Author's Note: As you might expect, a lot of feelings in this one. Don't say that I didn't warn you. I hope to have the next chapter up before the end of the week as this one is a bit of a bridge. I am a pleb and own none of these beautiful beings.

The snow on the ground squeaked and crunched beneath Remus' feet as he walked briskly down the street and around the corner. It was night now, and the wind was whipping up the snowflakes to whirl them around in little eddies that bumped softly against Remus' boots. He had pulled the collar of his coat up but he was still shivering, his eyes red and swollen from crying. He was glad that the street was largely empty, most were indoors avoiding the cold and relaxing with family after the holiday. He wiped away some of the freezing tears with the back of his hands. Pull yourself together Lupin.

He had left Grimmauld Place not ten minutes after he left an infuriated Sirius standing in the kitchen. Remus didn't know what else to do but to run. He didn't know how to tell Sirius, how to make him see what it had been like for him in the years since they had been separated. He carried that despair, the despair of losing in one night the love of his life and all his best friends, the only people that had stood up for him in a world that openly despised him. That despair, though some days it felt easier to ignore, had hardened over the years, a worry stone that he would run his mind over and over until it was as smooth as a gemstone. And then Sirius had been innocent, had come back, and all the jagged edges that Remus had sanded down through touch returned and it was cutting him up from the inside once again.

He knew that Sirius had been right in ways too, knew that he should have been there for Harry. It wasn't as if it hadn't been on his mind. Every time he saw a kid running down the street with messy black hair he thought of his godson, what he had lost when James and Lily were killed, what James would think of Remus leaving his son to be raised by the Muggles that despised magic. The ones that Lily always spoke of with a wavering pain in her voice, as though talking about them was like tonguing a wound in your mouth that wouldn't heal. He had even gone so far as to write Dumbledore one year, when Harry would have been about six. That year had seemed like it was going well. He had gotten a job at a Muggle bookstore, had saved a bit of money and had a feeling he was going to be able to keep the job. He thought that maybe he'd be able to at least visit Harry, to give him some presents, to let him know that one of his mother and father's friends cared, to tell him about them and how much they loved him. Dumbledore, however, refused to tell him where Harry was.

"One of the reasons Harry was placed with the Dursley's was to provide him with a stable upbringing. I am glad to hear of your employment, but your condition Remus, means that you may be a disruptive force in Harry's life. You will remember we decided to let Harry grow up unaware of his magic, I do not believe that it would be easy for you to conceal yours or to avoid letting something slip if you were to visit him."

The words had cut into Remus. Dumbledore, for all his kindness towards Remus in school, had never truly believed that Remus could hide his condition, that he had the same level of control as other wizards. Sure he would give Remus a teaching job, but he would keep a close eye on him, and he certainly never came to the rescue for all those years that Remus had struggled. And he thought that just having Remus around would be too tumultuous for Harry. Remus imagined that Harry had a fairly normal Muggle upbringing, so he tried to smooth away the sharp edges of Dumbledore's prejudice and continued on.

He shifted his bag and stopped, realizing all at once that he was here. The Camden flat. He looked at the door, the black paint and brass numbers still looking fresh thanks to the spells that he had cast on the place years ago when he left. Under the numbers was a little brass plaque with the names "Black and Lupin" etched in neat letters. When he had left the flat years ago he knew in some small part of his mind that he'd be back, and so he'd done some complicated spellwork to maintain the inside and outside of the house in the state that he left it. He fumbled in his bag and pulled out a small matching brass key which he stuck in the lock but didn't turn. Instead he pulled out his wand and tapped the key with it.

"Remus Lupin" he said, his voice hoarse from yelling. And the door swung open as if it hadn't been thirteen years since he'd been there.

