I apologize for the day's delay in getting this up. I'm moving into an apartment soon, and yesterday was one of the few days my roommate and I had to get together and start planning things out. I tried to get this finished before midnight, but realized that the quality was dropping entirely too quickly. I decided to wait, rather than sacrifice standards.

This chapter is a bit strange; things are beginning to weave together, and I'm starting to realize that there's more complexity (a lot more) to this plot than I'd bargained for. I hope that I'm up to it, and that you enjoy it.

Let's begin, shall we?

One

He would never, to the end of his days, fully understand what he felt on the day that Peter "Wormtail" Pettigrew turned up, shaking and whimpering and more-than-half-dead—unable to speak or walk—on the grounds of Hogwarts school.

Sirius Black had never been known for his displays of emotion. At his happiest, there was a spring in his step and a glow in his eyes; at his angriest, there was a snarl on his lips—but there was never anything particular to show for it. This wasn't to say that he didn't feel; merely to say that his emotions were often muted, and hidden.

There were a few situations he could remember throughout his life, certain circumstances, where he had questioned his own feelings; his brother's birthdays were a few of those circumstances, when he'd known that he was supposed to be happy but…well, wasn't. And he knew that this was another one of those times. Sirius knew that he was supposed to be relieved, and happy, to see that one of his best friends—whom he'd thought dead—was alive and on the mend.

But all he was…was disgusted.

"Don't you think you're being too hard on him?" Remus asked, with a look on his face that normally would have curbed Sirius's anger; it was a mix of condemnation—he clearly disapproved of his fellow Marauder's reaction—and fear. Like the huge black dog lurking inside Sirius was the real danger, and no werewolf with half a brain would be caught dead standing in its way.

"Yes," Sirius admitted, but it did nothing to calm him; his blood still boiled. "Good Lord, Remus, what do you take me for? You think growing up with my family, I don't know what the Cruciatus Curse can do to a man? The fact he's alive is a bloody miracle."

A truly bloody miracle, he thought, remembering the kind of shape the man was in.

"But…?" Remus prompted.

"I may not know Death Eaters as a…as a…species," Sirius said, "but I've known my fair share of them. I'm related to far too many of them. They don't let their victims off easy. So how is it Peter escaped? You want to tell me they caught him, tortured the Potters' location out of him, then…let him go?"

"Evidently," Remus said. "If you want more details, you'll have to ask Peter…if he wakes up." The condemnation, the reproach, was written clearly in his expression now, and the beginnings of real anger. Sirius saw it, noted it, and ignored it. He knew the line of thinking down which he was currently going was not only dangerous, but wrong. Loyalty and bravery; wasn't that what he'd grown up believing? What good did those words do him if he abandoned them this easily?

If he was doubting the loyalty of a stalwart friend who'd been at his side for so many years…

Has he been at your side? some voice inside of him asked, unbidden and confusing. Look back on your time with him. Think. When has Peter ever shown the kind of loyalty that you showed him?

Sirius hated these questions; hated them because they seemed so blasphemous, and yet he couldn't shake them. They had been springing up into the forefront of his thoughts ever since the news had come, and now—as he waited for news of Wormtail's condition—he was no longer able to muster up the courage and the willpower to silence them. They flitted through him like wisps of vapor, stinging and smoking and refusing to let him alone; like they were voiced by a separate person, someone removed from himself.

Now Remus looked insulted, as though the struggle that was written on Sirius's face was a personal affront to him…and really, that was how it should be. Hadn't Sirius always said that a person who didn't trust his friends was no better than an enemy? That had been the guiding light of his existence.

Cold certainty dictated, though, that it didn't matter if Sirius was being a hypocrite. It didn't matter that the thoughts going through his mind right now were disgusting; the fact was, they were there.

Peter should be dead right now, Sirius thought, allowing himself to put words to his belief for the first time. If he were truly the man I thought he was, then he would have held out on revealing the secret until he damn well died. But he didn't. He let go, and gave in, early enough to live. Weak. Insufferably, damningly weak.

But then, on the heels of that horrid realization, another:

I should have known better. I should have understood this long before now. It was only because I lied to myself, made myself believe he would be strong enough to live up to our expectations, that he was given the chance to fail. This is my fault.

