Stages

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or anything related.

A/N - Hello. Very, very long time, no see. A bit of a warning, this chapter is long and rougher than I'd like. It's taking a bit to get back into the rhythm of this story (and writing in general), and in my opinion, this chapter reflects that. The following next couple of chapters are written already, and are considerably better. I do hope you enjoy anyway. :)

(I usually add in the final couple of sentences from the previous chapter when I post, but since it's been literal years since this story's been updated, I'm going to skip that his time as it won't help in the slightest to jog people's memories. I strongly suggest rereading the entire previous chapter if you can't remember what's going on.)


Chapter Twenty-four: Like His Team


Remus Lupin loves Hermione Granger.

The new Lord Malfoy is silent as Sirius's baffled laughter echoes around the room. The should-be-happy sound seems unnatural, given the situation, but also seems to exhibit the feelings of the group as a whole at the same time. Remus eyes the two innocent looking vials carefully, the far from logical thought that they're going to explode at any moment too prominent to ignore.

Why would Snape leave a couple of potions to Sirius? Why would Snape leave anything to Sirius?

To a man who hated him? Who'd taunted and bullied him most of his life?

Being on the same side of a war didn't matter when lifelong detestation festered through your veins.

Sirius's chuckles slowly die as Hermione leans forwards and picks the vials up, the clear liquid inside them glinting in the early evening light streaming through the kitchen window. Remus hovers behind her, too conscious of his wayward thoughts; too afraid that somehow, a greasy-haired ghost was playing a nasty prank, just like he used to in school. It was just like Severus to expect them to comply, but to also keep them all in the dark about why they were expected to comply. He must be laughing in his grave, the bloody git.

The werewolf hopes that if he is laughing at their predicament from somewhere beyond, his destination involves fire and brimstone.

Remus's attention is dragged from his bitter thoughts as Sirius's laughter finally shuts off, leaving a room-piercing hollow in its wake. There's something like flint growing in grey eyes Sirius shares with the boy still mute, tied at the head of the table.

His cousin.

Blood really does mean nothing.

Said grey eyes focus on the Lord Malfoy. His lips thin.

"Explain."

Meeting Sirius's hard gaze, Draco sneers slightly and tilts his chin up. His own eyes are almost as flinty as Sirius's.

Almost.

He's just a child. Only slightly older than Harry.

Remus scowls at the thought. No, he's not.

War destroys, doesn't it?

"I don't have to tell you anything."

Sirius's answering smile is slow. Predatory. The expression makes Remus's heart pound hard, and he shifts on the spot, watching the interaction between Sirius and Draco as carefully as he'd been watching the vials. Sirius leans forward in his seat, somehow stalking his prey while still sitting, deliberation in every movement.

"Oh yes you do, bucky-boy. Otherwise you'll be losing that pretty, pointy head of yours right quick."

Sirius is suddenly on his feet, his wand in his hand and pressed into Draco's neck. Harry jumps up, panic flashing across his face.

"Sirius, no!"

"Stay out of it!" Sirius snaps, anger and something else, Remus isn't sure what, splintering through his voice and into his eyes. The wand in his hand trembles before steadying. "This is between me and the ferret! Right, Draco?"

"No, cousin, it isn't," Andromeda says in a tone far too soft. She's risen as well, knuckles white as she grips the table. Why no one had thought to restrain her, too, is suddenly beyond Remus.

Where is her wand?

She'd brought a Death Eater into their home.

Remus's fingers flex around his own wand in his hand. He can feel Hermione vibrating against his chest, the vials still clutched in too-tight fingers. Her knuckles are pale as well.

She's going to break them if she isn't careful.

"This is between the Designated Executor and the Receiver. Blast his head off and you'll never find out what that's about."

"You're not making any sense, Andy," Sirius sneers. His wand doesn't move. Out of the corner of his eye, Remus sees a silent Ella carefully rise to her feet. "According to Hermione, I am the bloody Receiver, whatever the fuck that is. This damn well is between me and him!"

Andromeda leans forward, brow furrowing the slightest in frustration. "It isn't," she insists, a bit of bite in her tone. Remus isn't sure if anyone else can hear the edge of panic under her words. "Until you calm down, you are not anywhere close to being the Receiver. Don't you remember your pureblood lessons?!"

It's the wrong thing to say.

"Fuck you and your stupid fucking pureblood anything!" Sirius roars, spittle flying. The rage, the defeat, the never ending exhaustion in his eyes cracks toward an irrational insanity, his lips peel back from his teeth, and everyone in the room is moving at once. Remus and Hermione both throw themselves towards Sirius, Harry's yelling wildly and clawing at his godfather's arm, Andromeda lunges desperately across the table, and Ella…

Ella is suddenly shoving herself between her distant cousin Draco and her father's very deadly wand.

"Enough!"

Time freezes. Sirius's wand is digging into Ella's collarbone. Hermione shrieks in terror.

Sirius blinks.

"You want to kill a Slytherin, Dad? Get back at them for all the shit they've put you through? Go on then. Do it."

"Expelliarmus!"

Sirius's wand flies out of his hand the instant the spell leaves Remus's lips, slapping hard against the wall on the opposite side of the room. Sirius's head creaks around, turning to watch it go, and then just as stiltedly, just as silently, he turns to look at Remus.

Remus's breath catches in his throat at the combination of abject horror and disappointment he sees in his best friend's eyes. "Pads, come on, mate…"

It's like watching a hot air balloon collapse in on itself.

Sirius sags. The unholy madness dominating his features just moments before flees as if it never existed. His body deflates, his knees rising to meet his chest, his spine curving almost unnaturally, and then he's in a ball on the floor at his daughter's feet, his hands clutching desperately his hair.

Rocking.

Just rocking.

He's whimpering, too, Remus discovers, as he wraps the man up in his arms. It doesn't take much to lift him, and Remus doesn't look around as he carries him from the room. He's silent as he climbs the stairs and takes Sirius to one of the two sanctuaries he has in the house. He doesn't say a thing because he just doesn't know what to say.

He's sick to his stomach.

His heart's in tatters.

Why hadn't he realised it had gotten this bad?

Why hadn't he acknowledged it had gotten this bad?

