Once Sirius had decided on a plan of action, the hardest part was waiting for the holiday to come. Halloween was a full two months into the school year, and in that kind of time, anything might happen. He divided his time between Hagrid's companionship and the Forbidden Forest, but he knew if he ventured too deeply, he knew from experience that he might run afoul of some of its nastier residents. Hardly ever did he use his human form. The Dementors were never far away, and occasionally patrolled the forest.
But patience is not a canine virtue, however much of it Sirius may have gained in Azkaban, and they do talk about dog years. With growing unrest, he watched the leaves on the trees turn, and begin to fall, making his best hiding place that much less safe, with fewer places to hide and more crackling underbrush to wade through.
At last the day dawned, cold but bright, and he made his preparations. Hagrid left early for the Three Broomsticks, singing at the top of his considerable lungs. Sirius waited, watching as the flood of students leaving the school slowed to a trickle.
At last, he judged it was time. Rising onto his hind legs, he grabbed a wicked-looking knife down from a hook above the stove. Just the sort of thing which might be good for carving up a rat. Clutching the knife between his jaws, he nosed open the door, and trotted up toward the castle.
Luck was with him, and he was not seen. It seemed most of the school's population, apart from the first and second year students, who were not allowed, had taken advantage of the holiday to get out of the castle for the day. He risked flickering forms long enough to pull open the castle doors, and to secure the knife with the piece of rope that served him for a belt, effectively making it part of his person when he transformed.
"Trick or treat," he muttered with a grin, peering into the gloom of the entrance hall.
He was exulting in his own cleverness at having managed thus far without being seen, when something stopped him dead in his tracks, just inside the great doors. The scent, distinct to his canine nose, was -
No. It can't be.
It had to be a scent left over from days long gone. But it seemed so sharp and fresh in the air, so overpowering that he took a step backwards and looked around for the source.
Remus. Here. But how? Where? Why?
He could not think clearly. Suddenly, all his certainty - all his ability to reason - left him. What was he supposed to do now? Remus was here, somewhere, for whatever reason.
He realised he was standing in the middle of the entrance hall, staring up the great staircase, as though waiting for someone - for Remus - to come find him.
No. Can't be found. Must hide.
He slunk into the shadows behind the stairs to give himself a moment to think.
It was midmorning. Harry and the boy with the rat were both likely to be in Hogsmeade having a good time at Zonko's or Honeydukes. They would not be back until the late afternoon, and the feast would commence sometime between five and six o'clock. The best time to slip out again, once he had dealt with the rat, would be under the cover of darkness. He should hide until the evening.
But Remus was here. He checked again, just to be sure, trying to catch that sense of him - that spark - within his mind. It was there, strong and bright and heart-achingly familiar. There could be no doubt about it.
A professor at last, eh? thought Sirius. I should have guessed.
But he could not go to the man. Remus would call for help before he said so much as a word. Unless -
Yes. Tonight was the full moon. He wondered if Remus would spend it in the Shrieking Shack, as he used to. Sirius could go to him there. Remus could not call out for anyone. He would have to listen, and maybe there would be time enough to explain. Perhaps Sirius could even enlist his help with Peter.
Not tonight, though; Remus in his pre-wolf state was unpredictable and frequently aggressive. He might kill him on sight. But in the morning, he would be alone and powerless. That was better the time.
Sirius spent most of the day hidden in the shadows under the stairs, daydreaming about how to convince Remus of the truth, and make everything wonderful again. By the time the first students began to trickle in, forcing him to draw back, deeper into the shadows, he still had not thought of the right words to say.
The Great Hall gradually filled with chatter and laughter and the flicker of candles and the smells of hearty autumn foods. Sirius was surprised to catch sight of Harry slumping down the stairs alone.
Wasn't he in Hogsmeade with the others?
But he met his two friends at the doors to the Great Hall, and when Sirius sniffed, he could detect no trace of rodent in the air, apart from a slight, lingering scent which clung to Ron's clothes.
Peter must be upstairs in Gryffindor Tower.
This was the chance he had been waiting for. It was almost too perfect. As soon as the doors to the Great Hall closed on the feasting students, Sirius bounded up the stairs. He got a bit turned around, and had some trouble initially trying to remember the shortcut to his old house, but between his nose and his memory, he finally managed to turn down a corridor ending in a full-length portrait of a large woman in a pink silk gown.
The Fat Lady. He cursed himself. He had completely forgotten he would need a password to get into the tower. But he had to get in there. Nothing for it but to use the notorious Black Charm. He quickly shifted forms before she caught sight of him. It would never do for her to blow his disguise.
