Written for Autumn Funfair, the October Writing Club and the Autumn Seasonal Challenges, among other challenges, of the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry forum.

Disclaimer: Refer to chapter one, please.

Chapter warnings: none

Word count: 9845

Quick A/N: The last chapter, like all the other chapters so far, are set in the canon timeline. This means that for the most part, everything that happens in canon happens here. It's come to my attention that the last chapter, which ended in a fade-to-black, could be considered suggestive of an alternate outcome, but as I replied to a comment, everything remains the same. Peter gets away, Harry and Hermione go back in time (not that anyone knows - other than Dumbledore), Harry and Sirius nearly over-dose on Dementor-misery, Sirius escapes on a Hippogriff, everything.

I'll drop a note when the story deviates from canon.

Part 2 - Falling To Pieces

I went following the sun to be alone with everyone

Ooh, looking 'round a crowded room

2.1 - In Indecision

Sirius has been staring at him for ages. Those heady silver eyes are boring into the skin at his hairline—because he's too afraid of what he might do should he let himself look up and meet that strong gaze eye to eye—and his stomach is two parts butterflies and eight parts bottomless pit of discomfort and guilt.

He'd planned on getting here for the meeting well in time, like he always does, but the trains had been delayed and he'd been the last one to reach. Before Dumbledore, of course—Dumbledore's grandiose Floo entrances are well-known for being at least ten minutes after the decided meeting time, and everyone is sure to be assembled for his arrival—but his preferred seat was already occupied by Alastor, and he'd been forced to take the last open chair, barring Dumbledore's at the head of the long table.

The last empty chair, right opposite Sirius.

He isn't naive enough to presume that this is a coincidence. He just knows that Sirius took advantage of his unexpected unpunctuality to engineer this seating arrangement. In fact, knowing him, Sirius had probably been doing it all the time, and he'd only been spared this torture before because he'd been vigilant enough to ensure that he wasalways early.

He can't even blame Sirius. This, everything, it's all his fault.

He can't help but wish that he could have Apparated to a nearer point like all the rest, and Flooed directly to Grimmauld. But he's had some shady characters on his tail after a gross misjudgement in situation about three days ago, and both Flooing and Apparition are easily traceable. He cannot risk being tracked to a location even remotely close to their headquarters. He's lucky that he's comfortable with Muggle travel, but the trains can be so unreliable sometimes.

"Remus, my boy, where are you with the werewolf camp up north?"

He makes the mistake of looking up, and the first thing he sees is liquid silver.

"Remus?"

He tears his gaze away from Sirius' eyes.

"Right, the camp." He turns to Albus, and the old man's piercing stare is unnerving. The man's eyes look sad, and he feels his throat grow tight. He doesn't need pity. Not for this. Not for the mess he's in with Sirius.

He firms his chin, steels his gaze, and delivers his report dispassionately.

"…so they gave me the slip, and tipped off one of Greyback's werewolf cronies. I don't think they'll be joining our side anytime soon."

Albus' light blue eyes suddenly look a lot sharper.

"They tipped off Greyback?"

His face is as placid as ever, but he lets a little smirk show through. "False tip. Disguised myself a bit, they don't know who I am. Greyback sent four henchmen on my tail, and they're out looking for a Jonathan Hope. I threw them off a while back in disguise, sent them on another trail. They won't be bothering us."

"Good going, boy," Moody piped up from his seat. "Constant vigilance. You'd have made a good Auror."

"Yes, he would have," Sirius answers softly on his behalf, his whisper carrying through the room. "He's certainly had plenty of practice."

Sirius sneaks a small grin towards him, and they share a secret smile, and for a while he forgets the conflicting mess of emotions warring through him with regard to Sirius Black.

Albus sighs, and the heaviness in the sound draws his attention away from Sirius.

"Another ally lost."

He can see Sirius straightening up from the corner of his eye, he can see him gearing up for a protest on his behalf, but Albus is right. They're losing ground with each potential ally slipping from their hands.

"I'm sorry, Albus," he says earnestly. "I tried. But if it helps, I think they had already been enlisted by Greyback and You-Know-Who. I don't think they could ever be trusted."

Albus smiles comfortingly, and his sharp eyes soften back into mild blue. "It happens, my boy. It's the price of war. I know you gave it your best."

His eyes flick down in acknowledgement, and he nods in the slightest. Albus smiles softly again, then turns to Shacklebolt to request his report. Kingsley speaks in his usual smooth baritone, and the low voice soothes his nerves, even as the Auror's ghastly recount of the last Death Eater raid makes him cringe.

He can see Sirius calm down as he turns back to face him. He'd rather stay in his twisted position, attention focused on Albus or Shacklebolt or literally anyone else in the room, but unfortunately for him, age has taken a toll on his muscles and the awkward position would be torture on his sides.

He could stare at Tonks instead—she's sitting to Sirius' immediate right, an easy target for him to focus his gaze on—but he can't. As much as he wants to, he can't tear his eyes away from Sirius. It's physically impossible for him to succeed, not when even after all these months, he still can't get enough of looking at Sirius.

Sirius is staring at him again. He—he can't look away.

It's well hidden, but there's confusion in those silver eyes. Pain. He's the one to put it there, and he doesn't know how to fix this.

He doesn't know how to act around Sirius.

Sirius looks so much fitter—there's skin on his bones and a healthy colour to his flesh, and his eyes don't have that hunted look within its depths. His teeth aren't as white as he remembers, but much improved from its previous horrible state. His smile is less tinged with madness, but the undertone is still there. He's wearing clothes that fit, and a demeanor full of charm, and things should go back to the way they were, but they haven't.

Because things are far, far from what they used to be. He's still sieving through old doubt and betrayal, still coming to terms with this new normal, and it doesn't really help his adjustment issues when Sirius pulls capers like living in a godforsaken cave for months—no contact except through those ruddy untrained birds for messengers—while every Auror in the Ministry is on the lookout for him. He'd offered his measly old flat for Sirius to put himself up in, but Sirius had wanted to be on hand for his godson during the Triwizard Tournament.

