AN: Firstly, here there be swearing. I tried to keep it as tame and as minimal as possible, but some of it stayed. I'm sorry if it offends anyone, and I assure you that I had no intention of doing so. Also, I'll almost definitely turn this story into an AU where Remus and Tonks survive the final battle. Should I split it earlier and let Sirius survive book 5? Please answer, and if you can provide reasoning behind your opinion, I'd really appreciate it. Thanks, and thanks for reading.

"Sirius?" The tall, wasted man heard a voice calling him, but decided to ignore it. He moodily picked up the firewhiskey bottle in front of him on the table and took another swig. He hated his house, and the long lonely days of waiting were hardly bearable when there was another human living with him. Now, stuck there alone with his best friend away on some mission or other ("I'm sorry I can't tell you the details, Sirius, but even if I could, I doubt it'd help"), he was on the verge of losing his mind. "Sirius!"

It was Tonks, naturally. He couldn't deny that some part of the darkness seemed to lift at her presence –at the idea of company –but he just couldn't deal with people at the moment. Remus, maybe –but they'd known each other since the age of eleven. They'd been friends for long enough –understood each other well enough that some days when the memory of Azkaban got to be too much, he could snap at or fall apart on Remus, and depend on his friend to help him patch himself back up, and he'd return the favor after a rough full moon. Tonks, though was a different story. They may have gotten on well, but it wasn't the same, and he couldn't explode at her –he just couldn't. She was still young, unscarred by trauma –except, of course, the crap she went through when I was locked up –he thought moodily, taking another swig, and she was all the family he had at the moment –another castoff of the Black family tree. He suddenly realized that Tonks was here, and winced in preparation of the thud of her falling over that hideous umbrella stand and god damn it all his mother's screaming. "Bloody crazy bitch," he muttered, about to go help the auror out.

That was when she walked into the kitchen, of course. "Wotcher!" she said brightly. Of course she said it brightly. Everything about her was color and life and happiness, and as much as he sometimes appreciated it, right now it only served to irritate him further.

"Tonks, why are you here?" he asked wearily. Good. He sounded tired, worn, dead, but he wasn't swearing at her, and he wasn't so drunk yet that he'd be unable to control himself. Maybe this wouldn't be the disaster he'd been expecting. It wouldn't be pleasant, but with any luck, it wouldn't destroy their friendship completely.

"I need a reason to visit?" she asked. She'd said it lightly, flippantly, but he saw the flash of hesitation in her eyes. Tonks was young, and she was bubbly, but she wasn't stupid, he reminded himself, and clearly she could read people –could read him –better than he'd realized.

"Not generally." He answered gruffly. She was quiet, maybe waiting for him to continue. He didn't, instead taking another drink and staring broodingly at nothing.

She didn't say anything; she simply walked over to the cupboard, took out a butterbeer, and sat down across from him. He broke the silence of course –he'd gotten more patient after spending over a decade waiting for a chance at revenge and explanation, but she was, among other things, a trained interrogator. "It doesn't stop," he said bluntly, suddenly. "The pain, the anger, the regret, the sorrow, the fear –it's all there. It's always with you. They don't let it stop. You can't be happy, or proud –in the good way not the –this" he waved a hand around, indicating the house around them "way. They won't let you. Everything that makes you okay, that makes you you –they feed on that, and they suck it away. Why?" he was breaking down now, almost in tears –he'd had more to drink than he realized. "Why won't it fucking go away?" He was barely getting the words out. Anger was still there, but so were fear and sadness. "I'm away from it all. But I'm stuck here in this god damn fucking hellhole, and I hate it. Can't they let me go somewhere? Anywhere? I can't stay here, I can't keep doing this, I just can't." That was when he broke down completely, and folding his arms on the table, he burrowed his head into them. Tonks didn't say anything –just walked over, and, sitting down next to him, tentatively rubbed his back in circles. She wanted to help him, but she had no idea what to do. Suddenly, Remus's words came back to her –you could do the same thing for Sirius. She waited, listening as her cousin's sobs quieted somewhat, until finally he was mostly just hiccupping. Continuing to rub his back, she began.