The anger left him, replaced by stark terror, and Remus's indignation left him in favor of confusion.

"…This is my fault," Sirius repeated, staring at the floor.

Two

Sirius had no way of knowing that someone else shared his doubts.

Two people, in fact.

Albus Dumbledore and Severus Snape sat on either side of the Headmaster's desk, as often they did these days, staring at one another and trying to read answers to some unspoken question on each other's face. It did not seem to be working well, because both looked just as perplexed and nonplussed as when they'd entered the room.

"What do you make of this development, Severus?" Dumbledore broke the silence.

"It feels…convenient," Snape replied.

"A message was left with him," Dumbledore mused, talking mostly to himself. "Unsigned, but we believe it was written by the illustrious Madam Lestrange. Now that his…information has been given, Peter Pettigrew is no longer worth anything to the Death Eaters. He is not even worth the effort to kill."

Snape's eyes narrowed, his lip curled, and he said, "If it was written by Lestrange, then she is lying. Either lying, or being forced to keep him alive by someone more powerful than she. I have seen the sorts of victims that woman has taken before. She does not discriminate. Left to her own devices, she would have killed Pettigrew, and she would have relished the doing, regardless of how much he is…worth."

Dumbledore began nodding halfway through Snape's statement, and it was clear by the look on his face now that he agreed. He said, "Have you had any word as to where Missus Lestrange is currently located?" There was a certain quaintness, a politeness, in the way he addressed a madwoman that sent shivers down Snape's spine, but he did not comment on it.

He said, "None. She hides better than a rat when she gets it into her head not to be found. I'm…working on it. Do you have any particular…orders, Headmaster, regarding what I should do when that time comes?"

Sardonic. Biting. Bitter.

Dumbledore beamed. "Nothing, Severus. Do not let her think you are anything less than loyal to her cause. Whether she is working on behalf of the Death Eaters, Voldemort, or her own self-interest, see to it that you are in a position to…help."

Snape nodded curtly, valiantly hiding his disgust at the idea of helping a Lestrange. There was no love lost between Severus Snape and those who shared the Dark Mark with him; he had been disillusioned some time ago. His loyalty, such as it was, had only been for the Dark Lord himself, and even that had…waned. As far as he was concerned, the lot of them could have drowned in a lake, and he wouldn't have had the common decency to flush them out and bury them.

Snape's mouth was working; he had a question on his lips, a burning question like acid biting at his tongue. He was inclined to swallow it back and deal with the ulcer, but at the questioning glance from Dumbledore, he closed his eyes, bit back a curse, and said,

"…How fares the boy?"

"Harry?" Dumbledore asked. Something approaching real pleasure met the old wizard's face, and he looked fatherly. "Quite well. Despite all appearances to the contrary, he is being cared for most adequately." A chuckle. "He seems most fond of his new uncles, I must say." Was there a malicious edge to his face now? Snape couldn't tell. "Would you care to meet him, Severus? After all...we both have reason to believe that you are the only reason he is alive…don't we?"

Snape could never tell when the Headmaster was mocking him.

He flinched violently and turned his eyes away. "No. I'm sure I will have plenty of time to…become acquainted once he comes of age."

"Speaking of that," Dumbledore said, as though he had been waiting for just that segue, "I am most pleased with Professor Slughorn's latest reports. He says that you are doing much better at…curbing your temper with the less able students. Excellent. Keep that up. A teacher must be patient."

Severus nodded, sneering. "Of course."

"Oh, come now, Severus. There is real magic in teaching. And it seems to me that you have the touch, if you would but give yourself leave to pursue it. Not all work has to be soul-rending, you know."

Snape stood up. "If we are finished here, Headmaster, I've a class to prepare. Slughorn seems convinced that I am ready to lead on my own."

"I'm sure he is quite right." Dumbledore gave a jaunty little salute. "Best of luck to you, Severus."

Three

"Do you have a moment?"

The question, spoken with the raw professionalism that so defined its owner, struck Sirius like a switch, and he glanced at Minerva McGonagall sheepishly, forgetting for a moment that he was no longer a student in her house. He half-expected her to give him detention.

Remus waved a dismissive hand. "I'll take Harry and show him the grounds. He should like that."

