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Chapter Ten: Une Epine, Une Etoile
What happens
: Animagi, Animagi, Animagi.
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 Saiyanhobbit, my beta, my muse, my inspiration, the one who sent me Sirius/Remus fics until I got back in the mood, the one who did everything an amazing person would. The reason for that is because she is an amazing person. If you want to thank someone for this chapter, she is the one to thank. THIS CHAPTER TOOK FOREVER. Please. Tell me what you think. I need it. Really. I write for myself, but the reason I kept slugging through this chapter was because people seemed to want to see more. I need your love. Show me the love. Thank you. That is all.
Also, some of this fic has not been beta-ed. It has not been beta-ed so I can get it up to you more speedily, and stop the torture. A new, edited version will be up in a couple of days. Love to you all.
This is: chapter ten 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 MISBEGOTTENMOON@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 X: Une Epine, Une Etoile

"It's no use," Sirius said. His voice was exhausted as his body, as his mind, and as weary as his heart.

"No," James scowled, but his voice no longer held any conviction, "no. Don't say that. We have to keep trying. We just -- we can't quit now, anyway."

"Oh?" Sirius groaned, slumping further into his chair. "Tell me again, Mr. Prodigal Son, why we can't just give it up?"

"Because you'll regret it, for one thing," James said, and Sirius knew he was right, "and we've put too much bloody time and effort into it to give up now, for another." Peter put a hand in front of his mouth to stifle the yawn that threatened to escape, loud and bored and, above all, bone tired. From behind the fall of sandy colored bangs he could see the two heroes sitting, arguing, bickering for lack of anything else to do. They had made no progress. They were stir crazy. It was sink or swim at this point, and they just might give up if the next attempt got them as far as ever. Nowhere.

"Right," Sirius was giving in, as he always did, as he had for twelve consecutive arguments almost identical to the one just now ending, "let's try it again."

"Maybe we should just, you know," Peter suggested, "take a break?" Sirius looked offended at such a suggestion. Peter had known he would. It was the only way to get Sirius to do something -- pretend you yourself didn't think it was such a good idea, after all.

"I wouldn't think of it," Sirius protested, back straightening suddenly, filled with fresh energy and a will stubborn enough for such blind perseverance. James found himself rolling his eyes and smiling, all at once.

"Right," the bespectacled boy said, fumbling about for his wand in a blind sort of way, his mussed hair tumbling forward always into his eyes, "let's-- let's try it again." Didn't matter that it took grown wizards, twelve times more trained and more knowledgeable than they to do this. It had been James's idea in the first place and the other two had agreed because it had been the first real, good idea yet; now, it seemed like blundering foolery, and it was apt to drive them mad at any moment. It was, it seemed, doing no good, for none of them -- not even James, who had a knack for these things; not even Sirius, who had enough conviction to convince a rock it was a tree and a tree it was a man -- could seem to master the potentially simple art of changing what was to something that also was, but wasn't the original something.

Sirius closed his eyes.

Right, he thought, then, on impulse, change.

I really, really, really, James thought, stuck on that one word in a study-induced delirium, really, really, really want this to work. Really.

Peter had given up for this go around. He watched the other two, silent, pensive.

I mean, Sirius found his mind wandering, what is, is that I love Remus, really, it seems pretty clear, and Dumbledore seemed to get it, and Hector seems to, or seemed to, or something, I don't know, Hector gets a lot. Just like Remus. A little. And what is, is that I really want to do this. I mean. I really do. So what else can I do? James's ideas are always the best. Taking a long time, though, longer than I would have thought. I thought-- who cares what I thought. I really want to do this. I'll do this.

And he found himself continuing.

And what is, is that my hand is just a hand. It has blood. And flesh. And bone. Muscle, too, and the webbing between the fingers. But it's just a hand. Just a thing, a lump of atoms. Hair there, too. Hair and flesh and skin and bone and muscle and all the blood on the inside and the way it pumps through the veins to the wrist. It's just a hand. Just my hand. (I held hands with Remus. Used to, all the time. His hand was smaller, always colder, fingers a little thinner and a little shorter. His hand knows what it's doing. It's still just a hand which is just a thing, just a shape, just a disturbance, in the air, of flesh and things, all shoved together. When you really. Think about it, really.) And it's there. Holding my wand, the fingers wrapping around it. I don't remember. I don't remember the spell but it isn't about the spell. Is it? It's about my hand. Start small. Start with the hand. Think, hand, change, hand. No! Don't think that. It's not changing. It's still going to be a hand. With flesh. And blood. And skin. And bone. And hair. All the little hairs, over the surface. And the muscle. And everything. All the atoms. Only rearranged. But I'm not changing anything. (Matter cannot be created or destroyed.) Just my hand. My hand looking like something else but still being made of the same things as my hand, just my hand, but different, to the eye, which is just an eye. (My lover's eyes are nothing like the... What was that?) Do not change the hand. It's my hand. It'll stay the same. Be something different.

Out of the darkness of his mind, spattered with the memory of light, fractional dust flickering over the backs of his eyelids like a spray of air in the sunshine, he saw a beast coming towards him, and it was him, he knew it was him, even though it didn't look like him. Himself, but rearranged. Anyway, he could tell, because Remus had described his eyes to him once, and these were his eyes, even if they were cast into shadow, of a pale color but with the pupils as the midnight black when there is no light in the world, anywhere. Eclipse black. Moonless black.

It padded forward on great feet and not for a moment was he afraid as it parted the air around it's shaggy form, a great big beast that was only a puppy, all bark and no bite, or a little bite, but only where it really counted. Sirius smiled a bit but not with his mouth, with his eyelids. It was a smile felt and not shown, not seen. The beast woofed a breath of air into his nostrils; he imagined himself doing the same thing, in return. Then they were kind of laughing. Kind of shaking hands. Kind of saying hello, nice to meet you, even though they'd known each other forever; themselves, each other reversed, themselves but not quite. The dog -- for it was a dog, a terribly grim looking creature -- was named Padfoot. But Sirius didn't know how it was he knew that.

Hullo, Sirius thought.

Just a hand, Sirius thought.

So it never has to change, Sirius thought.

"Bloody hell," Peter said. It was the first and last time anyone heard him curse.

