"I was wondering if you might be interested in learning Legilimency," Dorcas asked as she served them both steaming mugs of tea. Mary had stopped by the manor to pick up potions ingredients for Lily, and Dorcas had ushered her into the little sitting room before bustling off to make tea. Now she sat on the window seat across from Mary and peered at her through a curtain of silvery hair, her delicate fingers drumming against the side of the mug.

"But you're our resident Legilimens," Mary said, heaving a contented sigh as the steam warmed her chin.

"It's never a bad thing to have two," Dorcas countered. "We could work together on missions – you could tell me all the filthy stories about Sirius you tell Marlene."

Mary frowned. "I didn't realize you wanted to hear my filthy stories."

A rare mischievous smile tugged at Dorcas's lips. "I'm a widow, Mary. Filthy stories are all I have."

The offhand comment made Mary unexpectedly sad. She stared at Dorcas, trying to summon a coherent response, until Dorcas laughed and touched her shoulder.

"Sorry, that's not the point. The point is, I'd like to teach you Legilimency, if you're willing. It would help the Order, and I think you'd have a knack for it, as long as you've been working on talking about that memory like we discussed."

Guilt twisted Mary's stomach when she thought about the memory, still locked in the little room in her mind. "Yeah. I've been, er, working on it."

Dorcas nodded. "Alright. Do you want to give this a try, then? Dumbledore thought it might be a good idea."

Mary shrugged and set down her tea. "Alright."

She listened intently as Dorcas explained the process, then lit a cigarette and closed her eyes, breathing rhythmically and clearing her mind. When she released her third drag, she reached out with her magic and tapped against the walls surrounding Dorcas's mind, feeling for weak spots with gentle, probing touches. Finally she found a tiny crack and slid inside to discover a cramped, dim room. She sensed a faint tensing, but she was already examining a memory that floated up to her.

Dorcas lounged on the checked sofa in the living room while a blonde man stood behind her, massaging her shoulders.

"Don't you have to go stir your potion?" she asked, her eyes half closed as a contented smile lifted her lips.

"It's burned by now," he said, leaning down to kiss the top of her head. "I'll brew a new one."

Dorcas looked over her shoulder, affection lighting up her face. "But you spent hours shredding those stupid roots."

"They're not roots – they're tubers – and I'll just shred more. You looked like you needed a shoulder rub." He bent to kiss her cheek, pushing aside a strand of her hair.

Mary withdrew from Dorcas's mind, her chest aching with sadness.

"I'm sorry," she murmured, taking a sip of tea to dispel the memory. The intimacy of their simple gestures and the familiarity in their conversation was so sweet – Mary wanted to cry for the happiness Dorcas had lost.

Dorcas shook her head, sending a strand of silver-streaked hair into her face. "Don't be. I hid all the memories I didn't want you to see. Those are locked away in that little trunk – did you notice it? When you get good at Legilimency, you'll be able to crack open the trunk, but we can borrow Dumbledore's Pensieve when we get to that point."

Mary nodded and curled her hands around the mug. "He seems like he was really sweet," she said tentatively. "Your husband."

Dorcas smiled, but it was a sad smile, aching with regret. "He was. His shoulder rubs always made me feel better, no matter how stressed I was. And he made the best Pepperup Potion – I swear it only worked for me if he made it. Some nights we'd lay in the dark for hours, talking about our fears, our hopes for the future, sometimes he'd sing to me. The war tears couples apart sometimes, but it just brought Michael and I closer together." She sighed and leaned back in her seat, resting her head against the window behind her. "Although, in the end, I suppose it did tear us apart after all."

The phrase the war tears couples apart sometimes played over and over in Mary's head as the mug of tea cooled in her hands. "I'm sorry," she said again.

Dorcas shook her head and straightened. "No, I'm the one who should be sorry. You're here to learn Legilimency, not to listen to me reminisce. Let's try it again, and this time I won't leave such obvious cracks."

Mary forced her worries about Sirius aside and focused on clearing her mind to attempt Legilimency once again.

Mary met with Dorcas for the next several weeks to practice Legilimency over steaming cups of tea. She honed her skills under Dorcas's guidance, learning to find the tiny cracks in her mental walls and slip through to retrieve the memories within. During their sessions, she glimpsed more of Dorcas's relationship with her husband, her sympathy for the other woman growing with each memory she viewed. Their tenderness, their openness, their complete reliance on each other – it took Mary's breath away and made her long for what she and Sirius used to have.