He isn't annoyed that Sirius chose Harry over him. How could he be? He loves Harry as much as Sirius does, and from the point of safety, Harry is more of a priority that he is. He could look after himself, but Harry needed the support and guidance, and Sirius was the best person to give it. Merlin knows he's in no position to give Harry moral support—the guilt over not making that extra effort to find his cub still eats at him, and the more he stays away from Harry since that fateful day of his resignation from Hogwarts, the more daunting he finds it to see Harry's face again. He's a coward, and he knows it.

Sirius had spent last summer out of Europe, hiding from the Ministry. Dumbledore had set things up—not that he admitted it, but the twinkle in his eyes when he evaded the topic had been answer enough—and Sirius had no time for even a proper goodbye.

"I'll see you soon, Remus. I'll be back before you know it. You won't even feel my absence."

He'd felt every minute.

He remembers tossing and turning, missing Sirius, thinking of Sirius, wishing for Sirius. He remembers toying with doubt all over again, losing sleep and health over the burning sting of absence.

He remembers hearing about Harry's selection for Champion in the Tournament, remembers the frantic worry and fear for his cub, remembers feeling so stupid for being unable to write to Harry, not even a single letter, not even a stay safe, I believe in you, because he was so afraid to reach out, so afraid of earning Harry's ire at his hypocrisy, so afraid of Harry thinking of him overstepping his role as his former professor.

He remembers Sirius coming back to Britain after the announcement of the Triwizard scandal, feeling thankful at getting Sirius back again, relieved at being able to let go of his torturous depression. He remembers Sirius running off to the cave in the middle of the night, after just one night at his dingy little apartment with nothing to speak for his disappearance but a crumpled note on a makeshift bedside table.

He remembers falling back into that vicious cycle, that unhealthy routine of missing Sirius, thinking of Sirius, wishing for Sirius.

And now Sirius is right here, living in his old ancestral home, looking after their new headquarters—looking at him with those pained eyes, expecting things to go back to normal—but he doesn't remember the first thing of what normal supposedly is.

It's ironic, really. He's always thought that he couldn't breathe without Sirius, that Sirius is fresh air and soothing safety. He's always thought that he could never survive without Sirius by his side, wishing for Sirius to come back, but in reality, he's been breathing without Sirius for fourteen years now. Fourteen years, and he's often short of breath—it's always hard to breathe—but he's still breathing.

He's kept his head above water, but just barely enough to stay alive—and he's at the point where he wonders whether it is Sirius' absence that's pulling him down, or his obsession over Sirius' absence.

What if all they have is the past? What if he needs to let go and move on?

Alastor's rough voice cuts through his sad musings, and he's pulled back into awareness.

"…are we going to do, Albus?"

"We don't have much in our power, Alastor," he hears Dumbledore reply, but he's only half listening. His glazed over eyes are quickly focusing, and all he sees is Sirius.

Why does Sirius consume him this way? He's an adult; he should be beyond this. He has his head firmly on his shoulders. Strongly, cynically so. But Sirius always makes him feel like his heads are in the clouds, even when Sirius is just a thought suspended in reality.

His head feels like it's floating in clouds—right before the fluffy white morphs into murky grey fog and completely obscures his vision.

Yes, that's it. He's blind around Sirius, and blind without him. He's blind, and stupid, and stupidly in love.

Because he still is in love with Sirius. The conflicting fight or flight emotions are wearing him down, and he's not sure of anything anymore, but if there's one thing he knows, it's that he's never stopped loving Sirius.

"…Albus, Death Eaters are organising a raid in the little village two miles from…"

It's… surreal. Unfamiliarity makes him uncomfortable, and this new version of Sirius should scare him off, but it doesn't. Sirius is far from what he was—it's criminally obvious—but everything about him still makes his heart flutter and his brain dizzy. He still feels his stomach swoop at Sirius' smile, even as this new smile holds an edge that's sharper than a metaphorical blade to the throat. He still melts at every word from Sirius' lips—voice rough and broken, charm held together with string and twine—each word enunciated so differently, but the meaning just as deep and sincere. He still gets entranced by those silver eyes, even as each look reminds him harshly of the madness he's seen brewing within.

This man is hardly the man he thought he'd known, but he's in love with him already. He's re-learning this new Sirius, mapping him out again, and every new thing he learns only serves to remind him of how he's already fallen for the man, even before he knows everything about him.

"We need to play this right, my boy. We cannot show our hand yet, not when Voldemort has the advantage of allies…"

Sirius is recovering, and he's made so much progress already. He's unrecognisable from his Azkaban self, and as much as it brings him relief, he knows that even if Sirius was forever stuck in his Azkaban self, an unhinged, broken shell of a man, he still wouldn't stop loving him. The idea is frightening—how can he admit that he'd ever be in love with a madman?—and he should hate himself for being so gone on this man, completely unheeding of the consequences.

But the truth is, he's in love with every version of Sirius—the ones he knows, the ones he knows of, and the ones he doesn't know at all.

He fell in love with a fifteen year old boy all those years ago, handsome and confident, yet without direction. He was in love with the rebellious, callous teenager of their late Hogwarts years—unnecessarily cold, and disproportionately cruel to the ones he had deemed unlikeable. He was in love with the man who put family above all else—the one who took care of him after the full moon every month, the one who organised and arranged James and Lily's wedding, the one who agonised most over their safety, the one who constantly babysat for his godson. He was in love with the optimistic yet realistic man of war—front-runner for the Order, star of the Auror force, secure and successful even in his recklessness, until he wasn't.

For twelve years, he was in love with a man he'd thought a traitor, a murderer. Never mind the later years, where he'd restored his faith in Sirius piece by excruciating piece. He never really knew the truth, never really knew whether Sirius was truly an innocent, but he loved him anyway.

And even now, how could he not love Sirius? This is the man who left everything behind to live in a cave near his godson when he needed the support; this is the man who is now spending his days and nights trapped in the one place he swore never to come back to, because the Order needed a suitable headquarters for their activities. This is the man who looks, talks and acts so much like the Sirius he's known before, that it physically hurts to see him within his sights.