The bed's neatly made as he enters the room. Placing the man down on the marigold-scented bedspread, Remus scurries to the window and cracks it open wide before hurrying back to the bed. Sirius is still curled in a ball, seemingly unaware of his surroundings, and unable to do anything else, Remus scoops him up in his arms again, sorrow and fear and panic a sticky, churning knot in his belly.

He feels helpless.

He is helpless.

There's absolutely no way to fix this situation.

How long they stay like that, he doesn't know. The breeze is cool as it drifts through the window, circling the room with fresh, untainted air. Remus sucks it in by the lungful, trying to calm his racing heart.

Trying to ease that horrible ache in his chest.

He's not exactly sure when Sirius stops whimpering. He's got his arms wrapped around him tight, his chin resting on the top of sweaty, matted hair, and he doesn't let go when Sirius shifts against his chest. He holds on tighter, only moving his position slightly to allow Sirius a bit more room.

Leather, spice, and coal dust. His head's full of it.

"Moony?"

The word's so soft, Remus almost doesn't hear it. His arms tighten further.

"I'm here, Padfoot."

"D'you h-hate me?"

Tears are like shining streaks of ice sliding down Remus's cheeks. He squeezes his aching eyes shut and prays to every deity he can think of that what he says next is the truth.

Sirius needs it to be the truth.

"'Course I don't," he mutters, swallowing hard around the maybe-lie. It's a stone in his throat, making it hard to breathe. Sirius shudders once, and then nods. Accepting.

The guilt tears Remus's gut to shreds.

"Will s-she hate me?"

Again, it's a broken whisper, and again, Remus knows what needs to be said. He can't do it this time, however, because this time the truth is imperative. His heart shakes, his eyes burn, but there's no maybe-lie this time.

"I d-don't know," he says, clearing his throat around the hitching words. "M'sorry, mate, I really don't know."

There's silence for a long time after. Sirius doesn't try to leave Remus's arms, just stays hunched in a ball, and Remus is just beginning to think he's won the battle against the guilt and the grief when Sirius speaks again.

It's the very last thing Remus expects.

"I-I think I might need to get some h-help."

There's a roaring in his head, a cataclysmic boom in his heart. The words are spoken too softly again, muffled again the material of Remus's sweater, and Remus's arms tighten further; vice-like.

Oh sweet mother of Merlin.

"Uh, o-okay," he stammers, voice cracking in a mixture of surprise and panic. Fuck, fuck, fuck! What in the bleeding hell does he say now?! "Um, y-yeah. If you're s-sure?"

It's a long moment before Sirius nods. He nods once, and then again, and then he's suddenly not nodding but shaking, his entire body an avalanche in Remus's arms. Gut-wrenchingly painful sobs that remind Remus of taking Sirius to James's grave rip through his fragile ribcage and explode from his throat.

He sounds like a wounded animal.

It seems Remus hadn't been lying to himself after all.

Remus holds on to his best mate in his arms and silently allows him his purge until he's got no more tears left inside him.

~0~

Sirius is sleeping when Remus leaves him. The breeze coming through the window has cooled in the time they'd been curled on the bed, the bright daylight giving way to a dusk that seems to contain more of a gloom-like atmosphere than the day warranted. Extracting himself from Sirius's grasp proves a bit of a challenge, the exhausted, hollow man not wanting to let go of his source of warmth, even in sleep. Eventually, though, Remus manages to lay Sirius back on the bedcovers without disturbing him too much, and carefully scrambles off the bed.

He looks innocent in the evening's dreary light. Eyes closed, his breathing steady, the wrinkles of time passing smoothed by what Remus hopes like hell is a healing sleep, the werewolf can just about convince himself that there's nothing wrong with the fun-loving, life-of-the-party Sirius Black.

He can almost believe that Sirius is a teenager again. Forever young and carefree, scuffling around in the floor with James, roaring with laughter as Peter joins the playfight, encouraging Remus to put his school books down and help them build a blanket fort in the middle of their dorm once they'd all gotten to their feet again, dusty uniforms askew.

But he isn't. Remus lets loose a long, heavy sigh and brushes Sirius's hair back off his clammy forehead.

None of them are.

Sirius shivers. The movement shakes Remus out of his thoughts, and he quickly pulls the blanket off the end of the bed and covers Sirius up to his chin before heading over to close the window and pull the drapes. Sometime during the time they'd been huddling on the bed, Remus had become aware of a scent other than Sirius's just outside the door.

A scent that, even though the door stood wide open in a way that could be construed as an invitation, hadn't drifted any further into the bedroom.

Refused to drift any further into the bedroom.

Remus crosses the threshold out into the hallway, quietly closing the door behind him. He doesn't say a word as he crouches himself down beside Ella.

Neither does she. She's sitting with her back against the wall right outside the bedroom, staring straight ahead. Her wrists rest loosely on her drawn-up knees, her head rests casually against the wall, and if it wasn't for the way her throat bobs hard as she swallows, Remus would've again thought there wasn't anything wrong. He sighs.

Looks can be deceiving, can't they?

"Ella?" he asks softly, ducking his head to try and catch her gaze, "are you all right?"

Remus blinks in surprise when Ella suddenly lifts her head.

Her eyes are fierce.

"I knew he wasn't going to hurt me," she says. There's insistence pulling at her brow, and Remus thinks that this isn't the first time she's repeated those words this evening. "I knew he'd back down. That's why I did it."

Remus purses his lips, eyeing her carefully. Cautious steps to tread. "Did you?"

"Yes!" she states, that insistence bleeding into her voice. "Yes, I did! Why won't anyone believe me?"

Maybe because you're not sure you believe it yourself? Remus thinks but doesn't say. Sighing, he sits back and rubs his face with his hands, not sure what to do. There's a whole bloody minefield of tension and love and loss to navigate here, and he's not convinced he's up to it at the moment.

He bleeding-well knows he's not up to it at the moment.

He's tired.

Why's he always so tired?

"Right, well, he'll be sleeping for a bit yet. Shall we leave him to it?" he says, blinking and focusing on Ella again. "It's late. Has anyone had anything to eat? Your dad'll be hungry when he wakes, yeah?"

Ella frowns a little, and Remus isn't sure if she's going to allow the change in subject. But then the frown melts away, leaving an expression of eagerness in its place.

