The Love Song of Sirius Black

prologue: Let us go then, you and I,

When the evening is spread out against the sky

It's all chaos and confusion, and one second he's taunting that insufferable (and incidentally evil and deranged) cousin of his, and the next he's been hit by a bright light and it's like a horse kicked him in the ribs, and he's falling, falling backwards, and there's nothing to hold on to and oh fuck his chest hurts he's falling falling fall--

He sees the summer night sky spreading out above him, reaching out to the ends of the earth and beyond, and he pulls the blanket of stars around him like a new cloak and sighs--

no--

(time shifts, twists, and falls back in upon itself, rewinds and replays like a familiar story whose ending has inexplicably changed--)

i:There will be time, there will be time

To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet

"The Great Hall," the boy beside him whispers, voice reverent and nearly inaudible under the babble of voices of the other first years, and Sirius just grins and claps him on the back. The boy glances over, startled, but offers up a shy smile.

"On ye go, then," Hagrid booms out over the nervous-excited cacophony, and on they go.

Sirius and the boy are half-pushed down into seats. They stare out into the sea of older students - Sirius confidently, with a wink and a wave at his cousins and a few of their friends, the other boy with carefully controlled terror.

"So," Sirius whispers to the boy, "what house do you think you'll be sorted into?"

"Er," the boy murmurs. "Ravenclaw, I expect. I like books better than people." He indicates the bustling Hall with a shaky hand.

"You never know," Sirius replies. "There are surprises every year. Take my family; not a single Black that wasn't sorted into Slytherin, and then my cousin Andromeda comes along and finds herself in Hufflepuff. Caused quite the scandal; my aunt refused to speak of it for months." He shrugged. "She likes it well enough, but Mum's pretty much threatened to disown me on the spot if I follow her example."

"So you're sure to be Slytherin, then," the boy says.

"Yeah," Sirius says confidently, but secretly, he's not so sure. If he had to choose between bossy, arrogant Bellatrix and friendly, funny Andromeda - well, he knows which cousin he'd rather share a common room with.

The Sorting Hat has finished its song by now, and Professor McGonagall starts calling the names. "Adamson, Sarah!" goes to Ravenclaw, as does "Bennett, William!"

Sirius wishes his name weren't so early in the alphabet, because he isn't ready yet, but sure enough, "Black, Sirius!" is next.

He walks over to the stool with a deliberate swagger, beaming at McGonagall and the sea of upperclassmen, working the crowd. He yanks the Hat on, plastering the grin to his face. No matter what happens, I have to keep smiling.

"Well!" the Hat cackles, "another Black prince! Your family's full of prominent Slytherins, you'd be welcome there. But not all of the current brood have followed Salazar's path, oh no. Are you another dutiful son or another freak, hmm?"

I don't want to be another Slytherin, but that thought is immediately followed by - oh Merlin, Mum would kill me, she really would.

"She would, she would," the Hat agrees enthusiastically. "Are you brave enough to stand up to her? Brave as a Gryffindor, perhaps?"

Not Gryffindor, anything but Gryffindor, she wouldn't stop at killing me, she'd flay me alive and then follow me into the afterlife and--

"Slytherin!" the Hat shouts, before Sirius has a chance to finish the thought. The Slytherin table cheers as Sirius pulls the Hat off, still grinning widely, although something inside him feels like crying. He looks out at his cousins' proud, possessive faces and wants to scream out that no, it's all a mistake, the Hat was considering Gryffindor but he'd had a momentary doubt that he's taking back, please let me try again.

He walks over to the Slytherin table and sits down, shaking the hands of his new Housemates with confidence, pouring on the charm, and watches the rest of the Sorting in numb silence.

The boy he'd spoken to - "Lupin, Remus!" - is sorted into Gryffindor. Lucky bastard.

(no that's all wrong, and time flips back again, sorts itself out, goes veering back on its proper path until the next fork in the road--)

ii:There will be time to murder and create,

And time for all the works and days of hands

That lift and drop a question on your plate

"If you're so bloody curious, why don't you go poke your nose at the Whomping Willow tonight?" Sirius says crossly. "Merlin knows it's long enough to reach the knot."

Sirius has always found Snape's occasional smirks insufferable; this one is no exception. "Perhaps I will."

