Between the Lines

---

Chapter Two: This Empty Canyon

No One Knows But You
Beth Nielsen Chapman

I can almost feel you smiling
From beyond those silver skies
As you watch me finding my way
Here without you in my life

No one knows but you
How I feel inside
No one knows
No one knows but you

I've come so close to believing
All the echoes in the wind
Brushing my hair off my shoulders
I feel you there once again

No one knows but you
How I feel inside
No one knows
No one knows but you

And if there is some magic
Some way around these stars
Some road that I can travel
To get to where you are
I'll cry this empty canyon
An ocean full of tears
And I won't stop believing
That your love is always near

No one knows but you
How I feel inside
No one knows
No one knows but you

---

"Who can tell me the difference between a hex and a curse?" Remus asked, leaning against his desk before his first-year, what the Academy called sixth-grade, students.

Several hands rose tentatively. "Mr. Adair?" Remus indicated with a nod.

"A hex leaves a mark," the student said.

"Correct. Any other distinctions, Miss Delacroix?"

The girl answered in heavy French-Canadian accent. "The hex wears off in a short while, but the curse has an effect which lasts?"

Remus nodded agreement. "And for how long does a curse last, Miss Halsey?"

Miss Halsey wrinkled her nose. "Doesn't that depend on the curse?"

"It does. Why?" Remus scanned the room for another student to ask. "Mr. Jenner?"

Rick Jenner looked up from a piece of parchment. "Uh...don't they have permanent effects?" He asked, glancing furtively from left to right to see if anyone else had said this already.

"Some do, Mr. Jenner. What else determines the length of a curse effect?" Lupin took a step into the aisle between desks, closing in on Jenner. His eyes flicked down to the parchment on the student's desk.

"Er... Caster concentration, eh?" Jenner folded the parchment without looking at it.

"Concentration plays a large role, Mr. Jenner. Very good. You're studying your class notes, I see," Remus said evenly, looking again at the parchment on Jenner's desk.

Jenner met his gaze without flinching or blushing. "Yes, Professor," he said with a nod. Still, it seemed clear that the reedy professor knew otherwise.

"Excellent," Professor Lupin said with a small smile, and walked back to the front of the class. "So, if a curse requires concentration to keep going, what does that tell us about the use of concentration in permanent-effect spells?"

Again, several students raised their hands. He called on one or two, but carefully drew other students, less apt to show off, into the conversation. He kept one eye on Jenner, who fingered the parchment absently, but dared not open it up again during the lesson.

They spent a few more minutes discussing theory, then moved on to some practice with hexes and counter-hexes. As they paired off to practise, Remus prevented Jenner from partnering his usual comrade-criminal, Devon Threeclaw. "Mr. Threeclaw, could you work with Mr. Timmons today? And Mr. Jenner, why don't you pair up with Miss Morse? Thank you," he directed them effortlessly, but firmly enough to get no arguments. After so many years being on the inside of an instant gang, he recognised one when he saw it. Threeclaw and Jenner together were four times worse than either alone.

The school year was moving along quickly. Though not even a month had passed, Lupin found himself fitting in well enough. He had immediately quashed any attempts to put him over, and there had been a few, with his quiet reserve and patient humour.

There was a brief day or two when Remus's French almost got him into trouble. Though fluent, there could be no denying that his French was Parisienne, and a source of great amusement to his few Quebeçois students. After his first all-French lesson, Remus visited the school library (not as impressive as Hogwarts's, but slightly better organised), and familiarised himself with the Translation Charm. It had come in handy during a brief stint in Louisiana, years ago, but he hadn't needed it for ages. He used it during classes, and found that even now and then on the grounds, it helped catch nuances he'd never encountered on the continent.

After that, the students seemed to understand rapidly that he was not to be trifled with, that he respected their rights to be children, but that he equally expected them to pay attention, to work hard, and to tender him respect in return. Already, he found that during his office hours - required of the staff for the older students - upperclassmen streamed through, asking advice or seeking help.

Even when he doled out discipline, most of the students didn't hate him for it. In his second week, he had caught a sixth-year (an eleventh-grader, he reminded himself) with a hand-held soundbox in class. It wasn't so much the presence of the contraband that bothered Lupin, they could all tell, it was that a student felt it a more valuable use of time to listen to music than his lecture. With a pained expression, Lupin confiscated the player and the magical disc inside it, shut them in his drawer, and informed the young man that now he would have to practice his countermeasures while the whole class threw curses at him (non-lethal, of course, despite what Miss Gerard may wish to do to him). The student grumbled, and Remus fixed him with a trademark withering stare. "Would you rather we pursue this matter at a higher level, Mr. Appleton?"