Things had improved since their night together, but she still sensed walls around him. They were lowered, weakened perhaps, but they still remained, guarding his eyes and locking away the worries he carried with him. When she reached for him at night, he no longer rolled away, but he still held a piece of himself apart from her. There were moments of complete openness: when he moaned and shuddered against her; just before he drifted to sleep with her hair tickling his face; in the middle of the night when he woke from a troubled dream and held her close. Mary treasured these moments, drinking them in and hoarding them to sustain her during the guarded periods that took up the rest of their days. It was her fault, too, she supposed – she had taken to keeping her Occlumency walls up to practice, and it had become habit. Could he sense her distance – was that why he was walling himself up, too? She made a conscious effort to lower her own walls when she thought of it, but most of the time she forgot.

During one Legilimency session, Mary watched Michael and Dorcas cling to each other after the wireless announced yet another gruesome murder. She withdrew from Dorcas's mind, surprised to find tears pricking her eyes.

"I think that's enough for today." Dorcas reached over to touch her arm, kindness and concern etched on her face. "You're working too hard. Go home and do something fun. Did I hear Sirius telling Marlene about some ridiculous drinking game that set the Hog's Head on fire?"

Mary blinked away the tears, smiling at the memory. "We convinced Hagrid to play with us. He was the one who put the fire out – we were all too drunk and panicked to do more than stare and shout at each other."

"God, that sounds like a disaster, but the sort of disaster you lot would enjoy. You should play that tonight. Drink too much, maybe set something on fire, and don't think about Legilimency or the war or anything more serious than 'Who's sober enough to manage an Auguamenti?'"

Mary turned this over in her head. A night of drunken shenanigans was tempting, and Remus returned today from what Sirius referred to as 'werewolfing.' Peter almost never worked late, and if James and Lily finished their duties early enough, they could all enjoy some well-earned fun together.

"Yeah, alright," she said, twisting a strand of hair around her finger. "Would you like to join us?"

Dorcas laughed, deepening the fine lines around her mouth. "Thanks, but no. I'm not playing anything that might set my hair on fire. You have fun, though."

Back at the flat, Mary sat down in the living room with Peter and Remus to wait for the others to get home. Halfway through her first beer, the warmth in her chest began to ease the tension she had carried all day.

"How have things been going?" Peter asked, his blue eyes narrowing as he scrutinized her. There was a meaningful note in his voice that filled in the rest of his sentence: How have things been going with Sirius?

"Fine," she said, evading his gaze. "Remus, how are you? I feel like I haven't seen you in ages."

"I've been gone over three weeks," Remus said, heaving a sigh. "Poor Pete's been all alone in that cottage out in the middle of nowhere."

Peter shrugged. "I don't mind. Mary keeps me company, sometimes."

"God, what the hell do you do out there for all that time? Please tell me you've at least been shagging some sexy werewolf?" Mary leaned toward him, eyes wide with interest.

"I've told you and Pads about a hundred times, there's nobody out there I'm interested in shagging." Remus took a long swallow of his drink, then wiped his mouth on the sleeve of his jumper. "But if that changes, you'll be the first to know."

She raised her eyebrows. "You might want to make that sooner rather than later. You know, if you don't use it, you lose it."

Peter burst into laughter and choked on a mouthful of beer. "Don't listen to her, Moony," he said, still coughing and gasping for breath. "I'm living proof that it's not true."

Once the laughter died down, Remus's expression turned serious as he studied Mary's face. Streaks of silver glinted in his sandy hair, more than Mary had ever noticed before. When he leaned forward, the light illuminated the deep circles under his eyes.

"Are you really fine, Mary? You and Padfoot, I mean?"

She crossed her arms over her chest. "What do you mean?" Her eyes darted to Peter, fixing him with an accusatory frown. Remus had been out of town for weeks – what did he know about the situation with Sirius?

"Nobody's said anything," Remus said, as though he had read her thoughts. "I just know how Padfoot can get, and things have been so bloody awful, I thought maybe he had gone a bit, you know, moody and withdrawn?"

"He refers to it as 'Padfooty,'" Peter said, grinning. "But Moony says that's not a word."

"It's not," Remus agreed. "But it's the same, no matter what you decide to call it."

Mary drained the rest of her beer and slumped back against the sofa. "I suppose he has gone a bit Padfooty, but I'm working on it. Things have gotten better."

Peter raised his eyebrows. "Have you had to repeat my advice since that first time?"

Mary smirked. "No, he doesn't take any convincing these days."

Remus looked between Mary and Peter, frowning. "Do I want to know?"

"Nah, probably not," Mary said, grinning. "But I'm going to tell you anyway. Maybe it'll give you some ideas for your sexy werewolf."

By the time she had finished detailing her evening with Sirius, she was partway into another beer and feeling deliciously loose.

"You two will be okay," Remus said, nodding. The alcohol was beginning to ease the lines on his face; when he smiled, he shed some of the weight that usually gave his shoulders a burdened slump. "Just don't let him isolate himself like he tries to. He needs you."

Mary thought of the shadowed, haunted look in his eyes and wondered what power she had to dispel that, but she merely nodded and took another sip of beer. "Yeah, alright."