The moment he'd seen Sirius that night at the Whomping Willow, the very moment Sirius had smiled at him and made his world right again, he knew the truth. That even at Sirius' lowest point, clinging onto the very dregs of life, he'd still love Sirius. Skeleton frame, straggly hair, ashen skin, unsteady focus, spasming limbs—the whole package. He'd take the madness, the instability, everything over losing Sirius completely. Because however hard he tried, he'd never be able to get over Sirius Black.

He had twelve, no, fourteen years to try, and his best efforts were a laughable failure.

No matter what he does, he can't shake off Sirius.

But does that mean that he doesn't have other options open to him? Yes, he's still hung up over his first lover, and as embarrassing as it is to admit, he's quite certain that no one will truly condemn him for his failings in letting go. Sirius Black is a hard man to get over, and he's had the full taste of what it's like to be by Sirius' side.

But surely, surely he's not doomed to this wretched state for the rest of his life. Hanging in midair—unsure, every single second in Sirius' presence, whether to speak or shut up, confront or avoid, sit down or stand up, turn left or right. Is this what the rest of his life is going to look like? Tiptoeing, sidestepping, undecided?

"…think it's possible to get it done, Remus?"

Is he truly capable of letting go and moving on?

"Remus?"

How hard could it be to start over? Should he even let Sirius into the equation this time around?

"Remus!"

There's a light kick to his foot under the table, and his head instantly jerks up, before his eyes lock on Sirius' subconsciously. There's still that horrible look of hurt in those grey eyes, but it takes a backseat to the raw, unfiltered amusement he sees shining back at him. Confused, he looks at the rest of Sirius' face, and the bright, doggish smirk Sirius sports is only highlighted by the way he sits back casually in his chair, arms crossed smugly.

He looks around the table, and every single one of its occupants stares back at him in similar states of amusement. Mundungus has an eyebrow raised at him, half in irritation and half in glee, and he doesn't know what to make of it. In fact, he's a little offended. He's still quite miffed at the loss of his watch, and he doesn't appreciate the judgement from the irritating little man.

Albus calls his name again, and he turns his gaze to the head of the table sheepishly.

"Sorry, Albus," he says softly, grimacing, "I must have been distracted."

Tonks, from where she sits on Sirius' right, snorts loudly at his vague explanation, but he doesn't give her the satisfaction of looking her way.

Albus chuckles, the breathy, soundless one that involves more shoulder-shaking and beard-bouncing than actual laughter, and coupled with the unmistakable twinkle in Albus' light blue eyes, it instantly puts him at ease. Indeed, there is no one quite like Albus to reassure him when he's anxious, a habit he tends to fall into very often in the kind old man's presence.

"Thoughts do consume us sometimes, don't they, my boy? Sometimes, they hinder us more than they help. Makes it trouble for everyone involved, hmm?"

Albus looks knowing, eyes twinkling brightly and mouth upturned encouragingly, and he would almost say that Albus knows the exact details of the inner conflict waging war in his mind, except that the advice Albus so generously gives him makes no sense whatsoever, and especially not in the context of his dilemma. He turns the words this way and that, trying to find the meaning in what Albus has said, and yet… nothing.

Next to Albus, Molly Weasley looks just as confused as he feels, and Alastor is frowning at his old friend in annoyed amusement.

He decides to take it in stride with a smile, because no matter what anyone says, Albus Dumbledore is far from senile. He has no doubt that somewhere down the line, these cryptic words will make sense to him, just when he needs it.

"Er, yes," he belatedly replies. "You're right. Um, you had asked me something?"

Albus starts noticeably. The light-heartedness in his light eyes instantly fades, replaced by the icy fierceness of a leader, and he automatically feels himself growing serious and focused.

"Yes, yes," Albus says to him, getting down to business again. "I had asked how soon you'd be able to send word to the pack in Shoreham. They are close enough to the village where the raid is supposed to take place, and we can use their assistance."

Alastor continues where Albus has left off. "We don't want our plans getting out, and we cannot send a message so soon, lest it be relayed to the Death Eaters before the raid. We have to cut it as close as we can in sending off the owl."

He deliberates over it, and finally says, "I'll deliver the message to them myself; it reduces the chances of our communication getting intercepted. Also, it will go over better with the pack—I don't think they'll appreciate being summoned out of the blue. It won't take longer than a day to reach Shoreham, not by my estimates."

"Muggle trains?" Kingsley asks him thoughtfully, and he nods in reply.

"Why can't you just use a broom?" Tonks pipes up, but Arthur answers her before he gets the chance to.

"The Ministry finds a way to track everything," Arthur says tiredly. "Including broom travellers. If Remus is sighted touching down in Shoreham, suspicions will be raised. With the raid taking place soon after—they'll find a way to pin the attacks on the werewolves. We can't have that."

"Besides," Alastor adds, "You-Know-Who has eyes and ears in the Ministry, and if they find out—"

"—we're screwed," Tonks finishes for him.

Alastor snorts, but nods reluctantly.

"Not the way I'd put it," Albus observes with a smile, "but, yes."

"We have time," Sirius says roughly, speaking up with faltering conviction. "We have at least two weeks to get things together. We don't have much to plan, other than getting the werewolves in Shoreham to lend a hand and getting out before the Aurors are lured in."

"True," Albus concedes with a bow of his silvery head, "but one can never anticipate how many things can go wrong. We're on our own, Sirius. The Ministry—" he sighs. "The Ministry is not willing to listen or co-operate. The Ministry is not on our side. Our forces are split up with patrols, guarding the Department of Mysteries and doing this—stopping raids. We're spread thin, and Severus' sources say that this is going to be a big one. We cannot afford slip-ups, my boy."

Sirius scoffs. "Why do you trust bloody Sni—" Sirius starts up harshly, and before he knows what he's doing, he delivers a sharp kick across the table to Sirius' leg. Sirius turns, startled, and he's glaring back at him the way he used to when Sirius went too far, and Sirius clams up with widened eyes and a single gulp, just like the old days.