"No, Professor," came the sullen reply.

"Then, I suggest you prepare yourself. Wand out, please." It was perhaps fortunate that Gilbert Appleton was known for his trouble-making tendencies throughout the school. The son of a prominent Canadian wizarding family, he seemed to feel his name and status would suffice to pave his way for him. By inadvertently making an object lesson of him, Remus found he secured a reputation as a tough, but fair, customer.

So it was with some amazement that Remus returned to his quarters one night to glance at his calendar. It had been three full weeks since he'd written to Sirius, at least anything beyond his hasty note of reassurance after what sounded like a disastrous meeting of the Order. He had at least heard a few days later from Professor Dumbledore, assuring him that Sirius was all right, that no permanent damage had been done, asking how Remus enjoyed his position at the Academy, remembering himself to the Headmistress and his old friend, Edina Agglesbury, and asking him to keep a look out for likely Quidditch players. The last request seemed rather odd, as neither he nor Dumbledore ordinarily paid much attention to the game, but he dutifully began attending practices about a week ago and planned to let Sirius know about their leader's newest eccentricity.

His return letter to Dumbledore was not nearly as light as he hoped it would be. He found himself halfway down the second page, expressing his concern over Sirius, both because of his still wanted status, and because of the dreams.

Sirius's dreams haunted Remus almost as much as if he were the victim. It simply broke his heart to see his Padfoot, soaked in his own sweat, trembling with the effort of surviving his nightmares. Though he knew neither he nor Sirius would shirk any duty that might end the war before it properly began, he truly wondered whether it was wise to put Sirius in a position of such responsibility right now. He longed to let them hide away for a year or so, while he slowly put his packmate back together. And longer, if necessary. After so many years of constant torture and anguish, he was actually surprised Sirius seemed to be getting better so quickly.

They had come so far in such a short summer. Their first meeting, over a year since the last time they had seen each other, had been awkward and painful. Padfoot had appeared, scratching at Remus's side door one rainy night, sitting out on the stoop under the eaves as if afraid Remus wouldn't let him in. Remus, who had received an owl from Dumbledore only a day or so before, had been waiting, watching for his old friend, and wondering if they could ever be more again.

Remus invited the huge dog in amiably. "There you are. Thank goodness you're safe. Come on in, Padfoot." Padfoot looked up gratefully, and with a tentative tail wag, passed by Remus, licking his hand once on the way. He held himself still, as if resisting the urge to shake himself dry.

Remus schooled himself for this first real meeting, but marvelled at the way his heart leapt between his throat and his stomach. He concentrated on remaining neutral, not moving suddenly or upsetting his friend. [Friends first,] he reminded himself. [He needs you as a friend now, nothing more. You don't even know if he wants anything else.] He locked and warded the door methodically, then turned to the black behemoth who now occupied much of his kitchen.

"Hungry?" He asked pleasantly, thinking first of the basics. He was answered immediately with a whine and a head bob that could have been nodding. "I think I've got a steak... shall I fry it up for you?" Padfoot's tail began to wag, but it wasn't the insistent, unabashed wagging Remus remembered. The giant dog's posture was hesitant, unsure, his body language weak and pathetic by comparison.

Remus slowly got to all fours in the kitchen, to bring himself on a level with Padfoot. He drew back a little in a greeting pose, looking just below Padfoot's eyes in an expression of non-aggression. "It's all right, Padfoot. It's still me," he said softly. The pungent smell of wet dog filled his nostrils, but underneath it he could smell his old friend.

Padfoot whined once, then dropped to his belly and wiggled forward a little closer to where Remus stood on his hands and knees. Padfoot wiggled again, side to side, this time, as if he wanted to roll over, but was wary of being so vulnerable. Remus very slowly raised one hand, wrist bent, for Padfoot to sniff. Padfoot crawled forward enough to rest his jaw against Remus's hand, his rubbing motion flipping the limp palm upward to caress him. Then Remus stroked along Padfoot's neck soothingly, moving up to scratch reassuringly behind one ear. With an audible sigh, Padfoot stretched underneath Remus's hand, and there, suddenly, lying on the floor, was Sirius.

