They didn't want Sirius awake. Regulus looked like he didn't want Sirius breathing at all, but the man controlled his features well. It struck Remus that the man couldn't be more different than Sirius, despite this strange place where the roles of the Black brothers had flip-flopped so severely. Regulus was smaller, built thin and several inches shorter than Remus. His hair, more controlled than Sirius's, just brushed his shoulders. Remus couldn't' remember ever looking at the younger Black's eyes in his world, but here they held more blue than Sirius's. The sadness in them, however, Remus recognized.

Not from Sirius. Even his Sirius had a glint of madness in his eyes. Understandable, considering the anger that had led to him surviving Azkaban at all. Regulus seemed much more logical, methodical, but still overrun by the terrible sadness that affected everyone on the front line, in the war. Speaking of the man, Remus couldn't help but notice the glances Regulus threw at him.

"You can talk to me, if you want," Remus said. "I want to clear this up just as much as you." Regulus looked at him as he spoke. The man's hands grasped the wood of the chair where he sat.

"I don't talk to tricks. I may not know why you came here but I sure as hell won't fall for this," Regulus said. His voice was cold. Remus looked around the room, wondering why Regulus chose to watch him, of all the ones who had arrived. The others had been split up and watched separately, but when it came to choosing who watched who, Regulus had been adamant that he would watch both Remus and Sirius.

The others allowed it without protest, with only more sad looks. Remus wasn't an idiot; he registered the looks and the hurt in people's eyes as they watched him and listened to him. He had been their friend – or at least, another Remus had been their friend.

Remus reached into his coat pocket, looking for something with which to pass the time. Regulus's stare was beginning to make it uncomfortable, and without a hope of convincing the man of the truth, he wished to divert his attention. In his pocket was a photo, which had been there when he died. Pulling it out, he looked at it carefully. Dora looked so beautiful, holding his son. And Teddy… Teddy laughed and his blue tufts of hair blew in the wind as Dora pressed a kiss to his forehead.

He missed them both terribly. Dora, with her fiery temper and sharp loyalty. And Teddy… his beautiful boy. Remus looked up at Regulus again, meeting his eyes before Regulus could avert them, could pretend that he hadn't been staring at the sudden sadness that affected Remus's whole posture.

"Do you know Nymphadora Tonks?" he asked. "She was an auror – in our world, that is." Regulus looked at him carefully, seeming to decide whether to answer.

"I do. We're related, distantly. She does the same work here." Remus swallowed hard at the answer, unsure of whether he wanted to meet their Dora, or whether she'd be so different from his own that he would rather not.

Remus opened his mouth to explain a little more about why he wished to know but found he couldn't speak. Despite Regulus's curiosity over the question, Remus slipped the picture away and said nothing else to the man.

"You're much too good at that, you know," Regulus said. The man looked away just as Remus looked at him.

"Good at what?" Remus asked, wondering why Regulus had deemed it okay to speak with him again.

"Looking like you've lost people. Looking like you care, like you aren't some heartless bastard that feels so little that he can wear the face of someone he's not and pretend to be them," Regulus grew progressively angrier as he spoke. Remus looked at the ground.

"I am sorry that my appearance hurts you, but I am Remus Lupin," he stated, trying to use the same matter-of-fact voice he perfected as a professor.

"Are you though?" Regulus whispered. "Are you him? Are you a dead man? A werewolf? A professor? The best friend I've ever had?" Regulus tore his eyes away from Remus as he said the last thing, standing and turning towards the door. Remus froze at his admission, understanding a little more just how much his appearance had hurt Regulus.

"I am not him," Remus said. "Not the Remus you know, at least." Remus' thoughts whirled as he wondered how he could convince Regulus of the truth.

"Oh right," Regulus spoke with a raised voice and whirled around. "You're some supposed dimension traveler. Left one world for another. Well, let me tell you, Remus! The man I knew would never have abandoned his world." Remus stiffened at the accusation.

"I never abandoned my world. I protected Harry. I protected the only one that could end everything. I did everything I could until the moment where he had to walk to his death, and I stood at his side. I stood with Sirius, James, and Lily! And we all waited for Voldemort to kill him. There was nothing I could do." Remus breathed hard after his defense. He couldn't let Regulus believe that he had abandoned his own world because of cowardice.

"Then why isn't he dead? And why are you here? Why are you ruining our chances at defeating Sirius?" Regulus snarled. "What sort of protector are you that you led him to his death?" Remus jolted at the words. Regulus was right: he had never truly protected Harry that well. Let alone his own family.

"I did my best," Remus said, voice calm again, refusing to let his own hurt and anger shine through his words. They wouldn't help anything.

"And that's what makes me sure you aren't Remus," Regulus snarled. "My Remus would never have been that pitiful. But you did your best. Of course. Tell that to all of your dead friends and family! Tell that to those that you didn't save, that you didn't even fight for! You aren't Remus."

With that, Regulus faced away from him, going back to ignoring him. Remus watched his back, mouth opening to try and find his defense. There wasn't one. Dead wife, orphaned son, dead friends…

Remus pulled the photo out again, looking at his happy family. Merlin, he never should have had a family. Regulus was right. In the end, his best had been far from good enough for them.

There was a sudden knock on the door, and Remus snapped out of his thoughts. Saying a small incantation, Regulus unlocked the door, and the strange Lily entered. The sad one. The older one.

"I want to wake Sirius up," Regulus said, his voice at a carefully uncaring monotone. "I don't want that one in the room when I do."

Remus felt a flash of anger and dismay at being called 'that one' by Regulus. With how well he was doing at convincing the man of his innocence, they may never regain their freedom, let alone make it back home.

"You should have someone with you when you wake him," Lily protested. "Wait for me to come back." Regulus said nothing in reply, and the woman looked at him sadly before throwing an angry glance at Remus, almost like she blamed him for Regulus's mood. Well, Remus thought dryly, she wasn't wrong about that one. He followed the woman out of the room as she beckoned him impatiently.

"Come on – you have already wasted our time enough," she said. As soon as the door closed behind Remus, Lily whirled on him. Her anger shone on her face, and for a moment Remus couldn't help but take comfort in the fact that no matter what dimension Lily was from, she couldn't hide her anger when someone harmed her friends.

"How dare you?" she said, her voice softer than he expected. "How dare you even come here? Let alone talk to him."

"I didn't plan on coming here," Remus said, running a hand through his thinning hair. "I never meant to be here. I wouldn't be here at all if I had a choice." Lily scoffed at his words and turned away, continuing to lead him through the halls. Remus couldn't help but imagine the ghosts of the battle in which he had been killed. Dolohov, casting spells to crumble the walls, watching a student in Hogwarts robes crumbling under a stone, casting spells at Dolohov… then darkness. And then seeing his friends again.

Remus felt in his shirt for the photo again, feeling the paper against his hand, feeling for the people he had failed to protect.

His eyes downcast, following Lily obediently, he wondered how much his kid would hate him as he grew up. If he grew up. Voldemort had won, after all. For all extents and purposes in that world, Harry was dead. Voldemort was triumphant.

His best couldn't have appeared more like failure had he tried.

Hi, all! It's been quite a while but I'm procrastinating on homework and trying to not think about a breakup and figured why not.