Remus walked through and into the stairway, closing the door against the snow and wind outside. He mussed his hair and stamped his boots to dislodge the snow that had clumped up as he walked. Remus lit the lights with a flick of his wand and cast a heating charm that he hoped would at least take the chill off the abandoned flat. Slowly, as though his feet were cast in lead, Remus dragged his exhausted body up the stairs as he had so many times before - coming back from getting groceries, coming home from work, or drinks with Sirius. This, more than any place he had ever lived (except perhaps Hogwarts) had felt like home.

He reached the top of the stairs and looked around. There was his favorite leather armchair, still pointed towards the fireplace. There was the battered old sofa, with its rips repaired. There was the soft fuzzy white rug that Sirius had insisted upon, where he used to like to sleep curled up as Padfoot. There was the coffee table that they had found on the street a few blocks down that they had painted black. There were the framed posters of Sirius' favorite rock groups on the wall, his record player still hooked up below, an empty glass standing near it. There was the bookshelf, now mostly empty, which had been overflowing with both Muggle and wizarding books alike, so full that the top shelf was slightly bowed even now.

Remus couldn't move. He was paralyzed by the smell and the sights of the flat, the place that had seen both his happiest and most devastating moments. It smelled like them. Like Sirius' cologne, his cooking, his breath against Remus as they slept. Like Remus' parchment, his tea-dunked biscuits, his laughter at playing fetch with Padfoot. All the strength drained from Remus' limbs and he found himself sliding down the wall near the stairs until his knees were drawn to his chest and he was sitting on the hardwood floor. The tears that had been fueled by anger, now turned to despair. He was sobbing, sobbing for his small, hopeful heart - sobbing because there was no love in his life that was going to last, there was no way to undo the years of bitterness and hatred that he had used as armor to guard against feeling his losses too deeply. He sobbed for the hatred flung casually his way from past employers, from people who might have been friends. He sobbed for the sounds of his bones breaking every full moon, for the scars, both inside and outside, that he never bothered to heal. He thought that Sirius coming back, Sirius' innocence, may have changed him. It may have given him a reason to believe that tides turn, that he would find some measure of peace to guide him. He thought that Sirius' mere presence could be a salve, could roll back time and erase the weights of poverty and loneliness that made it impossible for him to stand up straight. I should have known, he thought mournfully, letting himself succumb entirely to the grief until he could barely breathe and his body shook, that a monster's life is not marked for happiness. He gripped his knees, trying to find some measure of stability, but his body had always betrayed him. There was no safety there.

He's always going to hate me. I let them all down. I didn't believe him, I wasn't there for Harry. He let the memories of Sirius' livid face wash over him. I don't deserve them. No matter how hard he tried, there was always going to be something of the monster in him. It should have been me. It should have been me instead of James or Lily. It should have been me instead of Sirius in Azkaban all those years.

What seemed like hours later his body stopped shaking and the tears dried up and he realized that his limbs were stiff from sitting on the floor. So Remus, now in a daze, half-awake, half-alive wandered into the bedroom, where he fell asleep on Sirius' pillow. A pillow that still smelled like the boyfriend he had loved, and the life that he had lost.

Sirius paced back and forth in the kitchen, making tea, then pouring it out, opening the biscuit tin and then closing it again. He had so much rage-fueled energy coursing through his body he didn't know how to let it out. He banged a fist on the table, "Fuck" somehow the word didn't even begin to get at the swirling inferno of shit churning in his chest. "Fuck fuck goddamnit."

He couldn't understand why the hell Lupin was fighting him! He thought that something was happening between them, that they were going to be a team again, they were going to have the chance to fix this thing that was broken between them. Sirius had been ready to forget, to forgive Remus for not believing in him. Why couldn't he have just left it alone? Who is he to lecture me about how to raise Harry? After all, the first thing that Sirius had done when he left Azkaban was to check on Harry, to make sure that he was safe. He called the Knight Bus, made sure that Harry was well-looked after, and then went after Peter to continue to keep him safe.

And where did Remus get off arguing that Sirius left him? It wasn't like he had wanted to be dragged away to prison, he hadn't been thinking straight. No one would be after what he had seen that night!