When Sirius looked down at his hand, he found that it was a hand, but it was not a hand; his hand, perhaps, with flesh and bone and hair, muscle and skin and blood, but it seemed to be a paw, a great, black, familiar paw that could be as silent as it padded forward as the most quiet of nights. It came from his wrist, his boy's wrist, neatly and confidently. He nearly laughed. He nearly screamed. What he did was speak, voice hushed, as James looked on in silent disbelief.

"Go back, would you?"

He believed his hand was a boy's hand once more.

And it was.

Voldemort folded his arms behind his back, moving with ease alongside the less graceful but more firm footsteps of the Malfoys' man Dobbins, watching his counterpart in bemused silence.

"You see," he had said, very clearly at the beginning of the conversation, "I have no delusions of grandeur. Either I will take power or I will not."

"Take power over what?" Dobbins had asked.

Voldemort had shown him.

In the way of most human minds, Muggle or not, Dobbins had blocked it out, had decided he did not see what he had been shown, had closed his eyes and his mind to the sight and was now thinking of roses, gardening shears in hand. Voldemort had known this would happen. He was amused. Now, they walked in silence, and Dobbins looked, above all else, perfectly content. Voldemort refused to shatter such contentment, even if it was something that made his stomach churn in peeved indifference.

This was the way men were. It was why Voldemort was and was not a people person.

"We've 'ad beautiful roses, this year," Dobbins was saying. Voldemort nodded.

"As I can see," he murmured. All around the garden there was a bloom of color, vivid in the sunlight. It was precious, and it contrasted deliciously with the cold lifelessness of the Malfoy Manor, just as Dobbins was the exact opposite of its Pureblood residents.

"There were rains," Dobbins went on, "heavy, an' I thought f'r a while, they weren' goin' t'pull through. But they 'ave, now, wonderfully. The 'eavier th'rain, I always say, th'more beautiful the bloom."

"The more beautiful the bloom," Voldemort said, his smile thin, "the more beautiful it looks in the sunlight."

"Funny 'ow that happens, sir," Dobbins said. There was silence in reply, only the sound of the sunlight on the roses, and his own boots in the dirt. He hesitated in his steps; lifted his head; looked around. He was alone, but he did not feel alone. "Sir?" Again, silence, though the roses were laughing. "Blimey, if I don' know 'ow 'e manages t'do tha'."

Dobbins shook his head. The Master's special guest would return when it was time to prune the buds. He always did.

He met the black dog again the next day. It was 'met' in the sense that he saw the beast, and the beast saw him, and they spoke as only they could, through a puffing of breath and a beating of hearts and a rustling of fur and air over skin.

Hello, said the black dog, Padfoot.

"Hullo," said Sirius.

Why have you woken me? asked Padfoot.

Let sleeping dogs lie, thought Sirius.

"Because I had no other choice," said Sirius.

Because you could think of no other choice, said Padfoot.

"But this is the right choice, isn't it?" asked Sirius. For a moment, it seemed as if Padfoot would not reply.

I think so, said Padfoot at last. He dragged his snuffling wet nose coldly over the side of Sirius's cheek, understanding his scent. Suddenly, Sirius knew they had the same scent, one heavier and doggish, but the essential was unchangeable, just as no one thing was different from another, when it had to do with your self. Sirius laughed a little. It tickled. The dog's rough, wet tongue ran over his cheek and his nose huffed down by his neck and he laughed again. Can you learn?

"I can learn anything."

Perhaps.

"So teach me."

It isn't about teaching.

Sirius knew that.

"So show me."

Ah, said Padfoot, you will have four legs, that will be stronger than your own two and your hanging arms could ever hope to be.

"Yes," said Sirius, and he felt powerful down to the muscle of him, where blood hid, and rejoiced.

And, continued Padfoot, you will have eyes that will see in the deepest, darkest part of the night, where there is no light at all, only darkness.

"Yes," said Sirius, and he thought he could see the world as a pitch black scale, lit only by a firefly or two in the vast expanse of night.

When, said Padfoot, you have such power, what will you use it for? My power. What will you use it for?

"I told you what I'll use it for," said Sirius, smelling the heavy, dogged scent all around, feeling it seep into his pores so that even mum wouldn't be able to scrub the smell out. "You know what I'll use it for. For him."

Ah, said Padfoot, a pack.

When Sirius woke, or when Sirius fell asleep, he had a tail, bushy and long and enough to make even the largest and proudest of wolfhounds jealous.

Lucius had nice arms, graceful arms, the arms of a dancer, perhaps, or the arms of a very well-practiced killer. They were the arms of a boy who was proud of and secure in his position. Severus had stronger arms, a little thicker and a little more firm, but despite that, it was obvious by the way they held each who was in control of whom.

When they kissed Severus felt awkward because Lucius wished him to; the grasp the pale blond boy had over Severus's very emotions was something wthout magic, but with a great deal of powerful skill, behind it.

Severus had two escapes: the library, which was filled with musty and comforting old books, in which he could bury himself without much trouble beneath dust and in shadow, and the rose garden, which had its own, full-of-life smell. He would walk through the winding but perfectly hedged in pathways, feet crunching on gravel sometimes and padding over dirt others, and he saw the thorns with the blooms, and decided that meant something very important, indeed. The Malfoy estate, just as the Malfoy mansion, was greater, grander, on a larger and more impressive scale than the Snape grounds and house. It was something that galled Severus's mother to no end, but allowed, at least, for Severus to do a bit of exploring, on his own, whenever he wished to get away.

"Do you enjoy the Rose Garden, as I do, Severus?" Severus's skin began to crawl. The roses shrank away, then drew closer, afraid of the fire that burned within Liam d'Or Voldemort's body, but desperate for the warmth it gave, despite the rage of the flames.

"I enjoy it," Severus murmured, voice clipped, "but whether it is as you do, is a question of much dispute." Voldemort threw back his head, tossed up to the sky a laugh that made even the roses shiver, and Severus turned his face away, unable to meet it with even the sourest of frowns.

"Why must you be so disagreeable?" Voldemort shook his head and made a disappointed sound that would have had anyone else cowering in fear. Severus shrugged apathetically.

"Does it matter?"

"Perhaps," Voldemort murmured thoughtfully, the laughter fading, "mm. Perhaps not." He fell into step at Severus's side as would a queer sort of shadow, elongated into the whisper of a monster in the midday sunlight, echoed in every one of Severus's footsteps. "What brings you outside on such a lovely day?" It seemed to Severus that Voldemort had just made a joke. He did not laugh.