His heart was pounding as he approached her. Would she scream? Call for help? Activate a silent alarm elsewhere in the castle? But she just looked down at him imperiously.
"Password?" she intoned.
Sirius gave his most devilish, irresistible grin. "My dear lady," he said, bowing, "if I had the password, I would surely give it to you, and gladly, but I confess I do not possess it. However, I do have pressing business with House Gryffindor, and I must humbly beg entrance." He took a step back and waited, blinking innocently.
She rolled her eyes. "Mr Black. I should have known. Has it truly been so long that you've forgotten the rules? No password, no entry."
Well, at least he now knew that no one bothered to tell portraits the news. He forged ahead.
"Your devotion to your post and to the rules and regulations of Hogwarts is indeed admirable, my lady, but can you not just make one tiny exception? After all, you know me, do you not? You know me to be a Gryffindor. Surely my place is within this hallowed tower."
His voice remained calm, but the sweat was beginning to prickle on the back of his neck. The longer he stayed in human form, the greater his chances of being caught. The quicker he was able to conclude his business here, the better.
"Your flowery speech does not move me, Mr Black. The rules are what they are, and I have kept to them for as long as I have hung here. I shall continue to keep to them until I am retired from this position. You'll just have to wait for someone to let you in."
"Please," he begged, desperation creeping into his voice. "You must let me in. A boy's life may be at stake. Surely you wouldn't want one of your precious charges to be murdered?"
"Of course not," she snapped. "But if such a tragedy were to occur, it would not happen through dereliction of duty on my part. Only those with the password may pass."
He tried. Every way he could think of. He gave every password he could ever recall from his time at school, and many more, including some very unlikely ones that he had suggested Remus implement as a Prefect, or James as Head Boy. But when when even "trick or treat" was rejected, he gave up in despair.
"Let me in!" he cried, glancing anxiously over his shoulder.
He had to be gone before the students came up from the feast. There was not much time. In desperation, almost without realising it, he had drawn the knife.
"And just what do you propose to do with that?" the Fat Lady asked sharply, but there was a hint of a quaver in her voice.
"If you won't let me in," he said recklessly, "I'll make my own way!"
He had only meant to frighten her into opening for him, but with a shriek, she fled her frame and was gone.
Bugger. She'll raise the alarm.
He had to act quickly. With no tool to hand, save the knife, he began to slash savagely at the painting and through it, at the oak door behind it, but the blade made very little impact on the age-hardened wood. Within minutes, the canvass of the portrait lay in shreds around him, and he was gasping and cursing with frustration.
Suddenly, in the corridor behind him, he heard a sound that chilled him to the bone: laughter.
And then a voice he knew all too well said, "Very naughty, Mr Blacksie! Mustn't muss up the portraits."
Peeves. Arse. Peeves was most likely to do whatever would cause maximum fuss. Does he know I'm a wanted man? If he doesn't, he might only try to bring Filch up here, assuming the old bastard is still alive.
His answer was not long in coming. "I hear Mr Blacksie has been a very naughty boy indeed," Peeves intoned in a singsong voice. "Wouldn't the Professorhead be interested to know he was here? Or maybe the guards from Azkabanny-wanny? Shall I go and fetch them?"
Sirius broke and ran. But there were footsteps coming up the stairs. Dozens of them. Too late to escape that way. Running as fast as he could, he turned down a darkened corridor only a few paces ahead of the poltergeist, and swiftly shifted, fur blending with the shadows. He held perfectly still, trying not to breathe. Could poltergeists see in the dark?
Apparently not. After a quick pass through the corridor with an increasingly annoyed look on his face, Peeves blew a raspberry and departed, forgetting - Sirius hoped - the entire incident, in favour of breaking something elsewhere. But just in case he was going to tattle, Sirius thought he had better find a more secure hiding place. Having been witnessed inside the castle was likely to lead to a very thorough search.
He trotted swiftly from one dark corridor to another, down this or that staircase, unsure where he was going, smelling only dust and disuse. And Remus. Without his willing it, his nose had been searching for Remus. He was nearby. No, his rooms were nearby. The scent was too strong to indicate his merely passing this way. Sirius sniffed along, ears pricked for sounds of disturbance upstairs, but he heard nothing yet.
Here, his nose told him at last. This door.
He sniffed and listened carefully, but there was no sound from within the room. Remus had probably already gone to the Shrieking Shack for the night. Surely he could find somewhere to hide in here. And maybe Dumbledore would not go so far as having the professors' personal quarters searched. Sirius pushed the door open with his snout and entered, closing it carefully behind him
Even without the scent hanging in the air, Sirius could have identified these rooms as Remus's. The dark, tastefully Victorian furniture, the excessive number of books and photo albums, the half-empty bottle of firewhiskey, and - his heart twinged slightly at the sight - the old Muggle gramophone Sirius had bought him for his eighteenth birthday.