"I can cook him something!" she all but crows, and she's on her feet and heading for the stairs before Remus even has a chance to straighten on creaky, aching ankles. "I can definitely do that!"

She's hurtling down the stairs, and after a moment of slightly bewildered amusement – where does she get the energy? – Remus follows at a much slower pace. His head's a mess of troubling thoughts, confusing, haunting feelings, and he has no idea what he's walking into. He wants nothing more than to ignore it all, wrap himself up in his woman, and just sink into the comfort that he knows he'll find there.

He wants to hide. Why can't he hide?

Why does Sirius get it so easy?

No one gets it easy. Remus shoves the thought away as he pushes the swinging kitchen door open, a bit disgusted with himself. He doesn't hate Sirius, and he's pretty sure he's going to have to spend the next little while convincing Hermione not to hate Sirius, so thoughts like that are no help at all. Just because Sirius gets to sleep and he doesn't, doesn't mean he's taken the easy path.

Doesn't it?

Fuck, he hates war.

His distracting thoughts lead him to walking into a deserted-but-for-a-frantic-Ella kitchen, and with a little surprise, he follows the fading mixture of scents towards the library, where he finds the kitchen's occupants spread around the room. Both Andromeda and Draco are sitting on the very uncomfortable chaise lounge, while Hermione's at the study desk across from them. She's got the vials lying at her elbow and a book that reeks of dust open in front of her, Harry leaning over the desk from the other side. He's studying the book as well, although Remus isn't sure how he's going to get much from it, reading it upside down.

Everything would look almost cosy if it wasn't for the multitude of spells he could sense surrounding the two Slytherins in the room.

Not to mention, the steel infused in Lord Malfoy's spine that's pretty much as fake as the look of boredom in his eyes.

The boy really needs to work on his acting skills.

Everyone looks over when he opens the door. Hermione hurriedly gets to her feet. The chair scrapes loudly on the floor when she pushes it back.

"Ella?" she asks, fingers spearing together and pulling apart, tension shivering through her frame. Remus hurries to her side and takes her twisting hands.

Things obviously hadn't gone well in his absence.

"In the kitchen making food," he says, wanting nothing more than to take her in his arms. He's not sure how she'll feel about that, however. "It's the only way I could get her away from him. What are you doing?"

Hermione scowls. "She should be staying far away from him," she mutters not quite quiet enough. Words bubble in his throat but Remus holds his tongue. He just doesn't have it in him. "I'm trying to figure out what these bloody potions are. Nothing I'm trying is giving me any clue. It doesn't make any sense and I don't know why!"

She's frustrated enough that tears shine in her eyes. Remus steps closer, relief trickling across his skin when she leans forward to rest her forehead on his chest. Walking through the house, he refused to fully recognize how much terror had been growing in his breast that she'd take one look at him and despise him for his choices.

Rational or not, it'd bloomed like a sickness in his heart.

But her arms wrap around him, her lips pursing to press against the wool of his jumper in a miniscule kiss, and, finally, Remus breathes.

Deep breaths, in and out.

He's home.

"Your efforts will remain fruitless, no matter how hard you try," a voice drawls behind them. Remus and Hermione turn as one to catch the young Malfoy smirking at them arrogantly. Released from his binds but still bound in the room, he folds his hands in his lap in a gesture that screams regal and arches a perfect brow. "Although the Receiver does not seem fit to receive, it seems. I had not realised how deep the family madness runs."

"Shut it, Malfoy!"

Draco's head whips around, and Remus witnesses, not for the first time, a rather intense eye-lock between the Malfoy heir and Harry Potter. Harry looks livid, his green eyes heavy with condemnation, and shock has Remus's own brows rising when Draco's the one who looks away first. Something Remus can't pinpoint flashes through his eyes before they lower. His mouth twists in aggravation.

His perfectly placed hands form tight balls.

What is going on here?

"He does have a point, though," Andromeda pipes up. She's sitting not quite so formally, one leg crossed over the other. "Sirius seemed quite… overwrought. Is he all right?"

There's a pregnant pause. Remus licks his lips. Is Sirius all right?

Time will tell.

"Sirius is fine," he says firmly. If he says it enough, maybe he'll believe it. Maybe everyone will. "He just needs some sleep."

"Something we all need a bit of," Hermione mutters before she sighs against his chest and steps back, turning to the two intruders. Her eyes focus on Draco. "It'd be nice if you stopped being so bloody high and mighty and actually helped, you know. Isn't that what you're here for?"

"I'm here to give the Receiver what he needs to receive," Draco says. He looks a little bit more subdued now, his back not quite so straight. "That is my role. Nothing more."

"Bullshit," Harry states, drawing everyone's attention again. "You're lying."

Once more, their eyes lock. For the umpteenth time, Draco's chin rises.

"I'm not."

"You are!" Harry fires back, leaning forward and planting his hands on the arm of the chaise. Remus hadn't noticed when he'd moved, but Harry is no longer across the other side of the room. The now very slight distance between the two boys seems trivial. Almost non-existent, even. "You're lying through your teeth. You've already mentioned your mother, Malfoy, so it's far too late for games. You clearly want something. What do you want?"

In the loaded silence that follows, Remus witnesses an entire conversation. It blazes between the two teenagers in the space of a heartbeat, making Remus feel like the intruder as he stands there and watches something happen. Something that's more than a boyhood rivalry, but too familiar to happen between adversaries. Something that looks strangely like attachment, but will also never be friendship.

Something that might but might not want to be friendship.

Something that feels too personal to be spectator to.

This time, Remus isn't surprised when it's Draco who drops his gaze first. The boy's bravado seems to flee in the face of Harry disapproval, and it's with a different kind of strength that he turns back to his captors. His hands fold in his lap once more.

His eyes are emotionless.

"My mother is a Potions Master in everything but title," he says, voice clear, enunciation perfect. Remus's brows hit his hairline. Next to him, he feels Hermione tense. "My father indulged her when I was a child by allowing her to have her own potions lab at the manor, but he never considered it as anything more than dabbling, something both my mother and Severus encouraged. She studied and trained for years while my father believed she played with her silly, feminine brews, and Severus himself said that her achievements in their shared field should have allowed her the rank of Potions Master. I believe that that is why he made me the Designated Executor of his will. I have brought you what he requested I bring. I ask that you help me rescue my mother. In return, she will help you figure out what the potions are and how they can be used."