Throughout the night, Mary found herself sneaking looks at Sirius. She watched him laugh when Lily knocked over the tower of cards. She watched him grin and pluck the frayed sleeve of Remus's sweater. She listened to him tease Peter about the Muggle girl he hadn't managed to pull, and watched as he and James swayed together toward the balcony to smoke. She grinned when he chucked a Bertie Bott's at Lily, and when he doubled over with laughter when a retaliatory bean hit him in the forehead. He had his usual air of casual, drunken amusement, and yet underneath Mary detected the same layer of separation. It nagged at her, itching her skin and grating on her nerves until it outweighed the relief of the alcohol.

By the end of the night, cards littered the floor, the rug stank of spilled beer, and Peter was slumped across the sofa, snoring. Remus made his way unsteadily to the bunk bed, and James hugged everyone goodnight and proclaimed how much he loved them before he and Lily drifted off to bed. Sirius glanced at Mary and draped his arm around her, then led the way into their bedroom. He took his time removing her clothes, then nearly tripped over his own trousers as he pulled her onto the bed.

They were the perfect level of drunk – just enough to make their movements clumsy and relaxed, but not enough to make climax impossible to reach. Mary tangled her hand in his hair and savored the taste of beer and firewhisky on his hot, roving tongue. When he finished, she whispered "I love you" into his neck and stroked his face until his breathing returned to normal.

"Sentimental sod," he muttered, rolling onto his back and heaving a contented sigh.

"Shut up. You know you love it." She clung to him, clung to the intimacy and vulnerability of a moment ago, but Sirius's walls were back, his gray eyes revealing nothing. "Hey…" The words hovered on her tongue, tumbling around inside her mouth, until she screwed up her courage and released them. "Are you alright? There's so much depressing shit lately, and I know it gets you down – it gets me down, at least – and I know we both hate talking about it, but you can talk to me, if you want to."

Her heart beat painfully inside her chest – and then Sirius laughed.

"Macdonald, you know I don't talk about my fucking feelings. If you want someone who does, you'd be better off dating James. Or Pete. Nah, don't bother with Pete – he won't know what the fuck he's doing in bed and you'll never be satisfied. You'd be better off with Moony, except you're not his type – no offense. He prefers a Seeker's build – God knows why – so you have too much tits and arse for him." He ran his hand up her waist and cupped her full breast. "His loss."

"Black…"

He pulled the blanket over them and blew a lock of her hair out of his face. "I'm fine. You're fine. We've just beat Prongs, Evans, and Pete at firecracker, even with Moony's stupid bloody jumper sleeves knocking over cards left and right, and we've just shagged each other silly, and now we're about to have a lovely, drunken sleep, and we don't have to be up early for once. It's a good day, Macdonald, and I'm not going to ruin it by talking about my feelings."

She sighed and rested her hand on the scar on his chest. "Fine. Goodnight, you stubborn arsehole."

He trailed his fingers up and down her arm as the sleepy darkness enveloped them. Without meaning to do so, Mary sent a thin tendril of her magic toward Sirius, assessing the mental walls that surrounded his thoughts. The alcohol made her magic loose and fluid, flowing without her consent. The walls weren't the sturdy, well-constructed walls of a practiced Occlumens; rather, they were uneven and unintentional, constructed by years of repressed emotions. She moved slowly, trailing her magic along his consciousness, until she sensed a hairline fracture. Closing her eyes, she concentrated on squeezing her magic into a thin line, then threaded her way through the crack and into his mind. It was a cluttered, disorganized room with memories bursting from drawers and thrown haphazardly over furniture. I would expect nothing less from Black, Mary thought, amused.

She knew she should pull away, yet curiosity drew her in. What was Sirius hiding, here in this messy fortress in his mind? One memory floated up to her, drifting through the air like the flimsy pages of a magazine. She brushed it with a thin finger of magic and was enveloped by a rush of sound and color and sensation.

A fire crackled in the hearth, but gloom and damp hung heavy in the dark room. A dark-haired boy cowered behind a wingback chair, while a taller boy stood in front of it, arms crossed and a defiant glare on his face. A woman pointed her wand at him, rage creasing her features.

"Out of the way, Sirius. Your brother must be punished!"

Sirius's jaw tightened. "I told you, Reg didn't do it. Punish me instead."

Her nostrils flared. "He still deserves punishment for crying. Blacks don't cry – we are above such pathetic displays of weakness." She grasped Sirius's arm, long, pointed nails digging into his skin, but he shook her off.

"Leave him alone!" Sirius shouted, making a grab for her wand.

She shrieked with rage and jerked her wand out of his grasp, then slashed it through the air. Sirius shrieked as angry red welts appeared on his bare arms. Behind him, Regulus pressed his hands to his face, his thin shoulders shaking with sobs.