He still has it. The thought gave him hope; of what, he did not know.
Sirius jumped up onto the bed. He would have a little while at least before they looked here, if they did at all.
And even if they do, he reminded himself, what would they find but a dog? Strange, perhaps, but not suspicious to anyone but Remus, and he would not be able to tell them anything until morning.
So Remus is a professor at last, he thought with a doggy grin, settling himself more comfortably on the bed. God, he must love that! He'll be in his element. Good for Dumbledore, standing by his friends. He must've had to jump through a dozen hoops to get a job like this for a werewolf.
It gave him some hope that, if he could only convince Remus, Dumbledore might just believe him, too, and Dumbledore would make a powerful ally.
Suddenly, he heard running feet in the corridor. He froze. Surely whoever it was would not be coming here. There was no time to hide. If the door opened, he would have to get past whoever it was, and do his best to make a break for the castle doors in the moment of surprise he would have.
But when the door banged open, it was the dog who froze in shock. A golden-eyed ghost slammed his way into the room, throwing the door shut behind him and fumbling the key into the lock as his robes slipped off his shoulders.
Sirius must have made a sound, for suddenly Remus whirled to face him. Their eyes locked for a single instant, and then Remus threw his head back and howled. The change was upon him, and in that moment, it was as though no time had passed at all. Sirius was entirely Padfoot again; his sole purpose and reason for existing to lend comfort and companionship to this other creature in his hour of need. He leapt from the bed and stood waiting for the change to run its course.
But something was different. Remus's transformations had always him intense pain, but while tonight's change was clearly uncomfortable, Remus was not making nearly as much fuss about it as he once had.
And why's he changing in his rooms, anyway? Sirius wondered. Isn't he worried about wrecking his precious books?
Something was clearly different since their last full moon together. Somehow, something had happened to make Remus's transformations more bearable. Sirius wuffled a doggy blessing upon whoever had figured it out.
At last, the wolf rose to his feet and confronted the black dog with eyes like molten gold. Sirius tensed, unsure how the beast would greet its former mate. He whined hopefully. The wolf drew back his lip exposing long, yellow teeth, and growling deeply. He leapt at Sirius, but the black dog was ready for him. They rolled about the room, wrestling, snapping, biting, growling, knocking things over, testing each other roughly, and finding their answers more easily than they would as men.
The struggle ended as it always had, with the black dog on his back, throat exposed in submission until the wolf gently nipped him, letting him know he had permission to rise. The wolf did not seem especially inclined toward violence tonight. This surprised Sirius. In fact, the wolf seemed sleepy. Remus never slept during the full moon.
But apparently that had changed, too. He whined and curled up on the hearth rug, looking expectantly at the black dog. Sirius, filled with wonder and disbelief, approached him cautiously. He buried his nose in the gray fur of the wolf's neck, breathing deeply, inhaling the long-lost, longed-for scent of his mate. He licked the wolf's ears, and, trusting that Dumbledore would let no one disturb a sleeping werewolf, he curled up and went to sleep.
He awoke at dawn, wondering if the previous night had not all been a beautiful dream. But there was Remus, cold, pale, sleeping, restored to his true form, and still lying on the hearth rug. Sirius shifted forms and propped himself up on his elbow to take a proper look at the other man.
He looked so gray. No longer a boy of twenty-one, this was a man who known hardship and sorrow. His face was careworn. There were hard lines around his eyes and mouth which sleep did nothing to ease, unfamiliar scars on his body, threads of silver in his dark-gold hair.
And yet, he was still beautiful. The familiar lines of nose and jaw were enough to squeeze at Sirius's heart, and the shapes of his body renewed the long-lost stirrings Sirius was experiencing lower down.
Aching to touch him, Sirius drew the down comforter from the bed over Remus's sleeping form. He wanted desperately to pull the cover over himself as well - to warm Remus with his own body, and bring him back to himself with soft touches and gentle words. To feel that beloved flesh under his hands. To feel those calloused eloquent-fingered hands stroking his -
He shook his head. The longing was so strong that he could almost taste it, but there were no answers for that to be found here. Human-Remus would awake disoriented, and would not understand his presence. He might even harm himself in his weakened state, trying to escape.
Perhaps if they had been in the Shrieking Shack, Sirius would have stayed and tried to explain things when Remus woke, but he knew he had to leave of the castle now, before too many people were up and about. He remained human only long enough to unlock the door and bestow a chaste kiss upon the forehead of the man he still loved.