"I wanted to take a walk," he answered half-truthfully. The last part he wished to add-- "alone" -- he bit back, though he could tell Voldemort knew it had been pointedly intended.

"I'll find out soon enough," Voldemort drawled lazily, "what it is that will win you over. Fame? Power? Love? All these can be bought. All these are petty cards, stored up my sleeve. All these can be used to buy men and sell them again later. It is in your nature, to want. I see it in your eyes, where the others care not to look. You have hungry eyes, Severus. I can feed you with what it is you hunger for. I can use your power and in turn make you very powerful."

"No," Severus replied flatly.

"Either it will take Lucius Malfoy to buy you," the man with the chilling jade eyes murmured bemusedly, "or it will take Remus Lupin, but I will buy you, and have you as planned. You would do well not to trust me, but to believe this, and resign yourself to it."

"I think I'll wait," Severus returned with a poker player's implacable calm, "to see what else you've got to offer." A little breeze came up; the bitterness inspired in Severus's gut felt justified. He picked up his pace, and found he had brought himself to a shaded underpass beneath an archway of oak trees.

Shadows could not exist, not in the darkness of the cooling shade. They needed light to play off of, to swallow.

Severus knew Voldemort had gone without needing to turn and see. Still, he could not help but make sure. His eyes flickered about, careless, but wary beneath that carelessness. He found, to his unsteady half pleasure, that he was alone.

When James saw Prongs the first time, he knew him already, from hoof to horn. And it was just that simple, really; and just that glorious. The creature was the color of coffee and cream and had eyes the color of a snail's shell in the moonlight, just as soft and just as downy sweet. But there was also power in the sinewy muscles beneath the soft, crushed velvet coat, and such strength in the stamping, snorting of its hooves.

"Wow," James murmured, swallowing thickly, and he thought for a moment that he heard a prancing laughter like hoofbeats upon the air.

I would have thought you'd be the first, Prongs said, snorting breath from flared nostrils, but Padfoot is here already.

"Never underestimate Sirius," James replied, and wondered later how he knew exactly what Prongs had meant.

He just -- had.

Prongs butted his wet, soft nose against James's hand as they scented each other out upon the air, testing and learning and getting acquainted in the batting of an eyelash or two. James had the distinct impression that they had met before but he wasn't sure where or when. It didn't matter, he knew, as the silken feel of that fur rubbed against his cheek, and he felt himself seeing through Prongs's eyes.

Everything was a land of silk.

He felt powerful as he recalled himself in dreams where he won things, defeated monsters and returned home to a crowd cheering his name.

When he ran the world passed beneath his feet -- hooves -- faster than he ever thought was possible, like some sort of amusement park ride, only faster, and better. It was sort of as if he were on a broomstick, with all the wind his hair and the world rushing past but then, it was connecting with the ground also, nothing so light as flying. Feet solidly on the ground, only pounding so fast he felt as if he'd take off. It was better than flight, lack of it but joy of it all at once.

It was being complete in a way he didn't even feel when he was with Lily, laughing with her, though it felt as sweet, and he didn't think he could categorize the two things the same way. Lily was Lily and Lily completed him with things he did not possess, himself.

Prongs was Prongs, a half of himself that truly was himself, and filled confused hormonal spaces with the power of a mythical beast.

Peter was the last.

And it only went to show the nature of things, he thought, when he found that Wormtail had curled around his shoulder like some sort of shadow and was nibbling at his ear, to catch his dreaming attention. When Peter didn't respond, Wormtail bit with sharp incisors; a scar that was to last Peter his life, and he winced, trying to swipe the creature off his shoulder.

There was no epiphany.

There was no bright flash of light.

There was only a sense of bitterness, like blood, like bile in his throat, that James would rave about the power of the stag and Sirius would exclaim over the wonder of the great black canine, and this was what Peter's destiny was to be.

"I'm a rat," Peter said, his voice blank, his eyes blanker.

No, Wormtail murmured slyly, I am.

"Peter's a stag."

Prongs is.

"And Sirius is a dog."

...so is Padfoot.

"And I'm a bloody rat?"

Do you know what rats can do? They can get in and out of places unseen, they can find and bite and poison, they can live for ages where no one can find them. They're necessary. Very, very necessary, and very overlooked. That way, no one notices, and no one mentions, and no one suspects.

And it only went to show the nature of things, Peter thought, that James was the leader and Sirius was the passion and Remus was who it was all for, and he himself was only necessary, in that unnoticed, unmentionable sort of way.

"We did it." Sirius's eyes were bright with some sort of internal fire that had long since been quelled, and seeing it once more aflame meant there was hope yet, indeed. Hector watched him and his two friends from over his mug of tea and thought that this boy, this Remus, must be quite the spirit, to inspire such friendship and such devotion.

The summer had passed quickly, with Sirius, James and Peter applying themselves heatedly to the task at hand, occasionally finding their way into the cool shade of Hector's cottage for a break of tea and cake. For a while, it had seemed rather hopeless, and Hector, though he didn't know quite what it was they were trying to do, saw that whatever it was, it was failing. He let them settle themselves into comfortable but dejected silence in his kitchen chairs, and lent them a sympathetic ear where the need lay, and found himself growing rather depressed in the hopelessness of the situation. Whatever it was. But the determination of those three boys gave Hector above all hope, Sirius the passion behind it all, James the calculation and the reason, and Peter -- a small boy, and quiet, with secretive gray eyes -- seemingly going along for the ride. They had faith, intense faith, and Hector fed them sweets and gave them a cool place to stay and an understanding presence for them to collapse in, and waited.

"You did?" Hector couldn't help it, felt his eyes sparkle and his hands still on a blueberry scone, only half finished. Sirius had been too excited to eat, nearly leaping from his chair at every creaking sound the house made. Finally, he had burst forth with the news, unable to hold it back any longer. At the moment, he didn't even trust the shaking of his own hands with the task of holding his cup of tea. "Well, of course you did," Hector continued, lips twitching wryly, "it was obvious you were going to; the question, simply, was when."

"I don't have time for when," Sirius grumbled, though whatever annoyance he was trying to produce melted into that huge grin and those deeply sparkling eyes and failed miserably. "I just, I had to, and we've done it, and he won't be alone anymore, not when we can help it." He chanced a bite of his slice of pound cake, nearly dropped it, and managed to get it from fork to lips without much further fumbling. "S'rry," he muttered around the mouthful, still beaming from ear to ear.