Albus seems surprised at the lack of retort towards Snivellous' bloody untrustworthy ways, before the man realises what he must have done and shoots him a look of mild amusement.

He doesn't know what came over him, but the kick and the glare just felt so natural—for a minute, he'd forgotten that he didn't have the first idea of how to act around Sirius Black, and just went with his instincts. What does it mean, that the minute he stops thinking about his mess of a situation, he relapses back into what they used to be? Is this his brain trying to tell him something? That he should just let things happen and they'll fall into place?

He looks back at Sirius warily, and Sirius still has his mouth firmly shut tight. Sirius looks utterly shell-shocked, and he knows that the shock is both at his reprimand and Sirius' own reaction. Tonks looks to be trying very hard to repress a gleeful cackle or two, hot pink hair falling in locks over her eyes as she claps her hand over her mouth, and from the look of things, she is failing miserably.

The meeting progresses without many more disruptions. There's a screaming match between Molly and Alastor at one point—something about ghastly, pest-ridden houses and the children's safety—and Molly almost pulls out her wand before Arthur manages to break things up and calm both of them down. The rest of the Order wisely keeps their mouth shut, and for a wonder, there's no snide comment from Sirius over Molly's temper, or her voice, or her red face. Arthur shoots him a grateful look, oddly enough, as if he's the one responsible for getting Sirius to keep quiet.

Soon enough, the meeting comes to an end. People are getting up, pushing their chairs in, and in the blink of an eye there are small clusters of people grouped together in twos and threes, discussing plans and lighter matters. It reminds him of a party, albeit, a very serious looking one. All they need are drinks in their hands and little plates of hors d'oeuvres set on the long table, and the dilapidated, gloomy state of the basement kitchen could almost be overlooked.

He can't get out of here fast enough.

He subtly makes his way to the exit, slinking through the door, and as he climbs up the worn wooden steps up to the ground floor of Grimmauld Place, he thinks he's made his escape unnoticed. He doesn't need to stay here anyway. He's filled up his quota of being around Sirius for the day, and each time he leaves this place, he always walks out more confused and frustrated than he feels when he comes in.

He's at the very last step, standing in the entrance hall now, and the door is only twenty feet away.

He needs to think about a place to sleep for the night. The park bench he's been sleeping on for the past week is one he's used too frequently, and he needs to find another place before he gets kicked out the park. He's lucky that everything he owns fits so easily in Sirius' brown leather suitcase—it makes things so much easier to move around. It wasn't like he needed his wretched old apartment to stay in, since he hardly slept there most nights anyway. The place was miserable, and the rent was just another unnecessary expense. He's better off sleeping on park benches.

He's ten feet away from the door. Ten feet, and he can step out into the night and pretend that he's fine. He has more pressing problems to attend to, and he can't let Sirius take over his mind.

Of course, that's when Sirius' voice stops him.

"Remus? What are you doing?"

He sighs. He really shouldn't be surprised that Sirius noticed his absence.

He turns around to face Sirius quickly, but his mind cannot think of a good enough excuse to explain himself. Too late, he realises that his hand is running through his hair the way it does when he's uncomfortable.

Of course, Sirius notices it too.

Sirius frowns, and he can feel a now familiar pull in his chest at putting that frown there. He settles for a clipped, honest answer, because his mind is too blank to come up with a lie.

"I'm leaving."

He cannot see Sirius' eyes very clearly in the dark hallway, but they look hurt.

"Why?" Sirius asks evenly. "Do you have somewhere to be?"

"I—I just need to go, Sirius," he replies, his voice thick. "I'm sorry, but I really need to leave."

Sirius takes a step toward him, and another and another, and every cell in his body screams at him to take a step back, to take a step closer. It takes everything in him to stay where he is.

"Stay for dinner," Sirius says, almost pleading. "Molly's making stew. You like stew, remember? Molly's stews are always good."

His hand automatically travels to his pocket, feeling around for the two silky wrappers in its depths. His stomach rumbles softly, reminding him that he hasn't eaten anything much for a while, besides the granola bars. The stew would be so appetising—he could save the two bars in his pocket for tomorrow.

Sirius must see the indecision on his face. There's the faintest glimmer of hope shining on the edge of his lips when he smiles, and he moves even closer, letting the small pool of light from the lamp on the wall fall on his features. In the dim, yellowish glow of the lamp, his eyes shine a glittering black.

"Come on," Sirius says, voice soft. "Stay."

"I can't, Sirius."

"Why?"

Why can he not stay? Isn't a warm, home-cooked dinner worth the discomfort that comes with being around Sirius?

"I—I just can't."

What difference does a single meal make in the long run? If he leaves now, maybe he can still retain a part of his sanity.

Sirius' face breaks, and he's instantly struck with the sharp pang of hurt that tells him he's made the wrong decision. He can feel his jaw spasm, but it's nothing against the raw emotion in Sirius' accusing eyes.

"Can't even lie to my face anymore, huh, Remus? Am I not even worth a lie now?"

He stutters, blindsided. "I—I didn't—"

Sirius' shoulders slump, and the harshness fades from his tone.

"I just—I don't know what to do, Rem. Do you think I haven't noticed you running away from me? You can't even bear to stay in the same room as me for more than an hour!"

Sirius is twisting his fingers together, wringing his hands, and his hoarse voice breaks at the end. He's never, never seen Sirius this unsure before, and once again, he remembers that he isn't the only one dealing with the fallout—that Sirius must be just as affected as he is by this.

Merlin, he is such a fool. How could he be this selfish? How could he forget to consider Sirius? How—How did he get so wrapped up in his own issues that he pushed Sirius out without even considering his feelings? They might have been lovers, but before that, before that they were friends. Godric, he's a horrible friend.

"Is it—is it because of me? Is it because of who I am now?" Sirius asks softly, painfully, and his heart just keeps on breaking. He did this. He did this. "Because I—I'm trying, Rem, I'm trying so hard to be better for you, but you're not even around to see it."

