To Sleep, To Dream

AKA: The Crow: Dogs and Demons

Losha: I'm pretty much the kept boy of a wanna-be lawyer. And, as lucrative a position as that is (pun intended), it doesn't quite equal being one of the most well known authors ever, you know?

Authors: Dimitri Aidan, Aloysha, and Rochelle B

Rating: T/PG-13 at first, M/R or NC-17 eventually. Depends on where you encounter it.

Pairings: Remus/Sirius, Snape/Narcissa, Harry/Bill, Ron/Hermione, Draco/Ginny, Charlie/Tonks, and some other things that are still being worked out.

Warnings: …Dark Fiction is the name of the game. You're in the hands of an admittedly sick freak, an obsessed fan girl, and a boy whose mind is always on. It could get odd.

Notes: Read HBP. Proceeded to toss it out of my window and give it dirty looks whenever I walk past it.

Inspirational Lyrics: But I fear, I have nothing to give. I have so much to lose here in this lonely place, tangled up in our embrace there's nothing I'd like better than to fall. (Sarah McLachlan, Fear)

"Speech"

'Thoughts/inner voices'

Flashbacks/Flash 'forward'

'Written things'

XX Scene Change XX

00 Passage of Time 00

Summary: Sometimes a person dies and not even coming back as a ghost can satisfy the soul. Sometimes a spirit is allowed another chance to make things right. Sometimes death is just the beginning.

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Chapter Three

Here in this Lonely Place

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Remus sat bolt upright, body trembling and covered in an icy sweat. Another dream. A terrible dream, the same terrible dream. Himself, locked away in a cage in some…dark abyss. There was nothing, except him and the cage. He was completely alone. There was no sound, no light, no life. Not even wind could make it to the blackness in which he was being held.

He looked around his room and smiled wryly. Not totally a dream. He was alone. He forgot sometimes when he just woke up and reality had yet to set in. There were times when he woke up and his first thought was that he could fire call Sirius and James and go out to do something. He'd consider it, wonder what mischief they could surely manage to get up to, when the truth would smack him hard in the face.

James was dead. Sirius was dead. Peter was as good as dead if Remus ever saw him again. The Marauders were truly nothing more than a story, a myth, some enchanted writers across a map that was god only knew where. It was ironic to think that, when they'd scripted and enchanted that parchment, they'd thought they'd be like Gods, eternal and never forgotten.

Whispered about in the halls of Hogwarts for years after they'd gone, a secret that only their children would know about and be able to share.

They'd be remembered, no doubt, but not for good things or the right things or the true things. James would forever be the father of the Boy-Who-Lived, killed by Voldemort along with his lovely wife one Halloween night. Sirius would always been the one who betrayed the Potters to the Dark Lord, a terrible figure used to scare kids into obeying their curfews. Peter would always be noble, in a sense, and snuffed out by the traitor.

Remus…well, Remus wouldn't be remembered at all. He wasn't sure if he was glad for that or if it made the fact he was the last one that much worse.

He sat up, pulling his legs up to his chest.

The last Marauder. It wasn't supposed to be like this. He should have been the first to go: the one forever damned. Werewolves didn't have long life spans anyway, to be brutally honest. Between the pain of the transformations and the after effects and the hunters that roamed and tried to wipe them out and the fact that most of those infected with the Lycanthropic disease went insane if they didn't die first…well, it had never inspired him to plan for retirement.

But here he was, a little north of forty and…they were all gone. It shouldn't have gone this way. James and Lily should have had a huge family, like they'd talked about; Sirius should have found a nice guy or girl or creature; Peter should have been loyal and found a wife; and he should have watched his friends be happy.

He'd been easily contented to be honest. The others' happiness had been all it took to make him happy. He'd always been afraid that wanting too much would make him lose the little he had, so he'd learned to take heart in the pleasure of those he held dear.

They should have been happy.

Not this. Never this.

He brushed back a strand of graying hair and sighed, glancing out at the crescent moon. He could feel himself growing weaker with each transformation. The changes got more painful and he found himself unable to leave his bed for days afterwards. Death was coming for him, ready to take the last of a group of foolishly naïve boys.

He needed a drink. He frequently needed drinks these days. The only time he was sober was when Harry called on him, which wasn't often. He knew it hurt the young man to see him wasting away and it hurt him to see Harry, who had once been such a sign of a limitless future and was now a ruin of a life he'd lost.

It wasn't that he didn't care for the boy; he loved Harry with everything he had left. Admittedly, that wasn't much, but it was all he had to offer. But he couldn't see him, not anymore. When Sirius had been alive it had been bearable at least but now…now it wasn't. Besides, Harry didn't need to watch him die like this.