Sirius nodded, stood, and gestured for his old teacher to lead the way. She brought him to her own classroom, which was empty, and Sirius sat atop one of the desks when she gestured. "What can I do for you, Professor?"

"You know that Peter Pettigrew is in grave condition," McGonagall stated, "and that we are unsure whether he will regain consciousness. Or, if he does, whether or not he will be fit to speak."

"It would have taken a lot to get the secret out of him," Sirius said flatly, even though he didn't really believe that. McGonagall seemed to sense that doubt, because she leveled a suspicious glare on him. His face remained impassive. It was bad enough that Remus knew his doubts; he wasn't about to broadcast them to the entire Order.

"I'm sure," came the reply. For a wonder, McGonagall didn't sound quite so severe anymore. Her voice seemed to have softened, and perhaps for the first time Sirius saw the softer side of his old head of house, which Remus had often attempted—and failed—to convince his friends was in her. "I am going to ask a delicate question, delivered to me by the Headmaster. I have no wish to entertain this notion. However, you always had a sharp eye, even when you refused to use it efficiently or practically." Sirius felt sheepish again, but he did not let it show. "Therefore he deemed you the best person to ask: how certain are you that the Potters' location was tortured out of him?"

Sirius was not so blind to misunderstand that the surge of indignant anger that welled up in him was only because he'd been asking that question so often of himself. He bit back the instinctual reply and said instead, with the greatest of efforts to remain calm, "…What do you mean by that, Professor?"

"The only way the Fidelius Charm can be broken, as I am sure you know, is if the Secret-Keeper gives up the information himself. Dumbledore believes that there are only two options to consider: either Pettigrew gave it up under torture or coercion, or…" She left the rest unsaid, because she could read that he understood on his face. His attempt to keep his doubts secret had failed rather miserably.

Whatever it was within him that harbored doubts about Peter seemed to have taken hold of him. He said, "I don't know, Professor. I hate myself for saying it, but I don't know. It was a mistake to place this on Peter's shoulders. We, James and Lily and I, should have known better."

"Was Remus Lupin not involved in this decision, then?"

"No. We had to act quickly, and we couldn't get hold of him in time." It was a smooth lie, the sort he had delivered so many times as a student, but it felt like little shards of glass ripping through his tongue as he said it.

"The Headmaster wishes for you to keep your mind open and your senses alert," McGonagall said with an air of finality, and Sirius realized that he was being given orders by the leader of his Order. "And he wishes for you to report to him, if you think he is…dangerous."

Hearing someone else say it made Sirius's own treacherous thoughts all the more damning. But that part of him, that separate entity sitting right on the outskirts of his mind, was singing vindication. He was at war with himself, and it struck him that if he wasn't careful, thoughts like these would drive him mad.

"I will," Sirius said slowly, blankly, and stood up. He strode over to the door, put a hand on the knob. "Professor…doesn't it go against everything our house stands for, to be doing this? To…to doubt him?"

She didn't answer immediately.

He turned to look at her, and saw conflict on her regal face.

She said, "It does. I am not proud to give you such instructions. But if it means the safety of our people…pride is a small price to pay."

Sirius closed his eyes. "Yes. I…suppose it is."

He left.

Four

By hook or by crook, by providence or fate or the devil's gleeful joke, Sirius Black and Severus Snape passed each other in the halls of their old school.

The assistant professor and the restless drifter took several steps past each other before pulling themselves out of their thoughts long enough to realize they'd passed an enemy. They whirled on each other at the same moment, and it was a wonder that neither had drawn a weapon.

"Black," Snape sneered, like he was announcing the color of his hatred for the man in front of him.

Sirius was about to smirk, about to laugh and say, "Snivellus," but something stopped him. That other, that presence outside of his mind, leaped up and screeched at him to stop. To wait. To calculate. It was not lost on him that whatever this presence was, the fact that it was asking him to show doubt to a friend and civility to an enemy made him wonder if it wasn't some nefarious influence being worked on him.

But then he heard Remus's voice: Being civil to someone you don't like isn't a betrayal, Padfoot; it's being an adult.

"It's like he's my bloody conscience," Sirius muttered under his breath.

"Pardon me?" Severus all but snarled.

It was at that moment that Sirius made a decision that would change the course of his life forever: he decided to assuage the voices inside of him, to quiet the other and to make Remus proud. He remembered a joke Lily had told him once, and then remembered that she had once been friendly with this man. He said, a wistful smile rising on his lips, "Why so serious?"