The memory dissolved, and Mary returned to the cluttered room. She took another step forward and walked straight into another spiderweb of memory.

Dry leaves rustled in the wind as Sirius and Fabian slunk along the edge of a large manor house. In the distance, a pure white peacock pecked at the ground. Footsteps approached; a spell whooshed through the air…

"What the fuck are you doing, Macdonald?"

Mary withdrew, heart pounding and chest heaving, and gazed into Sirius's furious face.

"I'm sorry," she gasped. "I didn't mean–"

"What, Dorcas teaches you a bit of Legilimency and you think that means you can go pawing around in my mind?" He threw back the covers and hopped out of bed; even in the dark, she could see his hands shaking with rage. "I didn't talk about my feelings enough, so you decided to take a look for yourself?"

"No, I–"

"Fuck you, Macdonald," he spat. "If I wanted you to know this shit, I would've told you. It's none of your fucking business."

"I'm sorry." Tears filled her eyes, but she didn't bother wiping them away. In the dark, what did it matter?

He didn't answer as he pulled on his pants and stumbled from the room. She hurried after him, but he grabbed his wand from the top of the dresser and brandished it at her.

"Don't fucking follow me. Leave me alone for once in your life."

He stalked out and slammed the door behind him. Mary stood there, goosebumps covering her bare skin as tears streamed down her face. She longed to go after him, to tug on his hand and coax him back to bed, but it was no use. There was no talking to him when he was like this. Shoulders heaving, she collapsed into bed and burrowed under the duvet, letting the tears soak her pillow. Just before she drifted off, her mind flashed back to the expression on Sirius's face as he had shouted at her. The haunted look in his eyes lingered until she fell asleep.

Sirius seethed as he stood in the living room, clad in only a pair of pants. A hot surge of rage choked him when he saw Peter curled on the sofa. Where the fuck am I supposed to sleep? For a wild moment, he considered returning to the bedroom, but he couldn't bear the thought of Mary's inquisitive, sympathetic look. I don't want her bloody sympathy. Sighing, he padded over to the kitchen to grab a beer, then draped a blanket around himself and slipped out onto the balcony. The evening air was bracing, but the solitude soothed him. As he cracked open the beer and took a sip, he struggled to banish the painful memories from his mind. Walburga's face burned behind his eyelids; her voice echoed in his head; the musty scent of Grimmauld Place filled his nostrils. He gulped down more beer and tucked the blanket around himself, forcing the memory from his head. Instead, Mary's shocked face drifted back to him, and he felt the whisper of Dark Magic rippling beneath his skin. She won't love you anymore, he thought, fear twisting his heart just before he slid into an uneasy sleep.

He woke the next morning, shivering and covered in the dregs of his beer. Morning light bathed the street below, and a dull pain throbbed behind his eyes. He got to his feet, stretching his stiff limbs, and stumbled into the flat. Remus had already left, but Peter still lay on the sofa, drooling on the Chudley Cannons pillow.

"Pete!" Sirius poked his shoulder, then shook him. "Get your lazy arse up. You're drooling on my bloody throw pillow."

Peter's eyes snapped open and he sat up, wiping his lip. "Fuck. What time is it?"

Sirius rolled his eyes. "Time to stop drooling on my bloody pillow, that's what time it is."

Peter wandered around, retrieving various misplaced items, then Disapparated with a soft pop. Sirius hesitated outside his bedroom, then pried open the door and peered inside. The bed was empty and made up; Mary had already left for her duty. Sirius closed the door and collapsed onto the bed, breathing in her scent that still clung to the sheets. Worry gathered in his chest, weighing on him until he gasped for breath, but he swallowed it down and forced himself upright again. He and James were leaving for a mission soon, and he couldn't fall apart just because Mary had seen two memories. Not just any memories, he thought. She almost found out who you are now – what you are.

But he forced the thought from his mind and marched to the shower, letting the hot water wash away the doubts.

Hours later, he and James were checking into a French inn, preparing to meet with an old family friend to discuss the prospect of housing expatriates fleeing Voldemort's regime. There was a bit of time to kill before the meeting, so James slipped down to the lobby and returned a few minutes later with a dusty bottle of red wine.

"You looked thirsty," he said, tapping the cork with his wand and sending it bouncing toward the ceiling, then pouring generous portions for both of them into the smudged glasses on the bureau. Sirius drank half his glass in one gulp, sighing as the rich liquid washed away some of his worry.

"What's wrong?" James asked when they had finished off the bottle.

"Nothing's wrong." Sirius gestured at the empty bottle and raised his eyebrows. "Is this wise, getting drunk before a mission?"

James shrugged and ran a hand through his hair. "It'll be fine. It's not a dangerous mission – we're just trying to convince an old witch to use her various resources to help us out. Actually, she's a horny old lady, if I remember correctly. You could guarantee our success if you sleep with her."