He's never seen Sirius this unconfident in his life, not for one second—not when his Uncle Alphard died, not when he ran away from home, not when he left for work for his first ever Auror mission in the field, not when they had all sat around in Dumbledore's office hearing him recount the prophecy.

"No." He shakes his head earnestly, the words stumbling out of his mouth before he can process what he's saying, because Sirius is hurt and hesitant, and he's the one who did this. "No, no, no—it's not—it's not you—it's—I just, I don't know how to—how to—"

I just don't know how to act around you. I'm a coward, Sirius. I'm a coward and a fool.

Sirius straightens just the slightest, and the horrifying insecurity in his eyes seeps away with each unintelligible word that continues to spew out his mouth. He's smiling a bit now—wry amusement, like he's trying to contain laughter—but he knows that Sirius' possible laughter isn't aimed at him.

"It's all so new and confusing, isn't it?" Sirius asks, commiserating, and he nods, relieved. He doesn't know how Sirius understood what he was trying to say with all his incoherent mumbling, but Sirius always did have a knack for reading his mind.

"I never expected to be back here," Sirius continues, looking around at the dreary wallpaper in distaste. His gaze falls over the dusty grey curtain behind which his mother's portrait lies, and the curl of his lips, just for a second, sharpens to something nasty. "I thought I was rid of this place for good," he says, his glare boring holes through the grime smudged grey fabric.

Sirius looks at him then, and his eyes soften instantly, like the flick of a switch. "Everything is so different," he breathes, just a few feet away. "The Order, the members—I never thought that Dumbledore could look even older that he did before, but he proved me wrong."

He can feel his lips quirk in a bare imitation of amusement. Sirius is doing this on purpose, trying to make him smile—Sirius always does it, consistently, like a ritual—but he cannot muster the lightness to smile right now, not when Sirius is finally opening up the way they both should have months ago.

"The Order lineup is so different. Fabian and Gideon, Alice and Frank—all gone. So many newer faces in their places. Merlin, I don't think I'll ever get used to Moody's eye. And his hair is all greyed out! And little Dora, all grown up now—" He shakes his head in bemusement.

"Kingsley hasn't changed," he pointed out mildly, feeling better despite himself. "And Mundungus," he adds, unable to keep out the trace of annoyance that came with the name. "Mundungus Fletcher is exactly the same."

Sirius grins, bright and doggish, and Merlin, he should feel something, anything, but all he feels is happiness—the cautious, hopeful kind he doesn't deserve. Where is the guilt? Where is the self-derision at seeing Sirius smile and only remembering the pain of the times Sirius wasn't around to smile at him?

"Oh, yeah," Sirius snorts, "Shacklebolt hasn't changed at all. Still bald, still stoic, and he still clams up after every ten words he speaks."

"Sirius!"

"And Dung, oh, I bet there's a story behind that. I saw the look on your face when you mentioned him, and for you, that's the equivalent of burning hatred. Good old Remus finally find himself a mortal enemy like a normal person and he decides to hate Dung, of all people? Tell me about it later, I gotta hear everything."

"Sirius!" he cries again softly. "They're all downstairs! What if they hear you?"

Sirius huffs out a quiet laugh, and—oh.

"Got you, didn't I?" Sirius asks teasingly through his laughs, and he finally lets himself smile, even as he glares back. Sirius just laughs harder.

"Oh, I missed this," Sirius wheezes out when he finally stops. "It's so easy to tease you, Rem, you're always so nice. You haven't changed a bit."

He stiffens. That's the farthest from the truth. He's practically an antithesis of what he was, and every one of his redeeming qualities have been lost in the transformation. He isn't remotely carefree, whittled down to a mere husk of anxiety, worry and failure. He's stupid and he's a fool, and an even bigger coward than he was before. He looks like the walking dead and everything about him screams defeat, when he was never terribly attractive to begin with.

You haven't changed a bit.

Can Sirius not see? Can Sirius not see how different he is now? How time and loneliness has changed him?

He's opening his mouth, a retort tumbling off his lips, and too late, he realises that Sirius' comment must have just been made in jest.

"Sirius, what are you talking about? I am nothing like my past self, don't you see—"

Sirius' face shutters, and there's an inexplicable surge of pain in those dark eyes.

He stops as quickly as he'd started, the words struggling to escape stuck in his throat. What has he said that upset Sirius so much?

He's about to apologise, try to make things right again—they were doing so good before he messed it up, he shouldn't have said anything—but before he speaks, there's a loud, ear-splitting pop just to his right, and the Weasley twins appear four feet from them in a blur of red and green with their usual accompanying gusto.

His wand is out before he knows it, and he only has his reflexes to thank for stopping himself from attacking them at the first ripple of disturbed air. The Weasley boys are lucky they haven't ended up with a severed limb courtesy of his wand, but the twins are already in motion, talking over each other and completely heedless of the peril they could so easily have been in at his hands.

"Oh, good, you all are out," the one on the left starts.

"Is the meeting over then? Dumbledore kept you—"

"—longer than usual this time. Something—"

"—interesting afoot?"

The two finish up together in perfect unison, twin expressions of curious mischief on their freckled faces, their brown eyes twinkling with almost the same fervour as Dumbledore's. Hysterically, he wonders how long they've been practicing that damned twinkle.

His mouth is opening and closing like a fish—he's torn between the need to scold them for popping in so unannounced and tell them that it's none of their business, and bite his lip from blurting out that these two hooligans remind him so much of Sirius and James from their earlier Hogwarts years, that the resemblance is uncanny.

He's at a complete loss for words. He chances a glance towards Sirius, hoping that Sirius has a better idea of how to deal with the twins, because right now? His brain is mush. Sirius always does have that effect on him, even when the man is infuriatingly puzzling.

Sirius is gaping at the twins, and his wrist is holding his wand arm down loosely, as if he had had to physically restrain himself from hexing their intruders. The man is obviously in shock—and it's even more obvious that even if they did get the twins out of the way, there was no way their conversation would be continued tonight.