"Pettigrew was trying to run when the spell hit him, and he was discovered. Bellatrix died defending her master, also now dead. It's been several years since the war ended, and the gaping wounds that death and betrayal have left are healing into scars –always there, but no longer fresh and raw. Outside a small house, we see the proof of this –there are several small children running around throwing snowballs at each other with no fear at all, and a laughing young man with black hair and glasses is being dragged outside to join them. They are all laughing, shrieking, playing –their parents will join them outside shortly, as soon as they finish the cooking they'd been doing. A sharp crack sounds through the air, and the young man suddenly spins, alert, wand in hand looking for the source, accounting for the children, instinctively starting to herd them inside. Suddenly, a child's yell splits the air, 'Uncle Sir-yus'. The young man sees the motorcycle flying towards him and relaxes, although he retains his grip on his wand. At once the game stops and all the children are running towards the landing spot down the lane. Harry shakes his head with a smirk and walks after them, pocketing his wand.

When he reaches them, there's a tall man, also black-haired getting off the motorcycle. As soon as he has both feet on the ground, he's mobbed by the pack of children. They're all happy to see him, talking as fast as they can, babbling away excitedly. He smiles and responds to comments when he can, teasing and smiling. The children refuse to let him go to take his things out, instead dragging him up towards the house, so Harry brings the bike up for him. One of the children has run ahead to alert the parents who are watching them all for the day –it's become a tradition among the various members of the Weasley clan to trundle everyone over the age of three or so off to one house right before the holidays to get all the cleaning and cooking and secret present wrapping out of the way, and this year, it's the Lupins's turn, although Harry has come to help out. Remus is standing in the door laughing so hard he's crying as his best friend is led and shoved up the lane by at least a dozen children, one riding on his back, another on his shoulders, and the rest running around them, bouncing and laughing and chattering and ignoring absolutely everything else. Sirius pauses when he reaches the front door to put the kids he's holding down so they don't bump their heads on the lintel, but they are uncooperative and cling to him like barnacles.

It's Mrs. Lupin who eventually takes control, as Sirius is hopelessly outnumbered and Harry and Remus are laughing too hard to help him, not they would if they were able to. "Children." She says it sternly, but there's laughter behind it, and the kids all know it. "If you hurt Sirius too badly, he might not be willing to give you your presents." Those are, it seems, the magic words. Sirius is immediately released and borne into the living room. Before he knows it, he's sitting on the comfortable old sofa, surrounded by children –some on the floor, some next to him, some on the arms and back of the poor seat, and one managing to claim his lap. They know from experience that his trunks are heavy –too heavy, as yet, for them to carry, so Harry has been badgered into levitating them inside. 'Tell us a story, Uncle Sirius,' one of them demands, and the others instantly join in the ruckus. 'Story, story!' 'Did you see any dragons?' 'What about monsters?' 'What were the libraries like?' 'Idiot. He wouldn't go libraries, would you Uncle Sirius?' 'Or unicorns?' 'Is it true that you've been everywhere?' 'Where did you go this time?' 'Why do you go away so much? I like it when you're home.' 'Are giants and trolls like Hagrid says they are?' 'Do sphinxes wear clothes?' 'Uncle Ron said that acri- accer- acro- ack-ro-man-chu-las are real. Is that true?'

Finally he manages to calm them all down enough to start answering questions and telling of his latest adventures. Some of them are, of course, embellished to make for more entertaining listening and some are watered down a bit to keep from scaring the youngest ones or telling them things they're not supposed to know about yet, but most of them he tells as they happened. All the children are still and silent, watching him with starry eyes. They don't see their globe-trotting 'uncle' nearly often enough for their liking, and they all love hearing about his latest adventures –all of them exciting and interesting, many of them dangerous, and frequently with near escapes of disaster. If the adults think that perhaps he escapes death a little too often, they keep it to themselves –some things are better with modifications. Eventually, his voice gets hoarse, which is of course the signal for 'PRESENTS!' they scream as he reaches for one of his trunks. Since he's pinned down by children, one of the adults hands it to him –they've all been sitting there listening in, just as focused as the little ones. He starts taking out some of the trinkets he's picked up for this in particular –there are other things he plans to give as the official holiday presents, but he loves to spoil the kids –not that they mind very much –and this is as much a tradition as gathering at the Weasleys's for major dinners –they are all one giant clan, though not necessarily related closely or at all by blood.