The temptation to remove that smirk from Snape's face with his fist is nearly unbearable. Fortunately for the both of them, Professor McGonagall chooses this precise moment to come sweeping down the corridor towards them. "Ah, Mr. Black," she says, shrewd eyes darting back and forth between the two boys. "I'm so glad I found you; otherwise, you would have been late for your detention and Professor Flitwick would have been forced to have you repeat it tomorrow night as well as tonight."

Snape's smirk widens.

Without turning to acknowledge him, McGonagall continues, "And Mr. Snape, it's well past supper. Unless you have any urgent business here on the seventh floor, I would suggest you make your way back down to the Slytherin dungeon."

"Yes, Professor," Snape mutters, and slinks off down the corridor, turning once to shoot Sirius a particularly nasty look.

"You're lucky I passed by before you two started hexing each other," McGonagall says. "I do so hate deducting points from my own house. Now, Mr. Black, I believe you are supposed to be in Professor Flitwick's office right now. I must congratulate you; it takes a great deal for Flitwick to hand out a detention, and no, I don't even want to hear what you did to those puffskeins."

"It was a truly gorgeous set of charms," Sirius protests. "Really, I think James and I ought to be given extra credit, not detention. We worked hard on those furballs."

McGonagall's lips twitch in what almost might be considered amusement. "I don't want to hear," she repeats. "If I knew even the slightest detail, I would probably be forced to take another fifty points from Gryffindor, and as I said before..."

"Yes, Professor," Sirius sighs. "I'll be off, then."

When he gets to Flitwick's office, James is already there, dolefully cleaning out a tank of suspiciously rainbow-colored puffskeins. "Ah, Mr. Black!" Flitwick squeaks. "Just on time! Now, while I am shocked, positively shocked at the display you two put on in class today, I must admit to some curiosity. The combination of the Confundus and Protean charms on this particular batch of puffskeins..." He goes on at length about the unexpected byproducts of combining unusual charms until Sirius' head spins, and finally comes to the conclusion that Sirius and James had better charm the poor, confused creatures back into their normal purring selves, and give their tanks a proper cleaning, "and," he finishes, "give each and every one of them a nice long grooming before you return them to Professor Kettleburn." His eyes sparkle. "Puffskeins do love to be groomed."

One of the puffskeins, apparently slightly less confused than the rest (although an eye-smarting shade of neon green), gives a long purr at the mention of grooming. The purr ends in a sort of snorting growl, and a burst of flame shoots out of its rear. James and Sirius exchange glances. Flitwick just shakes his head sadly and gives the understandably distressed creature a gentle pat.

Once Flitwick retreats into a smaller, private antechamber within his office, James and Sirius get to work removing their web of charms from the puffskeins.

"Bloody awful timing for this prank," Sirius grumbles, trying to work off the top level of charms. A puffskein mewls pitifully as its fur ripples with color. "Full moon tonight, and we're stuck in here with a bunch of befuddled furballs."

"Yeah, well, the puffskein lesson was scheduled for today, and this was a brilliant prank," James says good-naturedly. "Besides, Moony spent years transforming on his own before we got involved. It's too bad, but there's always next month."

Something twitches in the back of Sirius' mind, but he ignores it. "Is Wormtail going, at least?"

James snorts. "Not bloody likely. He's still terrified of the wolf even with us there. He'd never go out on his own."

"Yeah," Sirius agrees, inexplicably bothered by this. The something in the back of his mind gives another tickle. "Well, I suppose we could all head out after we finish up here."

James glances out the window, then shakes his head. "Are you mad? It's nearly moonrise already; by the time this lot looks even remotely normal again, it'll be near midnight."

"So what?" Sirius says. "We've got your cloak; we can slip out easily enough, same as always."

"Moony will have been a wolf for more than three hours by then," James reminds him, flicking his wand at a recalcitrant orange puffskein until it sullenly returns to its normal hue. "It's still hard enough to make him accept us right after the change; can you imagine facing him after he's already been tearing the Shack apart for three hours? He'd attack as soon as he sniffed us coming down the tunnel, animal shapes or no."

Sirius frowns down at three oddly conjoined puffskeins. There's something he should be thinking about. Something he should remember.

"Moony's tougher than he looks, anyway," James says. "Hey, is that why you were nearly late to detention? Busy saying fond farewells?" He puckers his lips exaggeratedly and winks.

"Bugger off," Sirius replies half-heartedly.

"No, that's what you and Moony do, right? Bugger?"

