Be All My Secrets Remembered

Interlude: The Dark

November 1981

He ran.

He could hear the scrabbling of his claws upon metal, echoing, morphing into high-pitched laughter he recognised all too well. He had first heard it accompanied by the word Crucio and the echo of his own screams over the last maddening section of Saint-Saëns' Danse Macabre.

Is this what you want, little worm? Is this what you want?

And still he ran.

Nobody suspected. Of course nobody suspected--why should they, when they had seen Sirius Black kill him in the middle of a street, slaughtering a crowd of Muggles in the midst of doing so?

Innocents, Peter. Or have you forgotten those?

It was strange. Even now, the guilt could twist deep. Not at all suitable to one amongst the higher echelons of Death Eaters, now that he thought about it. In fact, the Dark Lord would no doubt have thought it entirely disgraceful. But the Dark Lord had vanished.

He had not gone to Godric's Hollow. Had stayed behind in his tiny flat, huddled in a chair and staring into the darkness.

They deserved it. They all deserved it. Fools, all of them. This would teach them to ignore Peter Pettigrew.

Well, then. If that were the case, he ought to have been there. Ought to have let James see his face as Avada Kedavra claimed him, such that he would know precisely how he had orchestrated his own end. But Peter had not been there.

Peter ran. He ran from his thoughts, from his memories. Flashes, against the rhythm of his footsteps. Glow of the full moon, the world fantastically changed from where he clutched at James's antlers for his very life. Remus, eternally patient, drilling him before N.E.W.T. Charms. Laura Hennessey's shy smile, Lily's eyes, bewitchingly green even when she glared. Sirius declaiming verses nobody ever claimed to recognise except Remus, who would merely smile to himself. And James, the uncrowned king---

Peter, really. Anyone would think you regretted it all.

But they were coming faster now, whirling in uncontrollable circles. Sirius toasting James and Lily at the wedding reception--To think there was a time when she couldn't look at him without glaring. Now see her eyes, brighter than the lamps of Heaven.--the words Peter couldn't quite get out of his head. They had been that bright, James and Lily, on that sunlit September day in Godric's Hollow.

And it was you snuffed them out. Hail Wormtail, bringer of darkness.

Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy waltzing on the portico of the Malfoy mansion. Moonlight spilling down upon them, just as beautiful but of a very different sort. Theirs was a love best suited to night, glittering starbright against white marble and darkened gardens. He could see Rosier's smug surprise, the puzzlement of Wilkes and Avery and all the other Slytherins he had known. Except for Snape, who had not been there that night, who the Dark Lord had been careful to keep ignorant of his most suspicious spy. And Bellatrix...all velvet and ice, her eyes inviting him to stare further, to surrender, to melt, to fall.

But he was no longer falling. He was running into the darkness, so very like her eyes. Unfathomable and silent, marred only by the occasional trickle of running water, and the scratching of his claws.

Yes, Peter. Run. You are the survivor.

Ahead of him, the sewer opened into the night. The moon glowed, a half-lidded eye watching him.

And Peter-turned-Wormtail sprang forth into freedom. Or the semblance thereof.

The Holly and the Ivy

December 1976

It was an impressively large wooden box and it was sitting on the table in the middle of the room. Both Peter and Remus eyed it with a great deal of suspicion.

"Is it safe to touch?" ventured Peter.

Sirius rolled his eyes. "Of course it's safe to touch. It's champagne. Spirit of the holiday and all. I thought we could all use a nice bit of relaxation before the train tomorrow. Prongs agreed."

"This might be a somewhat odd question, Padfoot, but where did you find it?"

"The Hog's Head," replied Sirius breezily, as he opened the box and pulled out a bottle. "On discount, no less."

"Discount?" Remus echoed. "Are you sure it's safe to drink?"

"Moony, really. Must you be such a mother hen?"

"I'm not being a mother hen. There are countless reasons why that champagne could have been on discount, and not all of them are exactly good. You never know," he ventured, "something could have got mixed up with it."

"What, and turn us all into frogs?" Sirius teased, popping the cork such that the liquid exploded upward from the bottle. "I'm all for living dangerously. Where's Evans? I'm responsible for making her life interesting."

"Which idiot gave you that job?" Remus enquired, only half-joking.

Sirius bowed. "Whatever else you may say about me, Moony, I do make things interesting." He poured the champagne into one of the goblets he had brought and took a sip. "Surprisingly good. And see? No frogs."

Remus hesitated barely a second before holding up a goblet. "Very well. If we all wake up with purple spots or missing limbs, I blame you."

Lily found them some five minutes later, having opened up a second bottle. James, it seemed, has also joined them and was digging in with gusto.

"What on earth are you lot doing?" she demanded, all Prefect in spite of Remus' presence. "Is that...?"

"Champagne," Sirius replied grandly, pronouncing the word as the French did. "An entire bottle saved just for you, Evans. Meadowes made me a request. I intend to follow through on it."

"Are you quite mad?"

"Not mad. Merely right. Now come here," he ordered, pouring her a glass. "Drink, Evans. To the holiday spirit."

Lily hesitated, her eyes flickering over each of them in turn. Remus was grinning, Peter red-faced, James laughing uproariously at something one of the others had said--looking rather nice as he did so, much to her frustration--and Sirius was studying her enquiringly. She took the glass from him, raised it aloft for a second, and drank the entire thing down in one perfunctory gulp. "To a bit of fun."

