His Serious Side

Sirius Black had never really lived up to his name. All through his years at Hogwarts, and even the few harrowing years following, he had never been a particularly serious person. It had always been a joke between himself and his friends at school that he had aimed since he was born to be a complete prankster and prove his parents wrong. In the seventeen years since he had graduated from Hogwarts, however, his outward demeanor and behavior had changed significantly because the death of one´s best friends and spending twelve years in prison for the murder of one´s supposed other best friend was no laughing matter. A noise resembling some sort of combination of a growl and a snarl arose from the back of Sirius´s throat, but he pushed it down quickly. He didn´t want to wake Remus.

He looked over at the sleeping form of his friend and sighed tiredly. He blinked at the blurry numbers of his watch and made out the time to be nearly four a.m. He was exhausted, but his racing mind would not let him rest. Groaning softly, he let his eyes travel back over to the window to seek out his namesake. His drowsy eyes found it immediately. Sirius, the Dog Star, the brightest star in the sky. He had always felt he had lived up to that implication of his name: the playful, mischievous dog, the brightest fixture in the heavens. However, tonight he felt more serious than playful and mischievous.

The past year had been a difficult and troubled one. Sirius had been in hiding because two years ago, he had been imprisoned in Azkaban for the murder of Peter Pettigrew and thirteen Muggles. However, Sirius had been innocent of any murder and had escaped from prison in his Animagus form that summer. Almost after a year after his break from Azkaban, his old friend Remus Lupin and his godson Harry Potter--along with Harry´s friends Ron and Hermione--had discovered Sirius´s innocence when Peter Pettigrew had been discovered living as a rat in Animagus form after framing Sirius for his own crimes. In spite of this, Sirius had been forced to flee for his life when Peter had escaped, taking any hope of Sirius´s acquittal with him. But Professor Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts, knew of Sirius´s innocence as well. Sirius had told the judicious old man his story before he had fled the Dementors of Azkaban with the help of Harry and Hermione and, much to Sirius´s relief, the old Professor believed him. Ever since he had narrowly escaped the Dementors, he had been moving from place to place throughout the country, occasionally staying with his old friend Remus and periodically writing Harry. He had grown worried when Harry had been illegally and unbeknownst to even Harry himself, entered in the Triwizard Tournament taking place between Hogwarts, Beauxbatons, and Durmstrang. He had suspected someone was trying to harm or even kill Harry and had moved closer to Hogwarts, in a cave in the village of Hogsmeade, right outside Hogwarts. Yesterday, in the last task of the Triwizard Tournament, Harry and Cedric Diggory, the other Hogwarts champion, had been transported to a graveyard where Cedric was killed and Harry witnessed the rebirth of Lord Voldemort. Sirius, alerted by Dumbledore of the events had come to Hogwarts in Animagus form and spoken with the Headmaster and Harry. After the story had been related, Dumbledore had asked Sirius to notify the "old crowd" of Aurors and activists against Voldemort. Dumbledore, along with Remus, Harry, Ron, and Hermione were the only ones who currently knew Sirius´s whereabouts and his tale of what had really happened on November 1, 1981. Earlier that evening, Dumbledore had had Sirius expose himself to Molly Weasley, who, along with her husband, was a long-standing supporter of Light Magic. The old Professor had also asked a very difficult task of Sirius--to reveal himself to a long-standing enemy, Severus Snape. Both men had reluctantly agreed to cooperate and work together, but the enmity remained. Sirius was quite sure that it always would. That handful of people remained the only ones who knew the truth. But that would all change later today.

If you had asked him right then, Sirius would have said that he was scared out of his wits to reveal himself to anyone--even old friends. He had been on the run for nearly two years now and the thought of facing people who thought him a murderous traitor petrified him. He couldn´t be sure that any of them would believe him. What would they do when he showed up at their doors as a great black dog and then turned into the man they had all been trained to fear for thirteen years? How, with no evidence of Peter´s continued existence, could he make them believe him? Fear clutched at his heart and he forced his thoughts down a different avenue. He had a few hours yet before he would have to worry about that.