Sirius pulled a face. "I think I'll pass. She's older than Mum and Dad, isn't she? Besides, I'm quite happy with Macdonald."

James fixed him with one of those piercing Potter looks that cut through excuses and bollocks and affectation. "Are you?" When Sirius only glared at him, he added, "I saw you sleeping on the balcony. That doesn't exactly scream happy to me."

"Sod off." Sirius sighed and sank down onto the lumpy double bed. "What the hell did they give us one bed for? If they think you're even remotely my type, I'm somewhat offended."

"You're offended?" James settled on the chair across from him and ran his hand through his hair. "What's wrong with thinking I'm your type? I'm devilishly handsome."

Sirius laughed and lay back onto the bed. "Is that what Evans tells you?"

"I'm just saying, if you wake up later and you're accidentally cuddling me, I'm not the worst person to wake up next to."

"Yes, well, hopefully I don't wake up cuddling you – your arse is too flat for me, and I can't get past the hair." He jerked sideways when James aimed a kick at his shins. "Are you ready for this mission?"

James shrugged. "It'll be fine. I don't want to talk about the mission, though. I want to talk about what's going on with you and Mary."

Sirius sighed and lit a cigarette. "You're going to interrogate me when I haven't even finished my first drink?"

"Oh, don't be so dramatic. It's just me." James plucked a cigarette from the pack and lit one, heaving a contented sigh as he exhaled a mouthful of smoke. "What's going on?"

"You're the worst, Prongs, you know that?" Sirius took another drag, blowing out another stream of smoke into the air. "She used fucking Legilimency on me, alright? She saw some things that weren't her business, and I'm fucking annoyed. Yeah, I slept on the balcony – it was that or snuggle with Pete in his stupid fucking pajamas – and I'm pretty bloody angry, to tell you the truth." Hot rage coursed through him, and the wine made his head buzz, feeding into his anger. "It's really rude, using Legilimency on someone when they're drunk and vulnerable. I used to spend so much time putting up stupid bloody mental wards so Walburga wouldn't poke around in my head, but I never reckoned I'd need to worry about Macdonald doing that."

James traced a finger around his empty wine glass. "Are you shutting her out?"

"No, I'm not shutting her out, Prongs, I just don't talk about my feelings every hour of every damn day." He heaved a sigh and tapped his cigarette against an ashtray on the bedside table. "She almost saw something that I haven't told anyone, alright? She didn't get the whole memory, but it…" He rubbed his temples, feeling the beginnings of a headache throbbing behind his eyes. "It fucked with my head."

James nodded and refilled Sirius's glass, then Summoned the cork and tossed it idly from hand to hand.

"Fucking hell, Prongs," Sirius said, taking another gulp of wine. "Are you going to sit there watching me until I tell you what she saw?"

James shrugged and sipped his wine. "It's just me," he repeated. "You may as well tell me – it'll make you feel better."

The startling reality of the night at Malfoy Manor came crashing back to him. He felt the brisk wind on his face, heard the crackle of leaves, experienced the woosh of a spell as it rushed over his shoulder.

"I killed someone," he said in a flat, tight voice that was not his own. "I used the Killing Curse. And Macdonald almost saw, except I threw her out of my head before she could see the rest of the memory."

James gaped at him, eyes wide. "What?"

"You heard me, Prongs. I'm one of those evil Dark Magic users you've been warning me about. If you're no longer willing to share a bed with me, I understand."

James's expression didn't change. "You… you used the Killing Curse?"

Sirius nodded, fighting to keep his tone nonchalant. "Yup. Poor fucker didn't even have a chance."

"You killed someone… just like that."

Anger flared in Sirius's chest. "Repeating it like a prat won't change what I said, Prongs."

James's face flushed as he snapped out of his shock. "How can you be so calm about it? Fucking hell, Padfoot, you used Dark Magic. You killed someone. And you're just going to shrug it off and call me a prat like it's not a huge fucking thing?"

A sinking feeling weighed down Sirius's whole body. I shouldn't have told him. He'll never forgive me. He gritted his teeth and buried the doubt under a fresh surge of anger.

"I don't need the guilt trip," he snapped. "Even Dumbledore told us it's unavoidable sometimes. It doesn't do any long-term damage to your soul if it's justified." Another prickle of doubt echoed in his mind: Had it been justified?

"I know, but bloody hell." James raked his hand through his hair. "Sometimes it's unavoidable, but that doesn't mean you have to play it off like it's nothing—"

"I wasn't playing it off!"

"I'm just saying, I thought you'd have a bit of remorse."

Sirius swallowed back the remorse that threatened to burst out in the form of a scream, tears, or a powerful punch to the wall. "He was a fucking Death Eater, James. He deserved to die."

