Disclaimer: I'm just filling in the gaps in someone else's story. Anything you recognise, it don't belong to me.
A/N: Well, this one's been a long time coming – thanks to the recent reviewers and the people who bookmarked it – you inspired me to come back to this fic. I think I have an idea where it's going now, so hopefully it won't be nearly so long before the next update.
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The southern heatwave had finally hit the village; Remus abandoned his overcoat five minutes into their walk, slinging it over his arm. Sirius seemed to have gone completely insane. He was running in circles around his old friend, on several occasions nearly sending Remus flying as he tried not to stand on Sirius' paws or tail.
"Oh for goodness' sake!" exclaimed Remus after this happened for the third time in quick succession. "I know you haven't been getting out much, but calm down!" For all of two minutes, the huge black dog settled into a sedate walk at his side. Then a pheasant scuttled across their path and Sirius was off again, bounding after it until it lurched into the sky in an alarmed rush of feathers. Sirius raced across the field in pursuit, and Remus halted, exasperated, to wait for him to return again.
Panting with exertion, Sirius reappeared five minutes later. Remus had not moved. Sirius seemed to realise he was not in the best of moods; he crouched by Remus' feet, whined, and wagged his tail hopefully, for all the world as if he really was a dog in disgrace with its master.
"This was your idea. If you keep running off like that it'll take forever to get to the village." Sirius whined again, and bumped his head against Remus' foot. Remus had never been able to resist Sirius' charm in human form, and as a dog he was ten times worse. With a sigh he unfolded his arms and set off down the track once more, Sirius trotting beside him.
They reached the pub without any further mishaps, although once they were on the main road through the village Sirius started growling at passing cars. Sure he was doing it for attention, Remus ignored this completely and Sirius had to abandon his games in order to keep up with him.
"Morning, Remus," said the bartender cheerfully as they entered. "Where'd you get that brute from?" He was not such a regular visitor to the pub as some, but in a village of this size everyone knew everyone else, and most of their business, too. The Muggles all thought Remus was a friendly but eccentric writer, and he chose to cultivate that impression.
"Stray," replied Remus, as Sirius had suggested. "I get the impression he's adopted me."
"What'll it be?"
"Pint of bitter, please. Oh, and a bowl of water, if you don't mind," he added, waving a vague hand in Sirius' direction. The black dog waved its tail enthusiastically and turned its pale eyes hopefully to the bartender, who chuckled as he turned away to get the order.
"You'd almost think he understood what you were saying."
"Don't some people claim they do?" asked Remus, feigning innocence. "I'm more of a cat person, myself," he added mischieviously, ignoring Sirius' indignant bark, "but he turned up half-starved on my doorstep and I'm too soft for my own good."
He took his pint and Sirius' bowl into the pub's small garden before they could be engaged in conversation and settled onto a shaded bench while Sirius chased a squirrel across the grassed area and up a tree. He sat barking at it for a few seconds, and then before Remus could get cross, Sirius seemed to decide he'd had enough for the moment and returned, flopping his front paws and his head into his lap with a sigh.
"Get down!"
Sirius whined and nudged Remus' hand until Remus gave in and scratched behind his ears.
"Looks like I'm not the only one who's too soft for my own good." Sirius gave the quiet little bark that passed for a laugh while he was a dog and revelled in the attention for as long as Remus allowed it. "Go on, get off," he said eventually. Sirius slid onto the floor, giving him a reproachful look, and lapped half-heartedly at the bowl of water. For all that it was his suggestion, this couldn't be much fun for him. How long had it been since he'd been able to sit in a pub with a drink? The last time was probably before James and Lily had gone into hiding, when the five of them had met up in the Three Broomsticks to celebrate Peter's birthday, and had laughed and joked, however strained the atmosphere beneath it all. Now if Sirius were to walk into a pub, even a Muggle one like this, he'd probably find the Aurors on their way before he'd even ordered his drink.
Sirius barked softly. Remus looked down and smiled at his oldest friend, whose ears and tail were drooping as if he knew the melancholy turn Remu's thoughts had taken. "Wool-gathering," he said apologetically. "Mooning around, even," he added with a wry smile. Sirius gave the light barking laugh again, and wagged his tail a little. Had anyone ever understood him so well? "I was just wishing you could be yourself. It'd be nice to sit here having a drink with you again." Even in dog form, Sirius managed to give him an understanding look, and licked his hand where it hung down by his knee.
"Remus?" They both looked up, startled out of their moment of perfect understanding. A petite brunette was approaching across the pub garden, a pint of beer in one hand and her bag in the other, smiling broadly. "I haven't seen you for ages. You've not been avoiding me, have you?"