"Where is she?" a raspy voice asks from behind them. Inside his head, Remus lets out a short, resigned sigh.

He'd barely slept an hour.

"At Malfoy Manor," Draco answers. Hermione's stiff at Remus's side. He can all but feel her vibrating against him, the anxiousness she's throwing off bound up in a tight fury. Remus takes her hand and squeezes. "The wards have been changed so I can no longer get in."

"If you can't, what makes you think we'll be able to?" Sirius asks, his tread careful as he enters the room. Daffodils and Darjeeling tea follow him, and in a very obvious move, Hermione darts out and grabs Ella's arm, dragging her scowling daughter away from Sirius.

Sirius ignores them both.

"The wards bar anyone of Malfoy blood and their closest relatives from entering the property. My mother took ancient blood vows when she married my father, which essentially makes her a Malfoy. My Aunt is, obviously, her sister. I am her son. None of us can get through the wards."

Ella struggles in Hermione's hold, hissing violently under her breath. Hermione doesn't let her go.

"But you think I can?" Sirius questions. He's hovering at Harry's left, and he looks and sounds shattered. There's a fragility to the way he's standing, so strong he can't hide it. The unruly darkness of his hair is broken only by the gauntness of his too pale skin.

And his eyes.

So much pain.

"We think you're distant enough, yes," Andromeda answers, sitting forward. "Cissy's being kept prisoner in her own home and this is the only way we can get her out. It's either you or my daughter, and since we currently have no idea where she is, you're it, cousin. That's if you're up to it. Are you up to it, Sirius?"

Again, there's a weighted silence. Sirius swallows, panic and indecision briefly visible in his face, making his body tremble. That fragility increases, and Remus takes a step towards him, not knowing how to help. Harry beats him to it, however.

A hand on his shoulder is all it takes.

"'Course I am," Sirius announces, eyes wild and smile shaky. "When do we begin?"

Remus reacts before Hermione does. Rushing over and grabbing Sirius by the shoulders, he pulls him around and marches him towards the doorway, Hermione dragging Ella behind her and indicating for Harry to follow. The door closes with a solid snick behind them, and Remus is quick to cast an Imperturbable charm on it so that they won't be overheard. Catching a slight movement out of the corner of his eye, Remus sends an eavesdropping Timothy hiding in the shadows at the bottom of the stairs a slight smile and then turns to Sirius.

Everyone in the house should be aware of what was going on.

"I guess you wanted to talk alone?" Sirius jokes into the silence that follows, obviously looking for a way to break the tension. His gaze switches from one person to the next; from a serious-looking Remus, to a worried Harry, to a very furious Hermione and peevish-looking Ella. He blinks a couple of times and then sends them all a half grin, eyes shifty. "What?"

Smack!

Sirius's head snaps to the side from the force of Hermione's slap. A burning red mark appears on his cheek, and Hermione sends her loudly exclaiming daughter a look so fierce, she shuts up on the spot. Harry gasps in shock but doesn't say anything, and Remus presses his lips together, heart thumping.

It's a repeat of their school years.

Sirius never learns.

His face is hollow when he looks back at Hermione. The two of them stare at each other for a long moment, Hermione's expression twisted with anger. Taking an unsteady breath, Sirius licks his lips and lets out a short laugh.

"Fuck me, I'm sorry," he says, and then laughs again, covering his face with his hands before quickly dropping them and taking Hermione's clenched hands in his. There's tears in his eyes. "I'm so fucking sorry, Hermione. I shouldn't have… there aren't words… there's no fucking excuse. What I did is inexcusable. I need help, I'm gonna get some help, and I'm not asking for your forgiveness, I don't know if I can forgive myself, but please, sweet Merlin please, please, don't hate me. Don't shut me out. Please. I'll be better. I promise. I promise you I will. I swear it."

Don't make promises you can't keep.

The words echo in Remus's head as surprise, shock, disbelief, and finally the same indecision Sirius had experienced earlier ripples across Hermione's face. Remus knows that she wants to stay angry, as she has every right to, but it's practically impossible when Ella takes one of her hands and one of Sirius's, sending her father an encouraging grin. Sirius's returning, hopeful smile stumbles a little before blossoming, his face flooding with colour.

It makes the handprint on his cheek stand out more.

Hermione draws in a whistle of air and then breathes out, long and low. She drops Sirius's hand, keeping Ella's firmly in hers.

"Hurt my daughter again, Sirius Black, I will end you," she says, voice quiet; matter-of-fact. Sirius blinks, opens his mouth to respond and then shuts it again, quickly nodding. "All right. Fine. Shall we move onto the fact that not only have you suddenly developed an insane amount of trust in a short amount of time, you've also just made an agreement with a Death Eater without discussing it with us first?"

Sirius pales. He opens his mouth to retort in what's sure to be an excuse-laden argument, but Harry pipes up before he gets the chance.

"Hermione, weren't you the one that pointed out that Malfoy becoming a Death Eater wasn't his fault?" he asks, raising a brow when Hermione glares at him. "He wasn't given a choice. It was forced on him. You can't tarnish him with the same brush as the rest of that lot."

Hermione scowls, and Remus is sure she would've folded her arms if she hadn't still been clutching Ella's hand. "You must know that this mission he's proposing could very well be a trap."

Harry nods in agreement. "Yes, it could. But I don't think it is. He's got too much at stake to lead us to our deaths."

"You know, there is a way to guarantee he doesn't betray us. Get him to swear a blood oath."

The suggestion surprises everyone. Ella looks smug when they turn to her, grinning widely as Sirius cackles in delight.

"That's bloody perfect!" he crows, his own grin broad. Remus thinks he's had far too much practice at switching between big emotions. "Malfoy's too much of a poncy prat to break that!"

Harry, once again, looks concerned. "A blood oath? That sounds painful."

"It's not," Remus says, sharing his own minute smile. "There's a tiny thumb prick but that's it. Once Draco makes that promise, he won't break it. Social status means a lot to his family, yeah?"

Harry nods, still looking confused.

"Then he won't risk losing what little standing he has left. It's very bad form to break a blood oath."