James didn't answer. He stared at Sirius, his brow furrowed and a glint of suspicion in his eyes. "You liked it, didn't you?"

Sirius shrank back, exposed by the force of James's scrutiny. "What the fuck are you implying?"

James shrugged. "You heard me. You liked doing Dark Magic."

Sirius remembered the ripple of warmth under his skin as that jet of green light hit the Death Eater in the chest. "Fuck you."

"See, I know I'm right because you're not even bothering to disagree with me." James stood and snatched up his wand from the table. "God, I thought you felt the same way about Dark Magic as I do, but I feel like I don't even know you."

"Where are you going?"

James started for the door. "I'm going to meet with Madam Barnaby."

Sirius fumbled for his wand as he got to his feet.

"Don't bother coming." James's voice was laced with malice as he shot a warning glare over his shoulder. "I don't even know if I can trust you."

He strode out of the room, slamming the door and leaving Sirius alone in the sparse hotel room.

Sirius stared at the door for a few minutes, James's words echoing in his head. The glaze of distrust and disappointment in those familiar hazel eyes haunted him, piling on the fear and anger until Sirius seized the wine bottle and hurled it at the wall. Shards of glass and droplets of red wine scattered across the floor. For a moment, Sirius experienced a blissful rush of relief, but then the sting of James's dismissal returned, and he slumped down onto the bed, staring at the cracked ceiling.

He lay there, smoking in brooding silence as the anger faded, turning to dull, torpid lethargy. Faint footsteps sounded outside the door, mingling with muffled voices and the click of a door. He cast a longing look at the pool of wine on the floor, wishing he had punched the wall instead of wasting his only alcohol. As he replayed James's words again, his eyes flicked to the two-way mirror poking from James's travel bag. He was on his feet and across the room with the mirror clutched in his hand before he had time to think, but then he froze, staring at his own reflection as his heart pounded. The urge to talk to Mary was overwhelming, but he set the mirror on the table and collapsed back onto the bed. What the fuck would she want to talk to me for? he thought, lighting another cigarette. What the fuck would I say?

Hours later, Sirius had slipped into a half sleep when a voice sounded from the mirror. Sirius's heart leapt, but when he picked it up, he realized it was only Lily.

"He's not here," Sirius said, heaving a weary sigh. "He's still at Madam Barnaby's."

Lily frowned. "You're not with him? But I thought…"

"Change of plans."

She peered closer into the mirror, the tip of her nose pressing against the glass "Are you alright?"

"Fine." He scanned the background — Lily was sitting on the sofa, but he saw no sign of Mary. "I've got to go, Evans, but I'll tell Prongs you said hello and you can't wait to shag him."

He tapped his wand against the mirror to end the connection before she could protest. Too heavy with dread to bother taking his clothes off, he rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling until his vision blurred. The clock on the wall ticked; Sirius recalled James's words and wondered if he and Lily would move out. Macdonald will move out, too, once she finds out. He slipped into a doze as he tried to convince himself he wouldn't mind coming home to an empty flat.

Early morning sunlight streamed through the window when Sirius woke. James stood in the doorway, dressed in last night's clothes. Sirius groaned and rolled over, pulling the duvet over his head.

"Madam Barnaby agreed to help," James said, perching on the edge of the bed. "She asked after you."

Sirius didn't reply. He stared at the broken wine bottle, dreading what James would say next.

James heaved a sigh. "She asked me why I hadn't brought my brother with me."

A fierce ache filled Sirius's chest.

"She remembered meeting you at Christmas Eve two years ago," James continued. "Do you remember?"

Sirius nodded; he didn't trust himself to speak. That was the day Fleamont and Euphemia had introduced him as their adopted son for the first time. A few days before that, Fleamont had invited him to call them Mum and Dad. Thinking of it even now filled him with more emotion than he knew how to handle.

"That was a good day," he muttered finally.

"It was." James ran his hand through his hair and chewed his lip, holding Sirius's gaze until Sirius squirmed under the scrutiny and looked away. "What happened, Padfoot? When you killed… whoever it was. Why'd you do it?"

Sirius rolled over to face the wall; he couldn't look at James. "It was when we were doing surveillance at Malfoy Manor. It was dead quiet all night – nothing but those bloody peacocks. Then some Death Eater appeared out of nowhere – he had his wand pointed at Fabian. I didn't think, I just…" He felt the Dark Magic leave his wand as he shoved his hands into his pockets and looked at James. "I thought he was Mulciber, to be honest. He had the same build. And I just…" He rubbed his eyes and stared at a tiny splash of wine on the wall. "I thought about what he did to Macdonald back at Hogwarts, and I lost it."

"Shit. Padfoot, that's… fucking hell, that's…"

"Yeah."