Sirius realizes that he should be glad that James is mature enough to have accepted last summer's very awkward outing-of-Moony-and-Padfoot without even blinking, but sometimes he really wishes the prat would shut up about it. After all, someone else might hear, and while it's all well and good to have his best friend in on the secret, it's not exactly something he wants the rest of the school to know.

He whacks James (gently) upside the head with a particularly resilient puffskein. The creature squeaks affrontedly, but is otherwise unharmed. James rubs the back of his head and grins. "Poofter."

Sirius gives up. "At least I'm getting laid. Speaking of which, how is the lovely Miss Evans these days? Still punching you in the head every time you proposition her?"

James' face turns an unflattering shade of red. "Shut up."

Sirius beams seraphically at him and flicks his wand at the conjoined puffskeins. They split apart, although oddly enough, there are suddenly four of them instead of three.

"Why were you nearly late, anyway?" James asks, poking cautiously at a dark brown puffskein that seems to have sprouted spikes. "I left Gryffindor Tower just before you; what held you up?"

"Ran into Snivellus in the corridor," Sirius says. "He forced me to readjust that ridiculously long nose of his."

"I'm sure it's an improvement," James says approvingly. "Or would be, if you actually got around to it. You didn't really, did you?"

"No," Sirius admits. "I nearly did, though. Would've if McGonagall hadn't happened by."

The irritating something in the back of his mind finally clicks. Oh, bloody hell...

He'd told Snape how to get into the fucking passageway. He'd let his stupid fucking temper get the best of him, and he'd let it slip.

Sirius opens his mouth to tell James, but stops himself. No. Snape would never believe him, he'd think it was all a trick. And there were lots of knots on the Willow, Snape would never find the right one. The Willow would just give him a sound thrashing and send him running back to the castle. Assuming Snape ever even got that far, which he wouldn't, because he'd have to be absolutely barking mad to go anywhere near the Whomping Willow at night, and while Snape is many things, Sirius has to admit he isn't insane, or even particularly stupid. There's no reason to worry James about it, no reason at all.

So Sirius bites his lip and focuses intently on the puffskeins, and doesn't say another word.

It's just past midnight when they finally finish restoring the puffskeins to normal (although one or two are still more brightly colored than usual, and one still occasionally singes the fur on its rear end). They return the lot to Kettleburn, who remains suspicious and insists upon escorting them back to Gryffindor Tower.

Not that Sirius would have tried to slip out to the Shack or anything. Well, not without James' invisibility cloak, anyway.

In their room, the other boys are already snoring, except for Peter, who sleepily demands to know exactly how they'd made the puffskeins fart flames. Sirius considers asking James for his cloak, but to ask would be to explain exactly why he needed it, and that would involve a lot of being yelled at for his own stupidity (How the hell could you have told him where Remus is?!) and would really just get them all worked up over nothing. Because Snape isn't going to go to the Willow tonight. Certainly not.

Sirius sleeps very badly, and when he wakes up from yet another round of nightmares just before dawn, he decides that invisibility cloak or no, he has to check on Remus.

There's no one up and about in the castle at this hour, and the grey pre-dawn light casts an eerie pallor along the halls. Sirius has to force himself to maintain human form all the way through the castle, because as awful as it would be to be caught, it would be even worse to be caught in dog shape. He pads as quietly as possible down the endless staircases and corridors, finally slipping out through a hidden passageway that leads from just outside Filch's office to the grounds.

Once outside, he slips into Padfoot and flat-out runs to the Whomping Willow. He reassumes human shape just long enough to find a long stick and poke it at the knot, then tumbles doggy-style into the passage at the base of the Willow. The first rays of sunlight are just creeping over the horizon, bathing the tips of the castle towers in gold.

He knows something's wrong the second he lands in the passageway. Through Padfoot's eyes, everything is in damnably murky shades of grey, but it doesn't smell right. There's a sour coppery scent somewhere down at the end of the tunnel, and it takes him too fucking long to figure it out.

Blood. Oh, fuck.

The horrible shock of comprehension is just too much for the dog to take, and Sirius loses control over the shape and shifts back to human, so fast that his bones ache with the strain. The tunnel is dimly lit, but his eyes are sharper than the dog's, and he cries out and breaks into a run.

No no fuck no no nonononono...

Once he's checked the body, he promptly turns away and throws up. "No," he whispers hoarsely, leaning heavily against the wall of the tunnel. "No, no, oh fuck no."

He hated Snape, but he never wanted him dead. Oh, Merlin, not dead. Please don't let him be dead.