It's a long moment as the Boy Who Lived considers. Finally, he smiles. "Okay. Let's do that then."

The decision's unanimous apart from one. Hermione huffs in indignation, and this time actually does fold her arms, her expression petulant. Taking the opportunity to escape, Ella quickly drags her hand away from her mother's and takes Sirius's again. The move clearly surprises Sirius, and for a brief moment, relief is a painting across his features, optimism a flooding colour in his cheeks.

Remus wonders if she'll always forgive him anything.

Likely so.

"It could still be a trap," Hermione points out, aggravation in the tapping of her foot. "Plus, how is Sirius going to go? He's a fugitive."

Sirius grins cheerfully and sends her an exaggerated wink, his elation in his eyes growing when Ella snickers. "Padfoot, darlin'. Padfoot goes where Sirius dares not tread."

"Padfoot can't perform magic!" Hermione splutters. The two of them argue back and forth for long moments, Sirius's confidence soaring as Hermione runs out of excuses. Remus knows it's with a lot of reluctance when she finally agrees to the plan.

It's hard to trust. Especially when your allies act like opponents.

But agree, she does, against her will. Against his, too, but he doesn't say that. That evening, a blood oath is sworn, Draco making solemn, stilted promises in his mother's absence. Foes become friends in all but the true sense of the word, bonds released and trust given as carefully and as formally as Sirius Receiving what Snape awards him in his will, the actual document appearing and declaring what Draco had said it would in Snape's sneering, scornful voice – "you want to play the hero, Black? These are your only chance," – but it isn't until almost a month later that the entire details of the rescue mission are hashed out.

It doesn't, at all, go to plan.

~0~

Remus doesn't know how it's come to this. With smoke in the air and her blood on his hands. He's weary, so very weary, but he can't sleep because she's dying. He can smell it. It clogs his throat, clogs his heart, fills his veins with a screaming rage and an endless, endless loneliness.

He can't breathe.

He can't breathe.

He doesn't want to breathe.

She's lying at his feet, not moving, her left forearm a mass of blood and torn flesh, and he can't breathe because it doesn't look like she is, and the hole. Dear gods in heaven and earth, the hole.

Where is he?

Remus stares.

For how long, he doesn't know, but he doesn't feel the blow when it comes. The second is like a feather against his consciousness, because all he can smell is her blood. On his hands. On the floor. The third trembles through him, and there's an old scent pushing against the blood and death and loss of her, and everything he holds dear, and himself.

And himself.

Where is he?

"…for fuck's sake, Moony, she's not dead! Listen to me! Listen to me! She's not dead, okay? She's not! Hermione's still alive! Snap out of it!"

It's a ghost, a whisper; it has no meaning. He has no meaning. The bits of himself that he's painfully stuck together again over the years have drifted apart into nothingness. No longer one.

No longer two.

He can smell salt.

Who knew that it hurt this much to cry?

"Moony! Remus! REMUS! Hermione is still alive, but she won't be for very much longer if you don't snap the fuck out of it and give me a hand!"

There's pain off somewhere. He can feel it; an echo, as lost as he is. The scent of blood is strong; so strong he can feel it as well.

Fresh blood, sliding slick down his palm.

Mixing with hers.

She's dead.

Remus stares at his hand blankly.

"Fucking hell, mate, stop being such a useless prick! I need your help!"

Where's the marigold?

There's too much marigold.

Her light is gone.

Why didn't she take him with her?

"Moony, you arsehole! SNAP THE FUCK OUT OF IT!"

There's a weight surrounding him and it takes him a long moment to figure it's physical. His head is jerked back and spit rains across his eyelashes, and is Sirius talking to him? Why? Everything's dull. Just a low buzz that shouldn't be there. He doesn't want to hear it.

The blackness has a weight too. It's stronger than his best mate trying to get his attention.

He can't feel his toes.

Should he be feeling his toes?

"Ah, fuck me, this is bloody pointless! Goddamn fucking stupid cunt! I'll help her myself. If she really does die, Moony, this is on you!"

The real world weight is gone then, and the air sparks with a flash of ozone, a collapse in on itself, and he can no longer smell that drenching marigold. It drowns him. She's gone, though, isn't she, so it makes sense. He feels his legs give out, and he feels the hardness of the floor under him against his trousers.

He can't see it.

There's red in his vision. All he can see is red.

She's gone.

He's killed her.

There's blood on his hands. He let her go and her blood's now on his hands.

The grief is legend inside his belly.

That's what's drowning him.

This is too much.

Remus slowly closes eyelids that feel like rock and with a heavy shove, heaves it all away.

No.

She's gone.

Where is he?

She's gone.

No.

So is he.

~0~

"You are not going! Not without me!"

"Remus, you're being ridiculous! The moon is two days away! You can't go and you know it!"

"You can't go either! It's too dangerous! He could very easily betray you!"

"And what would that serve, hmm? It's his mother we're going to retrieve! Betraying me would be cutting off his nose to spite his face, you know it would be! I'm the only one who can go! Ella's gone so I don't have her to worry about, Sirius needs to be Padfoot otherwise he'll be recognised, and Timothy needs you! You can't leave him to transform on his own!

"I need you, goddamn it!"

Hermione throws up her hands and lets out a high-pitched sound of pure frustration, turning away from him to pace towards the window. Her hair's coiled in bunches around her head, springing here and there in random abandonment, seemingly imitating the emotion pouring from the lines of her body, blaring from her eyes. Remus desperately wants to bury his face in it.

Wants to bury himself in marigold. Hide from the world, like always.

Hide her from the world.

He doesn't want to lose her. She wants to go off on this mission without him, trust a boy Harry's always thought of as an enemy – something that, despite taking the oath, the boy hasn't yet done anything to disprove – and Remus very much does not want her to go. He's afraid if she does go, she won't come back.

He's afraid.

He's afraid.

What if she doesn't come back?

What will he do?

He can't even comprehend the thought.

Remus lets out a long sigh and rubs his face with his hands.

Why does it have to be her?

Who else is it going to be?

Remus starts slightly when small, rough fingers wrap around his own and pull his hands down. Hermione's hands are cold in his. Her eyes are pleading.

He hates that her eyes are pleading.