He was muddy all over, wet through. His robes were torn several places, and he wore a new-looking pair of jeans underneath them. The replacement wand that Ollivander had provided him through Dumbledore stuck out from one of his pockets. His boots were caked in dust and dirt. He looked far too thin, as he had that night in the Shrieking Shack-the last time they had seen each other. His hair was still long, though not as long as it had been that night, and sections of it had matted themselves where it fell beyond his shoulders. It was slick and stuck to his forehead from the water that dripped onto the floor. His skin was ashy and drawn, as if he hadn't slept properly in a long time. Despite all that, he was beautiful. It was a moment before Remus could do anything but look at him.

"Gods, you're a mess," Remus commented in a controlled, neutral tone.

Sirius coughed to clear his throat. "Yes. I've been...travelling." His voice sounded like gravel, but he echoed the carefully guarded modulation remarkably well. As a dog, Remus could read him clearly - he knew those signals, even if they were not the Padfoot he knew. Dogs had a language of their own, and he understood its clear indications. But now that Sirius was back in his human form, Remus couldn't tell what Sirius was thinking. It unnerved him, but he pressed on.

"Want to have a bath while I fix your dinner?" He asked lamely, knowing it was a densely impersonal thing to say, but it satisfied a basic need, and he decided Sirius had to start with that, and then work up to other levels of importance.

"Yes... thank you," Sirius nodded slowly, woodenly, as if forcing himself to remember how to have a polite conversation. Which, Remus thought, probably wasn't far off from the truth. Sirius stood, but hesitated a moment and asked awkwardly, "Clean clothes?"

"I'll find you some." Remus realised Sirius was probably wondering how he knew to expect him. "Dumbledore owled me that you'd be coming," he said to fill the void. He got to his feet.

"Yes... I thought he might warn you..." Sirius said under his breath. Still, he didn't move, as if he had something to say, but didn't know how. Again, Remus filled the gap with what he felt a perfectly stupid question.

"So... it's finally happened, then?"

"Yes..." Sirius choked the word out. He continued in a terrified whisper, "Harry...could have died...."

"He's all right, though? Now?" Remus asked more sharply than he intended, his voice tinged with concern.

Sirius jerked his head up at the sudden urgency of Remus's tone. His eyes found their focus on Remus's face and he nodded. "Oh. Yes. Another student...." He trailed off, unsure what else to say about it.

Remus's reaction again surprised Sirius with its compassion. "My god...." He drew a quick breath and spoke more forcefully, as if to shake off the dolour of the brief, cryptic conversation. "I shouldn't keep you standing here," he said in a perfect host kind of way. "Go have your bath. You'll feel better for it. I'll take care of everything from there."

Sirius turned to comply, but reversed himself before really moving. Again, Remus felt the wave of uncertainty pass over him. [It's as if he wants to say something but doesn't know what.] Sirius groped for words for a moment. Then, settling on, "Thank you," he left the room.

Remus collected himself with a deep breath. He pulled the steak out of the icebox and seasoned it, then, when he was sure Sirius was in the bathroom, he passed the closed door and went upstairs to find his guest towels, a comfortable bathrobe, and a baggy pair of pyjama bottoms. He brought the bundle downstairs, and set the lot on a chair just outside the bathroom door, not wanting to startle Sirius by opening it. He puttered about the kitchen, fixing the steak, and when it was ready, he kept it warm with a warming charm and waited.

Almost an hour later, Sirius appeared, hovering in the kitchen doorway. He was wearing the pyjama bottoms and the robe, his hair wet and glistening, but still somewhat matted and unkempt. "I...left my clothes on the hamper in the bathroom," he said apologetically, as if afraid that this was the wrong thing to do.

"I'll take care of it," Remus said, rising sedately and making up Sirius's plate. "Sit. Eat." He reduced his commands to simple concepts, fearing that Sirius could not process anything more complicated by the look of him. It was much like talking to a dog - a real dog - with recognisable commands.

Sirius shuffled forward to the place where Remus had set his dinner, murmuring a soft, "Thank you." Remus had already eaten, but knowing that it would make Sirius uncomfortable to be watched, he poured himself a glass of the same pumpkin juice he served Sirius, and made it last as long as his friend's meal. Sirius approached the steak slowly, remembering how to use the knife and fork after so long. He cut raggedly into the steak, not even really noticing what he was doing. He chewed the first few bites mechanically, concentrating on the food, and not his dinner companion. It was only about halfway through that he realised it was seared to perfection, just done enough on the inside to be warm, but juicy, and he looked up with tears springing to his eyes.

