**Author's Note: This is a sequel to the story "Beloved." If you haven't read it, I suggest you at least skim it. As an author, I'd sort of like it if you actually read it, but hey—I'm not a nag. This is set after OotP and there are spoilers. If you haven't read it, you may want to proceed with caution. Happy reading.**
They had been bound by their common cause for so long, it was hard for them to accept a new definition, to accept their most recent loss.
But in a room full of people bound by the death of one of their own, there were two who had been tied by a shared loss, defined by a death, for nearly two decades.
Sirius's death didn't cause Severus grief; on the contrary, the first thing he felt was a curious sense of relief, followed immediately by a self-loathing so strong it made him sick. The adult, he knew, should not hold grudges of the adolescent, but he'd been unable to shed old fears and old scars. But by looking at his fellow members of the Order of the Phoenix, fully aware they did not all trust him, Severus Snape finally found a way to feel the loss of Sirius: As one more fighter lost.
Remus rubbed his hands over his eyes, feeling wrinkles at the corners that hadn't been there only weeks before. He was the last of them, then, the last of the Marauders with James and Sirius dead and Peter as good as. The one whose long nights of full moons had drawn them all together was the only one left.
Two men in a room full of the grieving, each feeling things in their own way, remembered the first loss they had felt, the one they had shared, and when ebony eyes met with gray-green across the somber room, both were sad.
~~~
He had a secret.
It was no surprise, really, that a man with no true friends and spying as an avocation would have a secret. In truth, he had many, but there was one he held close to him as his purpose, one he kept in the forefront of his mind when he became unsure of the path he'd most recently chosen.
Dea had died at the hands of Death Eaters.
There were mornings, grim with fear of things to come and unable to see any hope for the future, that Severus wished he'd never stumbled upon that particular bit of information, that a talent for both Ligilimency and Occlumency had come to someone else. But they hadn't, and it had been from the rotting, perverse mind of Lucius Malfoy that Severus had accidentally plucked the facts of Dea's death.
And it took no more than that for him to switch sides.
He told no one his secret, not even Albus. It was his mission, and keeping it to himself only gave him more purpose.
The last thing he looked at before closing his eyes and clearing his mind before sleep was a mortar and pestle, flecked with green and black and kept flawlessly clean.
~~~
In his office, already dressed for bed, Albus Dumbledore held his own secret; a ragged piece of parchment, carried miles and miles by a particularly determined owl, sat on his desk, casting a small spot of golden-orange light in the air above it.
I know what you're doing, the precise script read. And though it may sound presumptuous, I think you could use my help. It was signed not with a name, but with the word "Beloved," a glowing orange heart branded aside it.
Nothing was impossible, the old wizard mused, striking long fingers over his white beard. In fact, nothing was even improbable. His mouth curved into a hopeful smile, he composed a letter and sent it out immediately.
"It's time for a full Order meeting, Fawkes," he said, running a finger over the bird's head.
~~~
Remus had been expecting a full meeting, but not so soon after Sirius's death. They had gained a few members since the Ministry had acknowledged Voldemort's return, but caution was still the group's byword, especially now that they'd lost a member.
Remus was now tender of the Black house, being the only member without other obligations. It was the last remaining piece of Padfoot, and even his mother's portrait seemed more subdued with him gone.
With a sigh, Remus withdrew his wand and readied the house for the meeting, expanding rooms and conjuring chairs as he saw fit. By the time he'd made enough accommodations, he was tired, his head aching. He wasn't quite sure how Molly always made it look so easy, but he was quite certain he'd kiss her feet next time she took care of matters.
Though his schedule was undoubtedly fuller than any of the other members, Dumbledore arrived first, conjuring his own chair and an ever-present dish of candy. "How are you, Remus?" he asked, settling himself comfortably and giving in to his sweet tooth. His tone was somber but his eyes were bright, and the duality made Remus nervous.
"As well as can be expected," he said cautiously. "Every one of my closest friends is gone to me."
"True friends are never truly gone, Remus. There are also many opportunities in this life to forge new friendships." As though to affirm his statement, the door to Number 12 opened and shut.
The Order was convening.
~~~
Severus sat perfectly still, hands clasped on the arms of the chair he sat in, while the rest of them chatted, milled around, or ate. He could never understand how they viewed these meetings as social functions. Perhaps, he thought, if they attended a congregation of Death Eaters, they'd learn a thing or two about efficiency.
"Was there a purpose for this meeting, Albus?" He spoke quietly, knowing the wizard would hear him regardless of the volume.
From across the noisy room where he was picking through a plate of biscuits, Albus looked up at the Potions teacher and nodded.
"I received a message last evening," Albus announced, amplifying his voice magically so that everyone in the room quieted. "An anonymous message that seems to infer a wish to enter the Order."
"This isn't a bloody Gobstones club," Mundungus Fletcher said, fiddling with his pipe. "Whoever they are must be mad to think we'd accept an anonymous entrant."
"Mad," Dumbledore agreed. "Or presumptuous."
The word didn't escape Remus Lupin, whose eyes narrowed.
Dumbledore withdrew the tattered parchment from his robes, the glow of it now nearly extinguished, and laid it on an empty chair in the middle of the room. "I'd like you each to have a look at it and tell me what you think."
The Weasleys, quick to everything they did, stepped forward first, each of them stepping back after only a moment with a frown. One by one, everyone did the same. Only Minerva McGonagall showed any reaction; she looked as though she were searching for a memory just beyond her reach.
Remus watched as Severus stepped to the chair and stumbled back almost immediately. "Someone has very poor taste in humor," he said finally, composing himself. But his uncharacteristic shock was lost neither on the group nor on Remus, who stepped forward next.
"Oh, Merlin," he whispered, reaching out a finger to touch the glowing heart. The parchment was snatched away from him by Severus, whose eyes had narrowed to little more than slits in his angular face.
Dumbledore stepped gracefully between them, his face a portrait in diplomacy. "Everyone, I'd like to speak to you all about our numbers. We will soon be waging a battle bloodier than the one that came before, and elite though we are, we cannot go it alone." He looked at each member of the Order in turn. "First I wish to speak privately with these two gentlemen."
And as though the years had not passed, as though they were never there at all, Severus and Remus found themselves sitting side by side in front of their old headmaster as he held a piece of paper that had the power to change their lives.