Remus' smile became rather fixed. "Fiona. Hi. Um. . . I've been busy."
"Glad to see you've got a bit of free time now, then. Mind if I join you?"
"Oh. . . Um, sure," he replied, cursing his inability to be rude to people, and not for the first time. Fiona slid onto the bench opposite, her smile growing wider still.
"So, busy doing what?" she asked. "Deadlines?"
"Something like that," he replied noncommittally. "You know what it's like." Sirius had sat up, his head well above the table even though he was sitting on the floor, and was giving Fiona a look that Remus recognised would have been very affronted had he been in human form. He barked, and bared his teeth at her.
"Goodness," she said, jumping slightly. "Is that thing yours? It's big, isn't it? How long have you had it?"
"Stop it," he said to Sirius. "Couple of days," he lied, looking back up at Fiona. "He's a stray."
Fiona grimaced. "Are you keeping it?" she asked, distaste plain in her voice. "You should take it to the vets, at the least; it could have all sorts of diseases."
Had he not been in such a very awkward situation, he would have laughed at poor Sirius' expression. But even had he not been preoccupied by thoughts of an impending war and trying to enjoy an afternoon with his ex-convict best friend, spending time with Fiona would not have been top of his to-do list.
"I've got quite fond of him, actually," he said stiffly, and Sirius looked up with doggish adoration in his eyes, nearly making him laugh despite his discomfort. "And he seems very clean, for a stray."
"Never liked animals, myself." said Fiona cheerfully, apparently unaware of the offence she was causing. "And a big ugly thing like that, well, I'd be frightened of it turning on me. Especially since you don't know where it's come from; who's to say it's been properly trained?"
"Oh, come on, Fiona," he said. He just prayed Sirius didn't do something stupid, like jump at her. "He's just a big overgrown puppy. He's as friendly as anything."
She didn't look convinced. Unsurprisingly, since Sirius was growling at her; Remus flapped a hand angrily at him, trying to make him behave himself without much hope that it would work. Fiona obligingly changed the subject. "Hey, are you doing anything this weekend? Some friends of mine are having a party. . ."
Remus forced himself not to look at Sirius. "No, I have to work this weekend," he said, which was not exactly a lie.
"The whole time?" she asked, mock-pouting. "Surely you can spare a few hours on a Saturday evening?" She actually reached across the table to take his hand; horrified by her persistence he quickly moved it to lift his pint glass and took a fortifying gulp.
"I'll be away. Meetings and so on. London."
She frowned, her hand still on the table where his had been; he clung to his glass like a lifeline. "Remus, what's wrong with you?"
"Nothing's wrong. I'm fine."
"That's not what I meant and you know it." To his horror there were tears in her eyes. "I really thought you were it, you know. And then you disappear off the face of the earth without even a proper goodbye. I didn't know what to think! And now you're acting like you barely know me. . . Did any of it mean anything to you?"
Remus gritted his teeth. "Not now, Fiona."
"Well, when, then?" she said, her voice getting louder. "When? If I let you go now it'll be another six months before I see you again, if at all! You owe me an explanation, Remus."
He grimaced. Unfortunately, he couldn't argue with that one. "Look," he said, lowering his voice so they couldn't be overheard, "It was never supposed to be anything serious. I thought you understood that from the start."
"I can't help it! I loved you!"
Damn! Just what he didn't need Sirius to hear. And now he had a gut-full of guilt to deal with on top of everything else. "I'm sorry! You weren't supposed to get attached to me. And I'm sorry I disappeared; I was called away for work and I was gone a whole year, and when I got back I just. . . I thought you would have forgotten about me."
"Forgotten about you?" she repeated, her voice an incredulous squeak. "Forgotten. . ." Without warning she stood up and threw her drink over him. The few other people in the pub on a weekday afternoon turned and stared as she snatched up her bag and stormed off. Shandy dripping from his face, he sighed, and downed the last of his bitter; almost a full half pint.
"Well, that's a first," he muttered to Sirius, who looked as astonished as it was possible for a dog to look. "You ever had a drink thrown over you?" The dog nodded enthusiastically, wagging its tail. "Should have known. Come on, let's go. She has large and scary brothers." He tried to keep his voice light; back in the days before it would never have fooled Sirius, but if he was lucky the twelve years' absence would had got him out of practice. They stopped long enough on the way out for Remus to borrow a towel from behind the bar and wipe his face, though he was still sticky, his shirt and hair were soaked, and he would need a shower when he got home.
Sirius transformed the instant they were back inside his kitchen, and opened his mouth for what Remus was sure would be a stream of awkward questions. "I'm going to go get changed," he said, quickly. "You couldn't make a cup of tea, could you? I could use a Firewhiskey, to be honest, but since I don't have any of that, a tea will have to do." And he headed swiftly upstairs before Sirius could say anything, wondering whether it was worth drowning himself in the shower to put off answering questions for a little longer.