After a light dinner, the children have all been sent home or off to bed, and Sirius sits at the table catching up with his old friend. 'Do you ever regret not picking a steady, solid career? You know you could have any job you want. The world's at your feet –maybe not as much as it was when we left school, but it still is.'

Sirius shakes his head. 'Maybe I would, if it hadn't been for, well…' he trails off, but his meaning is understood. 'I spent too much time locked up, too much time not seeing the sky, or the sun, or feeling the wind and rain. I sometimes go flying during storms just as a reminder that I can, that I'm not locked up anymore. I need that freedom, and I won't –I can't give it up. I've got roots here, and I'll never abandon them, but I can't stay tied down myself. I love this life –I wouldn't trade it to be stuck behind a desk or talking to idiots selling them things all day. What about you? Do you ever-" he doesn't need to finish the question before his friend is shaking his head.

'I never had the wanderlust you did. My life right now is better than I could've hoped for, and I wouldn't trade it for anything.'

'Not even not having to deal with full moons?' The tone is light, but the question is not. This is a concern he's always had for his friend –that he will settle, not thinking himself able to do better.

To his surprise, Remus smiles. 'Not even that. Surrounded by kids –my kids (Sirius can't help but smirk at the way his face always lights up when he says those words) it's, well, it's amazing. There's no way to describe it.' They sit in silence for a bit. 'How long are you staying for this time?'

Sirius grins at him. 'That'd ruin the surprise. One day here, next day gone. You may have settled down, but someone needs to keep you on your toes.'

'Yes, because there are absolutely no surprises or worries when raising children.'

'Speaking of which, is it okay if I were to leave a pet here?' Seeing the instant amused worry, he hastens to add, 'it's not very big, and it shouldn't create much of a mess, and you don't need a license to own it.'

'Is it dangerous to children?'

'Possibly?' He looks at his friend pleadingly. 'I mean, probably not, if they treat it right although allergies might be a bit of an issue.'

'Let's see it then. That wasn't an agreement –I just want to have a look.'

Sirius grins, knowing that he has won, and pulls what seems to be a small scrap of fabric out of one of his pockets. 'What?'

'It's a kitten. You brought a –wait. Why do you have kitten in your pocket? How do you have a kitten in your pocket? What kind of weird joke is this? It's not even a kneazle kitten. Where did you find it?'

'There were some muggle boys that were 'playing' with the poor thing –it's a stray. It looked warm and fluffy, and I figured that you in particular could use an animal around the house. It can catch raats.' He's smirking. There is no way this kitten isn't going to live here permanently, and everyone present knows it, including, by the look of things, the cat, who has curled up on the table.

'It's probably not house trained, and it certainly has vermin. It's not staying here.'

'You've got a zillion kids who'll want to teach it tricks, and you know as well as I do that there are some very basic spells and potions to take care of that sort of problems. What do you want me to do, take it back? I don't know how long it'll last on its own, and it can't travel with me. Let the kids name it, make it their responsibility, and if you're nice to it, maybe it'll be able to keep you company when you're locked up.'

Remus rolls his eyes, and reaches out to let the kitten sniff his hand. It purrs, and then turns and hisses at him, snapping at his fingers. 'Yes. I can certainly see that we'll be great friends.'

'That's the spirit!' Sirius chuckles and slaps him on the shoulder, before his face splits in a yawn. 'D'you mind if I head off to bed? It's been great talking with you, but I've done a fair bit of flying today, and I could use some rest.'

'We've got the room set up for you. We weren't sure just when you'd be coming in, though, so it might not be up to your lofty standards.' Remus mock glares at him. Sirius, unsurprisingly, ignores it.