And then he slowly forces himself into the Shack.

Remus is naked in the corner of his usual room, sitting against a wall and hugging his knees to his chest. His eyes are wide open and terrified. He's shaking, hard.

His hands and chest are covered with blood.

Sirius clings to the doorway, unable to take another step forward, hardly even able to breathe.

Remus looks up at him, and Sirius wants to throw up again.

"Sirius," Remus whispers, voice cracking. "Oh, god, Sirius, it's not my blood. It's not my blood."

Sirius just nods. His mind whirls on ahead, to a Ministry trial and angry mobs and cold, accusing eyes and worst of all, the place even his mind refuses to take him yet. My fault. This is all my fault. Remus...

"Whose blood is it?" Remus asks plaintively. "Sirius, what have I done?"

Oh, Merlin, what have I done?

Sirius just stares back into those huge horrible scared eyes, and can't say a word.

(no no no remus no i told james he stopped it no god no, and time twists again in the blink of an eye--)

iii:Do I dare

Disturb the universe?

In a minute there is time

For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse

Sirius really wishes it weren't a dark and stormy night, because that just seems so bloody clichéd, but, well, it was pretty dark and fair-to-middling stormy, so there you have it. It's a dark and stormy night, and Sirius Black is meeting James Potter in a clandestine location to discuss dark secrets.

He used to like storms. Especially as Padfoot, when he'd run out into the rainy darkness and bark like a maniac every time lightning split the sky, the jolt of electricity making his fur stand on end. And then dashing back inside and shaking himself off, preferably into Remus' lap.

He'd give anything to be Padfoot right now, to be doing anything else, to be meeting James for any other reason, to talk about anything other than hey, James, I think I've figured out who the spy is and I don't think I can be your Secret Keeper anymore because I'm sleeping with him.

Oh, Merlin, he wishes he'd never seen the parchment he's currently trying to keep dry under his jacket.

He ducks into the used book shop, shaking his head instinctively to get some of the water out of his hair. The shop is nearly abandoned at this hour, thirty minutes before closing time, and its owner gives Sirius an irritated look. Sirius pointedly ignores him and wanders off to the very back of the shop, pretending to be deeply intrigued by a small collection of 18^th century scientific texts.

A few minutes later, the bell over the front door gives a little jingle, and James enters, also skirting around the disgruntled bookshop owner. He makes no pretense of looking for books but walks directly to the back and corners Sirius behind a tall bookshelf.

"Bloody hell, Sirius, I don't like these last-minute rendez-vous," he mutters. "We're doing the Fidelius charm in two days; couldn't it wait 'till then? Lily and I are kind of marked for death, in case you'd forgotten."

"I hadn't, and no, it couldn't wait," Sirius replies tersely. "James, I think I've found the spy."

James' annoyance instantly vanishes. "Who?"

Sirius takes a deep breath. No going back now. "Remus," he says softly, and the tiny part of his heart that was still clinging to denial shatters.

It's like a physical blow; James even takes a step back, his face drained of color. "What?"

"I've been suspecting it for a few weeks now," Sirius says with iron control, forcing back any emotion. "He vanishes for days at a time and reappears with vague explanations. He's increasingly distant with me. Granted, he's always been the repressed sort, but not with me, goddamnit. He's hiding something. And last night, I found this." He reaches into his jacket and pulls out the parchment, handing it to James. James studies it for several long minutes as Sirius leans heavily against a bookshelf.

"Merlin," James whispers. "I knew Voldemort was rounding up society's rejects, but werewolves..."

"He's backed the werewolf population into a corner," Sirius says grimly. "His Death Eaters are hunting them down, one by one. The Ministry's Werewolf Registry was supposed to be kept in a secret vault somewhere or something, just as a public safety concern or to keep people like Remus out of the Auror school or Ministry jobs, I think. But now that Voldemort has got a hold of it..."

"Remus would never betray us," James insists. "He'd die first; so would you, so would Peter."

"The werewolves in England who want to survive the war are all on Voldemort's side; those who aren't are mostly dead already," Sirius says heavily. "The fact that Remus is still alive and in the country is enough to condemn him. The Death Eaters have done too good a job of keeping their little wolf hunt quiet - who's going to care about a dead werewolf?"

"We would," James says firmly. "You're wrong, Sirius. You have to be."