He found him. Between the charred but standing door frame leading from the living room to the hall. He was burned to the point of being unrecognizable, but Sirius would have recognized him no matter what. Months, years, decades would pass before he forgot the smell. The tears started to fall from his face before he even realized that he was crying, they cut wet trails through the smokey dust that had already covered his cheeks. He wiped his face hard with one sleeve and fell down on his knees next to his best friend. He reached out to touch him, but couldn't bring himself to hold the burned and sizzling flesh. All his senses were slow, as if someone had turned off the input. He didn't feel the heat from the scorched concrete against his knees, didn't hear the timbers still cracking, couldn't even feel the stinging smoke in his eyes anymore. His brother was dead. Dead because Sirius had let the rat in deeper.

No. He wasn't going to relive that anymore. He didn't need to, not now that the dementors weren't siphoning off the good memories. He had some of them back now. Running the full moon with James and Remus, teaming up with Lily to scare the shit out of James as he studied for exams, the smell of her perfume as she tutored Sirius in Charms, James laughing as they all sat at the side of the lake drinking Remus' whiskey well into the golden twilight during their last year at Hogwarts.

Remus had no idea what he'd been through, had no idea what it was like to replay those memories, that fucking guilt over and over in his head until he could see James' body in his cell whether his eyes were open or closed. He had no idea what it was like to lose every piece of you in a slow drip of madness, your only defense to retreat into the mind of an animal. Now he just wandered into Sirius' fucking life and had the nerve to tell him how to care for Harry? Had the nerve to try and fucking say that Sirius should have thought about him? He had thought of nothing else for years, he loved that fucking man and Remus had believed, really believed that Sirius wasn't just a murderer but that he murdered his brother, his godson! As if Sirius could ever hurt a fucking kid, let alone James' son!

It wasn't that Sirius was stupid. He knew he should have gone back to his Moony that night. He knew that Remus had been there for him no matter what, he had instantly realized that he had fucked things up. For months he had suspected Remus, had believed that perhaps Remus was the one passing information over to the enemy. After all, Remus had gone for some time to live with the werewolves, and when he came back he had been like another person, withdrawn, irritable, depressed even. He was always ready to lash out, always incredibly anxious about where Sirius was going on missions. Sirius had thought...he had thought maybe the werewolves had gotten to him. Maybe being in a colony that accepted him, no, that celebrated him, had made Moony think twice about working to overthrow Voldemort. It had been agony, going to bed each night beside the warm body of the man that he loved the most, kissing him, holding him, and all the time wondering whether that man would be willing to sell secrets to the most evil wizard that the world had seen.

And now, when Sirius looked back at it all, it seemed absurd. Of course Remus was edgy. They all were. James was practically out of his mind pacing a hole in the rug of that stupid cottage where he was locked up for his own protection, Sirius was trying to protect his friends from dying, Remus was spending months with wolves that wanted to have free reign to maul small children, children like Remus had been. So then, that night, when Sirius had found James and Lily's bodies, he couldn't go home, he had to kill Peter, to take care of his mistake. How was he supposed to go home to Remus, who had always loved and trusted him, and tell him that he had believed Remus was the spy? How could he explain that he'd let those old fucking pureblood prejudices sneak back in?!

He knew that it must have killed Remus to stand at that trial, to believe that Sirius had betrayed them, betrayed him. He had seen the pain in Remus' eyes, pain so deep that he had held himself as if he had been physically wounded, his shoulders slumped, his eyes red and raw, his limbs heavy. Sirius had wanted nothing more but to take that pain from him, to make it his own. But they hadn't had a chance to speak, hadn't even had a moment to say goodbye. And he knew that Remus suffered while he was gone. He had watched the changing of time by keeping an eye on the moon phase tattoo on his wrist. Every full moon his heart broke knowing that Remus would be waking alone, bruised, broken, probably having slashed open his own flesh. He had imagined what it would be like if he had taken Harry instead of handing him over to Hagrid. Had wondered what kind of family the three of them would make together if he hadn't gone after Peter. He grieved for the years that the three of them had lost together, for the way Harry had grown up when he could have grown up with two loving parents who would have treasured him. Sirius ran his hands through his hair, wiping the tears from his face. If only he had just stopped to think for one fucking second back on that night in October. Now he'd had a glimpse, a family Christmas, and he'd immediately gone and fucked it up over a fucking animagus transformation.