"We don't know anything yet," James murmured, his brow furrowed, light blue eyes still pleased behind his glasses. He looked proud, very much so, as if he'd thought through the most excellent of plans that was only just about to be put into motion. "The summer isn't over yet, we haven't even shown Remus, we don't even know what it means..."

"Oh, come on," Sirius muttered, throwing him a dark look, "you're starting to sound like Lilly. How couldn't it work-- why wouldn't it work?"

"We just don't know yet," Peter piped up, shrugging faintly, "that's all he's saying. And it makes sense," he went on, poking at his own slice of cake with his fork, "because Remus was pretty upset, after all, and how do we know this is what he wants?" Hector watched Sirius's face fall, a darkness, pained and ancient, creep into his eyes at the words, and frowned just slightly at the strange sense of power Peter seemed to get from the expression. The sandy-haired boy's features changed subtly, but there was a gleam to his eyes that seemed to be rather proud, a different sort of pride than James's, commanding Sirius's emotions so easily.

"It'll work," Sirius muttered, scowling down at his plate. He'd lost his appetite suddenly, and couldn't get it to come back -- an unusual occurrence. He swallowed back a strange sickness in his stomach, and plowed on fearlessly. "It has to work. This is-- why else would we be-- I mean, no one else has ever been-- this young, it's got to be..."

"Shh," James warned, eyes dark and frowning, but whether it was at Sirius's carelessness or Peter's sudden exhibition of not malicious intent but perhaps malicious outcome was unclear. Sirius fell quiet, Hector watching him for a moment more before he forced a cheery smile.

"Well," he said brightly, "at least you have somewhere to start, and that's more than most people do. Besides -- whatever it is you three've been doing, you seem to have worked incredibly hard on it, and I'm sure that this Remus will understand that." His eyes twinkled. "If he's really so wonderful as you say, then no doubt that understanding will simply be enough. Much more so, with the addition of whatever plan it is that's been put into effect. Now," he went on, watching the three with cheerful eyes that belied thoughtful contemplation, a deep study of each of the three boys. The lofty air was turning from summer to fall, and they would be all three off to school again. Perhaps, Hector realized, this might be the last time he'd get a chance to do as such, to weigh in each boy's character, and store it for future events. "It's about time to clear the dishes, who's with me?"

The light in Sirius's eyes was reward enough for any sort of foolish hope given. He went to the dishes with a fervor and a passion one normally never displayed for household chores, James and Peter rolling their eyes and Hector harboring a secret smile.

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!

Dalila had sung that song with such bitterness, such pain, and Remus had never understood how -- or had never articulated, or truly placed, why -- something so beautiful could be so terribly sad. Music itself, he had never cared much for, but in the night he remembered his mother's voice, and now, through the hot summer months, he dreamed of darkness and of her pale, moon-like touch, and he wept.

When summer came closer and closer to an end, and the school year drew near, Etienne found his son in a curl against the window, fingers pressed to the windowpane, eyes dark as a night before the snow, when the coming clouds wreathed the moon in white.

He had aged in a way Etienne thought he understood, a weariness to his face and a thinness to the lines of him that rid him of babyfat and gave adult cuts to his bones. It was not that he looked old, for he was still small and unassuming and hardly a presence, but it was that he looked mature, in a troubling way.

"Remus, comme un loup-garoux, tu as l'air de tristesse."

Ah! Réponds a ma tendresse

"Je suis un loup-garoux, papa. J'ai l'air de tristesse."

Verse-moi, verse-moi, l'ivresse

It was the truth, lingering like music on the air between them.

Etienne felt small, and Remus felt as if he might burst.

Spaces, lines, bones and flesh all merged into something painfully gray, unimportant in the darkness of the night.

For the first time in many years, Etienne knelt down by his son and took him into his arms, holding him close against his chest, tucked underneath his chin.

"I don't know what he did to you," he whispered helplessly, "I don't know what he did, but if it were in my power, I'd do to him what he deserves for hurting you so. The fool. We are all fools, Remus; look past the words, past the actions. Look to the meanings behind them. Look to the love, or to the hate, but look to that first." He swallowed, stroking his son's hair. "Don't, don't think that a child, a boy, does things in foolishness that should scar for a lifetime. Let it pass. Let it all, pass."

"Il n'a pas fait rien," Remus replied, his voice dark and deep, "il me deteste. Parce que je suis..."

And no more needed to be said.

That night Remus dreamed troubled things in the curve of his father's arms, like a crescent moon cradling him. He dreamed of a dog he knew only in his dreams, deep and shaggy black, pressing its nose into the crook of his neck and scenting him, loving him, begging his forgiveness, whining deep in his throat. And he dreamt of a stag with a coat the color of gold in the moonlight. And he dreamt of a rat, which was quiet and gray and pale against the ground, who wove lies with its paws over the mossy dirt.

Peter left Sirius's house one bright morning to go home, to spend time with his mother before school was to start. James stayed on two extra days, watching his friend, studying him, trying to understand.

After dinner they sat on the 'Wharf,' as Sirius called it, something Michael and Orion had made a while back: thick plankwood jutting out into the depths of the great, foaming river that rolled brown and dark past the Black home, out back behind Aquila's garden.

James thought for a while about what he'd do without Lilly for so long, but something didn't seem to click. In the first place, he realized at last as he toyed with a splinter of wood, he wouldn't have done something so foolish in the first place. Then again, he'd never had cause to feel so threatened before, that he might have to lose her.

"You're wondering why I did it," Sirius said lazily, as if speaking to the stars. James looked over to him slowly, the profile of his face outlined in nighttime shadows.

"Guess so," James replied. "I think I understand. I think, I thought you were smarter than that."

"It isn't that I don't love him," Sirius murmured, sighing deeply. Above him a great cloud of smoke rose. He was, James noticed from the sight and the smell in the air, smoking one of Michael's fags; either he'd stolen it from Michael's room or the older boy had encouraged the pastime, thinking it amusing, or perhaps cute. The Black boys -- men? -- were hard to understand, and therefore yet harder to ever talk to.

"You don't know what love is, Sirius," James interjected quickly, "you're too young for that."