More importantly, he didn't need to know Remus was doing this to himself. Not that Remus truly thought he was hiding it that well. Harry was just terribly obtuse when it suited his needs, which just happened to be almost all of the time. The boy was bright, one of the brightest Remus had ever met, but he was really quite the idiot.

Were Remus anyone else he would have been dead months after Sirius had died, but the beast inside of him, that damn stubborn wolf, clung to life as if it meant something.

The only thing that had passed his lips in longer than he cared to remember was liquor and the scars that traveled along his body were no longer just from the rougher nights in his other form. The wolf kept healing him but it was wearing down, realizing it was fighting a battle it just couldn't win. It rebelled in the light of the moon, yes, trying to find a way to feed the wasting body and when he bled it managed to close the wounds within moments no matter the time of the month.

But it was losing. It knew it was losing. These were just the last moments of fight, the animal backed into a corner by death and lashing out, though it knew it was useless.

He sighed and collapsed back onto the bed. He reached over onto the floor, groping around until he came in contact with smooth cool glass and hauled it up, ignoring the way his arm twinged in protest to the weight.

Amber liquid sloshed around in the half-empty bottle and he sighed softly. Soon enough he'd be able to escape this. Three impossibly long years of waiting and soon it'd be over.

He chuckled softly as he unscrewed the top. The first drops of burning warmth bled down his raw throat almost painfully.

They'd thought they'd be gods.

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He awoke again, in he same place he'd drifted into blackness. He pushed himself into a sitting position and looked around. He was in the Department of Mysteries still.

'Well of course.' A voice scolded him. Where else would you be?

The voice had a point. Voices usually had points, in Sirius' experience anyway. He pushed himself to his feet, brushing the dust off, and looking around anxiously. Where the hell had everyone gotten off to? Surely the fight couldn't be over that quickly? He owed Bella for that last spell. Surely they wouldn't have just left him here?

Sure, he'd been a bit of a prat about being stuck in that hellhole of a house but they wouldn't have just left! Not Remus at least; the werewolf would never leave him no matter how much of a bastard he'd been lately. He reached up, raking a hand through his hair when something cool brushed over his cheek. He realized there was a light weight hanging from his wrist.

He held his hand closer, eyeing the silver chain. His eyes continued down until they graced a lion shaped charm. His breath caught in his throat even as suddenly clumsy fingers tried to open the charm. He could hear his shallow breathing, echoing strangely in the gloom.

It opened. A picture of Harry as a baby stared from one side and on the other was the inscription that James has spent weeks slaving over.

'To my true love, for giving me something no amount of scheming and plotting could have ever given me. Always yours, James.'

He closed it, fingers closing around the cool silver.

The locket had been buried with Lily.

All at once it came crashing into him. Bella's spell, Lily and James, the Bridge, the acid River, the hands trying to hold him down… all at once. All of the feeling, the thoughts, the rage and the cotton, all crashing into his mind at once. Drowning him. He couldn't breathe again, gasping for air that just wasn't coming while the room spun in front of his suddenly blurry eyes.

Someone let out a strangled sob and it wasn't until tears fell against his dust streaked skin that he realized it was him. He curled onto the floor, hands over his ears as if that would block out the torrent of things he was feeling and seeing and remembering.

He had died.

And now…he was back.

Back from…death. Paradise. His friends.

He coughed, bile rising to the back of his throat and threatening to gag him. He coughed again, then, mouth suddenly tasting foul, vomited onto the floor. He stayed still for a moment then forced himself to get up and crawl away from the rancid smell.

Dead. He'd been dead. This was impossible. He bowed his head, eyes still stinging and breathing irregular. Everyone thought…knew, they knew he was dead. What was he supposed to do now? The conviction he'd had when he'd taken the leap off the bridge was gone, giving way to confusion and anxiety. He felt so…out of sorts.

He didn't know what to do. He couldn't even move. The shadows of the room loomed tall and threatening, whispering that they could drag him back into their waters at a moment's notice and drown him in them. The world went a little gray and he bit his bottom lip, using the pain to try and clear his head.

Think. He had to think. Couldn't let it get to him.

He had to…had to…get the hell out of the Ministry. He clung to that thought like a lifeline, because that's what it was: the only thing that made sense to him and he needed it if he was going to function. He forced his breathing to calm down. He was a wanted man, he couldn't just hang around and wait for people who knew he was dead to come and check to see if he'd managed to crawl back through the veil now could he? No, he had to get out of here.

Once he was outside he could go from there.