It's that very thought that snaps him out of his speechlessness, oddly enough, and he sighs.

Another moment lost. Lately, it feels like his relationship with Sirius is nothing but a handful of stolen moments, inevitably snatched away. It's like their moments together do not belong to them, like they're being punished for their presumptuousness by taking them in the first place.

He shakes his head as he turns back to the twins. They stare back at him with an odd cross between guileless puppy eyes and untold mischief. Side by side they stand, with their bright red hair and striking apple green sweaters, each a perfect replica of the other, and the one on the right—Fred, he's sure—has the gall to rock on his feet with his hands behind his back, the perfect picture of innocence.

"Do you need something, boys?" he asks them, resigned, because he knows that no amount of caution will sway these two from doing what they like. The twins' current fixation is on their Apparition licenses, and they treat their ability to now legally Apparate anywhere like two little children with a shiny new toy.

The two look at each other, shrug, then turn back to him. George—he's sure it's George—rolls his eyes, as if amused by his obvious deflection of their questions.

"Is Mum downstairs?" George asks.

"We need to talk to her," Fred tacks on.

There's the faintest hint of spluttering to his left. Sirius is nodding mutely, then verbally confirms that yes, their mother is downstairs. The twins perks up in unison, then proceed to very exuberantly make their way between him and Sirius, babbling rapidly about shops and flats and Skiving Snackboxes, whatever those might be. They casually walk between the few feet of tangibly coiled tension separating him from Sirius as if they're walking through thin air.

It snaps him out of his Sirius-induced daze, and his thoughts, slow as syrup and yet so very scattered, steady into its usual calming rapidness.

He watches the twins somewhat fondly as they cross the curtained portrait of Sirius' mother and continue their mysterious discussion softly, not even a single questioning glance directed at him or Sirius regarding the obvious strain in their stances. He has no doubt that the twins had picked up the tail end of their conversation, and he's grateful for their silence.

Then Fred—it has to be Fred—turns and winks at him when they stand at the edge of the wooden steps leading down to the basement.

The little twerp grins broadly, nudging his brother. "We'll let you get back to your… discussion," Fred says, punctuating his statement with a waggle of his red eyebrows, and he instantly loses any trace of fondness he feels for these two.

Sure, he misses James and Sirius' well-matched personalities, but he has no desire to relive those memories with the twins. Wrangling James and Sirius' wild ideas into submission was a harrowing enough experience the first time.

"Go," he stresses, rolling his eyes, and no, he's feeling far from affectionate, he really is. Sirius turns to him with a grin that says you're not fooling me, Moony, and even with the renewed tightness in those grey eyes, that old, familiar grin settles something in the back of his mind that he didn't know needed settling.

George grins too, and the twins simultaneously turn back to the steps when there's a loud crash from the basement, two squabbling voices, muffled yet vaguely identifiable, and the sound of hurried footsteps stomping up the creaky steps.

"Oh good, Mum's coming up," George states, and the twins back away from the staircase so that they don't block the entrance. Sirius walks closer towards him, and the twins take Sirius' place.

He catches a flash of red hair, and soon enough, Molly's features float into view as she hurries up the stairs. The twins take one look at her flustered face, glance at each other, and mutter something along the lines of it can wait before they disappear with a pop in a swirl of bright green.

He has to amend his assessment of the twins. Obviously, they are much smarter than Sirius and James were. They certainly have a healthy dose of self-preservation in them, which is far more than he could ever say for either Padfoot or Prongs.

He looks at Molly as she climbs up the last steps, stubborn determination and annoyed frustration warring over her reddened features, and he wishes he could Disapparate himself.

"Was that the twins?" she asks, glaring at the empty spot where the boys were just a second ago, and he and Sirius do a fantastic job pretending that her question is rhetorical.

"Honestly, those boys," she huffs, "always acting like children."

She shakes her head once, then turns to him, and her anger is instantly forgotten.

"Remus, dear," she says with a bright smile, "I've been looking for you. You're staying for dinner, aren't you? I'm making stew."

"Uh—no, Molly," he replies quickly. "Thank you, but I'm afraid I must leave. Dinner sounds delicious, through."

"Oh, but you must stay!" Molly exclaims, worried. "You need to eat, Remus, get some flesh on those bones. And I know you like my stew! Don't leave yet."

Her brown eyes glint with stubborn determination, and the set of her face is so similar to Lily's, he just knows that if Lily had the chance, the two women would have gotten on together like a house on fire.

"I'm sorry, Molly, but I can't stay. I have quite the walk to make."

His excuse is half-hearted, and he knows it. Molly frowns at him, puzzled.

"Well then," she says, "Why don't you stay here for the night? I can make up a room for you—I'm sure Ron won't mind sharing with the twins for one night. I won't take no for an answer, Remus. You really do need to eat. I don't think you've had a proper, home-cooked meal in a while."

His eyes widen in desperation. He looks to Sirius for help, but none is forthcoming. Sirius looks completely impassive, but his eyes shine with smug satisfaction. He gives Sirius his best glare, and it has no effect on him.

Molly clears her throat, and looks at him pointedly. "You're staying, then?"

He stutters, hard pressed to form a suitable rejection. He can feel Sirius smirking behind him, eyes boring into the back of his head.

"I—I really should—"

Molly's glare hardens, and his traitorous voice stops in its tracks. Before he can dig himself further in, however, there's the sound of soft footfalls on the landing and Albus' silvery head comes into view. Light blue eyes peer up at them through half-moon spectacles.

"Albus!" Molly exclaims, turning around to face him, "I didn't hear you come up."

Albus chuckles, and climbs up the last step with a swish of his orange and deep purple robes. He smiles at her, but doesn't acknowledge the question in her tone.

He wonders how long Albus has been listening in on their conversation, and if he's been waiting for the perfect time to make his presence known.

"Remus, my boy, there you are. I must discuss something with you after dinner. I'd like you to stay back later, if it's alright with you."

Albus' eyes twinkle as bright as ever, and he just knows that there's something up the man's fluorescent sleeve.