"You don't understand," Sirius said, with a wry grin in his voice. "Remus is different from anyone else. You can't do anything with half a heart about him; you can't just like him, 'cause he isn't going to just like you. You either-- you either love him, or nothing at all."

"So then why?"

"Because I thought-- well, look at Snape," Sirius said, scowling, "slimy bastard, he is, but the point is he's smart, smart like Remus is, smart like I'm...not," he finished lamely, lifting his hands in the air. He spread his fingers wide, watching the stars through the interstices, trying not to think of the world at hand, only the stars. For a moment he figured, maybe this was the sort of thing Remus was trying to do, when he looked at the sky: just lose himself, in it.

"I should think you knew Remus better than that," James said carefully, watching the lines of those boy-broad palms, palm in the moonlit darkness.

"They were laughing together," Sirius whispered, "they were laughing, together, d'you know how hard it is to make Remus laugh?"

"Yes," James stated bluntly.

"So then you've gotta understand." Sirius turned his head, then, to try and catch James's pale blue eyes with his own, darker ones. A great shadow seemed to lie between them, as if he were suddenly watching a James from the future, taller and wiser and stronger than he was every day at school, putting forth the wild and uncultivated potential of his mind to use in simple pranks. This James was thinking, long and hard, mulling it over in contemplative silence.

"I understand," James said finally, suddenly small again. "I understand why you did it, but I'm not agreeing with how and I never will."

"I never asked you to do that," Sirius said, "I just wanted to make you see what it was, why it was..." They fell silent for a little while, Sirius taking a long puff on the fag and James watching him, so much larger than life and yet so young, yet. James had the crazy illusion that he would always be this little boy, confused and emotional and easily angered, loyal and faithful and loving like a puppy, even when he was an old man.

Too often James had thought about the future, though Divination had never been his strong point. Peter was never with them in his imaginings, and the thought of him was always clouded with some strange feeling of hate, not James's own, that made him feel a little ill. Lilly was sort of an orange flash, one he couldn't quite discern, as he if he were catching her in motion through a mirror, but her presence was always there. Sirius was beside him, of course, as Sirius was always beside him and there was a smile on Sirius's face that always suggested Remus was there, though James and the small boy were not quite close enough for him to be seen. He was merely a scent, a warmth, upon the air.

Too often, in such thoughtful moments, James found his wish to see more fade away into a confusing nothingness, and let such dalliances go. Better to live, he decided, here and now; not quite as much as Sirius would, unthinking of the repercussions, but the boy had the right idea.

And if he ever matured, the idea would mature, as well. James could at least be sure of that.

"You wanna try?" Sirius asked, holding out the glowing cigarette, breaking through James's wall of silence suddenly. James blinked, widely, clearing his eyes, and found himself lying on rough wood in the comfort of a dark night. The smell of cigarette smoke hung heavy upon the air; half of him wanted to cough, half of him wanted to wrap up in the daring of that smell.

"No," James said, "thanks, though." Sirius shrugged awkwardly from his position and took another drag, fingering the necklace he still wore as his treasure from the past, his hope for the future. They were silent that way until Aquila called them in with a scolding but understanding tone, when it was time for bed.

Etienne watched his son walk before him, weighted down with his old suitcase and his bookbag filled with books for the coming year, and felt as if, could he follow the boy, he would. But Remus was strong enough on his own. There was nothing, now, that Etienne could do, save watch that bobbing head golden in the sunlight, moving ever more quickly away from him.

Remus turned, looked over his shoulder for a moment, and did not smile.

"Au revoir," he murmured, not loud enough for Etienne to hear. Still, he knew his son well enough to know what he had said.

"Good bye," he corrected, and lifted his hand to wave. Remus squared his shoulders, believed the stone was not stone, and disappeared to Etienne's sight, melting through the brick upon brick.

As if he really were that unreal.

Remus took a deep, steadying breath, clutching the handle of his suitcase so tightly that his knuckles turned white. Here, there were no familiar faces to turn to, and there was nowhere to hide. It had been a long time since he'd felt this way, this isolated, this numbingly alone.

Sirius saw him the second he stepped onto the platform, and James had to hold tight to his arm to keep him from leaping after him.

"You'll scare him away," James chided, and Sirius tensed, but fell still. "Remember what we had planned," James went on, softening. He knew Sirius too well to be impatient with him.

"So where is she?" Sirius asked, the lowest of whines echoing in his voice, though he checked it before it became too apparent.

"She's here, she's here," came Lilly's voice from behind them, sounding half-amused and half-aggravated, "and now she knows why she was sneezing all the way to the station. Really, don't you know it isn't polite to talk about people behind their backs?" Had it been any other day Sirius would have cocked his head to the side, would have offered up that cheeky grin, would have said in that indefatigable way he had, 'So step up a little closer, and I'll say it to your face.' But it wasn't any other day, and Sirius was too nervous to feel. Even Peter had felt some odd sort of pity for the loud, over-zealous boy, and hadn't played on worried anticipation.

"We were just going things over," James explained, darting a glance over to Sirius. "If anyone can talk to him, it's you." That in itself stung Sirius deeper than any blow yet, but he tried not to show it, running his fingers through his hair and fidgeting.

"You can trust me," Lilly said, lifting herself up on the balls of her feet to scan the crowd intently, "so stop looking as if you're going to the gallows." She dropped back down with a light shrug and shook her head, worrying at her lower lip. "Is it really true? All of this? I can't believe you bloody left me out, you know; James Potter, I will have your hide!"

"It's really true," Peter said calmly, eyes seeming too empty in the bright sunlight. Lilly blinked over at him, then flashed a freckled sort of grin at him and shrugged. Her expression was tough, wry.

"Of course it is. Probably James's stupid idea followed along by Sirius's stupid desperation and your" She shrugged faintly, almost apologetically, then, "There he is."

Anxiety clenched in Sirius's stomach, caused his heart to leap a little higher, and then plummet agonizingly into his gut. James rested a hand gently on his shoulder, then stooped to pick up his things, motioning for Peter to do the same.