He listened to the steady pounding of rain on the window and looked down at his rain-soaked robes. He had made the journey to Remus´s house as Padfoot, but that didn´t stop him from being soaked. He had traveled to Remus´s first on instinct, the list of names pounding in his head as if the past thirteen years had been erased and he was twenty-one again, young and completely naïve of what would befall his friends and he: Remus, Fletcher, Figg, James and Lily...NO, Sirius, he reminded himself, they´re dead. They´ve been dead for thirteen years. But the names, the faces, the memories just kept coming back to him, haunting him and mixing with the photographs he saw of Harry earlier that evening, his face pale and scared and miserable and trying not to show it as Dumbledore asked him to relive his ordeal, asked him if his parents had reappeared from Voldemort´s wand. Sirius unconsciously let out a noise that sounded like a whimper and quickly stuffed it back down his throat. In Azkaban, he had allowed himself to weep everyday as often as he wanted. But since escaping, he hadn´t shed one tear and he didn´t plan to. If he was going to even the score with Peter, if he was going to help Dumbledore destroy Voldemort, if he was going to take care of Harry, keep him safe and give him some semblance of the family and the life he deserved, then Sirius had no time for crying. The stakes were too high now for reminiscing and wishing for the past. He had let James down, but he would not let Harry down. He had a mission. He would make up for his fatal mistakes of the past by not making a single mistake now.

Sirius had originally intended to simply stop by Remus´s house and leave his friend a note explaining that he should stay home until Sirius returned and explained the circumstances to him. However, when he arrived at his friend´s home, soaked and physically and mentally exhausted from running all night and letting his thoughts run him ragged, Sirius had abandoned his plan. Silently exiting the bedroom, he seated himself in one of the kitchen chairs and rested his forehead in his palms, feeling the water dripping from his disheveled hair pooling on the table before him. There was a dull headache beginning at the back of his head and he dug his fingertips into his scalp, trying to make it disappear. It only served to worsen the throbbing.

He ran through the day´s--had it really only been a day since he had been curled up in his cave next to Buckbeak?--events in his mind. The great grey barn owl that dived into his cave, dropping his load onto Sirius´s head with a loud, indignant hoot and disappearing as fast as he had arrived. The letter and the fear that clutched at Sirius´s heart as he read its contents and discovered the words Harry, Voldemort, and alive in the same sentence. Relief washed over him and he let out the breath he had been holding, apprehension forcing him to sit as he realized that the word alive referred not only to Harry, but to Lord Voldemort as well. At that moment, he had felt the same cold rush rapidly through his veins that he had felt only several times before: when he learned that Lily and James were dead but Harry alive, when he learned that Wormtail was still alive and living at Hogwarts under the guise of a pet rat, and that night in the Shrieking Shack when Snape had burst in and ruined all of Sirius´s hopes for acquittal and the life he should have had. When he had thought, for those few harrowing hours that he would be handed back to the Dementors. Not that the thought didn´t vex him now. It was tucked quietly away in a dusty corner of his mind, where no one could find it and it couldn´t plague his days, only his nights. Long, lonely nights when he still saw the most horrific scenes of his life tear through his conscience and his sleep. He hadn´t slept well in thirteen years. The best sleep he ever got was when he was Padfoot and sixteen again, at Hogwarts with Moony, Wormtail and Prongs, the way they should be. He transformed a lot, sleeping and eating in dog form. The dog who thought only simple, succinct thoughts. Death and life were just words to the great black stray, rather than the stigmas of heartbreak and uncertainty, blemishes of grief and sorrow, and a life gone astray and never to be led back that they were to the troubled and anguished man who kept these matters behind his tired, empty eyes and lined, worried face.

Sirius sighed and recalled how he had promptly transformed into Padfoot and run the distance to the castle in mere minutes, reluctant to follow Dumbledore´s instructions to sit and wait for further directions in Hagrid´s pumpkin patch but doing so anyway. Remembered the look on McGonagall´s face as she led her former student into the castle and up to the Headmaster´s office. He remembered thinking what a golden opportunity this would have been for mischief if he had still been sixteen and mischievous, young, stupid, and selfish. He thought of the irony that had surfaced in his mind-the most ideal circumstances for a prank except for the circumstances that brought him into the situation. He imagined himself in school again, scrambling back up to the common room to inform his friends of the excellent scheme he had just pulled off. Oh, what he wouldn´t give to have that ignorance, that innocence back again. He and his friends had all thought they were so mature, so smart, so clever. If only they had known.