Snape blinked. "…What?"

"Nothing. What brings you here, Snape? Aching nostalgia?"

There was a beat of tense silence as Snape stared at his old nemesis. "Hardly," he grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest. "If you must know, Black, I am working."

"Oh," Sirius's eyebrows went up, and he slipped his hands into his pockets. "Shaping up to replace Filch, are you? He is getting old. And he's always been cranky. The old boy could use a vacation."

Snape scowled. "Shouldn't you be in the hospital wing?"

"Thought so. Just like Filch. You even have the facial expression right. Well done."

He could see Remus in his mind's eye, giving him a stern look. That's not exactly civil, Sirius. And he knew he was in trouble because the phantom was using his real name. That was always a warning sign.

"I am a professor," Snape said slowly.

Sirius quirked an eyebrow. "Somehow can't picture you teaching. You'll forgive me if I don't jump at the chance to attend classes, right?"

Sirius, for the love of all that is good in the world, would you try for once?

Snape's eyes were flaring, his mouth a thin gash.

Sirius sighed. "Well, then. I suppose if you're stepping up in the world, I ought to congratulate you. After all, can't let you get one up on me. Wouldn't do for my reputation. So, I'll be nice." He straightened. "Evans always told me you were a decent sort when you wanted to be." Snape flinched. Sirius took a moment to wonder why he always used that name for Lily Potter, even now, then ignored it. It didn't matter. "I suppose I owe her, for all she put up with, right? Might be too little, too late. But then again, better late than never.

"I've heard rumors, nasty rumors, but Dumbledore says they're unsubstantiated. And besides, you've been cleared, right? If the whole wide Ministry thinks you're innocent, who am I to doubt them?" Snape's eyes narrowed suspiciously, but Sirius maintained a blissfully oblivious expression. "We're adults, right? What say we act like it? For the sake of future generations, and all that."

Sirius held out a hand; Snape stared at it like it was a dead animal.

But eventually, he shook it. He glared into Sirius's eyes and said, "You never fail to infuriate me, Black."

"At least I succeeded at something." Snape scoffed, whirled on a heel, and stalked off down the hall. Sirius waved heartily. "Well. Bye, then, Professor! Good luck! Don't poison anyone without permission!"

When he found Remus outside at the edge of the lake, pointing out the giant squid while Harry watched the water, Sirius was grinning. Werewolf and godson turned to watch him approach, and Remus looked…confused, to say the least.

"I've never seen you so pleased after speaking to Professor McGonagall."

"Ran into an old friend in the hall." Sirius chuckled. "Did you know Snape's teaching now?"

Remus blinked. The last he knew, Sirius had been one of a great number who fully believed that Severus Snape was a Death Eater. By now, of course, he had been cleared of any such charges, but…still. Sirius Black had never been one for forgiveness. He said, "This pleases you? I would have guessed you would have beaten him to a bloody stump. Isn't that what you said you'd do, not a month ago?"

"Something came over me," Sirius said truthfully. "Besides…I think you're onto something, old boy. Being civil is far more amusing. You should have seen his face. Absolutely priceless…I should have taken a picture of it." Then he tried to mimic the potioneer's expression, lasting an admirable two seconds before collapsing into a fit of childish giggling.

Harry started laughing with him.

Remus sighed. "I wait with bated breath for the day you make sense, Padfoot."

The laughter was still on his lips, but there was a kind of chill that permeated Sirius's reply:

"So do I."

I know this might seem out-of-character for both Sirius and Snape; I think, a few weeks ago, I might have agreed. But I beg patience as I dig a bit deeper into this situation. Trust me when I say they're not going to be the best of friends; rather, Sirius's incessant mockery will simply take a different spin. One harder to condemn. This is, in short, the beginning of an evolution of character that didn't happen in the books because of Azkaban. Sirius is learning that there are more refined ways to amuse himself than weird nicknames. I think it fits rather nicely; though I do admit that it was unexpected.

But then, I think there's something more at work here than just time travel and hindsight. So wait a while, Gentle Reader, and I promise it will make sense.

Once again, I apologize for the delay. Next week's chapter will be up at its usual time.

See you then.