Sirius shakes his head wretchedly. "I wish I were. The full moon was three weeks ago, James, and that's when Remus started acting so strangely. Voldemort would have already had half the werewolf population of the United Kingdom under his control by then, and he'd want to turn Remus, not kill him, because Remus can lead him straight to you and Lily. So it's the full moon, and maybe he sets his new pets on Remus. What werewolf can resist the call of his own kind?"

Silence stretches between them, broken only by the bookshop owner's irritated call of "Ten minutes till closing time, you lot!"

"I'm still not convinced that Remus has turned traitor," James finally says. He looks exhausted. "But I can't really take a chance here, can I? Not with Lily's and Harry's lives at stake."

"As well as your own," Sirius adds.

James gives him a hard look, but ignores the comment otherwise. "So what should I do?"

"Find another Secret Keeper," Sirius says immediately. "Don't tell anyone about the switch. I'll vanish for a few hours while you do the Fidelius charm, so Remus will think it's still me."

James thinks for a few long minutes, staring absently at a bookshelf. "Peter, then."

Sirius almost agrees, but a thought stops him. "No. Too obvious; if Remus realizes it's not me, Peter will be his next best bet. It can't be a Marauder."

"Who, then?" James asks wearily. "Might as well scrap the whole Order, if that's the case."

"Not the whole Order," Sirius says thoughtfully. "Figg."

"She's a Squib!"

"She doesn't have to do the magic," Sirius argues. "You cast the charm on her. She's just a...container for the information. There's no magic involved on her part."

"Maybe," James muses. "No one would even consider her, that's for sure. A Squib Secret Keeper!"

"She's dead loyal to the Order, and absolutely mad for Harry," Sirius adds.

"Maybe," James says again.

"We're closed!" the bookshop owner screeches. "Out, out, the both of you! Go home!" And the two men find themselves hustled out of the shop and onto the dark street.

They exchange a look. "Well," James says philosophically. "At least it's stopped raining."

"For now," Sirius modifies, as thunder rumbles ominously. He tries a smile, and offers James his hand. "All right, then?"

James grips Sirius' arm firmly. "Yeah. I wish we'd never had this conversation, though."

"Me, too," Sirius whispers. "Take care, Prongs."

"You, too, Padfoot," James replies, releasing him. "I'll be seeing you, yeah?"

"Right," Sirius agrees. He turns and starts walking quickly away, hunching his shoulders against the wind.

The rain is falling again by the time he reaches his flat. There's a light on in his bedroom window, and he pauses for a minute before going inside. Remus must be in there.

He swallows hard and wonders exactly who has betrayed whom.

(oh merlin that would have saved them no it shouldn't have happened at all not at all remus i'm sorry, and time goes spinning around wildly like a mad carousel--)

iv:I know the voices dying with a dying fall

Beneath the music from a farther room

Bellatrix is mad, completely mad. Azkaban has eaten away at her mind and soul, leaving little of the bossy, proud older cousin Sirius remembered. She's still proud, but it's a deranged sort of pride, with a maniacal devotion to her Dark Lord. Sirius had never seen Bellatrix after she'd become a Death Eater; he wishes he couldn't see her now. It's one thing to know that a little-loved but still respected cousin had turned evil; another thing entirely to see her, to fucking have to duel with her. Fuck, she's family.

Sirius duels. He loses himself in the battle, takes out all his frustration at having been pent up in that awful house and his worry about Harry and his hatred at every fucking Death Eater who ever walked the face of the earth - takes it all out on Bellatrix. He's mean and he's taunting and he doesn't always fight fair, but then again, it's not like his cousin's particularly concerned with the niceties, either.

They're on a dais, he realizes. Careful, then, not to fall. Department of Mysteries, he's always wondered what the hell the Ministry keeps in here, but this isn't quite the time to examine his surroundings. Bellatrix's eyes, wild and bloodshot; her face blanched with rage and madness; her spells going a little wild but under a sort of manic control, no Unforgivables yet but it's only a matter of time, every little hex and stunning spell potentially lethal if he should lose control for even a second or trip or stumble off the dais...

Harry's voice somewhere in the background, he's safe he's safe.

For now.

"Harry, round up the others and go!" someone shouts. Remus. Moony. Moony's helping Harry, no, Harry's helping himself, I need to get to Harry goddamnit Bella...!

"Moony!" Sirius yells, still keeping his wand and attention focused on Bellatrix, dodging yet another hex. "Help me finish this old bat off so we can get out of here!"