The mattress squeaked as James rose; there was a rustling sound, and then Sirius felt a cigarette being pressed into his hand. He heaved himself into a seated position and lit his cigarette, feeling some of the tension leave his body as he took the first long drag. After a few more drags, he worked up the courage to look at James. James raked his hand through his hair and stared at Sirius, his hazel eyes huge in his pale face.

They stayed that way, staring at each other in the dim hotel room as their cigarettes burned down to the filters and littered the carpet with ash. Finally, James clapped him on the shoulder and broke the silence.

"I fucking hate Dark Magic – you know that. But I also think it was horrible, what happened to Mary, and I know that eats at you, almost as much as it eats at her, and I know you weren't trying to… I shouldn't have…" His voice trailed off, and he hopped to his feet again and stood leaning against the bedpost.

Sirius held his breath, watching his cigarette smoke drift toward the ceiling.
"I shouldn't have said what I said," James continued, regret weighing down his voice. "You're my brother. If I can't trust you, who the hell can I trust?"

A tangle of emotions and cigarette smoke thickened in Sirius's throat. He swallowed, balling his hand into a fist as he scrambled to form a reply.

"But–" he began.

James held up a hand and shook his head. "It's okay, Pads," James murmured.

Sirius stared at him for a moment, turning his words over in his head, and then he heaved a huge sigh. He slumped against the headboard and rubbed his eyes, forcing back the tears that threatened to spill out at his wave of relief. They sat in silence for a minute, unspoken words heavy between them.

"What was it like?" James asked eventually, apprehension lacing each word.

Sirius stretched out his fingers, remembering the tantalizing tingle of the Dark Magic.

"It feels bloody great. It's terrifying, but it also feels amazing – I can't really explain it. It's…" He broke off when he saw the horrified expression on James's face. "Well, I hated the way it felt. But I also…" He swallowed and dug his nails into his palms. "I also fucking loved it. And I hate that I loved it. Because do I just love it because I'm a Black? Is it in my fucking blood?"

"No," James said, his expression firm and earnest. "It can tempt anyone. That's why I hate it so much. It's nothing to do with the family you were born into, or your blood, or any of that rubbish. I just don't want you to change because of it. I know it can really fuck with your head."

Sirius recalled the soft, seductive call of Dark Magic and felt sick. "Yeah."

They lapsed into silence again until both of their cigarettes burned out.

James dropped his cigarette butt into an ashtray and cleared his throat. "I know you hate talking about your feelings – I know you hate anything you consider sentimental bollocks – but you should tell Macdonald."

"But–"

James held up his hand. "She loves you, Pads. She worries about you. And she didn't even see the entire memory, so she doesn't fully understand why you got so angry."

Sirius scowled. "She was snooping around in my brain."

James hesitated. "Yes… But only because she loves you. She's concerned about you, and you're shutting her out. And now you've gone and left her alone in the flat while you're away in a different country, and you haven't even made up."

Sirius sighed. "Is the guilt trip necessary, Prongs?"

"Use the mirrors to talk to her," James urged.

Sirius heaved an even deeper sigh. "I'll talk to her when we get back. You owe me a secret, by the way."

James tilted his head to look at him. "What?"

"You owe me a secret," Sirius repeated. "Since I told you all sorts of stuff. I'm waiting to hear a top tier James Potter secret. Preferably something filthy, if there's anything you haven't already told me."

"Padfoot…"

Sirius crossed his arms. "Come on. We need to talk about something that isn't fucked up and depressing."

"Yeah, alright." James was silent for a moment before a smirk crept across his face, and he leaned closer to Sirius. "Sometimes when Evans, er…" He trailed off, an awkward expression on his features.

"If you don't finish the sentence, I'm going to fill in the blank myself," Sirius warned. "And I promise it'll be worse than whatever you were going to say."

James sighed. "Alright. Sometimes when Evans finishes, she does accidental magic and sets things on fire."

Sirius's eyes widened. "What?"

"I'm not going to say it again, Padfoot."

He stared at James, astonished. "What does she set on fire?" His eyes grew even wider as he added, "Oh, God, you don't mean she sets you on fire, do you?"

James snorted with laughter. "No, not me. You think I'd keep having sex with her if she set my cock on fire?"

"Honestly, you probably would."

A reproachful smile tugged at James's lips. "Shut up."

"So you admit I'm right. Anyway, what does she set on fire?"

James shrugged. "The curtains, usually. Sometimes the rug." A conspiratorial note crept into his voice. "Once when she was by herself, she set her duvet on fire."

"Damn, Evans," Sirius said, smirking. "I'm impressed. Although, I haven't seen any smoke pouring from your bedroom, Prongs. You must not be very good."

"Sod you." James shoved his shoulder, spattering the floor with wine. "It's not every time, only when it's really, really good."

Sirius stared at the wine-stained floor as he mulled this over. "Fucking hell, that's hot. How do I get Macdonald to do it?"