"Let's go," he instructed softly, and Sirius managed to focus his eyes on his suitcase beside of him, rather than employing them to scan the crowd eagerly for the sight of that sun-burnished hair. Had Remus been eating properly? Of course not. Had he been holing himself up in his room, reading the summer away, growing more pale than Hogwarts allowed him to get? As sure as he knew Remus, Sirius knew that had to be true. Were there new scars? That last thought made him shudder -- wounds had been made, no doubt, and Sirius hadn't been there to ease them away, to kiss them and feel them with his lips. There was so much about Remus, he realized painfully, that he had yet to learn, and not only in the map of his body, the expanse of scars and pain that showed through above the skin. Whatever lay deeper would be harder to understand, much more so, and Sirius knew that if he only had the chance, then he wouldn't fail. But if he'd already been given the chance, if he'd already lost it without even beginning - that was a possibility that he wasn't yet strong enough to bear.

"Right," he murmured, eyes darkened, more mature than James had ever seen them, "let's just, get out of here."

"You'll tell us everything afterwards, of course?" James leaned forward to place a kiss on Lilly's cheek, which, despite her annoyed tone, she did not shirk away from. In fact, she had to admit, it was nice to feel James's hand resting lightly on her shoulder, something more daring in touch than she was used to him displaying. Especially, in such a crowded forum.

"Mm," she snorted, shrugging, "we'll see."

"Thanks," James murmured, his lips tugged upwards into something too good-natured to be a smirk, but far too sly to be a smile. "Make me proud."

"Oh shut up and sod off," Lilly muttered, doing her best to scowl at him. Still, that expression was too contagious for even Lilly to look discouraging, and James knew it. With a torn expression, Lilly watched the other three leave, and then shook her head, snorting again. Frankly, part of her was nervous, for she knew how much this meant to James, much less to Sirius, that they had worked so hard. There was a jealous part of her, but she discarded it for the foolishness she knew that it was as soon as it began to creep into her chest. To feel anything other than proud of them was to be absolutely foolish. They were thoughtless, Sirius and James, oddly selfish in a very childish way, and to expect to be included in whatever it was they were doing at the time, was to expect far to much.

Therefore, she turned her attention elsewhere, holding her two bags at either side, scanning the crowd once more for that tousled, familiar head. Once found, she made straight for it, pushing her way through the sea of students, ones she recognized and ones that were absolutely unfamiliar, until she was trotting along behind Remus. She knew, as she sometimes simply knew things, that Remus knew she was there, but for a while, swamped by the loud sounds of youth at its finest, she remained silent.

Then,

"Did you have a nice summer, Remus?" Her voice sounded calm, and perfectly cool. Her nerves steadied themselves, and she suddenly felt in her element, as if nothing could keep her from attaining her goals.

"Mm. I did. you?" Remus tilted his head to meet her eyes, as if he was trying to search out some hidden secret there. But Lilly's eyes were deep and green and he couldn't read in them anything other than the usual power and determination, and goodwill. His brow furrowed.

"It was all right," she said flippantly, shrugging. Her orange hair bounced against one shoulder, looking fiery as it swayed in the wind. "You know, could've been better." Her tone was so easy, Remus noted, and for a moment he felt strangely jealous, and utterly alone.


"I'm sorry," was all he said.

"Doesn't matter, now. It's over. C'mon," she finished casually, "let's go get seats." In Remus's eyes, which were deep and dark and more hunted than they had ever been, and he opened his mouth to refuse. "Two seats," Lilly added hurriedly, "a private car." She could see Remus hesitate, could see the conflicting emotions at war in his expression, and wanted to reach out to touch him, to just tell him it would be okay, in the end. But she didn't think touching him would help, not for a second.

"two seats?" Remus asked finally, his voice quiet and unreadable.

"Just two seats," Lilly assured him.

"All right," he said, shifting, drawing himself up a little higher. Not for the first time, Lilly had the almost irresistible urge to find Sirius Black and punch him right in his stupid face, but she fought it, and finally pushed it down, merely trotting onto the Hogwarts Express, Remus in tow. One task at a time, she reminded herself, and her resolution was set without the possibility of sway.

They moved down the aisles, some seats filled, other cars not as private as she would have liked, until they came to a car that was completely empty. As if Remus could sense Lilly's thoughts before she put them into speech, he slipped through one sliding door, holding his suitcase in one hand, the door for the girl in his other. Lilly softened. She'd always liked Remus, the soft-spoken yet ultimately thoughtful way he did things, the way he always did things for others before he did anything for himself.

"Thanks," Lilly murmured, "here, I'll get your things." Even she was taller than Remus, now, who had grown, but barely another half-inch, over the entire summer. She wondered for a moment how he'd really been keeping himself, but now was not the time to pry, or make him feel in any way defensive. The more comfortable he felt about talking to her the easier all of this was going to be.

"thanks," Remus echoed, and offered her a distracted smile as he sat, hands folded neatly in his lap. Baggage stowed, she flopped down across from him, puffing out a long, deep sigh. A few silent moments passed. Lilly leaned over to the door, and slid it shut.

"Now let's really talk," she said, her eyes sparkling like grass and gold filtered through a mirror made of diamonds, and Remus found he could not speak.

"What's she saying?" Sirius pressed himself closer against the wall, frowning faintly.

"Shh," James hissed, giving him a light shove. "If you keep quiet, you'll be able to hear better." He fiddled with something in his hand, then scowled.

"I told you altering the Sonorus spell wouldn't work," Peter said, but the other two weren't listening to him. He shrugged, and went back to finishing his assigned reading; if they decided not to take his help, then they decided not to take his help, and they could deal with it on their own. No doubt, they'd succeed, as they always did, but it would be nice if, just for once, they'd listen to his advice, and save all the trouble in between the idea and the realization of it.

"You said," Sirius began, and James glared at him.

"Quiet," he snapped, then went back to muttering something under his breath, the finishing touch to all their plans. Through the wall, the sound of Lilly's voice snapped and fizzed and faded out, then flared up again, as if it were coming to them from an old radio. Remus could barely be heard; then again, Sirius could assume, he wasn't yet given the chance to have much else to say.

"Right," Sirius muttered, frowning sheepishly. Peter glanced up from his reading, rolled his eyes, and settled back down.

It was going to be a long ride.

"I don't understand," Remus said blankly.

"Of course you don't, you're not listening close enough," Lilly said, but her tone was patient, hardly exasperated. Yet. "I wasn't included in on this. Of course. Because they're bloody stupid, if you haven't noticed, those three gits. But they spent the entire summer together -- or, most of it, anyway -- at Sirius's house, working on this, for you. Not supposed to be doing even half of it, what with it being summer, and them using magic every day; I'm surprised James decided to go through with the plan, I thought he was smarter than to do something so foolish as could get him expelled. But they spent as much time as they weren't spending eating or sleeping working on this, it was all Sirius's idea to begin with, you know, so they could-- for you."

