Between the Lines

Chapter One: Weary Paths

Kathy's Song
Paul Simon

I hear the drizzle of the rain
Like a memory it falls
Soft and warm, continuing
Tapping on my roof and walls.

And from the shelter of my mind
Through the window of my eye
I gaze beyond the rain-drenched streets
To England, where my heart lies.

My mind's distracted and diffused,
My thoughts are many miles away,
They lie with you when you're asleep
And kiss you when you start your day

And the song that I was writing is left undone
I don't know why I spend my time
Writing songs I can't believe
With words that tear and strain to rhyme

And so you see I have come to doubt
All that I once held as true
I stand alone without beliefs
The only truth I know is you.

And as I watch the drops of rain
Weave their weary paths and die
I know that I am like the rain:
There but for the grace of you go I.

---

"Professor Lupin?" A pleasant male voice called across the terminal. Remus Lupin looked around for the source and saw a stocky gentleman in a dark tan suit. He vaguely recognised him from fire calls: it was Tyfus Nordstrom, deputy headmaster of the Commonwealth Academy of Magic.

"Professor Nordstrom," Remus nodded gratefully, passing the neat rows of seats bolted to the terminal floor. "It's good of you to come in person," he continued, shaking the man's hand.

"Ty, please, and it's my pleasure. I don't have to tell you how grateful we are to Professor Dumbledore for recommending you." He scraped his gaze over Lupin's carefully casual Muggle clothing - not too worn in, but completely acceptable for the Winnipeg airport. "You've travelled among them quite a bit, I see," he observed cryptically.

"Yes," Lupin acknowledged, needing no explanation.

"Well, let's get your bags, and then we can settle you in at the school." He led Lupin away from the crowded concourse and charted them on a course for "Baggage Claim."

They retrieved Lupin's battered, but still serviceable, trunk without incident, and walked out to the carpark. It was a fair day, but cold compared to Montreal, and before that, London, and before that, Somerset...Remus stifled a sigh. He had been travelling for almost 14 hours now, and it was only 4 hours later, local time, than when he started.

"How far is the school?" He asked as they lifted his trunk into the car boot.

Nordstrom grinned. "It's about 3 hours, with this car," he said, unlocking the cabin. "It's about 400 kilometres, as the owl flies. I won't be offended if you want to nap on the way," he offered amicably.

"Thanks," Remus said with obvious relief. "I was all right on the train to London, but something about aeroplanes...."

"I know what you mean. I prefer broom travel, myself." Nordstrom started the car and took them away from the transport complex. As they turned north out of Winnipeg, the car kicked into 6th gear and shot magically ahead of all the traffic. Within minutes, as they rose above Lake Winnipeg, Remus was fast asleep.

"We're here," Nordstom said about three hours later.

Remus woke effortlessly and saw the large campus ahead. To his right, he could see the low outline of a lake, and on his left, beyond Nordstrom's window, a rolling plain dominated the horizon. Ahead lay the Commonwealth Academy of Magic: his home for the next year. It was a collection of low buildings, none more than three stories high, made primarily of red brick. Along the edges were assorted out-buildings of log, clapboard, stone, and glass. A gold dome topped the spire of what looked like an old chapel. Maple trees dotted the open quads, their leaves half gone already. The few that remained were well into their fall colours. Some scraggly pines grew along the edges of the grounds as well.

"The students arrive tomorrow," Nordstrom explained. "I'll take you to your housing first, let you start to feel at home. Edina's looking forward to meeting you. She and Professor Dumbledore are old friends, I hear. And he recommended you highly."

Remus smiled timidly. "Professor Dumbledore is too kind," he murmured. "I'm looking forward to meeting the staff," he said a little more strongly. "Forgive me for being blunt, though, but I'd like to make absolutely certain: the staff all know?"

Nordstrom understood. "Yes. And no, no one has any issue. Claire LeTrec, our Potions Mistress, said she'd be happy to make your potion for you. Views it as a challenge. You'll like Claire - we all do. And with the layout here, there's really no likelihood of you chancing upon a student, even if..." he trailed off, as if embarrassed for having said too much.

