Safely back at his rooms Remus closed the door behind him and sagged against it, with a sigh. The mirror had given him such a backhanded Christmas gift - to show him that beautiful scene, full of light, love, happiness - but also the knowledge that it could never be so for any of them.

Maybe one day there'll be a happy ending for Harry, poor boy, but not for the rest of us.

Lily and James dead, Sirius a madman, murderer, and fugitive, and himself a prisoner to unending loneliness.

How fortunate the people who gazed into the face of Erised and saw that their heart's desire was an achievable thing - a goal they could work for and attain! He had been one of them once, the first time he had seen the mirror, though what it had shown him that time had shocked him to the point of denial.

Remus went to the cupboard below the window, took out a bottle of firewhiskey, and poured himself a generous measure. He felt he deserved it. His hands were shaking as he poured.

In his fifth year at Hogwarts, the first time he had found the mirror, he was suffering from a general discontentment with his life, filled with the angst, frustration, and confusion that are the usual malaise of the fifteen-year-old boy. He had been irritable and snappish with his friends, especially Sirius, saying intentionally hurtful things to all of them without knowing why. He had even yelled at Sirius for teasing him about his grouchiness and saying it was "that time of the month". Of course he had felt badly about it after, but his pride would not let him apologise.

He had spent weeks wondering why he was so unhappy. It was spring, the weather was gorgeous. What did he want? He didn't know.

The mirror had taken him by surprise then, too. He had found it entirely by accident. The Marauders had been up to their usual antics, sneaking about the castle at night, testing their new map. Then Filch had appeared out of nowhere, nearly managing to corner them, and they had all taken off in different directions, even knowing that if only one of them were caught, it would still implicate the other three.

Remus had gone tearing off down a side-passage, trying doors until he found one that was unlocked. He had ducked in and shut it quickly behind him. And when he turned around, there was the mirror. He had blinked at it stupidly for a moment, but the first word of the inscription, Erised, told him what he had found. The mirror was whispered legend all over the school, and many students claimed to have found it.

He had approached it nervously, unsure what he might see. At first, he thought there must be some mistake, for in the dim room, it seemed like any other mirror. Then he had realised that the person reflected in the mirror was not himself, but Sirius, looking into his eyes and grinning back at him. Remus had smiled hesitantly, unsure what this meant.

Sirius-in-the-mirror raised his hand, and Remus, powerless as a reflection, did the same, reaching toward the smooth surface until their fingertips met against the glass. In that moment Remus, so full of youthful innocence, began to understand.

The mirror seemed to work in the way dreams did; a series of images strung together without much continuity.

He saw himself and his friends lounging beside the lake on their outspread cloaks, enjoying the sun of a spring day. He saw Sirius turn and say something to Remus-in-the-mirror, and he saw himself blush and try to hide a smile. He saw Sirius's hand casually brush his own, and felt his own real fingers tingle with the touch.

The mirror worked its magic on him. The more he saw - the more the truth dawned on him - the more he wanted. The tingling in his fingers had spread to his chest and began rushing through his limbs. He felt different, as if something had clicked inside him, and now the world made a great deal more sense.

Now he saw himself and Sirius sitting on his own bed, talking and laughing, the fingers their hands interlaced. Then Sirius leaned to kiss Remus-in-the-mirror on the mouth. Remus-in-the-mirror looked surprised for a second, then, as the kiss continued, appeared to be enjoying himself. Remus saw his own fingers run through Sirius's dark hair, caress his neck, slide around his waist, and pull him close.

The boys in the mirror were lying on the bed together, lips locked hungrily, hands moving over one another's bodies, exploring tentatively at first, and then more boldly. He saw his own hand slide up under Sirius's shirt, and longed with all his heart to feel that smooth, warm skin beneath his fingers. Without transition, they were naked, their bodies pressed urgently together, tasting one another's neck and shoulders, kissing and biting.

Remus had stood enthralled as scene after scene of passion, affection, love unfolded before him. He had still been standing there, fingers against the glass, when Filch finally found him.

He had blushed a deep crimson, forgetting that only he could see his own desires. Filch had grabbed him by the ear, effectively halting the sensations that were coursing through his young body, and dragged him to his office where the other three Marauders sat looking sullen.

Without his willing it, his eyes had sought Sirius, and their gaze had locked for a brief moment, Remus's searching, Sirius's puzzled by the look his friend was giving him. Then they had both quickly looked away. When Remus had glanced back a moment later under his lashes, he could almost have sworn he saw a faint blush staining his friend's cheeks.

Filch had railed at them for a bit, threatening them with the usual range of unlikely punishments - everything from torture to dismemberment - and had kept the map, which he had found when he caught Peter (thereby enabling him to easily catch the rest of them as well).

It had been a shame to lose such an inspired piece of sorcery as the map and been, and so soon after it was finished, but James created a diversion, and Sirius had been able to tap the parchment quickly with his wand, whispering "mischief managed!" They had all agreed afterwards, during the week of detention which followed, that it was unlikely Filch would ever figure out how the thing worked.