He exhaled roughly at the memories thoughts of his friends evoked. It was all so unfair. James, the only Marauder who really had reason to live, his wife, his son, was the only one not here. Sirius knew that both he and Remus would have gladly and eagerly given their lives for James and Lily. Why hadn´t he? Why hadn´t he listened to Dumbledore? Because he had been afraid, that´s why. He hadn´t wanted to die. As much as he didn´t want his best friends and their son to die, he was too young, too foolish, and too selfish to really become a martyr for them. So instead he let the traitor in their midst destroy all of their lives. Sirius pictured Harry´s face from earlier that evening, etched with fresh blame and culpability, new fears and uncertainties. He saw so much of his father in that face, so much of his best friend. Sometimes, looking into the face of his godson, he would expect to hear James´s voice congratulating him on his latest feat and Lily´s voice, reprimanding them for their antics. Sometimes, looking back on those memories hurt so much the pain was physical. Every time he saw that guilt on his godson´s face, he just wanted to grab his shoulders and yell at him to stop it. It wasn´t his fault. None of this was his fault. It was Sirius´s.

"Padfoot?" The sound of his name made him jump and he turned to the sound to see his friend standing in the doorway of the kitchen wearing his dressing gown and a puzzled expression.

"Moony," he said quietly. "I didn´t wake you, did I?"

"No," Remus said, shaking his head and pulling out the chair across from Sirius. "I couldn´t sleep. What´s wrong? What are you doing here? When did you get here? Why are you all wet?"

Sirius laughed wearily suddenly, ignoring his opportunity to poke fun at his friend and say "I´m all wet because it´s raining outside, can´t you see?" He leaned back in his chair at his friend´s deluge of questions.

"I...I...I can´t..." He paused for a moment, contemplating how to tell his friend the truth. He took a deep breath. "Remus, he´s back."

The silence that descended over the small, modest room was complete. The only sound that could be heard was the hammering of the rain against the walls of the small, quaint house. The gravity of Sirius´s words was enough to snuff the vivacity out of any room. It was a full five minutes before anyone spoke again.

"When?" Remus asked, his voice hoarse and scratchy. "How?" His eyes were downcast, gazing at his hands folded neatly on top of the worn, old table.

Sirius let out a huge sigh, organizing his thoughts and steeling himself to tell the story. "The Third Task was tonight." Remus gave an affirming nod. Sirius had been writing to him throughout the year, keeping him informed of the strange goings-on at Hogwarts and Harry´s life. "Harry and the Diggory boy, Cedric, got to the cup- -it was in the center of the maze and whoever reached it first won--at the same time. They got to it at the same time and agreed to touch it together, because both of them insisted the other had won." Sirius sighed heavily here and Remus nodded again. "That sounds like Harry." Sirius didn´t say anything, just stared at his friend, knowing what he really meant by that statement. Neither of them had actually had much time to really get to know Harry. What he really meant was, that sounds like James. The one thing both of them could be sure of was that Harry was his father´s son. He personified everything that James had admired and respected in his friends, his teachers, and his colleagues. Even in the absence of his father, Harry had become the perfect son.

"The cup was a PortKey," Sirius continued. Remus held his gaze and showed no emotion though Sirius was quite sure he had an idea of what was coming. "It took them to a graveyard where Voldemort and--and--and Wormtail-," he spat the word out of his mouth vehemently, his face turning a deep red, "were waiting." Sirius swallowed, remembering how his godson´s voice had wavered when he had reached this part of the story. "He killed Cedric." He heard Remus give a sort of terrified gasp but forged on anyway. "He used Harry´s blood and the bone of his father--that´s why they were in the graveyard--and Wormtail´s hand--he used them to bring himself back to life. He called the Death Eaters to him and he tried to duel with Harry. He was going to kill him but-," here Sirius had to stop and take a deep breath "-but it didn´t work." Sirius stopped talking then and closed his eyes, taking slow deep breaths to calm himself down.

"What?" Sirius opened his eyes to Remus´s bewildered face. "Why didn´t it work?"

"Priori Incantatem," Sirius answered wearily.

"The Reverse Spell Effect?" Remus asked, still more bewildered and sounding almost exactly as Sirius had hours ago when Harry had related his story in Dumbledore´s office.

"Yes," Sirius said, leaning forward and resting his elbows on the table. "Harry´s wand shares a core with Voldemort´s. Tail feathers from Fawkes." Remus stared at his friend in amazement and shook his head slowly from side to side.

"So what happens?" he asked softly. "I mean, when the wands try to act against each other?"

"They don´t work properly," Sirius answered. "But if the owners try to force it...one of the wands will regurgitate the spells it has performed...starting with the most recent."