"I understand," Lupin said tactfully. "I don't wish to endanger anyone accidentally, but it is easier when all the staff are co-operative."

"Edina mentioned something about why you left Hogwarts," Nordstrom offered in commiseration. "You won't encounter that kind of prejudice here, I assure you. Still... we feel it's best not to alarm the students unnecessarily. You'll be attending conferences throughout the year. I hope that's all right?" He glanced over as he aimed the car toward a row of neat little houses, whose brick foundations extended half a level above the ground.

"Yes," Lupin agreed readily. Nordstrom shut off the engine in front of a grey one at the end of the row. It had a small porch in front of the door, nothing really except a platform at the top of the stairs, covered by a peaked roof. One half of the house was shorter than the other, its slanted roof sloping dramatically to nestle against the straight wall of the second floor. Three windows faced the quad: one on either side of the door; the third upstairs.

"Well, here you are," Nordstrom said, and hopped out to open the boot. "There are dorms for the students across the quad. Your office is in the main class building there," he pointed to a large brick edifice on the left, "and you can take meals in the dining hall if you like." This was a similar building on the right. "Many of our staff prefer to use their own kitchens, but some of us find it saves a lot of time not having to cook or clean. There's a floo network for the winter months or emergencies, and enclosed walkways for the students to use. And Marius will add your imprint to the mapping charms tomorrow."

"Mapping charms?" Lupin's ears pricked up.

"A convenience. All the teachers are imprinted and added to it. You have only to think of the location you want... and the school will guide you there. So there's no way you can lose your own classroom - I hear Hogwarts is a bit of a warren."

Lupin smiled. "Oh, it's easy enough to learn one's way round," he shrugged. "Nevertheless... it sounds quite a nice piece of spellwork."

"Oh, Marius will talk your ear off about it, if you let him," Nordstrom assured him. "He's our Charms teacher, and a bit of an oddball, but a better wizard you'll never meet."

"A friend of yours, then?" Lupin surmised with a knowing smile.

"Absolutely," Nordstom grinned. They wrestled Lupin's trunk up the short flight of stairs to the front door and Nordstrom keyed it open, then handed Lupin the key.

"Here," he announced as they stepped inside the threshold. "Not much, but you can't beat the rent, or the commute." He conducted a knut tour - it didn't take long, as there were only six rooms altogether on the two floors - and then tactfully took his leave to let Remus rest.

Remus woke late that afternoon. He flicked on a light in the large bedroom, stretched, and went to the bath to wash his face. It took a depressingly short time to unpack, less time to prowl through the whole house, top to bottom. Even the cellar held almost nothing interesting. The place was furnished comfortably, if a bit sparsely, and held none of the comforting antique feel of his little cottage back in Somerset country. Still, he needed work, and Dumbledore had graciously helped him get this job. It was difficult for Sirius to access his Gringotts' vault, and they couldn't really live off Remus's savings much longer. And much as he hated to admit it, Sirius was right. Canada would be much safer for him - either from ministry officials looking for the fugitive whom he harboured, or from Voldemort's crew looking for dark creatures to recruit or coerce to their side. Besides, Dumbledore clearly had reasons to send him here, though what those were, Remus could not begin to guess.

Where was Padfoot now? He wondered. Was he home at Owl Nook, Remus's little cottage, taking a much-needed rest from the road and the exhausting work as courier for Dumbledore's expanding network? Was he somewhere on the road now, in his dog form, alone and asleep under the stars? Worst of all, when would they be together again?