"It's perfect..." he commented quietly. "You remember just how I like it," he blurted, catching himself too late.

Remus smiled as Sirius bent down over another bite. "Of course I do, puppy," he said tenderly, then, realising his mistake, he looked away quickly in embarrassment.

"Oh!" Sirius glanced up at the old endearment, the term they used to use for each other as easily as other couples called each other "dear" or "sweetheart." But Remus was looking out the quarter-paned window in the door, so Sirius couldn't tell whether he had actually heard it, or just imagined it. He looked away again before the tears spilled out silently, concentrating on his food again to stop their flow.

A brief, oppressive silence descended over the table. A second or two later, Remus sniffed and drew in a loud breath, turning back. "Sorry," he said, as if he had just been lost in thought. "So... what other student?" He asked, torn among wanting to hear, not wanting to know, not wanting to make Sirius uncomfortable, but wanting Sirius to start speaking, communicating, anything to establish some contact.

"Oh...." Sirius rubbed his eyes hastily, as if clearing them, and drew a steadying breath. "The other Hogwarts champion. Harry...saw him die...."

The news rocked Remus back in his chair. "Cedric?" He gasped in shock. He had heard about the Triwizard Tournament throughout the year, followed the stories in the Daily Prophet as well as received reports from students and teachers at Hogwarts. Then the second part of Sirius's news hit him as well. "Harry... gods, what happened?"

Sirius remembered now that Remus had taught Defence Against the Dark Arts there in Harry's third year, so he also knew the other boy who died. He began, haltingly, to relate to Remus the things Harry had told him and Dumbledore the night after the Third Task.

"I...the cup. The tournament prize. It was a portkey. Took them both to where Voldemort was... being reborn... Harry says Peter was there. He used Harry's blood to bring Voldemort back." He stumbled through the gruesome tale as best he could. When he reached the point about the wands, "He...saw Lily and James, Remus. Saw them. Spoke to them..." some uneasy tears tipped out of his eyes and he fell silent. He took a long sip of pumpkin juice before continuing. "Harry fought Voldemort and got away. Used the portkey to come back.... But then we almost lost him again. If it hadn't been for Albus...." He brought the narrative to a close by explaining that Dumbledore sent him to re-ignite the Order of the Phoenix.

Another short silence hung between them, but this time it was Remus who had new and shocking information to process. "I see," he said finally, with the sort of steel in his voice that Sirius had always admired so. "What does Albus need us to do?" Remus sounded ready to start out that night, if necessary.

Sirius could not disguise the relief on his face upon hearing Remus's intention to stand with them. "I've been contacting the old Order members. Fudge refuses to believe... You're my last stop." He paused, unsure how Remus would react to the statement. But Remus said nothing, so he continued in a rush, "Dumbledore asked me to stay here out of sight for a bit. I can find somewhere else if you prefer..."

"Nonsense," Remus said amicably. "Stay you shall." His heart beat twice as fast as usual, but he kept his voice studiously gracious and companionable.

Again, Sirius seemed relieved, but still worried. "Thank you..." he said yet again. It seemed to be the one sentence he expressed over and over, a mainstay of his speech.

"Not at all," Remus said in what he hoped was a chummy but not too pressuring way. He smiled, and looked at Sirius from the corner of his eye, a mischievous tone creeping into his voice. "In fact, I've been thinking I need a watchdog to chase away the rabbits from the vegetable garden."

It was Remus's turn to be relieved, for he saw the ghost of a smile pass across Sirius's face. "You expect me to chase the rabbits from your garden?" He asked bemusedly. "I think I might be able to manage that. Only fair. Earn my keep and all," he offered without bitterness, latching on to the humour Remus offered.

"Well, I can't very well let you loaf about doing nothing, can I?" Remus acknowledged with a shrug. He rose and cleared Sirius's cleaned plate, rinsing it in the sink. When he finished, he cleared his throat a bit awkwardly. "Well, I suppose I should give you the one-knut tour?"

Sirius stood also, but reluctant to let the light mood pass, he answered. "I... Yes... Haven't got a knut on me, though. Can I owe you?" He offered a weak smile.

