, "I hate it, I hate it, get away from me, you'll hate it to."

"I can't," Sirius said. He would have tightened his grasp around the other boy but he was afraid, so afraid, of hurting him. "I can't leave."

"Yes," Remus begged, "it's easy, just leave me alone!"

"You don't understand," Sirius murmured, his breath against Remus's nose, cooling a streak of half-dried blood, tickling Remus's lashes. He paid no attention to the wrenching in his gut.

"I do! I do, get out, just...please...leave..."

"Why didn't you want me to know?" Sirius's voice was a whisper. "If you didn't want me to know because I'd leave you, then why are you telling me to leave now, when I'm still here? Why won't you let me -- why won't you let me stay when I want to? Why are you trying to chase me away?"

"Because you'll leave," Remus whimpered, and the tears spilled over, mixing with the blood, "you'll leave and leave me alone, so just leave now, before I hurt you, before I do something I can't help..."

"I don't care."

"Well I do!" Remus felt himself choking, felt his face grow hot. "I'll hurt you! Do you think I want to? This isn't something I can control -- it isn't something you can control -- it just is. And it hurts people, it hurts things, it ruins everything, no matter how much you say you love it, it ruins it -- I won't be able to stop it -- and it will, it will..."

"I don't care."

"Don't say that! You don't understand! There's blood on you now, and it's my fault! It's my blood but what do I do if it's yours?!"

There was silence. Sirius tasted blood and salt on his lips. He could feel it, too, on his skin. His shoulders lifted and heaved and he felt tears move slowly down his cheeks, blazing hot, wet trails over his skin. Slow and sluggish, releasing nothing. He barely acknowledged them at all.

"I'm not leaving," Sirius said finally, "I'm not."

"You're an idiot," Remus said again, taking a breath in, shakily, ragged in his throat. He hadn't cried for years, too many to count. Hadn't cried since that night, long ago, with the woods and the trees and the blood.

"You said that already." Sirius was crying, too. Remus could taste his tears. "I agreed."

"Go away."

"No."

"Get out."

"No."

"But you know," Remus breathed, "you know." There was fear in his voice again, and it wasn't Sirius that he feared, but himself. There was hatred, disgust, anger and pain in there, too, all directed towards that thing, that beast which lurked within him and took over his body once a month, hungry for blood. Unsatisfied. Unsatisfied as he was but he couldn't admit it. Lonely as he was but he couldn't admit it. Strong as he was but he didn't know it.

"I always knew who you were," Sirius replied faintly, "always." His lips trembled as he pursed them, brushing at the blood and the tears along the curve of Remus's cheek equally, without pause. It tasted salty, like old copper rusting in the rain, upon his tongue.

"Why," Remus questioned, "why," and he made a sound of anguish deep in his throat, "why?" and it was a howl, deep and fierce and pleading.

"I'm not leaving you," Sirius said, "I promised myself I never would. I promised myself I'd protect you. Why won't you let me?"

"Why do you want to?"

There was blood on both their lips when Sirius kissed him. It was a long kiss, deep, but there needed to be no searching and no questions in it, only promises. Only answers. The taste of copper and of secrets burrowed into their tongues, unnamed, iundetermined, undefined. It tasted like nothing before. It tasted like being too large for your body and too small for the world. It tasted like adulthood, sweet and salty all at once.

"Madam Pomfrey's coming," Sirius said, drawing back.

"Blood on your lips," Remus whimpered, but the tears had stopped, "I'm sorry."

"Didn't even notice," Sirius replied.

"My blood on your lips now," Remus went on, "but when it's your blood on mine--"

"Won't let it happen," Sirius interrupted firmly, "won't. Stop talking. I'm not the idiot, you are, so shut up." Remus felt Sirius's forehead against his own and the pounding headache at his temples faded to a murmur behind his eyes. He took in an unsteady breath and let it out slowly. It was an effort to breathe now, but he was remembering how, taking all his instructions and guidelines from the puffs of tobacco-scented air that came from Sirius's mouth.

"Sirius," Remus whispered, very softly, and then he gave it up, going completely limp.

"Don't want me to get out of here anymore?" Sirius asked.

"I just want to sleep," Remus answered, hands knotting in Sirius's dirt- and blood-stained robes, "that's all."

"Then go to sleep," Sirius said. He kissed Remus's forehead, cheekbones, cleaning blood away like a cat would groom a kitten, a cat would groom a mate. When the darkness came to Remus's weary, burning eyes he felt still those arms around him, those warm lips moist upon his forehead, and he went gently into sleep's embrace, his heart slowing and his nerves frayed but calm.

"I thought so," Dumbledore said, stepping forward into the room. Sirius had forgotten he was there.

"I love him," Sirius said, flat and calm. He had to say it to someone and he found he couldn't say it to Remus. He was, he had learned, so very far from brave.

"I know," Dumbledore said, and sat down crosslegged on the floor to wait for Madam Pomfrey's arrival.

When Remus woke it was late afternoon. He felt cleaned and comfortable despite the pain he knew was waiting to take control of him. As always after the full moon, his weary senses were hyperactive, and for the second time Remus scented Sirius on the air. Only this time, the scent was closer and more distinct. Remus shifted and felt a weight against his side, warm, comforting, almost familiar.

On his shoulder he felt the oddest little tickling sensation and he realized quite quickly it was Sirius hair trapped beneath his t-shirt, brushing over his skin. As he moved, slowly, head lifting with painstaking care, his eyes opened groggily and he could catch sight of Sirius curled up against him, by his side.