'It has windows?'

'Doesn't it always?'

'It's fine then. See you in the morning.' He heads upstairs. He's claimed the attic for whenever he stays there –there are some charms he's picked up to make the ceiling seem to disappear, and it's an airy room, with windows on all sides –most of them large enough for a rider on a broom. Before the kids were born, he'd sometimes fly in in the middle of the night, and surprise his friends by showing up at breakfast –or sometimes at lunch, but he has to admit, he likes the exuberant welcome from his nieces and nephews. Ordinarily, he keeps the windows open –although he usually has an impervious charm over them to keep out bugs, rain and heavy wind, but tonight, he decides, it's too cold –he'll be fine indoors. He notes some of his worst scars as he gets into his pajamas. Very few fighters get through wars unscathed, and he's fought in two. He's made up stories for some of the more visible ones when the kids have asked about them, although there are others where he simply changes the subject, and a few that he charms. They're too young, as yet, to know, but they're the symbol of hope, of victory, although he hopes to never have any of his own. Married life may suit his friends, but he's not the sort to settle down and stop adventuring. Or even settle down and continue adventuring.

Looking up at the starry ceiling, he starts identifying constellations –a childhood habit he's never been able to break, finishing with Sirius. He knows it's ridiculous, but he's always felt that the dog star is his in some way, and he likes having that feeling of heavenly kinship. Rolling himself up in his blankets, he falls asleep, secure in the knowledge that there is a tomorrow."

Sirius's sobbing has grown quieter as Tonks talks, and by the end, it is only his shoulders that are still heaving with sobs. Finally, he pulls himself together enough to look up and talk to her, although his speech is punctuated by inopportune hiccups. "It's not true, though. It's a wonderful story, and I want it to happen. I want Remus and Harry to settle down into nice, normal lives with packs of kids, so I can be the dashing, mysterious, travelling uncle. I want to go exploring around the globe, and having adventures. I want that fucking evil rat DEAD, but none of it will happen, and we both know it."

Tonks is startled at how closely his speech mirrors her own opinions, but she keeps it to herself. What Sirius needs is freedom, but at the moment faith and friendship will have to suffice. "Then why did I say it? Sirius, I'll be honest. I don't like your chances for getting through this, but that's only because I don't know if you can keep your head. If you can be patient –and yes, I know it's killing you, but if you can be rational, you WILL survive this. Sirius, if you don't believe the people you're fighting with –the people you're fighting for can or will win, then why fight? Sirius, nothing is worth fighting if you're only fighting against the inevitable."

It is now that it strikes him just how much Tonks has grown up. She right, of course. If you only fight to defeat or delay your enemy, what then? "Thank you," he manages.

She gets to her feet. "I couldn't have said it if I didn't believe it," helping him up, she continues, "but I think we both need sleep now. Are you sober enough to make it up the stairs? I can leave some hangover potion if you like –I usually carry some –and don't you dare ask why."

He shakes his head. "I can manage, but don't bother with the potion. I'll have had worse –you got here fairly early." He smirks before adding. "And I promise not to tease you about the hangover potion that I'm sure you carry for aurorly duties only." They're at the door now, him inside, her outside. Just as she's turning to disapparate, he grins wickedly and adds "yet."

Her undoubtedly foul-mouthed reply is lost in the pop of her disappearance and the slam of the heavy door. He smiles wryly and goes upstairs. Passing the mirror, he takes note of his reflection. A shave and a haircut probably wouldn't be a bad idea, and maybe he can fix up the house a bit –take care of some of the still inhospitable rooms. He needs to keep busy, after all, and while housework's certainly not something he enjoys, he can't deny that it takes up time –something he has far too much of right now. Getting into bed, he whispers the charm that makes the stars show up above his head how did she know? Before beginning his map and his search for Sirius. He'll have to ask Tonks how she knows about that habit of his and grill her about that hangover potion, of course.Exhausted, physically and emotionally, he sleeps, and dreams of the laughter of children.