Swallowing to clear the tightness in his throat, he couldn't help but think about their leave-taking. Sirius was pretty safe in Muggle areas, since the search had long since lost the furor it had when he first escaped Azkaban. He offered to ride the train to London with Remus, to accompany him as far as the gate at Heathrow, but Remus refused. "You don't have to come, puppy," he had said with a determined smile. "I know you hate airports. Besides, it's still risky for you." They had wrangled a little bit, but in the end, Remus set the rules, and he had left Sirius early in the morning - yesterday morning, he thought glumly. He had packed the night before, and afterward, they had made love lingeringly, without the need to rush, just savouring their last hours together. Then, far too early, with the skies still dark, they rose, shared a pot of strong coffee, and kissed each other goodbye. Sirius followed him to the gate, where they kissed again, and holding his trunk strap in one hand, Remus Apparated to the Bath rail station.

Sighing, he threw on a set of robes and made his way to the dining hall for supper, setting aside thoughts of Sirius for the moment. Between meeting the rest of the staff, the Headmistress, and getting ready for his lessons that week, it was several days before he could try to write home.

It was difficult to put things on parchment when they'd only recently begun to feel comfortable with one another again. Add in Sirius's continued status as a fugitive, and his resumption of duties as messenger for Dumbledore, and communication became almost impossible. And, Remus reflected glumly, all the things they still couldn't say to one another.

His third try looked all right, if a bit formal. He didn't want to write it again, though, and a glance at the clock told him he didn't have time if he wanted the owl to leave that day. This would have to do. At least, he thought as he rolled it up for the journey, it was a start.

---

S. Lupin
Owl Nook
Somerset, GB

2 September, 1995

Dear "Snuffles,"

I'm settling in here, have met most of the students by now (there's still a class left this afternoon), but I thought I should take advantage of a free period to write, before I have too much homework to grade and you are off again on another errand.

This place isn't at all what I expected. The whole campus has an antiseptic feeling to it, as if the staff are afraid to let any colour in. The students are all right, though nowhere near as respectful as I've taught in the past. The staff all know, of course, but no one seems to mind much. It's lucky the timing worked out so well - the moon won't be full for another 3 weeks, so I'll have plenty of time to get into the swing of it here before I take my first "trip." That's what the Headmistress suggested I tell them: she seemed to feel they could accept monthly conferences better than a cyclic illness. There's some logic to it, you must admit.

I do feel terribly far away from home, though. And of course I miss you. Are you sleeping all right? How are the dreams? It's been nearly a week, and I still wake up in the middle of the night, expecting to be home, and I'm not.

Well, I need to get to class. I've just enough time to get this to the school's owlery and get back to my office to prepare the lesson. I'm starting my fifth years on Runespoors - lecture only, of course!

Take care of the garden, while you're there - it'll do you good to get out in the sun, as well. Let me know if you can when you'll be off next, so I can hold the owls. If ever you are going to be away for a long time, do let Mrs. Harkness know. She's the Muggle woman down the way - you've met her, remember? She'll take in the post for us.

Above all, make sure you do come home safe. Say hello to Harry for me, when next you hear from him. Let me know how he's doing - as you said, he's really both our responsibility, now.

Take care, love. I'll be thinking of you.

R

---

Sirius woke, sweat-drenched and trembling in the bed he lately shared with his lover. Now Remus was very far away, and with each shuddering breath Sirius took note of the way his pyjama bottoms stuck to his legs, and the way there was blood running freely from his nose, and there were deep scratches on his belly. Sitting up gingerly, he carefully cleared the back of his throat of the thick salty taste of blood, and extracted himself from tangled sheets.

"Moony, I wish you were here." He murmured as he stumbled from the room and down the stairs to the cottage's one bathroom. With the weak light of the almost dawn creeping through the window, he treated the bloody furrows on his abdomen and washed the blood from his face, neck, and chest. He cleaned the dried blood from under his fingernails mechanically. The dreams were getting worse. They had been better since he was holed up with Remus for most of the summer, but now they were getting bad again.