He stood on shaky legs then regarded the locket. He hesitantly fastened it around his neck then drew in another shuddery breath. He'd kill for a wand right about now, if only to feel the comforting weight. He was okay at wandless magic, had been one of the best in his school days, but he would have liked the extra security.

Where to go?

His first thought was Harry, naturally. He dismissed it though. He didn't know where his godson was, how long he'd been gone, or how Harry would react to his sudden re-appearance from the grave. Dumbledore then. He'd get to Hogwarts' outer grounds, become Padfoot and get Hagrid to get the man.

Dumbledore would know what to do about all of this. The man may have been crazy, and he most certainly was, but he knew his magic better than Sirius did, both the usual and the forbidden. If there was anyone who could make sense of the returning from the dead thing, it was him.

He went rigid as a shiver ran up his spine. Something like fingers, long bony fingers, made its presence known, scratching along the inside of his skull. Scratch. Scratch. Scratch.

What the hell was-

Pain, blurred and felt as if from miles away, but pain none the less. He looked down and saw dark red coating his fingers, leaking from a hole in his stomach that he couldn't recall being there before. He dropped to his knees, not really feeling the ground beneath him, while rubbing his fingers together, confused. It was slick and thin, smelling sweet but…bitter at the same time.

He looked up, eyes taking in hazy figures but, even as he stared he could feel the daze leaving his mind and giving way to more clarity than he'd felt in a long time. He didn't recognize most of them, but the two he did, he knew well. Fudge, pale and shivering but smiling broadly nonetheless. Percy, the cast out Weasley, who looked like he may be sick at any moment, wand trembling in his hand. It fell, clattering on the floor with exaggerated noise.

He was dying. Blood poured out of him and he would have laughed except he really didn't think it'd be that appropriate at the moment.

"Remus J. Lupin, for resisting containment under The New Magical Creature Ordinance, passed by the Ministry of Magic on October 28th of 1999, you have been sentenced to immediate execution." Percy's voice was trembling and hollow, as if he was reciting something he'd had pounded into his head time and time again.

He did laugh this time, a slow whispery chuckle. Percy went green and then turned and fled, front door banging against the wall with the force he flung it open with. All of Fudge's men took an uneasy step back. He blinked at them placidly, noting how the world was beginning to gray. He put a hand on the wall behind him, leaving a crimson smear, before leaning against it.

The sun was rising.

Sirius gasped, feeling as if he'd once again emerged from the inky river and looked around wildly. He was still in the same place, the veil standing ominously on the other side of the room. He was on his knees again and his stomach burned. He touched himself in the same place he had been bleeding from, but encountered only his t-shirt.

No blood.

No. He hadn't been hurt. The boy (Percy?) had said Remus. Executed? He didn't know what had just happened but he knew he needed to be with Remus.

And then he was. Or at least in Remus' old house. A house, in the middle of the country, that had been just this side of unsalvageable when Remus had scrapped together the money to buy it. It had a root cellar that locked from the inside and was far from other people, though, and that was all Remus had required. The two of them had put a lot of work into the place, making it livable when Lily had gotten pregnant. Couldn't have their godson playing in a deathtrap, after all.

It seemed Remus had let the place fall back into disrepair. The front door seemed to be clinging to the rusted hinges with the last of its strength, the windows were impossible to see out of, yellowing newspapers, folders and mail were piling up on the floor, on the front table, the stairs… Glass bottles were scattered about, some only half-empty. Dust clung to the air, adding to the muggy feel and stale taste of it, as if no one had opened a window in forever.

It felt…dead. Abandoned. It made him nauseous to even be in this place.

There was a thud above his head and he looked up as if he'd suddenly gained the ability to see through wood. He hadn't, of course, and so headed for the steps, taking the rickety things two at a time and hoping to God they didn't collapse under his feet. He turned, heading directly for Remus' room and all but ripping the door open.

He almost choked, the scent of old liquor smacking him as if it had a physical presence. He did take a step back and yelped as his foot came in contact with a bottle. The ground moved from beneath his feet and came back under his back. He groaned.

"Bloody hell, clean up would you?"

Ouch. He rubbed the back of his head, half expecting to feel a bump forming.

"Who's out there?" The familiar voice, dark and raspy, called out. There was a faint slur to it but considering the state of the house he couldn't find it in himself to be surprised that Remus was apparently drunk. Then again, Remus had never been much of a drinker when they were younger…

Faintly surprised then.

"Who the hell do you think?" He snapped back, annoyed. "Jesus Christ Moony, when was the last time you opened a bloody window? This place is rank, mate."