In the end he decided that his need for a cup of tea was stronger than his need to hide in the bathroom, and descended the stairs, back in his worn, comfortable robes to find Sirius settled on the sofa with two full, steaming mugs and a plate of biscuits on the table before him.
"Thanks, Sirius."
"Moony. . ."
"Not now, Sirius."
"But Moony. . ."
"Please, Sirius, I don't want to talk about it." For a few moments they sat in silence, sipping their drinks. Then he took a biscuit and Sirius took advantage of his full mouth to voice the question he was particularly dreading.
"Remus. That was a woman."
"Well observed," he replied, but the look on Sirius' face made it clear that this was not a joking matter. "Yes," he sighed.
"But you. . . I mean, we. . ."
He sighed again. "Do you remember when Lily found out about us?" he asked.
Sirius frowned at the change of subject. "Ye-es. . ."
"And she asked a very similar question? Though I seem to recall she was rather more articulate about it."
Sirius snorted. "How could I forget? You went so red I thought you might explode."
"Do you remember what you told her?"
"That she was a blip on your record."
"Yes. Well. . ." he took a deep breath because there was really no tactful way to phrase this. "I think it was more the other way round."
Sirius blinked. "So. . . You're calling me a blip now?"
"Yes. Sorry." He remembered having this conversation with Lily, and smiled, sadly. Even his happiest memories – thoughts of Lily and the others, of Hogwarts, before the war had caught up with them – were still tinged with regret, fourteen years on. "You were a very nice blip, though," he said, in a pacifying tone. Just as Lily had, Sirius gaped at him for a few seconds and then burst out laughing.
"Wow, thanks, Moony, what a compliment."
"Any time."
Sirius took a biscuit, stuffed it almost whole into his mouth, plainly buying himself time to think.
"It's just," he said quietly, looking at the faded wallpaper as if he was seeing something else entirely, and sounding much more vulnerable than Remus ever remembered him from before. "It's just. . . it was. . . real. . . wasn't it?"
Years and years ago he'd decided that his heart had been broken so many times that there was no more damage that could be done to it. Clearly he had been wrong, for at the wistful, fragile tone of Sirius' voice he felt it fracture into yet more pieces. Not for himself, but for Sirius, who truly was just a shadow of the brave, fun-loving boy; the talented, foolish, affectionate young man he had once been. I have to fix him, he thought, knowing it in every fibre of his being. If I do anything, anything with this wasted life of mine, I have to fix him.
"Of course it was real!" he said, as forcefully as he could. "Sirius, I. . ."
"It's just," began Sirius again, interrupting and turning dead eyes on him, "Azkaban, it does something to you, and I was in there for so long. . ." He trailed off but Remus could tell he wasn't finished, and waited patiently for Sirius to find the words for what he was trying to express. He'd almost finished his tea before the next word was spoken. "It was so long, but you just can't keep track of how much time is passing. When I came out. . . It didn't feel like twelve years; I still felt about twenty-one, give or take a few aches and pains, a few grey hairs. But nothing is quite like I remember it, and perhaps it's because of the time I've missed, but perhaps not. . . I just don't know how much I can trust my own memories any more. The miserable ones, they're as clear as crystal, because I've relived them so many times, but anything else. . ."
"I'll tell you," said Remus, desperately. "I'll tell you anything you want to know, anything you've forgotten, or you're not sure of. No matter how trivial or stupid you think your question is, I'll answer it for you. You can ask me what colour the curtains were in our dormitory at Hogwarts, if you want, and I'll tell you. You always did say I had a ridiculously detailed memory, well, at least now it'll be good for something."
Sirius just stared at him, and he felt a faint blush staining his cheeks. He didn't go red half as easily as he used to at school – he'd lived through too much now – but it stood to reason that if anyone could bring that out in him again it would be Sirius.
"What colour were they?" he asked eventually, a slight smile on his face and life beginning to creep back into his eyes.
"Dark green," replied Remus instantly. "Until you and James decided that wasn't Gryffindor enough, in our second year; then you turned them bright scarlet until I persuaded you tone it down a bit. They stayed a sort of crimson colour until we left; they probably still are now."
"We can ask Harry," suggested Sirius, definitely smiling now.
"Indeed, if you're prepared for an odd look. I can tell you, after a year as a teacher, teenagers are masters in odd looks."
Sirius actually laughed, and Remus felt a bit lighter. He wondered, if he made Sirius laugh enough times, would his broken heart start to mend itself?