The deafening silence had once again descended on the room. Remus, once again, was the one to break it.

"Cedric." It was not a question. Sirius nodded, averting his eyes and tracing the patterns of the wood grain in the table.

"And..." He was catching on now. "...James and Lily..." Remus trailed off and Sirius only nodded. Silence pervaded again as the two men leaned back in their chairs and lost themselves in their own thoughts.

After a long silence in which the old friends consciously avoided each other´s eyes, Remus spoke again.

"He´s all right? Harry, I mean." Sirius nodded mutely and raised his eyes to his friends. "He got back again by the PortKey. The...shadows...or whatever they were distracted Voldemort so he could get away. He brought Cedric´s body back. He´s at Hogwarts. Resting."

"What I don´t understand," Remus began, his eyes focusing on some unseen object as he rain his fingers through his greying hair, "is how the cup was a PortKey. How did he manage that one?" Sirius heaved a sigh.

"I´m not exactly sure of that part. It had something to do with Barty Crouch. Killed some people under Voldemort´s orders; I think he was disguised as Mad-Eye."

"Barty Crouch?" Remus asked incredulously. "Merlin, I never would have pinned that on him." Sirius nodded in agreement.

"Fudge is refusing to believe it," Sirius said. "Gave Crouch the Kiss-," he shuddered a bit here and Remus put a comforting hand on his forearm, "without consulting anyone first. Refuses to believe any of Harry´s story. Won´t listen to any of Dumbledore´s advice. It´s not going to be pretty, Moony," he said gravely, looking his friend in the eyes. "I dare say it´ll be worse than last time." The room lapsed into silence once more, but the severity of the thoughts weighing on both of their minds was too intense at just that moment and the silence was broken quickly this time.

"Dumbledore asked me to tell you," Sirius said, "and the others. Arabella, Mundungus..." he trailed off. "All the others," he mumbled, looking down. "I should get going." He stood, pushing his chair back and upsetting the pools of water that had trickled off of him during the conversation.

"No, Sirius," Remus said, standing as well. "You´re soaked. At least stay and have something to eat, dry off a bit, maybe get some sleep." He knew he had won, knew his friend would stay because he could see the trepidation and apprehension slowly eating away at his Sirius´s resolve to complete his task. Remus watched as the fully-grown man in front of him fidgeted like a child.

"Well, I...I mean, I...I should really get going...it´s already been a few hours and..."

"Well then a few more won´t hurt," Remus said firmly. "It´s six o´clock in the morning; I reckon Mundungus would hex you six ways to next week if you woke him at this hour."

The two men smiled feebly at the dismal attempt to lighten the mood as Remus moved to the kitchen cupboard and began preparing breakfast haphazardly. Sirius´s insides shivered involuntarily a little, however, as he sat down again, thinking that old Mundungus Fletcher would probably do a lot more to Sirius when he saw him than hex him. As Remus quietly observed this uncharacteristic tremor of fear from his friend, an idea formed in his mind. He subtly excused himself from the room for a moment, earning only a distracted "Huh?" and "Oh, yeah, sure." from his friend. In his small but tidy bedroom, Remus quickly found a clean piece of parchment, dipped his quill in the inkbottle and hastily penned a letter:

Mundungus,

Should an unexpected visitor turn up at your house today, please do not be alarmed. He is innocent, his intentions are all good, and he is on orders from Dumbledore.

I reckon I´ll be seeing you soon.

You´ll understand soon.

Remus Lupin

Rolling the parchment and securing it to Sunny´s left ankle he said, "Get this to Mundungus to me as fast as you can, all right? And there´s no need to collect a reply. I´ll have something for you when you get back." The owl gave a consenting hoot and flew promptly out the open window on the opposite wall. He was an old owl; Remus had owned him since he was in school when Remus and his friends has named him Sunny as a joke and counterpoint to Remus´s nickname, but he was faithful and capable. Satisfied that Mundungus would receive the message and it would pass quickly down the line of communications between the old Auror and his contacts, Remus headed back to the kitchen. Upon entering, he was greeted by the sight of his old friend scarfing down a bowl of cereal, eating more like his alter-ego Snuffles than a man. Coughing slightly to cover his snort of laugher, Remus served himself a bowl and sat down next to his friend.