Even after seeing the truth in the mirror, it had taken Remus months to work up the courage to say anything to Sirius. He had told Lily, though, when she had tearfully confided her own guilty secret to him, late that spring. They hadn't spent much time together that year, and he was worried that they might not still be friends, but much to his relief, she had been the soul of understanding, and had told him he would find a way, and that he deserved to be happy. There had been a kiss, too, but it had signaled nothing more than mutual sympathy.

Raising his firewhiskey to his lips, Remus shook his head at the follies of his boyhood, smiling sadly. But the vision he had seen in the mirror today, and the recollection it had raised of what he had seen on that day almost twenty years ago, would not leave him.

It was going to be a long night, whatever he did. He might as well spend it remembering happier times. Crossing the room to his old gramophone, he hesitated over his LPs, finally selecting one against his better judgment. As the music filled the room, he poured himself another large firewhiskey, then settled back into his armchair, pulling a large, leather-bound book from the shelf beside him.

I loved you for a long, long time.
I know this love is real.
It don't matter how it all went wrong;
That don't change the way I feel...

The leather cover was scuffed and worn and darkened with age and much handling. There were no words printed on the binding. Remus opened it to the first page. The faces of the young Marauders smiled back at him. Page after page was filled with boyish antics, followed by Lily and James's wedding, and the round, red face of a newborn Harry.

The photos ended abruptly in the autumn of twelve years ago, with nearly a third of the pages still empty. There had not had a day since then that Remus felt worth remembering.

And I can't believe that time's
Gonna heal this wound I'm speaking of.
There ain't no cure,
There ain't no cure,
There ain't no cure for love.

He had finally been able in recent years to look through the photo album without feeling a knife twist in his heart. Sometimes he pretended that they had all died that day, including Sirius, and that the memory of those events was far enough removed from him that he could recall the good times with bittersweet fondness.

The photo album had not been opened, however, since the day Remus had learnt of Sirius's escape from Azkaban. It was no longer possible to pretend the man was dead when he might be just around the corner, or looking in at the window.

I'm aching for you, baby,
I can't pretend I'm not.
I need to see you naked
In your body and your thought...

Remus turned the pages slowly, every now and then pausing to tenderly trace the features of one long dead, long lost. Absently, he poured himself another drink.

There. That picture. Sirius, as he so often remembered him; young, handsome, smiling, wicked gray eyes dancing, wicked grin full of fun, full of life. In this photo, he was dressed in very formal, well-cut black robes, looking sharp and sexy as hell. The day that picture had been taken was engraved upon Remus's mind and heart, and he knew it would be with him until the day he died.

I've got you like a habit
And I'll never get enough...

Halloween, a year to the day before his world had fallen apart. It had been the day of Harry's christening, when Lily and James had made Sirius Harry's godfather. It had been a small, private event, with only the four of them and baby Harry attending, and Dumbledore officiating. Sirius had teased Remus about being Harry's "fairy godmother", and Lily had given him a playful smack.

I don't need to be forgiven for loving you so much;
It's written in the scriptures,
It's written there in blood...

And then there had been another ceremony, short and equally private; an exchange of words and promises and rings and a kiss, a smiling Dumbledore presiding, Lily and James witnessing, and Harry asleep in his mother's arms.

It had not been a secret, precisely. Such life-bonds were old magic, but many old houses, including the Most Noble House of Black were staunch in their disapproval of such ideas.

They had felt it was enough for them to do the thing, saying the words and speaking the truth of their love. They did not need any but their nearest and dearest to know. They would have invited Peter, as well, but he had been so busy in those days.

If you want a lover,
I'll do anything you ask me to.

They had not worn the rings much; they had talked about it and decided that, while the symbolism was nice for the ceremony itself, they were not practical for daily wear on a shape-changer. There was too much risk of them being lost or damaged. Instead, they had decided on a more indelible sign of their love.

If you want a partner,
Take my hand,
Or if you want to strike me down in anger,
Here I stand.
I'm your man.

Unconsciously, Remus laid a hand over his heart, over the ornately scripted "S", black against his skin. He would bear that mark until the day he died - see it every day - and even if he could have removed it, he would not have. His heart still belonged to Sirius - had since that first dawning moment of realisation before the Mirror of Erised - and he was powerless to change that.

He still had the rings, as well. They lay in a small wooden box in the drawer of his nightstand, never too far away to touch the heavy gold in moments of need.

Ah, the moon's too bright,
The chain's too tight,
The beast won't go to sleep.
I've been running through these promises to you
That I made and I could not keep.

Several of the pictures in the album were from that day. Remus gazed at the happy, glowing faces, so young and full of life. It had been a wonderful time, despite the war and the horrors perpetrated by Voldemort and his followers. But their suspicion of one another had grown in the year that followed - Remus's had, at least, and Sirius had faked his well enough. A year to the day after their exchange of vows, it had all been smashed to pieces.

Remus poured himself another drink, and then another, as he gazed into the laughing gray eyes of Sirius Black.