He doesn't turn to see if Remus heard him. Remus will come. Remus with his Defense Against the Dark Arts - the only class he'd ever made higher marks in than Sirius, though not by much - and two wands are always better than one, especially when facing off Voldemort's right-hand woman. Sirius is good, very good, but out of practice; he hasn't had anyone to hex the past year but Kreacher, and although a nice Unforgivable or two would have probably done the bloody creature good...

Something flutters in the corner of Sirius' eye, and he flinches. A veil. A veil in front of a really odd-looking archway, and something tingles in the back of Sirius' memory, some scrap of information he's lost to time or Azkaban.

That's odd, if he listens hard he can hear something coming from behind the veil. Voices, whispering, he can't make it out. And for half an instant, he thinks he can hear music, like a piano being played in a distant room...

Half a second later, he would have been too late, but his attention snaps back to Bellatrix just in time, just as she throws a stunning spell at him, and he twists out of the way just as it shoots past him....

Remus, pulling himself up onto the dais to help Sirius, takes the full force of the spell in the chest. He doesn't make a sound. His eyes meet Sirius' for a moment, just a moment, and there's the barest flash of surprise in them. And then he falls noiselessly into the veil, through the archway, and he's gone.

He's gone.

Sirius doesn't hesitate. He turns back to Bellatrix, points his wand at her, and calmly says, "Avada Kedavra."

She doesn't even have a chance to block it, just falls.

Harry's yelling something, there are the sounds of running footsteps everywhere, chaos and confusion and Remus is gone.

Later, Sirius won't remember much of anything that happened next. He's vaguely aware of leaping off the dais and grabbing Harry, restraining the boy from dashing off into the archway himself; following Malfoy and the other remaining Death Eaters into the Atrium; Voldemort's return - a blurry nightmare from which Sirius is afraid he'll never wake up.

When he wakes up, none of it will have happened. Harry won't have run off to the Ministry, Sirius won't have dueled Bellatrix, Remus won't have fallen.

But it's not a nightmare; it's real life, which is always worse. He never wakes up. Harry is safe, but Remus is gone.

(no i fell i did not remus no no no i don't want it to end that way, and time improbably leaps ahead into a future that can't possibly exist--)

v:To say: "I am Lazarus, come from the dead,

Come back to tell you all, I shall tell you all"

He touches his palm to the door of number 12 Grimmauld Place, and it swings open noiselessly. The house is as silent as a tomb; his footsteps echo hollowly as he makes his way down the hall to the staircase leading to the kitchen. And that's odd, isn't it, Sirius thinks, since the floor was always heavily carpeted before.

Remus is sitting alone at the kitchen table, his back to the doorway. Sirius comes up behind him and places his hand on Remus' shoulder. Remus starts.

"Sirius," he says finally, voice oddly calm in spite of the shock in his eyes. "You've been dead for a month."

"Has it been a month?" Sirius struggles to keep his own voice level.

"Yes."

"Where is everyone?" Sirius asks.

Remus frowns slightly, glancing around the room. "I don't know. That's odd. The Weasleys have essentially taken up residence; there's always someone about."

"The hall upstairs was deathly quiet," Sirius adds. "I thought the place was deserted."

"It shouldn't be," Remus says, sounding mildly concerned. His expression clears. "Actually, I think I must be dreaming."

"Are you sure?" Sirius asks doubtfully. "That would make me just a figment of your imagination, or something. I don't feel like a dream."

But even as he says it, he feels a strange ripple run through his body, making him feel just a wee bit...insubstantial. He shivers.

"It's really the only thing that makes sense," Remus says calmly, standing and pushing back his chair. Sirius steps out of the way. "Would you like some tea?"

Sirius sits heavily in the abandoned chair. "Sure."

"This is how I know this is all a dream," Remus tells him, getting two teacups out of a cupboard. "You're back from the dead, and I'm making tea."

"Well, what do you think you should do?" Sirius asks reasonably.

"Panic," Remus replies promptly. "Throw some charms at you to see if you're real. Call up the rest of the Order. Smile and nod and back away slowly. You know, that sort of thing." He rummages through several drawers before emerging triumphant with the teabags.

Sirius runs his hand along the tabletop. Oak, and so solid, so much more solid than Sirius feels. Another ripple runs up and down his spine. It's almost like something is tugging at him, trying to pull him out of his body, but he clenches his fists and thinks no. The shivery feeling subsides. "You could still throw a spell or two at me, if you'd like," he says lightly. "If you're not sure."