Sirius always slept better with his lover's arms around him. It had taken him nearly two weeks at the beginning of the summer to acclimatise to being touched. He no longer jumped with surprise when Remus would put a hand on his back unexpectedly. The first time that happened it took him nearly five minutes to stop his heart from jack-rabbitting through his chest. It had been fourteen years since he had been touched like that. Twelve of them locked away, and two spent living in caves and away from people. Now, he leaned into the caresses, wanting them, needing them, but not able to ask for them. Remus had gentled his knee-jerk reactions, and seemed to know when to press in and when to back off. When he couldn't handle it, and when he could. It was a gift, Sirius knew. One he was grateful for, even though he could not articulate it. He only hoped Moony knew.

It took three full nights, lying tense, anxious, and awake, for Sirius to relax enough to fall asleep with someone beside him. Remus had been calm through the process, allowing Sirius to set his own pace for their relationship to progress to what it had been before...

Before Azkaban. That place that stank of fear and hate and cold. That place, desolate as a wasteland, dank and dark and wet. The dreams brought it all back. The cold wave that permeated the cells as Dementors passed by, the times he pulled at his own hair, scratched open his own skin just to *feel* something besides the dark despair. Pain was a friend to him, there. It cleared his mind, it and the animagus transformation kept him sane. As Padfoot, he'd curl into the smallest possible form in the driest corner of his cell. There he made for himself a safe place. It was constructed of his absolute knowledge of his own innocence of the crime he was convicted for. It was an illusion.

He would wait, allowing the memories the Dementors tormented him with to almost overwhelm him before retreating to dog form. It became a challenge. A sick and twisted way to pass the time. How long could he take the worst bits of his life before changing and resting and trying to stay sane for one more day. [What Severus? You want to know how to trigger the Whomping Willow? Sure I can give you that information... It's brilliant, Peter, don't you see? No one would think James and Lily would make you the Secret Keeper! They'll be safe forever... I'll be a decoy, James. Voldemort will come for me- keep your son safe - he's more important... No I won't tell Remus... Dead... All dead... Who-how-why PETER... No Remus don't believe please don't believe love you neverhurtjamesbestfriend Godslilywhatdidtheydotoyou? Is is is is is Harry... he lives! Let me take... no... how did we get here... did not betray... moony believe me, please!] Never believing it would end. And he would wake from whatever stupor he was in and realise one more day dawned and he was still there. And one more day. And one more day.

At one point he almost gave up [one point? One point each day, maybe]. He almost let himself slip under and become as insane as the rest of the inhabitants of that dark and foul fortress. Sometimes the anticipation was more than he could stand, waiting for the Dementors to make their rounds. They kept their schedule erratic, he was convinced, just so you never knew, and could never be prepared for their passing [don't be foolish, Padfoot, you can never be prepared no matter what you do...]. And he would hurt himself a little each day to prove to himself his blood still flowed, and as long as his blood flowed, and his heart beat he would fight because James was dead, Lily was dead but his godson lived. Remus lived. *Pettigrew* lived.

All this came back during the long hours between dusk and dawn. His subconscious was almost worse than the Dementors, because he did this to himself out of some need to entomb himself in Azkaban again. Sirius was used to the dreams. He was used to waking up sweaty and bloody and tear streaked. Lately, though, it hadn't happened as much. Having Remus there calmed the dreams. He still woke up sweat-drenched on occasion, and sometimes his face was wet with tears, but it had been weeks since he'd done bodily harm to himself. Now, it seemed, with Remus gone to Canada, he would be waking up bloody more often again.

Well, he'd done it before. It wasn't new territory for him. As the sun rose and the day began, he sat outside in the bright warmth. The sun was magical to him now. He had spent twelve years in perpetual shadow; now he couldn't get enough of the sun. If he could be a little less tense for attack [don't take foolish risks, discovery could happen at any time] he'd like to wander around the little yard starkers. As it was he contented himself with lying on the cool, slightly damp grass clad only in his pyjama bottoms. Or he'd curl up in dog form and nap in the sun.

Later he would de-gnome the yard. They'd been getting bolder and bolder and it was time to show them who was boss. First, though, he thought he'd let Padfoot out to chase them a bit. He didn't hurt them, but catching them in his mouth and growling fiercely gave him a ridiculously joyous thrill. If Moony were home he wouldn't have even considered doing it, knowing Moony wouldn't think it funny. But Moony was gone, and he needed something to raise his spirits.