"Animagi."

"Don't know how they bloody well did it, either," Lilly went on, her eyes glittering brightly, "but they did, and it's bloody amazing even if it is bloody stupid. I've come to expect as much, I should think you have, too. There've never been Animagi as young as they are, did you know that -- of course you knew that -- not in the entire history of the wizarding world, and I don't think there ever will be, either. There's something to be said about being stubborn idiots who don't think of others, in the end, isn't there?"

"They're"

"Animagi, yes," Lilly cut in, toying with a lock of her hair. "It's dumb luck, I said, it isn't possible, but then James showed me, andwell, the rest, that's for you to see, after all. But it-- it's the bloody truth, completely impossible, completely insane, they are, but as I said, dumb luck can get you anywhere. Point is," Lilly continued, drawing in a deep breath, "the point is, Sirius was driven half out of his mind without you and he's done this for you. Stupid as he is and pathetic as he is and completely hopeless as he is -- well, I think the bloody prat adores you, and I think you adore the bloody prat, as well. So I'm hoping their summer hasn't gone to waste. Well, their original intention for the summer, in any case. You should just, you should see him, Remus." Lilly's voice had grown more serious, trying less, now, to prove a point, and more to just describe that emptiness in Sirius's eyes. "You should just see the way he looks, without you. He doesn't look happy. He doesn't look right."

"They told you to do this. To talk to me."

"Yes. But can you blame them?"

"can you blame me?"

The sound of both those familiar voices filled the other car. Sirius leaned back against the seat, listening to Remus's voice echo over the windows and against his skin, knees drawn up to his chest, face buried against them. He felt so small, in this place of being the observer, so much a child.

Then again, he supposed he always was so much of one, never quite mature enough, never quite grown up enough, to understand.

A quiet reverence had filled their car, along with those two voices. The spell James had worked out worked as a bug might have, from the muggle Bond movies. He'd 'planted' it on Lilly when he touched her shoulder, had set it up using the Sonorus charm as a basic skeleton for it, but with a slew of his own alterations and additions. Sirius had, of course, come up with the idea but James was the one skilled enough and insightful enough to carry it through to completion.

Now, Sirius felt ill that he had ever suggested it.

Again, he was shoving his nose where it shouldn't be, invading Remus's ever-important privacy yet again with his rash and foolish decisions.

There was a look of concentration on James's face as he kept the spell in place, listening simultaneously to Lilly flood Remus with information and opinions. A little frown creased his forehead for a moment, but was easily smoothed away, after all the talk about how stupid they'd been. After all, Lilly was absolutely right, and that was what made it so grating to his nerves.

"Turn it off," Sirius whispered hoarsely, shocking James from his concentration. The spell wavered, voices warping, distorting, upon the air.

"What?" Even Peter was surprised, watching Sirius with a perplexed expression.

"Just turn it off, James," Sirius repeated, swallowing down a lump in his throat. "I mean, of course, I want to hear, but I-- can't. Please. James." Again, the sound of those voices dipped and waved and grew faint, as if they were merely whispers heard through a keyhole. James lips quirked into a sudden smile.

"Right," he said, and tapped the wall of their car lightly before he pulled his wand back, tucking it neatly in the folds of his robes.

"We'll just have to hope Lilly tells us what happened," Sirius said weakly, and then turned his face to the window, and said nothing more.

"No," Lilly admitted softly, "no, I can't blame you." Her voice had grown very serious, and very kind. Remus toyed with a loose thread at the bottom of his sweater, feeling helpless and cold.

"I just don't understand," he murmured after a moment's pause, "I just don't understand. He never promised me anything, but-- but he knew, and he told"

"He was afraid," Lilly replied carefully, trying to form her words so that Remus could see as clearly as she did why Sirius had done something so undeniably stupid, whatever way you looked at it. "He was afraid that he'd lose you, and he thought, if Snape were to be easily prejudiced -- as most Slytherins are -- then he might keep him away from you. Sirius is," and she paused here, frowning, thinking hard, "Sirius is a fool, who loves too much, and feels too much, and acts without thinking and speaks without hearing himself. But what he did, strange as it seems, he did for you, in the end, or thought he was doing for you. It's what's beneath the actions, the words, what drives them all; that's what counts. Especially with Sirius."

"He wasn't going to lose me," Remus said, helpless. So that was it. So, in the end, it came back to laughter in a library, the thought that maybe, it wasn't so hard to make a friend for himself, after all -- for James, and Sirius, and even Peter, had been different; the moment he met them, it was as if here was where he belonged. But a normal, simple, childhood friend. That was all he had wanted. It wasn't easy for him to talk to people. It wasn't easy for him to laugh.

But there had been that wounded look in Sirius's eyes, when he saw them.

And Remus realized, remembering just then, in the silence of their private car, that he should have known, should have done something, only at the time, he hadn't understood.

"So it's my fault, then," Remus finished off, voice dark. "I should have seen it. I should have understood."

"I think, both of you should," Lilly said quietly, still unsure whether or not she should touch him. "But that doesn't excuse what he did; nothing can. If anything -- you just have to let him make up for it. He worked so hard, and he misses you so."

"I should have known."

"Remus"

"I should have seen it. I should have known."

"Remus." Lilly rested a hand on his shoulder, gently, but firm, and felt him flinch beneath her. She frowned, but hurriedly shrugged it off. "Listen to me, Remus. There's only so much living you can do, lamenting the past. But if there are remedies to be had and pain to be soothed and a life to be lived, then turning your eyes backwards and saying 'why didn't I' or 'what if?' isn't going to help for a second. Too many people are lost in the past when it's the future they should be thinking of; certainly, the present. You didn't know but you know now and I can go get Sirius to come to you or you can go to Sirius but either way, if you just sit here, more time will be wasted, and you'll only have more to regret."

And Remus had never read such wisdom, even in the dustiest of library books.

"So what's it going to be?" It could have been a mere handful of minutes that had passed since Lilly last spoke, or it could have been an hour. Time was strange that way, molded to fit your expectations, or your fears, creeping one moment and flying the next. Remus drew in a deep breath, his throat feeling strangely dry.

