It were as if God had slowly cast a blanket out over the slumbering countryside of England. Inch by inch, the light of the sun had died away, replaced only by the inestimable, solid pinpricks of the ancient constellations and their stars . The moon was nowhere in sight, leaving the roads and trails that had been planned out; leaving the routes and paths they were to take; leaving everything before them to be bathed in a clandestine shadow that warped the very sense of reality for each and every member of the Order of the Phoenix.

This was the time of day they had all been waiting for. Dumbledore had arranged for their departure one hour after sunset, when nothing would reveal their movements. They would use the Floo Network to be transported to a fellow Order member's summer home on the Scotland seaside. From there they would wait for a signal; a single, green flamed candle to be lit in one of the windows of an abandoned Presbyterian church. When the signal came, they were to move out. On foot they would reach the base of the keep that acted as Voldemort's asylum, and from there they would be met by one of the Ministry's most esteemed collection of Aurors. Together they would use stealth-brooms to reach the uppermost parts of the keep, and then work their way down until they reached the dungeon.

The plan was tricky, and many had believed it to be unstable and foolish at best, but it was, unfortunately, all they had. It was all Sirius had if he ever wanted to get his godson back.

It had taken days for them to get to this point. Days of training, days of planning, days of striking up failsafe after failsafe, and days of mental preparation. They all knew what they were heading into, and most were wise enough to understand that chances of everyone coming out of this full fledged, claustrophobic war were quite unlikely. But they also knew that come what may, they had a duty to pay to whosoever may be trapped within the walls of the keep.

Sirius was not so gung-ho over the matter, however. He had come along for one thing and one thing only, and it was a tacit understanding among most of the participating occupants that Sirius' intentions were directed only toward rescuing Harry, his impromptu son figure, and the only thing worth anything in his otherwise self proclaimed worthless existence. Without Harry he had nothing, and if harm had befallen him, Sirius was quite willing to believe that there was very little left for him outside of the past he had so desperately come to cling to in vain attempts to keep his hopes alive, as well as his sanity, over the past few weeks.

Weeks.

In reality, Harry had been gone for months, but he'd been too stupid to notice it. The trick had been marvelous, he had to admit. To fool Sirius Black into believing that Harry Potter, his Harry, had been being portrayed by none other than Draco Malfoy, was cunning at least. Brilliant, perhaps, at best. But Sirius didn't want to give the monsters that called a murderer their master any such credit. They would all die for what they'd done to him, and if Harry was harmed, he promised himself that their deaths would be carried out as long as humanely possible.

Long ago, torture had been against Sirius' ethical and value system, but as of now, he no longer lived by any system. Such things were no longer beneath him.

And if Harry was dead, nothing would be beneath him. He'd take all of those bastards out, saving just enough strength so that the roof of the keep might fall upon all of theirs and his own head, finally ending his misery. It was the least he could do for himself.

Remus watched from a chair near the fire as Sirius glared hatefully out onto the world that surrounded them. None of the others who shared this room with them noticed, but that was the way of it. To the untrained eye, Sirius looked cool, calm, collected and well placed. But Remus knew better. He could see the rage, the fury, the pure contempt and self loathing that seethed in that man's eyes. He could see the slight quiver of a nerve that pulsed rapidly above Sirius' right temple, and he could see the tiny beads of sweat that were birthing from the pores of his skin.

If fear were being embodied this night, it was doing so in Sirius.

With a glance backward at the other Order members who were going through similar methods of mental preparation, Remus stood and stepped to his friend's side. He never said a word, understanding that nothing he could say would pull Sirius from his stupor. He was going to have to wait. Sirius would come around in time, as he always did, and then all would be mended. The slate would be wiped clean of troubled thoughts...for an hour or so. But as the day went on, it would become cluttered again, and Sirius' guilt would threaten to surpass him and manifest into the emotional monster that continuously consumed him day in and day out.

Such was the motions of the cycle; the inner battle for Sirius' sanity.

"You know," said Remus, his voice hushed so that only they may hear. "If you don't walk into this thing with a clear head...you might not walk out of it at all."

There was a slight twinge of indignation in Sirius' eyes, but as he cast his gaze down at his feet, he realized quite easily the logic of his friend's well meant words.

"Thank you Remus," he stated with a hint of apathy. "I'll remember that."

Remus sighed. He bent his head in thought at what he might say to get through to his friend. If they weren't careful, they would all be hurt, and despite the aggravation and frustration Remus felt at the encroaching sense of doom, and the possibility that Harry was hurt, or worse, he felt a great deal of concern and dread at the possibility of losing his oldest and dearest friend.