Remus cocked his head in an appraising look. "I'll make an exception for you, pu - Padfoot." He sidled around Sirius and led them back into the hall. "I hope you didn't look in at the Park first," he asked, the thought just occurring to him. The last time Sirius visited, his family still lived up at their big manor, Aethenum Park. Six years ago, Remus had had to close the place and sell off most of the furnishings to pay his father's death taxes. Two years later, his mother died, and he put the Park itself on the market. It had only just sold that past April, but as the new owner hoped to put in extensive renovation, no one occupied it at the moment.

"No... Dumbledore gave me directions... Didn't need them once I got within about a kilometer, though..."

Remus made a face, smelling himself mockingly. "I don't smell that bad, do I?" He asked as they peeked in at the dining room and office in the front of the house.

"No!" Sirius barked, startled by the statement. "You smell wonderful -" He broke off, blushing. "I... I just meant... I remember you... I followed my nose to where it smelled like home..." he trailed off, afraid of saying too much, and worried that he sounded too wistful, too needy.

Remus turned back as they returned to the foot of the stairs. "I'm glad you still think of it as home," he said softly. He deliberately said, "it," meaning the house, though Sirius had never actually lived here. He reflexively gave his former lover a graceful exit, if indeed Sirius no longer felt as Remus did.

He continued quickly, as if to blot out the statement altogether. "Well, you've seen the bath," he said, pointing to the bathroom addition against the rear exterior wall. "That's the sitting room." They peeked inside a room to the left of the bath, against the staircase. "And the...bedrooms are upstairs." He tried not to emphasise the word too much, but he feared he still stumbled over the plural.

Sirius cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Yes..." he acknowledged sadly.

Remus took the first step up, continuing with forced brightness. "So...come on up and... we'll get you settled."

Picking up the mood, Sirius tried to put forth the same effort to be casual. "Settled, yes." He echoed. "Rest would be good."

"I'm sorry I don't have much to offer you," Remus said as they climbed the stairs, then turned and walked along the railing to the twin doors at the opposite end of the short corridor. "But I haven't really done much inside. Old bachelor life, I suppose. Here," he said, opening the door of the smaller bedroom. He waved his wand at the fireplace, and a bright, warm flame sprung to life in the hearth. He turned back and inspected the sheets briefly, to make sure they were fresh, though he had made up the bed himself only yesterday.

Again, Sirius hovered, as if afraid to enter new territory. He crossed the threshold tentatively, looking about. Remus's things were everywhere. The bed itself was one of several antiques he rescued from the assets, a stately-looking sleigh bed of carved cherry; a bookshelf stood against one wall with old textbooks and novels from their youth; and a wardrobe dominated the corner, sharing the outer wall with a dressing table and washstand. "It... it's more than I had any right to expect." Sirius sidled forward into room, the lingering scent of Remus resting sharply on his tongue. "I... I should rest," he said reluctantly. "It's been a long few days...." He trailed off, and again Remus had the overpowering sense that the other wanted to say more, but nothing happened.

"Of course," Remus forced himself to say politely. He crossed back to the door. "If you need anything..." he began.

"Thank you," Sirius said again, automatically, as he sat gingerly on the bed, testing its feel underneath him. Remus went into the hall. "Remus?" Sirius asked suddenly, a hint of the old spark reverberating in his urgency.

Remus gripped the railing over the stairs. The sound of his own name on Sirius's lips made him feel weak in the knees. His stomach turned over on itself; his breath hitched strangely, and he felt his eyes close briefly over threatening tears. "Yes, lo- Sirius?" He turned to face his guest again. His past. His friend. His anchor.

Sirius seemed about to say something, but then his expression softened to bewilderment. "I - nothing. Nothing. I - Thank you," he finished again, a small shrug lifting his shoulders.

Very gently, and very deliberately, Remus spoke again. "You are welcome here, Padfoot. Most welcome." He infused the statement with all the sympathy, protection, friendship, trust, and love he could muster. His grip on the railing was the only thing keeping him standing, the only string tying him to a reality where he would *not* rush forward into Sirius's arms, would not kneel before his lover and shower him with kisses.

Sirius said nothing. If Remus had been in the room, he might have seen the tears that welled in the man's black eyes. Instead, he shifted his weight a little in preparation to go.

"Look, I'm just across the hall if you need anything. All right?"

Sirius sighed, weary and pathetically grateful. "Yes."

Remus could almost feel his heart do jumping jacks in his stomach. It was too much. He cleared his throat a final time. "Right. Well, get some sleep. I'll see you in the morning." He retreated to his bedroom and shut the door quickly, knowing he could not bear to hear Sirius thank him solemnly another time.

