DISCLAIMER: J K Rowling thought it all up and now I am playing with some of her characters and situations. David Bowie thought up quite a bit of it, too, including the story and chapter titles and some other sentences and situations.

WARNING: Angst and no smut. This is building up to the next chapter, which will contain sweetness and smut and will be the last.

OH HOW I SIGHED WHEN THEY ASKED IF I KNEW HIS NAME

Two days later, Remus woke in a panic. It was nearly ten o'clock and he had to be in Diagon Alley at half past. He couldn't afford to be late for this meeting. He had a reputation for unreliability already.

He took free-lance work, because no permanent contract would allow him to have three days off every month without questions being asked. Oh, and he might be a bit unpredictable for a week or so before, and knackered, possibly even limping, after it. Yes, it would be around the time of the full moon, but don't read anything into that.

So he took what he could - mostly research projects and one-off marketing commissions with a little bit of private tutoring thrown in. He had written a few pieces for the Quibbler, but he doubted Xenophilius would use him again. Each bizarre phenomenon he was charged with describing had been more difficult to take seriously than the one before. His cynicism and irony had leaked through his prose until finally he had ended an article on The Resurrection Stone with the sentence: "Why not keep an eye out for an unbeatable wand and an everlasting Invisibility cloak while you're at it and maybe you can take over the world?" He regretted that now; he was running out of money.

He was meeting Florean Fortescue to discuss writing his new menu. It had been out of the blue and Remus suspected that a member of the Order had suggested him. He didn't mind, he was too poor to be proud. If he got this job then not only would it mean a week's contract, he would also be required to taste a scoop of every flavour of ice cream in order to describe it accurately. He was looking forward to that nearly as much as his fee.

He checked his robes were clean. Clean he could manage, smart was beyond him these days. He ran a comb through his tousled hair, wondering whether he would have time for a quick cup of tea. He raced down the stairs to what should have been the empty kitchen.

Except that Sirius was sitting there staring into space.

"You're late for work," Remus said.

"Not going," Sirius replied in a flat voice. He pushed the Daily Prophet across the table without looking at it.

Remus' guts clenched. He wished a Full Body Bind could stop him from taking the couple of steps to cross the room.

'DEATH EATERS CLAIM ONE OF THEIR OWN' was the headline. The picture was of a lonely marsh a day's walk away from where they lived. A Dark Mark hung in the sky. His eyes grew damp at the edges. He tried to read the article but it blurred up, leaving odd words floating in and out of focus: 'hex', 'Lord', 'Pure', 'three am'. Then the crucial line achieved a cruelly sharp focus: 'believed to be that of Regulus Black, a former …' Remus closed his eyes.

"I'm sorry for your loss," he croaked. He was all out of original phrases.

He was surprised to find warm arms wrapping around his shoulders. "You OK?" Sirius asked softly.

Remus nodded and sniffed. "You?"

"I wasn't the one who --"

"He's your brother."

"Was," Sirius corrected in a tight voice.

They stood still and silent for a few seconds, paralysed by everything unsaid. Then Remus pulled a handkerchief out of his sleeve and Sirius took a step backwards, away from him, breaking their contact. Remus felt colder, but it was easier to breathe. He wiped his cheeks and blew his nose. When he looked up Sirius was glaring at the front door.

"I owled work that I was sick."

"You sure that's …?" Remus began hesitantly. "I mean, what are you going to do, mope around here all day on your own? Maybe if you kept busy …?"

"And have every second customer ask me if I'm related to that dead Death Eater in the paper?"

"How would they know?"

"I wear a name tag."

There was no answer to that, so Remus just patted his friend awkwardly on the shoulder. He didn't know what to say. There was a distance between that had never been there before, but Remus couldn't work out how to bridge it. They had barely spoken since Regulus had left and not once about him.

"I'll be as quick as I can," he promised. "The ice cream thing." It sounded too trivial. "Can't be late."

Over two hours later he returned, feeling emotionally pummelled. Fortescue had insisted on a guided tour of the premises and its environs, which had managed to involve passing the time of day with every potential punter who walked near the shop. He had been asked repeatedly whether he remembered Regulus from school ("You look to be about the right age"), told that it was a terrible shame really, that it was good riddance to bad rubbish, that it just went to show what happened when you mixed with that sort and had had several conspiracy theories confided in him.

A red-eyed Sirius greeted him with, "You were right, Moony, I should have gone in. I've been driving myself mad."

"No, you were right, Pads," Remus admitted, waving his wand tiredly towards the kettle. "It's all anyone's talking about."

He felt like he'd spent all morning denying any knowledge of the youth whose naked body had been pressed against his only days before. He had almost expected to hear roosters crowing.

"Sod the kettle!" Sirius snapped wearily, countering the Heating charm. "We have to get smashed now."

He walked backwards towards the couch and Remus noticed the bottle and the glasses set out ready for them. He got closer to read the label.

"Bold Nagden's?" he asked, sinking down beside his best friend.

"We can't afford the real stuff. You get that job?"

Remus nodded. It didn't seem important any more.

"Just as well," Sirius muttered, pouring out two Firewhiskeys. He sniffed his and pulled a face. Just as he was about drink, though, Remus put a hand up. Raising his glass he said quietly, "To Regulus!"