"You know I'm the only one who can do this," she says. There's an imploring quality in her tone, soft voice thick with it, and Remus thinks that her mind reading skills are just as good as they were years ago when they were at school. Better, even. "Harry needs me to do this. We all do. Please don't stop me, Remus. I promise you I'm coming back."

It's a role reversal. The memory of him saying pretty much exactly the same thing to her a year or so ago rears its ugly head, and Remus scowls in irritation. He squeezes her hands tightly. "You shouldn't make promises you can't keep."

"Who says I'm not going to keep it?" Hermione fires back, squeezing his hands in return. That imploring-ness hasn't left her eyes. "I know what I'm doing here, you know I do. I know what I'm about. You have to trust me, Remus, just like I trust you. Don't you trust me?"

Ah, fuck me.

"That isn't fair," Remus says quietly, a hum of annoyance flooding him. "You know I trust you."

Hermione huffs and steps back slightly, folding her arms across her chest. A brow rises. "Then trust me enough to come home like I say I will. I gave you that trust, and this jaunt in nothing compared to what you got up to. Don't you reckon I deserve the same?"

The hum builds. "I never took you for this sort of manipulation."

"Whatever works!" Hermione snaps back, her foot beginning to tap in indignation. Her eyes are firing. "We're equals, yeah? So stop being a bloody fool and treat me like one!"

The hum thrums and pulses, purring through his veins. Remus bares his teeth and takes a step forward. "I'm no fool, woman. I won't have you running off to hurt yourself. Or worse."

Hermione's eyes bulge. "Woman?! Who the hell are you? You don't own me, Remus! What gives you the right to even think you get to tell me what to do?!"

The moon's two days away, and the purr in his veins is pure wolf, the showing of teeth a snap and a warning in one. Remus takes another step forward and fastens his hands around her arms above her elbows, pulling her up on her toes. Hermione lets out a little hiccup of shock as their gazes' lock.

"Of course I don't bloody own you, but you are mine, and I refuse to lose you. I won't do it, Hermione. I won't, you hear me? I can't and won't survive it. What about that scenario do you not understand?"

He snarls low, rumbling the words. Hermione's mouth drops open.

"Moony. Put her down. Right now."

His eyes still searing into hers, Remus bares his teeth again. Fucking busybodies. "Go away, Sirius. This conversation is private."

"Nah, mate, not until you let her go. Don't make me make you."

Remus isn't sure whether it's laughter or that furious purr bubbling in his throat as he slowly turns his head to stare at his lifelong friend. Perhaps a bit of both. "As if you could."

Sirius's eyes widen as well, and he quickly takes a step closer, and then another. His fingers flutter against his thigh. "I can and I fucking well will if you don't release that hold right this second. Come on, Remus, see sense. Can't you see you're hurting her?"

The words are like ice water thrown in his face. Remus's head snaps around, and yes, he can see how tightly his fingers are clasping, and yes, he can see how white the lines around Hermione's mouth are. She looks calm, however. Alert.

She's watching him.

Waiting for him to hurt her?

Remus lets her go so fast, she would've tumbled backwards if he hadn't stopped her fall with a gentle arm. He places her on her feet and takes four large steps back, putting as much distance between them as he can. His lips are numb.

The wolf retreats and he's just a man.

Panic and revulsion scream in his head.

He's no man.

"M'sorry," he whispers. His hands are trembling. He wants to run. "M'sorry, I shouldn't have… sweet Merlin, I'm s-sorry."

He's always apologizing.

Why does he never learn?

A hand comes down on his shoulder, and Remus flinches, not quite managing to swallow a whimper. The hand squeezes softly.

Sirius sends him a jovial grin. "Let's go for a walk, yeah? Get some fresh air?"

"No," Hermione says, and both men turn to look at her. She clears her throat, bushes off her shirt, tugging at it a bit before lifting her chin and looking directly into Remus's eyes. Her hair's still that insane halo he wants to hide in. Now more than ever. "It's okay. It's okay, Remus. You didn't do anything wrong. I'm not hurt."

She steps towards him, and it's only Sirius's solid shadow at his back that stops him retreating. "You didn't hurt me. See?" Pushing the sleeves of her shirt up, she shows him unblemished skin, a hinting blush of red but nothing more. Remus swallows.

"You didn't hurt me. I promise. You need to trust my promises, okay? You need to trust me."

She's closer, too close, and then she's against him, and Remus is unable to stop himself from vising his arms around her, his face diving into her hair. Marigold swarms his head.

He hadn't hurt her.

He hadn't hurt her.

"I'll come home. I'll come back to you. You're mine and nothing's going to stop me coming back to you. I swear it, Remus. Trust me. I bloody-well swear it."

She's muttering against his throat.

Fuck, he loves her.

Remus doesn't hear Sirius leave.

~0~

Remus's eyes snap open as the dream – memory? – fades. He stares up at a ceiling he doesn't recognise, his brain a disordered mess.

Where is he?

Why is he here?

What's going on?

Unable to answer these questions, focus brought forth by living a war-and-werewolf-torn life surges through his body. His legs twitch to stand, his hand twitches for his wand, and then suddenly an excited and scraggly-looking creature looms in his vision above him.

"You're awake!"

Remus frowns, blinking in confusion. "Padfoot?"

"Poppy, he's awake!" Sirius shouts off into the distance before turning to look down at him again. A wide grin spreads across his face. "It's brilliant you're awake, Moony! Everyone'll be so pleased!"

He hops about like an excited puppy, his hair swinging down around his chin. Remus blinks again.

His brain's suddenly mush.

Where did the electricity go?

"Padfoot, what's going on?" he croaks. His body feels heavy.

Why does his body feel heavy?

Is it the day after the moon?

He tries to sit up, protesting a little but stopping when Sirius pushes him back down. He's talking, but the mattress Remus is lying on is soft, the pillow like a feather. Sirius's voice fades, becoming muffled as Remus sinks into the bed. A fuzzy blackness edges at his vision.

Maybe it is best to just lie there.

His eyelids flutter.

He's so tired.

Why is he so tired?

Sleep beckons, warm and luscious and soothing, and Remus nearly gives in. His eyes close fully, a gentle, accepting breath escaping. That fuzzy blackness slinking over everything, Remus sighs again – it's like bliss, this feeling – and he's just fading away to nothingness when something suddenly pinches his toes.