After that initial, horrible discomfort, things gradually improved. When Remus opened his bedroom door the next morning, it was to find Padfoot curled up across the threshold. He woke immediately at the sound of the doorknob, though, and with a sheepish expression, like a dog who knows it has erred, he slunk into the guest bedroom, tail between his legs.

The next night, Remus left his door ajar, and in easy stages, Padfoot moved closer each night. A little over a week after arriving, he was in the bed with Remus, still in dog form, but a comforting warmth and weight against him.

It was really the first full moon that turned the tide. Over the years, Remus's parents had transformed a small portion of the wood that surrounded Aethenum Park into a haven for their werewolf son. The woods were warded to keep him in, and charmed to keep everyone else out. Remus himself reinforced the spells at the wane of every moon when he was home, just to make sure the spells were strengthened regularly. Even when he didn't have access to Wolfsbane Potion, he could run safely in this heavily protected forest. On a Blue Moon at the end of July, Padfoot ran with Moony again.

The next day marked the first occasion Sirius remained in human form for an entire day. As his transformations drained him physically and mentally, Remus lay weakly in bed, sleeping most of the day. Sirius took charge. Though still healing his own wounds, he was always more responsible when he felt needed. Moony needed him that day. He even cooked - a simple affair of opening a tin and boiling some soup, but still, it gave him confidence. He was able to nurture, for once, to prove that he was capable of taking care of someone. His Moony.

It was shortly afterward, though, that the dreams began in earnest.

The first thing Remus became aware of was the smell. The sharp tang of urine cut into his dream, but it happened that the smell fit in an odd way. As a werewolf, the smell of urine never bothered Remus - in a strange way, it was comforting. He slept on as the warm wetness spread across the bed. Then he received a blow to his body, and that annoyed him, so he growled in his sleep. Next rapid kicks battered his shins, and a scream ripped through his dream. It was a shriek of terror and pain, and it came from Sirius. Remus woke instantly.

Awake, he realised that the bed was indeed wet, wet with urine and sweat and blood - Sirius's blood - and the bedclothes tangled. Long scratches welled along Sirius's arms. His lip was bleeding. He must have bit it to keep from screaming, but eventually lost that battle. Remus assessed all this while subjected to a flurry of kicks and punches, Sirius's fists hammering outward onto the next closest person. His eyes were shut tight against whatever storm he perceived in his dream.

"Sirius!" Remus called to him without thinking, concerned only with halting the onslaught. "Sirius, wake up! Sirius, it's a dream. It's just a dream." He seized the man's arms and hugged them tight, shaking him awake. "Sirius, shhh.... Wake up, now, it's a nightmare. It's all right."

Sirius screamed again, tearing himself away from Remus's strong grip, sitting straight up in the big bed from the force of his terror. His eyes flew open and he drew ragged breaths, clearly tormented by whatever it was that finally woke him. He couldn't catch his breath; he began to hyperventilate until, leaning over the side of the bed, he vomited.

Remus caught Sirius's forehead just in time to brace him against the violent retching. He pulled himself to his knees to get a better grip, noting distantly how soaked Sirius was in sweat and how wet the sheets were. He cursed himself for not waking sooner to help his friend.

"Oh, gods..." Sirius moaned. "Oh, Moony...." Sirius choked and coughed, sputtering apologies as he saw the damage he'd done. Along Sirius's side, the sheets were torn from his attempts to scratch at his nightmarish attackers. He sat in a puddle of his own piss, blood, sweat, and tears. The metallic, sickly-sweet smell of his vomit assaulted his nose. He had woken Moony and disrupted everything. He began to sob, ashamed of himself, and more concerned than ever that Moony would hate him.

"Shh, it's all right," Remus said calmly. Sirius was like a child in his dejection, his fear, his embarrassment. "Nothing we can't take care of, puppy." Remus stood up on his side, picking up his wand from the bedside table. He came around the bed - the king-sized, elegant four-posted canopy from his parents' master suite at the Park - and cleaned up the emesis with a quick spell. Then he held out his arms to Sirius, who came into their circle weakly. "Come on, let's clean you up," he said soothingly.

Sirius felt his wet pyjamas cling to his legs and began to tug at them. Remus knelt before him and untied the drawstring, pulling them down and lifting Sirius's legs out. Sirius seemed unaware of his nakedness, simply relieved to be free of the restricting garment.