The morning post brought a letter from Harry, and he let Hedwig in to rest as he answered the letter, gratified that Harry's fifth year was getting off to such a good beginning. As he was sending Hedwig off another letter arrived, this one from Dumbledore. He wanted a meeting with Sirius for the day after tomorrow. Sirius knew what it was about, what it *had* to be about. He was being sent off - travelling for the Order of the Phoenix. Doing something to fight the good fight, save the world from the forces of evil, he'd go and sweat and bleed and die for a population that believed him a murderer and dangerous escaped convict. If caught, he would get the Dementor's Kiss. No trial, no questions, and everyone would sleep a bit better because the *dangerous* Sirius Black finally got what he deserved. The irony was not lost on Sirius, and in his lowest moments he wondered what the hell kept him going forward, putting his life on the line every single day. [You do it for James, your best friend, your Prongs who loved you and trusted you without question. You do it for Lily, who died to save her only child, she who should have had a house full of children, a house full of love, with a heart bigger and more accepting than any you'd ever known. You do it for Harry, who merely by living became a target, who could have killed and chose not to, who looked for any parched excuse to find something in you worth redemption. You do it for Remus, for Moony, your mate and pack and leader and as necessary to you as breathing, who never forgot and never succumbed, whom you love with a devotion that is as scary as it is comforting, because it makes you afraid it can all happen again.]

Two days, and he'd be gone from here. Gone from Owl Nook, that still had Moony's scent clinging to every scrap of fabric, to every rug, every curtain, every bit of upholstery. He had not changed the sheets, hoping to keep the comforting smell of his lover lingering to calm his dreams [now you will have to change them, wash out the bloodstains from last night, lose the comforting presence of your wolf- the illusion he's still here instead of so far away]. Each night Sirius found himself curling up with one of Remus's shirts - a soft old knit shirt that he hadn't washed after the last time he wore it. During the day, it resided under his pillow, but before he slept, it was wound around his neck, brushed over his bare chest. Covering his face as he breathed through the material. Just before he drifted off, he carefully hung it over the headboard so he wouldn't mar its perfect Remus-scent with his own sweat, urine, blood, and tears.

Two days. He had things to do. A spot of gardening, a visit to their closest Muggle neighbour, Mrs. Harkness, to ask if she could keep an eye on the place. A check of the grounds, making sure the charm against Muggles seeing the magic of the cottage was still strong and working the way it ought. Laundry. Tomorrow he would write to Remus. Let him know he'd be gone. He could get Dumbledore to post it for him at his meeting, if he didn't receive an owl post from Moony before then. So, he'd clean up the Nook, and write to his lover, and try to rest before his next mission for the Order.

At least he'd have a respite from the dreams. Sirius knew he couldn't afford to have them while out: it was too dangerous. It made them just that much worse when he finally was in a safe place, but he'd deal with that as well. He was used to it.

---

Professor R. J. Lupin
Commonweath Academy of Magic
Manitoba, Canada

9 September, 1995

My dearest Moony,

I'm off again in the morning. I can't say it disappoints me, as you're not here anyway. I've already spoken with Mrs. Harkness, and she tittered on quite embarrassingly about taking care of the cottage. "Anything for nice, kind, *ill* Mr. Lupin." I swear your neighbours think I am just some bumbling git who muddies up your carpets. A not-so-well-off relative, perhaps, or a down-and-out fair-weather-friend. And I can hear you now... I don't shed all *that* much!