"Dunno. Maybe just try a bit harder?"

Sirius laughed and threw off the duvet. "Arsehole." He got out of bed and stretched, then glanced up at the clock on the wall. "What time does our portkey leave?"

James frowned. "Ten minutes. I guess we should check out – and I suppose we should try to Vanish that wine you threw against the wall, or else leave some extra money for the poor sod who has to deal with it."

They returned to the flat to shower and change; James headed to his bedroom to say good morning to Lily, but Mary had already left for the day, so Sirius sat on the balcony smoking another cigarette. They spent the rest of the day helping three Muggleborns families prepare to flee to France. While Sirius performed a spell to mask their departure, he overheard James reassuring one of the children. The little boy sat on the rug in front of the fireplace, clinging to a stuffed bear while his parents rushed around packing the last of their belongings.

"You'll be alright," James said, bending down to look the boy in the eye. "Madam Barnaby's really nice – she used to give me Ice Mice when I was your age, even after I slid down the banister of her big staircase and ran into her house elf."

Sirius stowed his wand in his pocket and inched closer to hear the rest of the conversation.

The little boy giggled. "I like Ice Mice. Do they have Ice Mice in France?"

James shrugged. "I don't see why not. They probably just call them something fancy."

"What about Chocolate Frogs?"

"Oh, yeah, they've got Chocolate Frogs everywhere."

The boy stroked the teddy bear's worn fur as he considered this. "What if I miss living here?"

James shook his head. "Nah, you'll be too busy eating Ice Mice and chasing Madam Barnaby's little dog – did I tell you she has a fluffy little dog? And there are three other kids who will be staying there, too. You'll have a great time."

His eyes widened. "But what if the other kids don't like me?"

"Course they'll like you. But either way, you'll have your brother." James gestured across the room, where a taller boy packed books into a box. "Brothers are like built-in friends."

"Do you have a brother?"

James grinned and pointed at Sirius. "Yeah, he's right there."

Sirius hastily drew his wand again and began to strengthen the masking spell. Words and emotions tumbled around in his head, but he swallowed them back. James had already comforted a crying mother and now this frightened little boy, and they still had two more families to meet with after this. That was quite enough emotions for one day without Sirius adding to it by being a sentimental sod.

When they got home, Sirius kicked his boots off at the door and headed for his bedroom. Mary was already in bed, twisting a curl around her finger and smoking a cigarette. The sound of his footsteps startled her, and he saw her jaw tighten despite her feigned nonchalance.

"Hi."

He pulled his shirt over his head and unbuttoned his trousers. "Hi."

She watched him undress, wrapping the strand of hair around her finger until the tip turned white. He slid into bed beside her, and she took a deep breath, then dropped the rest of the cigarette into the ashtray on the bedside table.

"I'm sorry," she began, her voice choked and breathless. "I shouldn't have–"

"It's fine." He reached over and gently unwrapped the hair from around her finger.

Her brow furrowed. "But you were so angry."

He shrugged. "Yeah. And now I'm not."

In truth, there was no room left for anger – Sirius had experienced enough emotions in the past forty-eight hours to last a lifetime. After listening to James comfort that little boy, Sirius had been overwhelmed with gratitude for James's unconditional acceptance. This had quickly turned to guilt and doubt when Sirius remembered James's initial reaction to his use of Dark Magic. When these feelings faded, Sirius was left feeling drained. It was a struggle to even choke out a response to Mary's apology.

"What I saw…" Mary's voice quavered as her gaze slid sideways, avoiding Sirius's eyes. "Do you…?" But her words faded away in the face of his stony silence. She knew better than anyone that he did not want to bloody talk about it.

"C'mere," she murmured.

She wrapped her arms around him and pulled him down onto the bed, stroking his hair as he breathed in her familiar scent. He relaxed against her, closing his eyes and leaning his forehead against her chest. For a moment, the crushing weight of his choices lifted.

"I know you don't want to talk about it." Her fingers traced a soothing path along his scalp, and her breath tickled his hair. "But what Walburga did to you…" Emotion hung heavy on her words. "No one deserves that, Black."

Her words rippled through him, stirring up the doubts that had quieted when she had taken him in her arms. "It's alright. It was a long time ago."

She wanted to press him further; Sirius felt it in her silence and in the pressure of her fingers. He held himself apart from her, walling himself off and shoving the painful memories down, and eventually she sighed and draped her leg over his.

"Good night," she whispered, pressing her lips to the top of his head.

As he lay there in the dark, her words drifted back to him. No one deserves that, Black. But she didn't know what he had done. James had forgiven him, but James was forgiving to a fault. Mary might not be able to look past it as easily, especially considering what Mulciber had done to her. He rolled over and stared at the wall, turning a question over in his mind: What if I deserved it after all?