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TWO

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The little flat was dark.

And quiet, except for the hum of the refrigerator and the repetitive ticking of a large, plastic clock mounted on the wall.

Lupin couldn't stand it.

The clock, he could deal with- though he had pestered Sirius about it when the former had brought it back from the shop, where would they put it and do we really need it and what's this little slot in the back for (batteries, which Sirius was all too willing to explain to him) – but the silence was absolutely unbearable.

He was slumped over in a chair at Sirius's shabby wooden table, deathly white and cradling something that must've been alcoholic, but it didn't seem to be improving his shaking or curb the horrifying thoughts that kept flashing through his mind like images on the television screen; so Lupin had no idea. Nor did he care. He just sat there, jaw clenched, clutching the murky brown glass bottle so tightly it was a wonder it hadn't already shattered.

It had been only an hour since a shining, golden phoenix had appeared in the little fireplace. It had stayed, briefly, on the spot and flickered- beautiful, but at the same time horrible- since both men knew at once what it had meant.

Something had happened to Lily and James.

Clearly, that's what it had meant. He had gone over it a thousand times since Sirius had left- for Sirius, who had turned a ghastly shade of grey at the phoenix's appearance, had stared at Lupin for several moments and then sprinted out of the door. The cacophonous sound of the motorbike's engine revving up was heard a minute later, and Sirius had left.

Left his friend all alone with his thoughts and the horrors of what he was imagining had happened. Lupin couldn't help it; he had always been like this, expected the worst; it was part of what came along with being a werewolf attempting to make his way in the 'human' world.

Dumbledore surely wouldn't have sent that signal on a whim- because he was having a hard time picking draperies or because he wanted an opinion on the next Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher- it had to mean something had happened.

Of course, it could've been sent because one of the other Order members was in danger, or Dumbledore himself, that was always a possibility, but overwhelming instinct told him that it was not so. James, his oldest, dearest friend and Lily, who had become quite close with the Marauders since they had started dating, had been discovered by Voldemort and killed. And if that was so, then their son, not even a year old, must be dead as well. The last time Lupin had seen them, Harry had not even begun walking yet. James had laughed when Lupin balked at the little squirming bundle presented to him- the tiny, black-haired boy who already so resembled his father had smiled toothlessly up at the werewolf and promptly fallen asleep in his nervous arms. Lily periodically sent them all letters and photos, though it was certainly not the same as being with them physically.

A sudden and deafening 'pop!' caused him to jump so high his chair was knocked out from beneath him- he wheeled around, eyes glinting manically as he searched for Sirius's form.

"Sirius?" he whispered, his voice trembling. No response, though someone had definitely apparated into the room.

A quiet sniffle. A muffled whimper.

On wobbling legs he made his way slowly towards the center of the room. He didn't even bother removing his wand from his trouser pocket. His mind was completely blank and it felt as though he had been doused in frigid water.

Sirius was standing in the center of the tiny sitting room, arms hanging down by his sides. He was shaking violently and tiny, choking noises were coming from his throat.

"Oh god," was all that Lupin said.

He collapsed, noisily, onto the sofa, feeling as though a great piece of his chest had been torn out and squeezed. Tears were flowing liberally from his eyes and he could barely keep himself from straight-out bawling like a small child.

They remained like this for countless minutes, or it might've even been hours, not exchanging a word but weeping over their dead companions. For two men who rarely shed a tear this was a defining moment in their characters. Or perhaps it was simply grief- laid out plain and cold as the bodies of their friends. In a moment of insanity, Lupin wondered if their eyes had been open.

Finally, when the last remaining liquid had been expelled from their tear ducts, Sirius turned to face him.

"Harry's alive," he croaked weakly. Lupin looked up, startled.

"But how-"

"I don't know. But he's alive," replied Sirius. He swallowed, painfully and slowly. "It was Peter."

"Yes."

Lupin tugged the taller man, whose clenched fists were white and numb, so that he was seated on the sagging sofa beside him.

The two friends embraced, and did not move.

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Author's note:

God, this was painful to write. It's been sitting in the back of my head, pestering me for a while now- I, for some reason, had this really vivid mental image of Sirius standing amidst the wreckage of the Potter house, and this came to be.

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