"Come on, love. Down to the bath...." With a constant, comforting manner, Remus escorted his charge down to the bathroom, where he stripped his own pyjama bottoms and put them in the hamper after sitting Sirius down on the toilet and turning on the taps for the bath. He filled a glass of water and instructed Sirius to sip it slowly. Then he opened the medicine cabinet - practically empty until a few weeks ago, when he began picking up various potions and remedies for Sirius to use - and efficiently gathered his supplies. Between potions and wand he healed the long cuts on Sirius's forearms while the bath filled. All the while, Sirius whimpered uneasily, and Remus soothed him.

He bathed Sirius first, then washed himself quickly. By the end of the bath, Sirius seemed to calm down quite a bit, too much, in fact. He sat deadly silent, almost catatonic, barely responding when Remus said little things to him.

"I have to fix the bed, Sirius," Remus said matter-of-factly. "Can we go upstairs, do you think, and will you be all right in the other room for a minute while I make up the bed fresh for us?"

Sirius nodded dully. He responded to Remus's gentle direction, out of the bath and straight up the stairs. Remus sat him carefully on the guest room bed and kissed him lightly on the forehead. "You sit here quietly. I'll be right back." With a last, concerned appraisal of his packmate, the wizard left the room.

He stripped the bed tidily, used his wand to dry and repair the mattress, and pulled out new sheets and coverlet. He was just tucking the fitted sheet around the mattress when the door swung open and a large black dog shuffled in, tail down, eyes pleading. He sat on his haunches and waited patiently while Remus made the bed.

"Come on, love," Remus said with a sigh. Padfoot wagged his tail once, expectantly, and jumped onto the huge bed. He laid down, yawning widely, and rested his head on his paws. Remus could feel Padfoot watch him as he came around the bed, not bothering with a fresh pair of pyjamas for himself, and climbed in beside the giant dog. Padfoot rolled over against him immediately, resting a large paw on his chest. "Yes, puppy. I'm here. It's all right," He said, feeling weary and heart-sore, but comforted as much by Padfoot's reliance on him as Padfoot was by his presence. He turned to face the huge dog, who licked his face once before settling. They fell asleep quickly after that, breathing each other's scents until long into the next morning.

Sirius had similar dreams every few days, though the number and intensity slowly diminished. Nevertheless, it was a clear sign to Remus that Azkaban still permeated his subconscious, preventing him from moving on. They never really spoke of them, though, except in the most abstract sense. After the first few incidents, Sirius's assaults shifted from himself to Remus, but Sirius woke believing that he had passed a dreamless night. Remus knew, somehow, that the dreams were part of a process for Sirius, and eventually he simply held him, allowing the man to buffet and bite and scratch him instead of himself. He healed by morning, and Sirius woke with no recollection of trouble in the night.

Without him there, Remus knew, Sirius would hurt himself instead. He protected and comforted Sirius throughout, just as Sirius's presence alone comforted Remus. When they finally began to explore more intimate relations, Remus privately rejoiced. But it was the contact, the casual, familiar contact, that he valued even more than the sex. He missed his lover terribly.

---

Snuffles Lupin
Owl Nook
Somerset, GB

24 September, 1995

Dear Padfoot,

It feels like ages since I've written. But school as you know is a routine of grading and class preparation, at least for an old-fashioned teacher like me. (Yes, I get to hear that I am extremely traditional, according to my students.)

Let's see: I haven't even told you much about this place, have I? Well, I know you have more important things on your mind, but maybe this will distract you a bit. So, it's more like a campus of buildings than a single castle like Hogwarts, Beauxbatons, or Durmstrang. I taught for a bit in the American south, at DuPresque, back... before, and it's more like that. Only there it's far enough south that they don't need enclosed walkways between the buildings. There's a central building for classes, that's where our offices are as well; a dining hall; even more greenhouses than Madam Sprout has, owing to the climate here; quite a respectable library; six student dormitories, each one with an adjacent house for the professors, a few other houses for the staff scattered about; the care of magical creatures building (yes, an entire building!), and of course the pitch. No, I don't have to stay in one of the dormitory houses - I think they did that on purpose, though.