"Why'd you do it, Sirius?" he asked the picture softly, tracing over and over the line of brow and jaw with his finger.

I'd crawl to you, baby,
And I'd fall at your feet,
And I'd howl at your beauty
Like a dog in heat,
And I'd claw at your heart,
And I'd tear at your sheet.
I'd say please, please!
I'm your man.

Remus lost track of the passage of time, staring at the pages of photos, and occasionally noticing with some surprise and puzzlement that his glass was empty again. It took him a while to realise that the record had finished some time ago, and he got unsteadily to his feet to turn it over.

Yeah, I loved you all my life
And that's how I want to end it.
The summer's almost gone,
The winter's tuning up.
Yeah, the summer's gone
But a lot goes on forever,
And I can't forget, I can't forget,
I can't forget but I don't remember what.

He stood swaying alarmingly over the gramophone. Perhaps he had had a bit too much to drink, he thought hazily. Turning to check the level of the firewhiskey bottle, the room spun and wobbled in unsettling ways. Nothing looked quite right.

"Been enjoying yourself?" asked a hoarse voice from the doorway.

Remus turned, overbalanced, and sat down hard on the floor. He squinted blearily at the man standing by the door, looking at him warily. Ah, so that was it. He had fallen asleep and was dreaming. That explained why everything looked all swimmy.

"Stay outta m'dreams, Sirius," he slurred at the thin, ragged figure cautiously approaching him. "Knew I was gonna dream tonight. Knew it. Erised always does that," he nodded, causing the room to wobble alarmingly. "Thought I'd dream 'bout th'girl, though. Lollia. I'd've called 'er Lollia. Or mebbe Erised. 'S a pretty name. Sweet li'l thing. An' mebbe she 'n' Harry -"

He looked down in puzzlement to see that there was a bony hand on his arm, and found himself being pulled to his feet.

"Christ, you're drunk! What on earth are you rambling about? Erised? Girls?" Sirius held him by the shoulders to keep him from swaying too much. "Moony, I came to explain, if you'll let me. I need your help -"

"Go 'way, Sirius. Lemme 'lone," Remus said dully. "Tired of dreaming 'bout - 'bout you - all th'bloody time." He tried ineffectually to shake off the other man's grip.

"Poor Moony," said Sirius with a trace of humour in his rough voice. "What's become of you with no one to look after you?"

He guided Remus by the arms until they were standing next to the bed, where Sirius made him sit down.

He sighed. "I can see that you're in no state to hear me out tonight." He knelt and began to remove Remus's shoes.

"Stoppit! I do'need - I do'want - Just bugger off, Sirius!"

He pulled away, but nearly lost his balance, and had to grip the bed with both hands to remain upright.

Sirius sat back on his heels and put his hands up. "All right, Moony. I'm sorry. It just looked like you could use a hand."

"Sorry? You're sorry?! You killed them, Sirius - killed me too. Sold us all, traded in everything we were. And for what? Pat on th'head from Voldemort? Just get the fuck 'way from me! Don'want you 'nywhere near me."

But as he said it, he looked down into the saddest eyes he had ever seen, and the anger drained away.

"M'sorry, Padfoot, Din' mean it," he mumbled tearfully. "It's just been so hard - S'all right if you visit m'dreams. Do'mind s'much."

Still kneeling on the floor before of him, Sirius took Remus's hands in his. "I wasn't going to come down here tonight," he said at last. "I knew it would be too risky with the full moon not for a couple of nights yet. But I had to come, on the off-chance that you might listen to what I have to say."

He looked up hopefully at Remus, but apparently failed to find what he was looking for. The corners of his mouth drooped.

"I could smell the firewhiskey all the way down the corridor, and, well, I knew there wasn't much chance of you turning me in if you were already that drunk. But I guess there wasn't much chance you'd understand either."

He squeezed Remus's hands, then said softly, "How could I not come see you, Moony? It's Christmas."

Remus frowned. This was a very strange dream, he decided. He had never had a dream where Sirius had behaved in quite this fashion. Nor could he remember ever smelling anything in a dream, and the man at his feet certainly smelled as though it had been some time since he had seen proper bathing facilities or a change of clothes. Remus thought that if he could just get his mind to focus for a second, he could figure this all out - what the dream meant, why he was having it - but he felt so tired. Maybe he would just close his eyes for a bit. He lay back on the bed.

Dimly, he heard Sirius sigh. "Poor Moony. I can see you're in no state for company."

Remus felt his shoes and socks being removed, but did not struggle this time. He felt thin but strong arms swing his legs up onto the bed, and lift his head to put a pillow under it. A blanket was tucked up under his chin, and he could feel himself beginning to drift into unconsciousness. The last thing he felt before descending into sleep was a brief but tender kiss on the forehead, and the whispered words, "Good night, Moony. Happy Christmas"

Well, my friends are gone and my hair is gray.
I ache in the places where I used to play,
And I'm crazy for love, but I'm not coming on ...