Remus smiles and drops the teabags into the cups. "Do you remember that Halloween, our third year at Hogwarts, when you scared Peter so badly he thought you were a boggart and tried to Riddikulus you?"

"Merlin, yes!" Sirius laughs. "That was brilliant! We didn't let him forget it for months."

"I wonder sometimes," Remus says, suddenly serious, "if the way we treated him in school - well, if that's why he--"

"Peter betrayed us," Sirius snarls, a little surprised at the force of his reaction. "He's evil through and through. End of story. I didn't spend those twelve years in Azkaban asking myself why."

"I did spend twelve years asking myself why," Remus says softly. He waves his wand over the teacups. The cups steam up immediately, and the kitchen is filled with the scent of tea brewing.

Sirius shifts uncomfortably in his chair, his anger dissipated. "You never told me what those years were like for you. What you did."

Remus finds two pewter spoons in a drawer. "You never asked," he says, and conjures some sugar. He takes the cups and spoons back to the table and sits, passing one of each to Sirius.

For a few long minutes, they sip their tea and avoid each other's eyes.

"How's Harry?" Sirius finally asks, awkwardly breaking the silence.

"He's doing fine," Remus says. He looks up from his tea. "He misses you a lot."

"Oh," Sirius says. Their eyes meet, and now Sirius can't look away. There's a sadness buried deep in Remus' eyes, a horrible familiar sadness, and it cuts into him.

Remus fumbles with his spoon. It clinks against the cup as he mindlessly stirs his tea and sugar. "I miss you, too. I've been missing you for fifteen years."

"Remus," Sirius whispers. He reaches across the table, catching Remus' wrist to stop the endless stirring.

"No," Remus says, pulling away, "you can't just come back from the dead and sit here drinking tea, even if you are just a dream, because you don't understand. The Sirius Black I knew died in Azkaban, and you came back from the dead once before but you were still dead, you just didn't realize it, and then you died again and now you're back again and you want to go on as if nothing happened but you can't and I can't--" and he's crying now, the tears spilling down his face, and that scares Sirius more than anything else because Remus never cried. Never. Not when his monthly transformations left him scarred and broken and nearly dead, not at graduation, not when Order members started dying the first time around, not when Sirius came back. Did he cry when James and Lily died? When Sirius died? Sirius doesn't know, and it hurts that he doesn't even know that little thing.

He's never seen Remus cry.

He wants to hold Remus tightly and say I'm here, I'm not dead, but the invisible tug on his spirit grows steadily stronger every minute, and he knows it's not true.

So when he gets up and walks around the table and pulls Remus into his arms, he doesn't say a word.

"Please stop coming back," Remus whispers, and kisses him.

They stumble their way upstairs to Sirius' old bedroom and fall onto the bed. Every article of clothing is removed slowly and deliberately, with a painful sort of finality to it. This is the last time I will ever unbutton Remus' shirt, Sirius thinks, and with every button he loosens, he kisses the new patch of skin and scars revealed. This is the last time Remus will ever slip my trousers off, and he revels in the sensation.

This is the last time we will ever make love, the words passing between them unspoken, and they do it achingly slowly, every touch, every kiss sacred. They aren't used to romance; it's never really been much of a factor of sex with them, and it adds an exotic, painful aspect to this last time.

Sirius wishes they had tried it this way sooner, but there's no time for regrets.

He comes inside Remus with nothing more than a muted groan, and Remus follows with a whispered yes. It's the most exquisitely wonderful orgasm Sirius has ever had, subdued and perfect and sad.

They lie silent for minutes or hours or years, wrapped tightly in each other's arms. Grey predawn light filters through the windows, as ghostly as a corridor on an imagined awful morning at Hogwarts.

"I'm so tired," Remus murmurs. "But if I fall asleep - well, I suppose that will mean waking up. And I don't want to wake up from this dream."

"I know," Sirius says.

They hold each other in silence again.

Finally, Sirius speaks. "What did you mean, before? When you said I died in Azkaban?"

Remus hesitates for a moment, looking at Sirius with guarded eyes. Then he sighs. "When you escaped, when you came back..." He pauses, collecting his thoughts. "The world changed in twelve years, and it just sort of...left you behind." He kisses Sirius' neck, just below the ear. "When was the last time you were happy, Sirius? Really happy, I mean, not just faking it for my or Harry's sake."