The first thing I noticed when I was exploring my little bungalow is that it has quite a stout cellar. I think that must have been there from the beginning, but they lined the inside of the cellar door with iron, and fitted an iron bar across it. I suppose it's a precaution in case the Wolfsbane Potion shouldn't work. Wise, I guess, and sadly, I can't say I blame them. But it's across the campus from the dormitories, so it's quiet in the evenings. I think there may actually be a Serenitis ward around the place, but I haven't bothered to check. If there is, it's not helping me sleep any better. But at least I stay on top of my lessons and grading while I'm up. Actually, it's quite comfortable: I've got as much room here as the cottage, I daresay. More, as it's not so cluttered.

You'd be interested in the Quidditch here, pet. Quodpot and Quidditch both have leagues, but the latest thing here is a variation I've never seen before. Instead of passing the quaffle by hand, they catch and throw it using large nets on hand-held sticks. One of the Seniors tells me that it started a few years ago, because a Muggle-born student brought something called a lacrosse stick to school. He broke it in half, my student explained, so he could use it one-handed while on a broom. Apparently, the other students emulated him, and they get up unofficial games on week-ends. I can see why they like the challenge - passes miss more frequently, so the game moves a lot differently - but it always seemed to me Quidditch was quite exciting enough.

Speaking of Quidditch, have you heard from Harry? I wish I'd seen him play more while I was there. He does have to watch his circles to the right, though: he always had a little wobble that opened his turns up. All right, I know. I was never much of a flyer, not like certain roommates of mine, but you must admit, I did all right at observation. I don't suppose there will be much time for it soon, though, with his OWLS and NEWTS. Make sure he studies, Sirius, I mean it. He can't breeze through them like you did.

One more thing on Quidditch: I'm sure Albus would like to know, next time you see him, that the Haileybury Hammers are sending a team representative to inspect our Varsity (that's the upperclassmen's league) next month. It might be a good opportunity to assess England's chances against them this season.

I'm enclosing a playdisc for the soundbox for you. I can't say I went out and sought it, but when I heard it, I knew you'd like it. The honest truth of the matter is, I confiscated an identical playdisc and a portable box from a student. Imagine, students listening to music in one of my classes! Yes, puppy, I know, I can hear you now: I have crossed over to the side of...the teachers. I must turn in my Marauders badge and membership card, go directly to the staffroom, and suffer the ignominious fate of all my kind: to live forever with chalk stains on my robes and cramp from holding a quill long hours while grading.

It's a lot easier, in some ways, though, being a teacher at another school. Much as I enjoyed working alongside Professor Flitwick, Professor McGonagall, and all our old teachers, it felt distinctly strange the whole time. Of course, not even Harry could put much over on me, knowing the place as well as I did. I'm sure some of my students here think one good hex would finish me off, but we know better, don't we, Padfoot?

Where was I? Oh, yes, the playdisc. Well, I took it away and assigned the errant boy some extra work, but after class I took the liberty of looking at what I'd confiscated. And once I listened, well, I knew you had to hear this. They sound a lot like the old doo-wop groups of the 50's and 60's (the Warlocks come to mind, but so do the Platters), fused with something Hag and the Haggis might come up with. Anyway, they're from Toronto, so they're rather an important band around these parts. Look at number seven - tell me that's not Lily and James. How many times did he ring us up because Lily just wanted to stay in with a good book?

My, I've rambled on quite a bit, haven't I? It's hard, having to save up everything I have to say. But unspeakably better, just to know that I have someplace to send it to. I hope you're feeling better, love. That last letter worried me a bit. I know Dumbledore had his reasons, but I only took this position because of what you said. Just promise me that the minute you think I'll do more good there than here, you'll tell me? I'll be on the first transport home, you know that.

Full moon in a few days. My first since arriving. I can't decide whether I'd rather put a rug down in that cellar and make myself as comfortable as possible or put my faith in Claire's potions work and curl up in bed. Cellar, I suppose. Someone might look in the window otherwise, even if it is the upper floor. Better safe than sorry, as they say.

I miss you, Sirius. It's simply astonishing how quickly one can get used to old habits again. I slept alone for so many years, but now after only a few months, I keep reaching over at night, expecting to find you. My packmate. My gorgeous Padfoot. Work is about the only thing that keeps me focused. Hurry up and get those bastards put away, will you, so we can get on with our own business. I shouldn't be selfish, but I want to know: do you think you'll find a way to visit soon? I need you, too, puppy-dog. So it's my turn to snap out of it, I suppose. Blame it on the time of the month.

I should send this off. Just ignore that last paragraph, will you? I'm all right, just getting old and morose before my time.

Your

M

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TBC...