There was the sound of rustling and then a figure pulled away from the shadows that he was pretty sure made up the other man's bed. He squinted, focusing on the faintly glowing amber eyes. For a moment neither moved. Finally Remus took a step back, eyes darting away as he muttered to himself.

"I didn't think I was that drunk."

"Huh?" Sirius blinked, confused. Remus ignored him, swaying a little on his feet and putting a hand to his face. He turned, starting to retreat back to his bed. Sirius sprang to his feet, rushing forward before he could even realize what he was doing.

"Moony-!" He reached out to touch his friend but the man stumbled back, tripping over his own feet and falling. Amber eyes were wide and seemed to be staring through Sirius as if he wasn't there at all. Closer now he could see his friend better. The hair that was now over a quarter of the way gray, longer than Remus had ever worn it and in total disarray. Long shadows danced over his pale ashen face and he was so thin that Sirius was sure he could wrap one of his hands around both of Remus' wrists.

He looked…old. Much older than Sirius remembered.

"You look terrible Moony."

Remus flinched. "You aren't real, you aren't real, aren't real, aren't real, aren't real." He was shivering, arms wrapped tight around himself. He squeezed his eyes shut, but a tear still escaped, leaving a trail down his cheek.

Sirius just stared. He didn't know what to do. This wasn't Remus at all. Remus was so much stronger than this. He was…he didn't cry or show pain. Nothing could shake him because whatever was going on he'd seen worse. Felt worse. Been worse. He'd always been strong to Sirius, able to go through anything and come out the other end with a sarcastic remark and a smirk.

Even after transformations, when he was pale and sick and barely able to stay awake, he'd never seemed truly vulnerable. It just wasn't part of his personality.

How could he have changed so much? How long had Sirius been…gone? Why wasn't someone helping Remus when he was so obviously falling apart?

Why wasn't he helping?

Swallowing the lump that had risen in his throat he reached out and touched the older man's shoulder.

"No!" Remus shouted, arm going up and swinging out at Sirius. He put a hand up to stop it even though he knew it wouldn't do any good. He remembered, suddenly, when they were fifteen and Remus had, in a rare display of anger, kicked one of the beds across the dorm room only to have it shatter against the wall.

After that they'd all been a little more careful about getting on Remus' bad side. Werewolf strength, it seemed, wasn't just limited to the full moon.

So when he managed to catch Remus' wrist and stop himself from losing any teeth, or ending up with his skull crushed, he was surprised, to say the least. He wrapped his hand completely around the older man's wrist and carefully brought it down to a level where it could cause no harm. Remus whimpered before going completely limp. Sirius had to move quickly to keep him from hitting his head on the floor.

Somehow he imagined that a knock to the head was the last thing Remus needed at the moment. The first thing he needed was a shrink. Or a good strong cup of tea. One could never be sure with Remus.

Remus groaned and Sirius could feel the tremors coming from the other man's body. Amber eyes were unfocused and wet.

"Aren't real. Another dream."

Sirius wasn't sure what he could say to Remus. The man didn't even seem to be talking to him, but rather to himself, voice soft and breathy. He went rigid for a moment when Remus moved suddenly, clinging to him. Tears soaked through his shirt and he closed his eyes, heart thudding in his chest.

This was just so…

He could use some tea. With vodka. Mostly vodka.

Eventually the older man went still in his arms, breath evening out and becoming almost peaceful and relaxed. It was a false image though; Sirius really doubted that Remus was anywhere near peace at the moment.

He picked Remus up, trying not to be disturbed at how easy it was to lift the older man. He placed Remus back in the bed, then stared down at the thin shell of his only remaining friend before sliding down onto the floor and resting his head against the bed frame.

What the hell happened to them?

This wasn't supposed to be their lives.

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Chelle: That…was more fun than it deserved to be. Remus torment is just too much fun to not take delight in. But, when all is said and done, I'm not the Plot Master and all complaints should be aimed at Dimi.

Slashy Kitty: LOL. That's right, Remus/Sirius slash makes everything all better doesn't it? We depressed ourselves a little bit actually but were amused/disturbed to find how well this story went along with HBP, with Dumbledore being dead and Narcissa being crazy and everything…

Mechante: You are allowed to review as much as you want; we certainly don't mind any. Harry needs the same kind of glue Wally seems intent on using in 'Less Than Guilty' I think… Bill is on his way, but he has issues of his own and I'm not sure if he remembered to pack the glue…we'll have to see. Hermione still has that belief in authority I'm afraid; jaded but utterly naïve in a way, especially when it comes to not seeing how much happier she'd be if she just admitted to being in love with Ron.

And thanks to Crazy-Psycho.