The garden is all right. Sun is still shining occasionally, but I won't have anything to do with those biting flowers. I don't remember their name, but you can darn well weed them yourself when you get home. I refuse to bleed for a *plant* for god's sake! And they're ugly - those great round brown fleshy things with sharp little teeth... ugh! I'd rather repot mandrakes! Everything else looks good. The rain lately has been a blessing. I de-gnomed the garden and yard yesterday, and it will probably need it again by the time I get back. We've got a pixie nest starting down near the stand of birches. Annoying little pests! I didn't have time to do anything about it, but maybe those horrors of the biting flowers will take care of them before I get back. Hey, I can dream, right? (And, yes, I know the flowers pose no real threat to the pixies, but I like the mental image of one of those flowers *choking* on an irritating pixie...)

Don't worry about the dreams. I have them all the time when you are gone, there's nothing either one of us can do about it. I've learned to cope. I do sleep better when you're with me, my beautiful Moony, but I have a job to do. And so do you. When this war has finally ended I shall be the happiest man on this earth.

I just got a letter from Harry. He arrived back at Hogwarts, and school seems to be going well for him. Even this early in the year Hermione is at the top of the class; he said something about her finishing her summer reading before August. Sounds like Miss Granger, eh, Moony? Ron hopes to make it on the reserve Quidditch team later this year along with one of their other roommates, a Seamus Finnigan - a boy I haven't met, but Harry seems to think he'll make a fine chaser. I guess most of the team graduates at the end of the year, so they're trying to train replacements. All in all, it sounds as if he's doing well. He's found out the schedule for the Hogsmeade weekends, and I hope to be able to see him on at least one of them.

Anyway, I should be back soon, I hope. It all depends on exactly what Albus wants this time. Perhaps I'll be able to stop by and see you when this mission is over. I am glad the staff isn't too put out by your monthly "trip" - is that what they're calling it? What a euphemism!

I'll owl when I get back. Don't worry, love, please don't worry. I *am* careful.

I shall continue to be your loving,

S.

Postscript: Snuffles Lupin? I sound rather like I have a terrible case of allergies, or that I'm contagious with a strange disease... And does this mean you've adopted me? Where do you prefer to have got me from? Orphanage or pound? I'm rather a mangy looking mutt - you'd best say pound. You're such a soft touch no one else would have me.

---

Sirius appeared outside the gate at Owl Nook, stumbled, and caught himself on the stone wall. He moved carefully to the gate, but his blood-slicked fingers slipped off the handle twice before he got a good grip and opened it. Gasping with pain and holding his side, he made it to the door before his knees gave out and he collapsed. He waited a moment for the black motes to stop dancing in his vision before he reached up and opened the door, pulling himself inside.

Home. He kicked the door closed and made it to his hands and knees. With a deep breath, he pulled himself to his feet through stubborn strength of will alone. Leaning heavily on the walls for support, he made his way to the bathroom, paying no mind to the bloody hand prints he left in his wake.

Thank the gods Moony kept his medicine cabinet well stocked. Wincing, Sirius managed to slip out of his clothing to take stock of his injuries. The fight was hazy in his mind, but he knew that was more due to the dull ache in his head and blood loss than to the strain of the last 48 hours, seeing Dumbledore yesterday, arranging the Order meeting today, and then the disaster that awaited them. As he hunted through the cupboard for potions and curatives, he tried to sort out what went wrong.

He remembered he'd managed to shout "Apparate" to the gathered wizards of the Order, before charging the Death Eaters. They'd been watching for them. The Death Eaters had surrounded them with hardly a moment's warning. He'd watched each of Dumbledore's people Apparate out, except for Fletcher and Figg, who were closest to the Dark wizards, and had been caught almost before they knew the meeting was compromised.

It had become chaos at that point. As Padfoot, Sirius leapt for the Death Eaters holding Figg and bit the arms holding her, tangling himself in the robes of one wizard. It was crude, but it worked. Newly free, Figg took out her wand and cursed the Death Eaters holding Fletcher, releasing him. In the next moment they were both gone, and Sirius fought to free himself so he could escape. A knife sliced into his side along his ribs. Padfoot whirled around at his attacker, growling and snapping. It was the one whose wand hand he'd bit, and Padfoot dimly realised what happened: the Death Eater dropped his wand, but with his free hand he retrieved the damned knife. Once the Order members were gone, Voldemort's people started to disappear as well, until it was just Sirius and his adversary, scrambling for the lost wand.