The light through the window keeps brightening; it's trying to pull Sirius away with the fading night. He fights it, clinging to Remus. The memory comes. "A few weeks before I...fell," he says softly. "We were alone in the library, and the rest of the house was quiet for once. I think I was researching some kind of protective spell. Anyway, I looked up and you were sitting in the red armchair, you know, the one that badly needs re-stuffing? You were hunched over a book, reading, your nose practically touching the page, and then you glanced up and smiled at me..." His voice cracks a little, and he swallows hard. "I just thought, 'It's Moony in the armchair in the Gryffindor common room, studying too hard as usual, and we're sixteen again.' That. That was the happiest I've felt since Azkaban, that one second when I thought time had somehow rewound itself and none of the past fifteen years had happened."

"That's what I meant," Remus whispers. "The world left you behind, and you couldn't catch up and you couldn't go back."

"Do you know why I never asked you what you had done for those twelve years while I was in Azkaban?" Sirius asks. He traces the scar on Remus' shoulder. "Because I couldn't stand it. Couldn't stand knowing that, bad or good, those years had been yours to live and I wasn't there. I didn't have those years, Remus." He bites his lower lip. "I want those years back."

"Maybe it's better this way," Remus says, closing his eyes. "I hate myself for even thinking it, but..."

"No," Sirius sighs, holding him tightly. "Maybe you're right."

"I wanted to bring you back, after Azkaban," Remus murmurs. "Oh, god, I wanted to bring you back. But I couldn't. I tried and tried, but I couldn't. Even Harry couldn't. God, Sirius, I'm so sorry." He doesn't cry, but he presses his lips to the hollow of Sirius' throat in a plea for forgiveness.

"You gave me that moment in the library," Sirius whispers, and gently kisses Remus' forehead. Absolution. "That was enough."

Reading a book in the library, and making tea upon his sudden return from the dead. And accepting him without question in the Shack, and taking him in (the fugitive Black) as the dying sun painted the doorstep in red, and taking him back to bed after twelve years starved for human touch. And this, and so much more, and so Sirius accepts the fact of his death, years later than it should have come but well worth the wait.

The dawn waits patiently outside.

"I think I'm going to have to wake up soon," Remus says quietly.

Sirius' arms tighten around him. "I know. It's nearly morning."

"You won't be here when I wake, will you?"

"No," Sirius says, and he suddenly knows it's true. This is Remus' dream, and he was lucky enough to be a part of it, but his time is running out as surely as sand slips through an hourglass. "No, I won't." He kisses Remus' forehead.

Remus nods, very still in Sirius' arms. He closes his eyes.

"Remus," Sirius whispers. "Will you do me one favor? Please?"

"Anything," Remus murmurs. He's already drifting away, falling asleep - or waking up, rather.

Sirius traces the curve of Remus' jaw with a fingertip. "Remember me the way I was," he says softly. "Not the way I became."

Remus' eyes flicker open, just for an instant. He smiles. "I always have, Padfoot."

Three more heartbeats, and he's asleep. Sirius watches him for a few long moments, then lets himself go and fades, fades away with the dawn. It's almost a relief.

(i love you, moony. and time slips away like sand through an hourglass--)

vi:And would it have been worth it, after all,

Would it have been worth while,

After the sunsets and the dooryards and the sprinkled streets,

After the novels, after the teacups, after the skirts that trail along the floor--

And this, and so much more?

(yes.)

epilogue:We have lingered in the chambers of the sea

By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown

Till human voices wake us, and we drown.

For hundreds of years, Ministry wizards in the Department of Mysteries have been studying the odd archway, casting spells and experiments and wondering what exactly lay beyond the veil. They study it and wonder still.

What lies beyond the veil is this:

A summer night sky, with stars reaching out to forever--

An endless ocean--

Time, time immemorial, shifting and changing on a whim--

Memories and falsehoods and dreams--

And then, at last, blessed nothingness.

Sirius floats in the endless sea, wrapped in a cloak of stars, and tears run silently down his cheeks, salt mixing with salt in the ocean's waves. Somewhere off in the distance there are an archway and a veil, and from behind the veil he can hear voices calling out his name.

He recognizes the voices, and smiles as he sinks down, down, below the waves and deeper still, until the stars are no more than another bittersweet memory and the sea around him goes from green to blue to black, until--

Oh, a surprised laugh, and he's gone.