Sirius was breathing steadily, rhythmically. Remus ran his eyes over that tanned face and felt himself shiver down deep in his belly. The proud line of his aquiline nose. The way his eyelashes fluttered to the rhythm of his dreams. No other body fit against Remus's own like this. No other body made Remus feel as comfortable with himself as this. It was Sirius, and this was such a feeling he could grow used to, grow up with, grow old with.

Something that felt so right, Remus decided, was something he would fight to make last. It was terrifying, yes, that Sirius knew. That Sirius had discovered this, the deepest, most agonizing secret Remus had kept for so long. But he didn't care.

Sirius had stayed.

Even when Remus had told him directly to leave he hadn't. Above all else he trusted Sirius, and even if he lost the others -- for he knew Sirius kept no secrets from James, and James kept no secrets from Lilly, and Peter always managed to find something out once the others knew -- he would still have Sirius, would still always have Sirius. So there was nothing to fear, no reasons left to worry about anything else in the world. He had what he wanted, and what he wanted had become what he needed.

There was nothing left to fear.

As this final realization flooded Remus's body all pain was banished completely from his system. If Sirius hadn't been sleeping, Remus would have whooped softly in relief, but as it was, Remus didn't want to wake the bigger boy curled up against his side.

"It's nice," said the warmed, familiar voice of Dumbledore, who was sitting across the way from Remus's infirmary bed, by the window, "isn't it?" The headmaster was whispering, careful of Sirius and how tired he must have been, but Remus could hear him crystal clear.

"Yes," Remus whispered back, feeling a part of the world around him for the first time in his life. As if, at last, he really did belong, not just on the world, but in it, a part of the people moving and talking and laughing. The infirmary was quiet. Outside, life moved on, slow and sweet and singing.

"I'm sorry," Dumbledore murmured faintly, "but I felt I should tell."

"My other friends," Remus said after a moment, and then trailed off.

"And what if they don't understand?"

"I don't know." Remus lifted a shaky hand and rested it stably, calmly, on the top of Sirius's head, fingers weaving with his hair. Silky smooth, as always. "He understood." Dumbledore nodded, sunlight sinking, catching in his beard.

"They'll understand," Dumbledore murmured.

"I didn't think so before." Remus pet the hair beneath his palm lazily, threading his pale fingers through the dark strands. Sirius, too, had been cleaned up, so no blood stained his face or his hair. The white of the bandages on Remus's hands and wrists were a startling contrast to the dark blue-black of Sirius's hair. Remus sighed, and a smile tugged lopsidedly at his lips.

"I can tell you one thing: James Potter is one of the most promising students it has ever been my pleasure to teach," Dumbledore said thoughtfully, "and if he doesn't understand, then I can't point out a single person who would."

"Mm," Remus said, only half hearing the words.

"Are you going to tell him yourself?"

"I think -- I think Sirius will." Remus's hand fell still. "Or maybe -- maybe I might." Dumbledore watched Remus's hand begin to move again in slow, lazy movements, pattered, fingers curling just slightly. It seemed a strain for even such a simple movement as that, fingers tensing and then relaxing, wrist shifting ever so slightly with each caress. It was young love, Dumbledore mused, puppy love. He wondered, deep in the back of his mind, why he hadn't seen it there before, but perhaps he was just as blind as the next man, plowing on foolishly, never seeing what was right before his eyes. He, too, sighed, but it was something deep and old, reminiscent of laughter in days that had long since passed.

"You're very strong," Dumbledore said, "and very brave, and I wish there were more all the magic in the world could do for your happiness."

"It's who I am," Remus answered quietly.

"Yes," Dumbledore said, "yes."

"And I've come to be used to it, at least." Remus was smiling again, a smile that came at you out of nowhere and seemed as if maybe it were sadder than the jagged tooth of a mountain, or maybe as if it were happier than you yourself could ever be. He was a young boy and an old man all at once. Sometimes, Dumbledore allowed himself to wonder what, exactly, the world was coming to.

Something wonderful, he thought.

Something filled with children like this, who would fight against the darkness which was ever rising.

It was a boy like this who would grow into the sort of man strong enough and determined enough to defeat that which Dumbledore himself knew, somewhere deep down, that he could not. He envied this boy and was proud of him all at once, as if he were a parent, or a good friend.

"That's better than most," Dumbledore said after a long while had passed, "better than even those much older than you."

"It's not that I like it," Remus added impulsively, "or even that I can accept it."

"No," Dumbledore said slowly, "of course not." He looked the boy up and down, the tentative way he was lying, looking only half-comfortable, always waiting, always prepared. It was a wary strength. The best kind, perhaps. In those deep brown eyes was the spark of a treasure. He fought back against who he was in some places, and created himself that way. That was where his acceptance lay. The wolf inside of him was for now not a part of himself, someone, something, he circled warily, eyes bright and narrowed. He was just as strong, if not stronger for his rational thought, than the beast. Again, Dumbledore felt that strange envy, and that equally strange pride.

"It's just that," Remus said, and he ran his fingers gently through Sirius's hair, pushing back the bangs from his forehead, watching his eyelashes catch the fading light, "it is. And when things are -- there's nothing you can do about them."

"Certainly not." Dumbledore smiled.

"So you learn to live," Remus murmured, after a few seconds had passed, and as Dumbledore watched the setting sun Remus watched Sirius's face, and felt himself smile freely for the first time, not as a boy.