Sirius was most likely going to rush blindly into this mess without so much as a second thought. Such carelessness would endanger him and others. The operation at hand was too delicate for suck recklessness, and it was in Sirius' best interests that Remus seriously considered having Dumbledore suspend the man from the mission.

Knowing that that would probably only create more trouble, the man spoke the only words he could think of that would strike some sense of realization into his friend's heart:

"You'll be no good to Harry if you're dead."

There was a long pause in which both men let the statement rest. The silence etched on for what seemed like eons between the two, but the startling effects of those words were felt by none other around them. The atmosphere was that thick with apprehension.

"I beg your pardon?" Sirius voiced lightly, not quite sure he'd heard such a blunt statement erupt from the lips of his wise old friend.

"If you die in this mission...what does Harry have to come back to?"

Sirius turned his gaze upon Remus for the first time that night.

"What makes you think I'm going to die?"

Another wave of awed hush brushed between them, and for a moment Remus serious considered just walking away.

"That's not what I meant."

"Then what do you mean?"

Clearing his throat, Remus looked out onto the countryside, seeming disinterested in his companion's question.

"I haven't known Harry for very long," he began with the slightest hint of a grin. "And I was never as close to James and Lily that you were. But regardless of my own personal distance, I learned to read people very well. I know when someone's keeping a secret. After all, who does that better then me?" They shared a short laugh at the truth in Remus' own words before he went on. "I could read it on James and Lily that they loved each other. I could read it on Harry that he understood, in a sense, everything that always happened around him when he was a child. I could sense his inner wisdom when I met him thirteen years later as his Professor, and I learned to read him better as I came to know him as a," he paused, thinking on his words. "A friend, I suppose. I could read the two of you through your interactions and I knew that you cared about each other, equivalently as a father would a son and visa versa." Sirius nodded, listening eagerly to a voice that wasn't his own screaming conscience for once. "But as I sit here and read you now...I don't see much."

There was another laugh, but this one came from Sirius alone. He had no doubt in his mind that Remus could see inside of him. It was a gift he had, and a well practiced one at that. Whether it was because of his slightly more acute senses, or simply because Remus was so much wiser than he, Sirius didn't know. But any perception from his old friend was definitely one to take into regard. He wasn't one to spit out rainy day prophecies.

"What do you see, Remus?"

Remus glanced in his direction. He turned to stare outside once more, then doubled back to meet his friend's face once more.

"Anger."

Sirius raised his eyebrows in mock surprise.

"Anger?" he asked without bothering to hide some sarcastic awe.

Remus nodded. "And contempt."

"Contempt," the other echoed.

"Malice."

Sirius nodded, taking none of this very seriously.

"Despair. Anxiety. Self loathing."

"Are you planning on going anywhere with this soon Remus or do I have time for a cup of tea?"

Remus grinned knowingly, repeated a double back glance to the world outside, then stopped abruptly.

"And a longing to forthwith dive head first into a lake of ruin over a desperate attempt to regain that which in the end has nothing."

These words took the breath from Sirius' lungs. He glared at his old friend, wondering whether he should punch him or simply walk away.

"I beg your pardon?"

"You'll not be getting it, Sirius," the man stated very matter-of-factly. "You sit here fuming over all the things they've done to you. Rightfully so. You sit here and you fear for Harry's life. Who am I to say you have no right to do that? We all share that fear. But you can't simply think that running into this headlong is a way to handle the situation."

"I-"

"Harry depends on you, just as you do on him. Sirius, if you act foolishly and get yourself killed he has nothing to go back to except his Aunt and his Uncle, and we've heard enough of them to last us for ages of guilt and anger. You can't be the old Sirius Black. You have to make sure you're careful in there because if you're die, so does Harry's way of life. And in a sense, so will Harry."

Sirius bit his lip.

"I know it's hard for you to think clearly. You're afraid. Of what we may find in there. But that's no reason to act brash. You have to use your head, Sirius. You have to work through that inner battle before you begin the outer one."

"I can't do that. Not now. I'm too close to getting him back. I can't worry about me right now."

"Well," Remus sighed. "You know how the saying goes, Sirius. But in this case, if you lose the battle, there's no sense in fighting the war because you've already lost the first stand."

Sirius frowned and considered his friend. Remus merely smiled back, patted his shoulder, and headed back toward the fire where he and the others awaited word from the Ministry to get on the move.

Not ten minutes later, Dumbledore's head appeared in the flames.

"Alastor, is everyone ready?"

Alastor Moody stepped forward, grim determination set on his grizzled face.

"Ready, Dumbledore."

"Everyone?"

"Everyone," came the answer from the back. All turned to consider Sirius Black, looking as prepared as the rest to get on the way. "Let's go."