"Albus—" he starts, but is soon interrupted by the man.

"Also, I should suggest that you take Molly up on her offer to stay, my boy. The Wizard Wireless proclaims a light rain tonight. Wouldn't want you to catch a chill."

He's getting worried. Albus is giving out hints to his situation, and it couldn't in any way be construed as a good thing.

"Um, Rem?" Sirius calls to him, puzzled, and he cringes on reflex. This is one of the times he feels like cursing Sirius for his sharp ex-Auror mind. "Isn't your apartment less than fifteen minutes away by bus? What's he talking about?"

"Oh, um, I don't live there anymore."

He tries for casual, but he's way off the mark—both Sirius and Molly's expressions are proof enough of his failure.

Albus is smiling benevolently, but underneath is what he imagines to be the smuggest smirk Albus could possibly have at being the one to plant the seeds of doubt to a secret he's successfully held for weeks. He doesn't even want to know how Albus came to know of his living situation in the first place. His brain is currently not equipped to deal with an answer more implicating than Albus Dumbledore knows everything.

"Oh, Remus, have you rented another place?" Molly asks, bright and excited. "Merlin, I'm pleased for you! Don't take this the wrong way, Remus dear, but your old flat was in a terrible neighbourhood. Why, I worried for you all the time!"

He backtracks, cringing internally. "Uh, no, Molly, I—"

"You should have said something," Molly continues, jabbering with increased speed. "I would have brought over something for your first night. Some roast, maybe. And one of us could have come over to help you move and unpack!"

He's overwhelmed by the overflow of words, but Molly's kindness touches him, making him feel light. He had forgotten how big her heart is, always giving even when she barely has anything to give. The Weasleys are blessed, he thinks, to have both her and Arthur brightening up their home.

"Thank you, Molly, truly, but that wouldn't have been necessary." He takes a deep breath, preparing to reveal his secret and bracing for the inevitable chaos.

"I haven't rented another apartment. Or any place, really. I'm more of a… free bird right now."

"You're what?" Sirius shoots out instantly, and to his credit, his voice is firm and even. Molly, on the other hand, sounds on the verge of hysterical.

"You're living on the streets?! Did that nasty man kick you out?"

"No, no," he raises his palms, aiming to placate her, "My landlord didn't evict me. The rent was just too high an expense. I travel a lot, as you know, so I barely lived there anyway, and like you said, the neighbourhood was terrible. Not much about the flat that made me want to stay either," he finishes in a mumble, grimacing as he thinks of the ratty furniture and the leak in the pipes.

"So you are living on the streets!" Molly reiterates, now firmly into the territory of hysterical. "Oh, you poor man! Why didn't you tell us?"

"Oh no, Molly, I'm fine. I have everything I need in my suitcase." He pats his pocket for emphasis, where he has nestled his compressed leather Professor Moony suitcase. "I don't mind bedding down in the park, and the park benches are surprisingly comfortable. I can hardly tell the difference."

Molly gapes at him, then at Sirius, and finally at Dumbledore before her incredulous gaze settles back on him. Dumbledore, on the other hand, looks completely unfazed, his arms genially crossed with his wrinkled hands tucked into his wide sleeves.

He can't see Sirius' face at his current angle, and it worries him that he doesn't know what the man is thinking. Sirius hasn't said a word so far, but he can feel a hard gaze digging strongly into his back, which can only mean two things: that Sirius' reaction is too explosive to reveal in front of the others, or that Sirius is hatching up a plan, one he most likely wouldn't like. He knows he's being skeptical, but with his luck, he just knows that it is going to be both.

Molly's sporadic spluttering winds down soon enough, only to be replaced by another of those stubborn, determined looks he's growing both fond and fearful of.

She's about to speak, when a loud thud interrupts her undoubtedly impassioned speech. The strangled, "I'm okay!" makes him blink, then unbelievably, there's the stomping of yet another pair of feet up the steps.

He can hazard a guess as to who the footsteps belong to, but the sight of Tonks' bright pink hair still catches him off guard, and both his eyebrows climb up his forehead, wrinkling his brow.

"Woah, quite the convention here, eh?" Tonks says when she catches sight of the lot of them. She looks surprised, but takes it in her stride easily. He, on the other hand, is quite bemused. He wonders how many others will traffic this area before he and Sirius are finally left alone.

"What's wrong, dear?" Molly asks her.

"Ah, it's nothing," she says breezily. "Moody wanted to run something by Dumbledore, so he asked me to find him. You'd think that after I was through being his pupil he'd stop treating me like an assistant, right?" She laughs brightly and starts up again before any of them can say a word. "I looked around but I couldn't spot Dumbledore—man, that kitchen is huge—so I figured he'd be upstairs, since I didn't hear the Floo going. So anyway, here I am."

She turns to Albus cheerfully, addressing him. "But you seem to be in a very important and serious discussion, so don't mind me. I'll just stay right here and wait till you finish, Headmaster. Look, you won't hear a peep out of me."

She bounces over to a relatively shadowed corner by Molly's side, winking at him, and then stands there staring far too curiously at all of them in turn.

"Well?" she asks when they silently stay where they are. "Continue!"

Molly is the first to recover, getting her bearings again. Albus doesn't count, since his genial smile hasn't given an inch all through Tonks' spiel.

"Y—Yes, alright," Molly stutters, "Where were we?"

"Remus' living situation, I believe," Albus supplies.

"Ooh, gossip," he catches from the corner, and he pretends he didn't hear Tonks' gleeful whisper.

"Right, yes," Molly nods.

"Remus also mentioned park benches," Albus adds helpfully, ignoring his accusing stare.

"Yes, well," she says firmly, hands on her hips, "I can't have that now. You aren't just an Order member, Remus, you're also a friend. I cannot in good conscience let you sleep out in the open like that! Do you know what it's like? You're completely unprotected out there—what happens when something terrible happens to you? You cannot guard yourself from an attack, nor can you raise wards in a Muggle area."

"Why's he sleeping on a park bench?" Tonks mutters loudly, and he opts to ignore her again, as do Molly and Albus.