Hard.

Remus's eyes snap open on a gasp as the pain registers.

"There now, there you are. We don't need you falling away again, now, do we? Come now, Mr Lupin. Drink this."

A potion is shoved in his mouth. Remus splutters, half of the liquid sliding down his chin rather than down his throat, and he glares up at a still-grinning Sirius as the other man holds his head up so he'll swallow. He just wants to sleep. Why can't he sleep?

You're forgetting something.

Remus frowns at the cloudy thought, but can't pursue it further as the whatever-the-hell-it-was potion that he'd been forced to take begins doing its job. He blinks as a very false energy, similar but different to what he'd experienced when he'd woken up, rapidly starts spreading through his body. The mush that was his brain sits back up again, looks around, yawns, and with a grumble at the prodding, begins carefully filing through events and emotions, trying to piece together where he was and what was happening. Remus blinks in confusion once more when another, different figure, captures his attention.

Even with his brain slowly pulling itself in its sloth-like state, he can't comprehend what – or rather whom – he's seeing.

"Madam Pomfrey?" he croaks. The Hogwarts school nurse, who's a few years older than he remembers her being, smiles at him.

"Welcome back, Mr Lupin," she says, her wand moving over him in a pattern that has years of memories surging through his head. "It's good to see you awake."

Remus frowns. "Am I injured?" he asks, glancing down to check himself for visible wounds. He can't see any injuries. Can't feel any either. He's sitting up in what looks like a hospital bed, the pillow behind him very hard.

And warm. Pillows aren't generally that warm.

Not to mention it seems to be breathing?

His head swinging around, Remus stares, dumbfounded, at the very human pillow he's propped against. "Padfoot?"

"Wotcher, Moony," Sirius says, still grinning. "Glad to see you back in the land of the living."

"Was I dead?" Remus asks, frowning again when his pillow starts shaking gently. "What's so funny?"

Sirius's smile is as wide as the moon – a full one at that. "Nothing," he says, "you seem a little buzzed, is all. Wasn't expecting it."

"It's the potion," Madam Pomfrey murmurs, still concentrating on what her wand is telling her. She says other things as well, and Sirius answers, but Remus is no longer listening. His brain is finally fully waking up, and seems to have focused on a small brown spot on the palm of his hand.

You're forgetting something.

Remus's brows furrow. What is that? Rubbing his thumb over the mark causes some of it to transfer from his palm, so he brings his thumb closer, peering inquisitively at the foreign substance. His stuttering brain coughs and gasps, thumping itself firmly on the chest, and then his nose twitches.

Scent.

He knows that scent.

You're forgetting something.

It wafts through his nostrils and into his head and Remus stares blindly.

He knows that scent.

Too well.

The memory explodes in his brain. Remus gasps, his back arching, his head rearing back and knocking into Sirius's chin. His best mate lets out a yelp of pain, but Remus doesn't hear it because he knows what he's forgotten. He knows.

He knows.

He doesn't want to know.

"Moony! Stop! Stop! It's all right! She's alive! Remus!"

The pain is inconceivable. Remus wheezes, unable to draw in air as the world starts to get blurry; muffled. His chest is tight, too fucking tight, and he's fighting Sirius's hold, his body shaking but not from laughter.

Never from laughter.

Never again.

"Remus, for fuck's sake, mate, calm down! Poppy!"

He can't ever do anything again. His life is gone.

There's blood on his hands.

Some sort of sound penetrates the blurriness and the vibrating of his chest says it's coming from him. It's a high-pitched, keening kind of noise. Remus focuses on it.

Drops into it.

His body sags.

He's so tired.

It's too much.

"Oh, no you fucking don't! Don't you go again! Poppy, help!"

"He needs proof. Quickly, Mr Black, quickly!"

Remus closes his eyes, curls up in a ball and ignores it all.

He doesn't want to be here anymore.

He needs to be with her.

Marigold is like a physical sensation. It's a butterfly in that keening sound, within the blurriness, deep in the black. Bright, bright yellow, it flaps its wings, surrounding everything. Remus drinks it in.

This is where he should be.

This is where he wants to stay.

It's warm here.

Remus smiles as the butterfly flaps her wings again, and then again, and then again. The keening sound fades, transforming into something much deeper; much richer. It's something he's heard many, many times in the past, thumping in time with the butterfly. Marigold flocks, but there's an edge to it; a thorniness that brings forth a faded, patchy memory from long ago. The butterfly's wings thump again.

Pump. They pump.

Kerr-thump.

Kerr-thump.

That's a heart.

Kerr-thump.

He can hear a heart.

Remus opens his eyes, and Hermione smiles at him.

"Hi," she whispers, eyes wet. He's lying on his stomach next to her and her hand's gently combing through his hair, her forearm wrapped in bandages, and everything just collapses. The keening sound starts again, but this time it's different because there's relief.

There's so much relief.

She's alive.

Remus weeps.

~0~

"Why are we at Hogwarts?" he asks in a very subdued tone what feels like many hours later. Hermione's pressed into his chest, her pumping butterfly heart thumping against his.

He feels like if he speaks any louder, it'll break the magic.

She's alive!

"It was the only safe place to go," Sirius answers. He's speaking quietly too, his body folded into a rickety-looking metal chair next to Hermione's hospital bed. The bags under his eyes dominate his face.

Remus empathises.

"How is Hogwarts the only safe place to go? Isn't it run by Death Eaters? What happened to Headquarters?"

Sirius sighs, sits forward and rubs his face with his hands. "Full of questions now, aren't we?" he mutters. Remus lowers his head, burying his nose in Hermione's hair. "Hogwarts was the only place that had someone qualified to take care of Hermione's injuries. St Mungo's is out, obviously. I didn't have a choice but to bring us here."

Remus lifts his head again, still puzzled. "Where is here? How did we get in?" A sudden thought occurs and he surges up a little, muscles tense. "What about Harry and Timothy? Are they okay?"

"They're fine," Hermione mumbles, the warmth of her breath puffing through his sweater. Remus's soul purrs. "They're here, too. Can you stop moving please? It hurts when you do."

"Sorry," Remus whispers, settling back down again before turning his head back to Sirius. "They're here? Why? Where's here?"