"What?" Sirius asked indignantly, only causing Remus to laugh harder at the sight of food adorning the corners of his friend´s mouth. Sirius ran the back of his hand across his mouth, trying to scowl at Remus, but failing. Soon both men were laughing breathlessly, reliving for just a moment the partying and exuberance of their youth. Even in the most serious of times--with the exception of one terrible Halloween night when they had thought all was lost--the Marauders had always been able to find a laugh or two, childish as it was. Now, even facing the worst of their nightmares--Voldemort rising again to wreak fresh havoc and ruin the lives of a new generation--the children of his last victims--they found a single moment to revel in the innocence of days gone by.

*

It was late in the afternoon when Sirius awoke. After breakfast and a heartening laugh with Moony, followed by a long hot shower, he had allowed himself to surrender to the influence of sleep. He opened his eyes, blinked a few times and twisted so that he was sitting correctly on the sofa. Yawning and stretching his muscles--tired, but relaxed since his first shower in months, he reflected that he hadn´t slept so well in years. He wondered, perplexed, how a sleep on ancient, bony old couch in his friend´s dilapidated living room the day after the second rise of the Dark Lord could be so relaxing.

Shrugging off the odd question, Sirius stood and walked into the kitchen where he found a scribbled note from his friend:

Padfoot,

Gone into town for a few things. Should be back by five. Stay out of trouble.

Moony

Smiling laughingly and shaking his head at his friend´s warning to "stay out of trouble" (what kind of trouble could he possibly get into here and under these circumstances?), Sirius quickly jotted his reply under the message.

Moony,

Gone to tell the others. Don´t worry--I´ll be back. Dumbledore asked me to stay with you for a while. And I´m staying out of trouble.

Padfoot

P.S. I´ll be back in time for the full moon.

Setting the quill down on the kitchen table, Sirius straightened his spine and readied himself for his task. He had spent the previous night moping and feeling sorry for himself, but it was time to fix things. It was time to take action. He was ready.

Sighing resolvedly and transforming into the great black dog, Sirius bounded down the road and darted across it into the woods. Returning to the plain thoughts of Padfoot comforted Sirius. It was harder to feel pain or guilt--or any emotion for that matter--when one was a dog. But as he turned back for one last glimpse of his friend´s home, he felt the unmistakable pang of pain, guilt and fear that he always got when he was feeling particularly strong and was caught off guard. He may lose complex thought processes and emotions as a dog, but the simple emotions never left him. The dull ache that was always present in the back of his heart, the guilt he carried behind his eyes and never allowed to surface, the love that he felt for Remus, for Harry, and still for James and Lily after all these years. Even as a dog, rain or shine, he felt these things deeply inside of him every minute of every day. He kept them mostly hidden; he had never been known as a sensitive man. Quite the opposite, actually. But every now and then, his serious side did come out.

Maybe he had lived up to his name, he thought, sitting down momentarily in his place several meters from Remus´s house. He could be serious. And no matter what the majority of the wizarding world thought, he was not a Dark wizard. Nothing about him was black but his hair. Maybe that was the name he hadn´t lived up to. Deciding that these were questions for another, less turbulent time, a time when he could be sure that all he cared about were safe and he had not let anyone down this time, that no lives had been ruined, and he had made no fatal mistakes, he gave a bark of enthusiasm, of passion, of hope, and turned and disappeared into the black of the forest.

He would be all right.

They all would.