He has been stressing about it, in all honesty. He's been sleeping with one eye open, wand tucked awkwardly under the folds of his patched up coat, ready and waiting for a hostile to get wind of his location and attempt his murder in the dead of the night. His energy has been far from optimal lately, and he knows exactly where the blame lies.

Of course, he can't tell Molly that.

"But Molly—"

"No buts, dear. You'll be sleeping here from now on, for the sake of my health if not for yours. I'd be worrying about you day and night! No, you're staying here. I'll think up something for you, don't you worry."

"But Molly, there's no room here," he tries to reason with her. "The children have most of the bedrooms, and they're all sharing as it is. We cannot inconvenience them further. Harry may come over any time to stay here for the rest of the summer, which is yet another person in the house. I cannot bunk down in the drawing or dining room, not with them in its current state. There's no place here, and I don't mind where I am, not at all."

Molly deflates, but the stubbornness is still there. "It isn't right, Remus. You need a proper place to stay, even if you don't use it much. I'll check up in the attic, see if I can clear some space for you—temporary of course, just till I figure something out, or—"

Her eyes light up with sudden realisation, and she turns to Sirius, who walks forward to stand by his right shoulder.

"Sirius! Your brother's old room is still shut up, I can fix it for Remus! And everything works out perfectly, oh, how wonderful—"

"Absolutely not," Sirius stops her. "No one is touching Regulus' room."

Molly looks annoyed now, and the full force of her withering glare is fixed on Sirius. "How can you be so selfish, Sirius? Your friend needs a place to stay, would you honestly deny the man a proper bed to sleep in?"

He can feel shivers crawling up his spine just by being in the presence of Molly's glare, and he has no idea how Sirius maintains his impassive expression in the face of her ire. He wonders what exactly Sirius is up to—because the man definitely has something up his sleeve—and he hopes it doesn't bode too badly for him.

"No, Molly. Regulus' room will not be messed with." A beat. "He'll sleep with me."

No, no, no, no, no.

"Sirius, I shouldn't—"

Sirius turns to him then, and the cold, challenging stare stops him in his tracks. Sirius tilts his chin up, squaring his jaw like he's preparing for battle—not a fight, but something to fight for. The difference staggers him, because unless he's reading the signs wrong, he is the something Sirius wants to fight for.

"You're staying with me, Remus," Sirius says firmly, and he's powerless to shake his head and step back. "No arguments."

Molly makes a sound, and they both turn to look like her. She's evaluating them both, her eyes screwed up, deep in thought, and he has but a moment to feel nervous about her assessment of them before she nods decisively, clapping her hands.

"That's perfect, Sirius. A lovely compromise. And I'm sure you'll take good care of Remus and make sure he isn't uncomfortable."

Molly stresses the word like a warning, and when Sirius lowers his head with an agreeing of course, Molly, something passes through the air that distinctively feels like the verbal equivalent of a handshake.

"This is gonna be so interesting," Tonks' pipes up gleefully, "I can't wait to see the fun—" Molly shoots her an incredulous look, and she instantly bites her lip, abashed. "Shutting up now," she whispers sheepishly.

Albus, the grandfatherly traitor that he is, graces them all with a sage, agreeable smile.

"Wonderful, my boys! I'm sure you both will come to like this arrangement very much." The ever-present twinkle in the old man's eyes has never been more frustrating. He can't quite figure out whether Albus is mocking them or insinuating something. He doesn't quite want to know the answer.

It hits him then, what he's just agreed to by his silence. Sharing a room with Sirius. Sharing a space with Sirius.

Sharing a bed with Sirius.

Nononono.

This might just be the very thing that gets him round the bend. If anything, this will be what breaks him.

"Sirius, do you want me to come around to your room and help you clear some space for him, or do you want to do it yourself?"

He feels lightheaded, all of a sudden. A brief spell of dizziness overtakes him, and it is only the warm hand placing itself on his shoulder which steadies and centers him.

"Oh no, Molly, that won't be necessary. I can manage just fine, and it won't take much effort. Remus and I have had years of experience living together, so it won't take much for us to fall back into routine."

His knees buckle, and he's quite sure he'd stagger and fall if the strong hand didn't tighten and hold him in place. A second hand settles lightly at his waist, but it's enough to hold him steady.

"Oh! Oh, that's good then."

Molly huffs out a pleased sigh, crossing her arms over her chest. When she speaks again, he can barely hear her over the sudden rushing in his ears.

"Well, now that that's settled," Molly looks around, "I'll be going back downstairs. Merlin knows what they're all up to down there. Albus, you should find Alastor soon—you know how impatient he gets when he's kept waiting. Nymphadora dear, go with him, will you?" Tonks' scowls briefly at her name, but the sour expression is quickly replaced by her usual happy grin.

"Yes, ma'am!"

Molly turns to them. "Sirius, I'll expect you two will be going upstairs. Take all the time you need, but be down in time for dinner, alright? I don't want to have to send someone to your room to call you downstairs."

"Of course, Molly," Sirius replies pleasantly. "We'll be down well before dinner, I think."

"Good," Molly nods. She looks at him then, and he feels himself freeze. "You'll be alright, Remus dear. I don't want you running off now, you hear me? No sleeping in parks anymore."

His tongue feels numb, and all he can do is nod. She accepts it with a satisfied smile. "Well, I'll be going then."

She turns and heads down the steps. Albus watches her go down, then turns to them placidly.

"Good luck, my boys," he says smiling. "You'll be just fine. Dora?" He looks to Tonks', and she walks forward.

"Right, Moody. C'mon, Headmaster, I'll take you."

"After you, my dear."

Soon, it's just him and Sirius. He stares dumbly up at Sirius, and the man smirks back at him.

"You can't escape me now, Rem," Sirius whispers, voice soft and smug. "I told you, I always get what I want."

He turns, heading for the stairs, and calls out in his normal voice. "Come on, I'll show you to my room."

And he? He has no choice but to follow.

So much for enjoying the light rain, he thinks.