"I don't know," Remus replied carefully, "I don't know, and I'm-afraid, I think."

"You don't have to be."

"Don't I? I don't know what words I should trust. I don't know what I should listen to." He swallowed, thickly, his eyes meeting Lilly's for a moment before he turned them back to his hands in his lap. Normally, when he was with people, he followed his instincts, listened to his heightened senses and believed in scent, in sight, in that insight he had discovered he had, at so early an age. With Sirius, he had simply trusted because he always knew he could trust, because of Sirius's honest, earthy scent and his honest, earthy eyes. Sirius reminded him of a forest, but one that welcomed him home, one that was wildness mixed with humanity, passion with reason, all rolled up into one. In Sirius's arms, even in Sirius's company, he had been safe and cared for and happy, complete, so that he didn't just trust the boy he was with, but himself, as well. As if all the time, that basic human nature he lacked could be found in the bigger boy, who was so painfully human, so wonderfully so.

And then he had discovered that with human nature came a jealousy all the more terrifying for what it could unconsciously destroy, the ease with which they sat together, the silence in which they could convey any emotion they so desired. All things had rested unspoken and tender between them.

But perhaps losing such tenderness was also a part of growing older.

Still, it had hurt, in a way Remus had not known anything could. Or, he had perhaps forgotten, or tried to forget, how such deep betrayal could cut swifter and more terribly than any knife might. When Dalila had turned him over, had found his belly with her sharp canine teeth, had taken his youth and ripped in to shreds with the beautiful curse of the wolf, only then had he known betrayal this fierce and this great. And Sirius had promised to protect him from such a thing, and so he had bared his stomach and his neck and his heart to the boy, and had found it all spilled out carelessly upon the ground once more. In the depths of him, he believed that it was his fault, for being so foolish as to trust again, for being so careless as to try with Severus Snape to laugh, for not seeing and therefore interpreting correctly that look in Sirius's eyes.

As if Lilly could somehow read all that flashed through the shadows in Remus's eyes -- and how could she? For she didn't know -- she spoke again, softly, once she had let him fall silent in thought.

"Trusting someone doesn't naturally mean they'll betray your trust, Remus," she soothed, touching his shoulder again. This time, he did not flinch, or shy away from it. "Betrayal runs as deep as love in some places, and it's just-- you just have to-- sometimes you just have to take it for what it is, and leave it behind you. In the past. Where it belongs."

"I know," Remus said quietly, after a few aching seconds passed. "I know that."

"This is his way of apologizing," Lilly went on, as if it wasn't yet obvious enough, "this is his way of trying to put the past into the past. He's found a future for you, perhaps-- perhaps even created one, I don't know, I'm no expert at Transfiguration and certainly not at Divination. But, I do know, that things pass. And if people-care about you, then you-you keep them close, close as you can, because one day, you might lose them."

Silence filled the car again.

Remus thought of what losing Sirius would mean, and discovered the aching pain in his small chest was too great to ever explain. Such hollowness would haunt him in nightmares for years to come.

"I'd like to talk to him," he decided finally. Lilly broke out into a relieved smile, relaxing back into her seat.

"You have no idea what this'll mean to him," she confided.

"I think I do." Their eyes met again, snail-shell brown with forest green. Lilly felt oddly unnerved under that precocious gaze, and shifted faintly, not entirely uncomfortably, in her seat. Remus was unusual, to say the least, nothing like any other boy that ever was or ever would be. He was too wise for his youth and too pained for his age and he knew things just by looking at a person that not even the oldest and most insightful of scholars would ever be able to. It was as if by looking at your eyes he was opening you up, so that everything about you was completely visible and vulnerable to his naked eye.

But, Lilly noted, he didn't have that power over Sirius, which was why this entire mess had happened, to begin with.

Or perhaps, she theorized later, it wasn't that he didn't understand Sirius, but simply couldn't comprehend the love the bigger boy bore for him, why it was so strong, why it was meant solely for him. And that, she decided at last, was what it had to be, for Remus knew Sirius perhaps better than Sirius himself did, and yet still couldn't understand the jealousy and the anger he felt towards Severus Snape for years to come.

"D'you, d'you want me to go now, then?" Lilly asked, uncertain. "And get him, that is," she added.

"Yes," Remus replied, softly, "yes, that would be -- I haven't talked to him in -- please," he finished off lamely, and shrugged, seeming oddly small and helpless for one shown so often to be so sage-wise.

"I won't be long." Lilly blinked down at him. "Thanks, Remus."

"Mm?"

"For not being so stupid, like the others are."

And she was gone.

Lilly slid the door open to see the three most mixed expressions assembled in one place she could have expected. Peter, indifferent and thoughtful; James, anxious and fidgety; Sirius, tortured and nervous. The very air in the car seemed to be stifled, torn betwixt the conflicting emotions.

"Well," she muttered, though it was good-natured, "hail the conquering hero, and all." Sirius straightened in his seat, sitting bolt upright at the noise. James's gaze flickered immediately over to Lilly's face, searching it for any signs of how the talk had gone. Peter slowly, almost lazily, shifted his eyes to Lilly, as well, and rested there for a questioning moment, before he pulled his focus away. "What?" she asked, ruffling. "Doesn't anyone want to know what happened?"

"I know you're not stupid, Lilly," Sirius murmured up at her, "so just tell me, what happened?" Still, he couldn't help but be hopeful, her tone too light for anything to have gone wrong.

"I won't waste time telling you," she admitted softly, looking at Sirius with the sort of kindness she realized suddenly he truly deserved. "Go on, you silly prat, he's waiting for you and you're keeping him." Sirius was on his feet in a second at those words, eyes widening and bright. The tension in the small car slowly eased out of it, blown away by some sunshine breeze. Suddenly, the day seemed sunny, light streaming in through the windows, sun high overhead in the pale blue sky.

"You took that long to tell me?" he cried indignantly, and then he was gone from the room, leaving behind him only the lingering memory of sadness.

"I take it things went well," James murmured. His smile could be felt in his voice, if not seen in his eyes.

"Now we just hope Sirius doesn't screw everything up," Lilly said, only half-joking, and sat next to James to wait.





Remus, like a werewolf, you have the air of sadness.
I am a werewolf, papa. I have the air of sadness.

He didn't do anything. He hates me. Because I'm...