But as he ran, the rhythmic pounding of his own paws against the ground and the pure canine instinct of running to achieve a goal released the small corner of his mind that was still human, allowing his thoughts to run rampant again. As always, his thoughts returned to the past, to his family, his days at Hogwarts, his three best friends in the world. To the night he had made the decision and convinced James and Lily to use Peter instead, because of his own selfish fears. To the night James and Lily had died, the absolute despair that had fallen over him the moment the words were out of Dumbledore´s mouth and the incredible fury that had immediately followed when he realized that the only other people who knew the truth were dead and who would believe that it had been Peter when he, Sirius, the suspect--almost beyond a reasonable doubt, tried to explain the fiasco to the Ministry? To the sheer but fleeting ecstasy he felt when he found that Harry, his godson Harry, James and Lily´s son was alive, had defeated Voldemort, but most importantly was alive. All was not lost if he had Harry. But so quickly all that had been torn away from him. He recalled the ice that had gripped his entire body when he was handed to the Dementors, the endless, sleepless nights, the nightmares and the visions that haunted him both day and night, every minute bringing only more horrific memories and misery. He remembered the astonishing improvement in his mood when he finally discovered Peter living at Hogwarts--Hogwarts, where Harry would be now--as Wormtail and fled the Dementors, the near misses and failures in the castle and Gryffindor Tower and that night in the Shrieking Shack, the night when it had finally all come together and nearly fallen apart again in the space of a few hours, the night when Remus and Dumbledore both assured him of their belief and trust in him and Harry--Harry finally knew the truth. While he valued the faith of both his old friend and longtime mentor greatly, it was Harry´s trust that finally sealed it for him. Harry´s trust and the look in his eyes as he nodded his silent confidence in Sirius made him a rational man again. Harry knew the truth and that was all that mattered--Harry knew. And that was almost as good as forgiveness from his best friend. While both knew that neither could replace the man who had been lost, a face and a voice that was similar, that knew, that understood, could be a brilliant substitute, and they were very nearly all each other had. But Sirius´s half-canine, half-human mind always seemed to drift to the evil that was yet to be avenged. His thoughts turned to the guilt and remorse, the ache that was always present in his heart, the anger that burned his throat at the very mention of Peter´s name and the fact that he couldn´t erase Peter´s existence in his past, couldn´t erase the fact that to the very end, James and Lily had considered Peter just a sweet and bumbling friend and ally, couldn´t erase the fact that Peter had been a Marauder, had taken part in all their youthful hijinks and known their deepest secrets. Sirius couldn´t erase the fact that Peter, the thick, dim-witted schoolboy who needed assistance on even the simplest assignments, had out-witted him and beaten James, two of the most talented wizards in years, couldn´t erase the fact that Peter had betrayed them all and tried to deny the sin later. The sniveling little bastard, thought Sirius acidly, a low, dangerous growl emitting from Padfoot´s snout.

He had another chance now, in a way. He couldn´t reverse his fearful resolution to use Peter instead, couldn´t reverse James´s and Lily´s deaths, couldn´t undo his time in Azkaban or Harry´s dreadful, lonely childhood. He couldn´t undo his mistakes and compensate for his oversights, but he could do his best to make sure that things turned out better at the end this time. At the end of this war, there would be no innocents in Azkaban (wouldn´t be any Dementors at all, if he had anything to say about it), no rundown, lonely werewolves left alone after years of amiable, genuinely warm-hearted companionship, no orphans left to nasty, offensive relatives all because of one man´s terrible misstep.

But even as he firmly resolved to make these dreams come true, Sirius could feel a cold, familiar doubt creeping into his veins. He had been too scared and too selfish to do the right thing last time. Why would this time be better?

Shut UP, Sirius! He mentally screamed at himself. You haven´t made any mistakes or taken or ruined any lives. You haven´t done anything. You have nothing to fear.

Yet.

But Sirius shoved down these relentless thoughts; they only tore him down. He needed to focus on the task at hand. He cleared his mind and concentrated on the blur of trees and nature passing him by and the movements necessary to reach Mundungus´s house. This tactic worked for a grand total of thirty-six seconds. Sirius knew because he was counting them as they passed to keep himself occupied. But his godson and his best friend kept returning to him, kept lingering in his thoughts, preoccupying him and making him return to the force that was driving him--guilt. He had to do better this time--for Harry and for James. But he hadn´t had the courage to do the honorable thing, so what guarantee was there that he would not do the same this time?

Padfoot stopped running for the first time in hours. He sat back on his haunches and howled up at the early evening sky, just beginning to darken, making constellations visible. There was no guarantee for anything. But Sirius had to rely on himself. The fear was always there, darkening the bleakest corners of his mind, but he had to push it away. He had had twelve and a half years in Azkaban to dwell on his fear and its consequences, to consider what he would have done different if he had the chance to do it over. He had had a year to reacquaint himself with Remus and the camaraderie they once had and a glimpse of the carefree, blithe days of their youth. He had had a year to finally know his godson, even if he couldn´t be with him physically, and fulfill his promise to James and Lily to take care of the precious son they all loved. There was no guarantee he would be infallible through this war, no guarantee that he could accomplish all of his goals and make up for his failures. But he had the occasion to do his best and give all he could. The opportunity had come; the time was at hand for Sirius to right the wrongs he had wrought. And he certainly intended to do just that, or die trying.

He would make it right.

*

Out of the night that covers me

Black as the pit from pole to pole

I thank whatever gods may be

For my unconquerable soul

-from Invictus, by William Ernest Henley.