"You do realise that you would know this if you'd been a functioning adult when I needed you to be."

"Sirius."

"What? He would!" Sirius snaps, and then he groans and shoves himself back in the chair, the annoyance falling from his face. "Look, it doesn't matter. We're here and Hermione's alive, that's the main thing. As for where here is, we're in the Room of Requirement."

Remus blinks once, and then twice. The words don't seem to compute. "The Room of Requirement?"

"Yup." Sirius nods and scratches his head, looking a bit baffled himself. "It seems the older years at Hogwarts have formed a bit of a… militia against the school's rulers this year. Ella's been sending me letters, remember? The, uh, Professors-" he uses air quotes as he says the word, sneering, "-haven't been very kind to some of the more vocal students, and there's been quite a lot of rest and recovery needed for most of the student population in one way and another. Here's where they do it."

Remus licks his lips. "Ella told you this?" he asks, surprised the young witch would take the risk. Owls were being monitored, weren't they? Or was Australia too far to keep an eye on?

A corner of Sirius's mouth lifts.

"Not in so many words. Remember this?"

Reaching behind him, he pulls out an old mirror. Recognition has memories swelling in Remus's throat.

"I didn't know you still had that," he murmurs, wanting to reach for the mirror but also not wanting to move away from Hermione's warmth. "Ella still has the other?"

"She does," Sirius confirms, tucking the mirror back into the pocket of his jeans. "Seems she formed an unlikely friendship with Luna Lovegood at some point over the years, and between the two of them, they figured out a way to get us information. Ella sent her mirror to Luna transfigured into a treacle tart, and Luna communicated with me when it was safe for her to. I contacted her when I realised that we had no other choice but to come here. I bloody well know it was risky, all right?" he barks in frustration when Remus frowns at him, a bit stunned by his gall. "It was either that or Hermione died, and likely you, too, by extension! There was no choice at all, so don't you bloody go all snooty on me!"

"He knows that, Sirius," Hermione says quietly, before sighing and reluctantly pulling away from Remus, sharp grimaces twisting her features as she slowly manoeuvres herself onto her back. Remus's hands hover over her, wanting to help; needing to help. "He's just catching up. Tell him the rest, would you?"

Sirius scowls at her, worry in the lines of his eyes. Remus isn't sure whether it's worry for her or worry about whether he'd done the right thing or not.

Probably both.

"There's not much else to tell, really. Me, Hermione and Lord Weasel brought Cissy back. Things got fucked up, and obviously we didn't plan on getting caught, or Hermione getting hurt, but hey, we got out of there." He shrugs. Annoyance pierces through Remus at the nonchalant way he's discussing nearly losing Remus's entire universe. He ignores it. "I contacted Luna and all of us, Harry, Timothy, Andy, Cissy, and Malfoy included, apparated to Hogsmeade. We dragged Hermione and your half-dead arse through the tunnel and here we are."

Tunnel?

"They can't find us here, Remus," Hermione says, taking his hands and drawing his attention away from his spinning thoughts. What tunnel? "You know how the Room of Requirement works. It doesn't exist unless it's required. We require it. The Death Eaters don't. It's the perfect place to hide, right under their noses. We can stay here as long as we need to."

We can't stay here forever, though, Remus thinks but doesn't say. They can stay for as long as it takes Hermione to heal, but then they need to leave. There's horcruxes to find, they all know that, something they haven't figured out how to do yet, and they also have to find a way to help Harry. Staying at Hogwarts isn't going to get that task accomplished.

The thought reminds him about the reason why they'd embarked on a rescue mission in the first place, and he turns back to the other man.

"Where are Narcissa and Draco now?" he asks. "Are they working on the potions?"

Sirius scowls again, dropping his head to glare at his fidgeting hands. Hermione sighs.

"They would be, if Sirius would let them," she says, tone droll. Remus cocks his head, regarding his best mate, puzzled.

"You're not letting them? Why?"

"For no other reason than because they're Slytherins and have Black blood," Hermione answers for him. Sirius scoffs, his scowl deepening. His shoulders hunch.

Remus isn't any less confused.

"But we had a deal," he says slowly. "We save Narcissa, she figures out what the hell the potions are. Draco made a blood oath."

"They can't be trusted!" Sirius splutters, his head springing up. "You know they can't, Moony!"

Remus's brows rise and he carefully sits up. "Why? Because they're Slytherins? Slytherins look out for themselves first and foremost, Sirius. It's in both Narcissa and Draco's best interest to not go back on their word. Plus, Ella's a Slytherin and a Black. Do you not trust her for that simple fact?"

He leans forward, catching Sirius's hands. "You really need to let this prejudice go, Padfoot. You trusted them earlier, didn't you? Not only are we not in school any longer, you're going to end up alienating your daughter. Surely you can see that?"

"Fuck's sake, 'course I bloody can! What do you take me for?" Sirius snaps, snatching his hands away and shoving himself up from the chair, pacing from one end of the makeshift cubicle to the other. He swings around and slams his hands down on the end of the bed, glaring at both Remus and Hermione. "Look, I was going to, all right? It's just, I want to be there with them, 'cause they are Slytherins-" he bares his teeth when Remus's lips twitch, "-and the potions are mine. They're mine, get it? They were given to me by Snivellus fecking Snape, of all people, for Harry somehow, and Harry's mine. I won't have him hurt!"

He leans back and shoves agitated hands through his hair, tugging slightly. "But you two needed me, too! So I am gonna hand them over, but not until you're both fine, yeah? Then we can find the answers together, like always. Is that good enough for you, Professor Lupin?!"

The smile twitching at Remus's lips spreads.

Well he'll be damned.

There he is.

There's the Sirius he knows and loves.

Loyal and caring and wild to his core.

Steadfast.

It's about fucking time.

"More than," he says, reaching back and taking Hermione's hand. She squeezes it firmly and everything's all right in the world. Hope flutters in his breast.

For once in his life, he doesn't quash it.

As Sirius bitches about Remus being fucking annoying when he's acting holier-than-thou, Remus folds himself into Hermione's side and lets himself contemplate that maybe, just maybe, they can do this. The three of them are broken, yes, in very large pieces, but they loved what was theirs, and they would fight for it until the very ends of the earth.

Together.

Just like always.