Sirius received a booted foot to the side of his face to keep him away from the wand, and he spun nose over tail from the force of the blow. In panic, his robed adversary grabbed his wand again and was gone, leaving Sirius swaying with pain and covered in blood. Doggedly, he transformed back to human form. His gaze swept the meeting place to make sure nothing important was left behind, and he, too, Apparated out. Somehow he managed to make it back home without splinching from the shock or the fatigue.

Taking stock, he quickly unstoppered the vial of Heal-Quick potion and slathered it over his wounds, wincing as it bubbled and stung. Using his wand, he traced over the split skin and it sealed itself. Then he turned his attention to the injuries to his face. His nose had stopped bleeding, one eye was swollen shut, and the whole side of his face was purple and black. "I look like I got the shit kicked out of me..." He muttered darkly to his reflection. Wincing again as he lifted the wand he concentrated on healing the bruising around his eye. Some of the bruising would have to heal the old fashioned way, but the minute fractures of his cheek bone and ocular cavity he could do something about. The concussion was a different matter, and he knew he would pay with a headache of monster proportions when he was finished with the rudimentary healing he thought was necessary.

Ignoring the throbbing in his head that the effort to heal himself gave him, he washed quickly, pausing only to calm the nausea that moving about seemed to bring on. He wanted clean clothes, he realised as through a fog. Pulling on pants seemed like a huge effort, though, and he was unwilling to try to navigate the stairs when his head felt like it might explode. Sirius rummaged in the bathroom hamper for a moment. Pyjama bottoms would have to do. Later, when he was better, he'd soak in the tub for a while and tuck himself into bed to rest, but he couldn't do that now. His body no longer thrummed with suppressed rage, but he still wasn't calm. Unable to think, unable to eat, unable to rest, he moved gingerly through the house, taking a measure of calm from the familiar scent of Remus that he encountered in every room. It was too risky to contact Dumbledore right away, though he knew he had to report soon. Instead, he sat and tried to write a letter to Remus, tense throughout and expecting an attack. Unable to sit still even for that, he wandered bare-chested into the yard to sit in the sun and try to calm down enough to think. Lying back on the scratchy grass, he threw an arm over his eyes. He tried to hold back the tears of pain and fatigue, his mind pulsing with black surges of hate and rage, but was unsuccessful as he felt scalding wetness against his arm. Pushing the emotions down, he stopped the weeping with supreme effort. He had to concentrate. The fuzziness clouding his mind had to be cleared so he could think objectively about the situation. "Prongs, I wish you were here." He whispered, "Moony, where are you?"

[Dumbledore needs to know. They were there waiting for us. They *knew* there was an Order meeting in that place at that time today. How? Someone must have told them. Someone is passing information. Dammit!] Sirius slammed his fist into the earth, frustrated. [We just got up and running again and we have a spy. We've been so careful. How does this keep happening? We're not even *official*! Technically the Order doesn't exist. Nobody believes that Voldemort is back, why would he risk it? Why *now*? It doesn't make sense!]

Questions swirled around him as the early autumn sunshine baked into him, calming him down. He'd go to Dumbledore tomorrow. Damn. Off again so *soon.* He'd write to Moony. He had to write to Moony. It might help him think, bleed a little of the fury out before he made his formal report.

---

Professor Remus Lupin
Commonwealth Academy of Magic
Manitoba, Canada

11 September, 1995

Remus,

I am heart-sore, heartsick and weary beyond belief. I am also home. I wish you were here, Moony. More than anything I wish you were here. I've wandered around this little cottage and I can still smell you here. Your scent clings to everything and makes me feel marginally better. The mission was a complete failure. I suppose I must take solace in the fact that no one died. It was close, though. It's a good thing you keep the medicine cabinet well stocked. If this keeps up we'll need some more of the quick-heal potion, you know, the purple one, before long.