Kreacher entered the room, looking at once resentful and a bit timid. Sirius turned on him, practically snarling, "What the hell do you want?"

"The werewolf left a letter for you Master." Kreacher held out a hand so ancient, it could have been carved from wood, "Kreacher thought you would want it, you are seeming angry though Kreacher knows the house is better without the monster so near to Master Harry."

"Oh do I seem angry?" Sirius nearly kicked the elf. He would have, if he hadn't promised Harry that he would make more of an effort to be kind to the little shit, "Get the fuck out." Kreacher scurried away.

His name was written hastily on the outside, in Remus' round, wide letters. He opened the envelope and pulled out a scrap of parchment, on it there was only five words in the same handwriting: "You know where I am" followed by Remus' initials. He looked into the envelope and pulled out the other object, which turned out to be a brass key. Attached to it was a faded piece of black leather that Sirius had tied there which was stamped with silver paw prints. He sighed.

All the anger drained out of him and he sat down on the bench of the kitchen table. Remus had never dealt with conflict well, he had been afraid as a child of getting too angry and hurting someone, always afraid of his own power, even when it wasn't close to the full moon. This had meant that, when facing off with Sirius' legendary temper, Remus would often hit a point where he couldn't fight anymore and he would be the one to leave to give them space to think things through. Sirius sighed again, he couldn't believe that they were still fighting the same way that they used to. He knew he had said some things that Remus would take to heart. Remus always believed the worst of himself. It was all so fucked up.

Sirius stood and grabbed his coat off the rack in the corner of the kitchen and Harry poked his head in the door.

"Are you okay Sirius?"

Sirius tried to smile, "Yeah it'll be okay Harry."

"I'm sorry I asked about the animagus thing-"

Sirius looked him dead in the eye and put a hand on his shoulder, "You did absolutely nothing wrong. Trust me okay? It really isn't about the animagus thing. Moony and I just, have a complicated past."

Harry smiled but still looked worried, "Yeah I heard. Is there something I can do to help?"

"No no don't even worry about it. We're going to work it out, okay?"

"You're going to talk to him? How are you going to find him?"

"I'm Sirius Black that's how," Sirius winked at him, making Harry laugh, "I'll floo you and let you know what's going on, okay?"

"Don't worry about it Sirius, I'll see you tomorrow or something when you come back."

Sirius clapped Harry on the back, "Good lad."

Sirius threw his coat on and turned up the collar. He was trying to remember, it had been a long time, exactly what the area around the flat looked like. In the end, he settled on apparating to the alley behind their old favorite pub and walked the rest of the way. They'd both made mistakes. Remus shouldn't have believed the worst of him, he should have tried to be there for Harry even if it were just in small ways. And Sirius hadn't come back to Remus before, when he should have taken a moment to master his temper, should have swallowed his pride and worked through their grief together. This time, he wasn't going to leave Remus alone.

It took him nearly forty minutes to find the flat, it was late at night at that point and Sirius could see a light on in the bedroom window. His pulse sped up, he was nervous and that didn't surprise him, but the level of panic that he felt outside the door, staring at the sign with his last name on it, was ridiculous.

"Are you a fucking Gryffindor or not?" he asked quietly to the street, "Come on, stop being a complete fucking coward. It's just Moony."

He put his key in the lock and tapped it with his wand, "Sirius Black". The door swung open.