Damn DEs had information. The Order has a... "leak" - I think is the term I am looking for. I lose words when I am enraged, as I am now. I am so damn *angry* that it is the same old shit. We thought Pettigrew the only spy. Obviously not. Or maybe this is a new leak. I shudder that anyone in the Order *now* would turn. We've been so damn careful. But then, I don't know all of the members of the Order. Only Dumbledore knows us all. I will be speaking to him tomorrow. I have to go face-to-face. I can not trust this to owl post, or even the fireplace. I can trust this letter will get to you unmolested because, if you notice, I am using Harry's owl. She is an uncommonly fine bird. Harry knows I've got her for a while, so you can use her to send me a note. She is one of the only owls that will *always* be able to find me, no matter where I am. I *will* be careful on my way to Hogwarts. Never fear.

I am sorry I won't have time to work in the garden before I go off again. I long for warm days spent with you in our little yard, de-gnoming, weeding, planting, growing... Those days will come again, soon, love. Very soon. Once I've spoken to Dumbledore, I don't know where he'll send me next. If it's at all close to your school I will stop by. Hell, I may stop by even if it is not. I *need* it. I need to see and make sure you are safe. Make sure you are *there*. Sounds rather pathetic, doesn't it? We both know you are the stronger of us. That *I* am the more fragile life. But, oh, my beautiful Moony, I long for you. I long to touch you, hear your voice, to run with you under the stars.

Soon, my beloved.

As ever,

S.

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S. Lupin
Owl Nook
Somerset, GB

18 September, 1995

S---

I've read your letter twice over in the last five minutes, and Hedwig is taking a much-needed rest here for a bit before I send her back. I was so relieved to see her, but then to read what you had to say - I'm stunned.

By comparison, life in Canada is no adventure at all. Odd as it sounds, I don't think it's anyone from the old crowd, but then my information isn't much up to date, is it? Well, you and Dumbledore will know what's best to do, I'm sure. Gods, I feel guilty as hell for taking this job so far away.

Do visit, if you can. I want to see for myself that you're taken care of. Give you a thorough examination for new scars. And yes, the country here is amazing. There's a small mountain range only half a day or so by Muggle car - easy Apparating distance. Gorman, the Charms professor, assures me there are any number of excellent trails. There are all kinds of lakes and rivers, and rich pine forests to run through. And oh, gods, the stars at night are brighter than any I've ever seen. I hoped to take some week-ends exploring, and of course if you were here.... Well, come if you can. And don't worry - I'm safe as houses here. It's you that concerns me.

Muffin, if you're fragile, then I must be indestructible. Where did that come from? Pathetic, indeed. Old fellow, get a grip on yourself. That's Azkaban talking, and you know it. I won't stand for it. If we have to be apart, you'll bloody well hold up like a wizard who knows what he's about. Take care of yourself first, Harry second, and leave me for last, I'm all right.

You know you can use anything in the house you need - and I'll see what I can do about restocking that other potion for you. The Potions professor here is everything Snape isn't - kind, pleasant, and quite obliging. Very pretty too, which we could never say of Severus. She's also the best potions maker this side of the Atlantic, I'm told. I may be able to wangle her into making up a vial or two to send back for you. And sod the garden, I only said that to try to keep you out of trouble, as if that would ever work. My beloved Padfoot, up to your neck as usual, hm? If we can keep the cottage standing, that would be a help, but if that's all we lose, I shan't begrudge it. Especially if it's a choice between the house and you, for example.

I'm going to give this to Hedwig, but you should be careful about using her too much for this run. By my estimate, it takes even a fast, sturdy owl like her at least a week to make the crossing. I doubt Harry would appreciate it if Hedwig aged prematurely! I'll ask her to take a school owl with her to learn the route.

Keep your head, love. It's no good to anyone if you go off on a tirade. Be clever, as I know you can be. Be smart, as I know you are. Be safe, for I could not lose you again.

Your own,

R

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TBC...