***

The clock struck eleven. She couldn't recall what time she had joined the boys in the Gryffindor Common Room, but it couldn't have been after nine...

"Where is everyone?" Lily asked. The empty corridors echoed the question.

"Well, I think Wormtail mentioned something about Sardines? Or was it Charades? I don't know." Behind her, Sirius pulled something out of his robes. "Here we are." As Lily peered over his shoulder, he tapped the parchment with his wand, declaring, "I solemnly swear I am up to no good."

"You solemnly swear what?" she frowned. "What is...?" she trailed off as letters appeared on the front of the parchment. "'Messrs. Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs, Purveyors of Aids to Magical Mischief-Makers'? Sirius, what on earth is this thing?"

"Keep reading."

"'...are proud to present The Marauder's Map'. I still don't understand. Where's the map and what's it a map of?" He unfolded the parchment and Lily gasped, "Oh my. It's...lovely! How on earth did you...?"

"A great deal of work following an even greater deal of firsthand research. This map contains every single secret passageway in Hogwarts," Sirius declared, sounding thoroughly proud of himself. "And it's spelled, as you can see. Here's Prongs...apparently still in the Common Room, though what he's doing is beyond me. Moony and Wormtail...in a broom closet?" Sirius peered closer. "Why would they be in a broom closet?" Adding after a pause, "On second thought, I don't want to know."

"You did mention something about Sardines, didn't you? Which means we ought to be playing too, and your having that map is terribly unfair," Lily observed, swaying slightly on her feet.

"As if I'm ever fair," retorted Sirius, folding the map and slipping it back into his pocket.

The hallway stretched ahead of Lily, its edges somewhat fuzzy and rounded. She blinked, but the strange framing device did not vanish. Behind her, footsteps sounded, and as she turned, Sirius appeared from beyond the torch's ring of light.

"Why is the world all fuzzy?" demanded Lily, stepping back, only to feel a sharp object coming in contact with her spine. "What's this?"

"Statue. Was about to warn you about that," Sirius admitted. "You alright?"

"I'm wonderful, Black. Yourself?"

"Quite." Sirius grinned and leant against the wall to study her. "Though I think your wonderfulness may well be ascribed to..." he frowned, "...intoxication. Right."

"Pot calling kettle, Black?" Realising her pun, she dissolved into giggles. "Oh, that was awful."

"You know, I don't think I've actually heard that one before. Congratulations, Evans."

She curtseyed, one hand on the statue to keep her balance. "My pleasure, as ever."

"Careful. Don't fall."

"Oh, don't be so serious...Sirius...oh God. Not again. You should hit me the next time I look like I'm about to do that," she managed between hopeless attacks of laughter.

Sirius merely smiled. "I could think of far more enjoyable ways to stop your mouth. Look up."

"Look...?" Lily turned her head upward to observe what appeared to be a green and white blob floating some distance above. "What's that?" she asked, the words somewhat slurred.

"Mistletoe, I think." Adding with a truly evil grin, "You know what that means."

"Really?" she drawled. "You mean you're not just looking for an excuse to snog me?"

"Considering the time of year, I should say any white berries hanging in the air are more likely to be mistletoe than anything else," he pointed out.

"But are you sure?" Lily teased.

"Well, I could eat it and die a horrible poisoned death for the sake of abetting your desire for empirical evidence. Or you could trust me since I'm taller and therefore closer to it," he retorted.

"Do you realise your vocabulary jumps up several notches when you've drank more than you should?"

"Does it?" Sirius thought for a second. "I suppose it does."

"Alright. So I'm willing to believe you. Now what?" Lily crossed her arms and attempted to look at him with something resembling sternness. Then, with a puzzled frown, she asked, "Was it there all along?"

"Might have been. I wasn't looking," he shrugged. "As to the now what...don't you want to kiss me, Evans?"

"Aren't we bigheaded?" she enquired. "I happen to be the one girl in this school who has no interest in you whatsoever, Black."

"None whatsoever?" he repeated. "Are you sure?"

"Quite sure, thank you," riposted Lily. "And I thought you had no interest in anyone."

"I don't. But we're both mildly to moderately intoxicated, we're standing under a sprig of mistletoe, and you're looking rather pretty," he answered, moving closer. "So what about it?"

"You'll have to do better than that," she challenged, hands on hips. "I thought you were supposed to be charming."

"I can be very charming when I want," Sirius replied. He was close enough now that he could have easily tilted his head downward and kissed her. But instead, he changed the angle slightly to murmur in her hear. "Domna, l genzer c'anc nasques," the unfamiliar words flowed with liquid smoothness, "e la melher qu'eu anc vis..."

She'd never heard the language before but his voice in her ear reminded her dangerously of melted chocolate. "What is that?" Lily breathed. "It's not any incantation I've ever heard."

"It's called poetry, silly," he laughed. "Though it seems to be working."

"That's no poetry I've ever heard. What language is it?" she asked, feeling her knees ridiculously weak. Feeling like one of those girls from Petunia's Mills and Boon novels, are we? But this was Sirius--these sorts of things didn't happen with Sirius. Or anyone, really. Except apparently where mysteriously unintelligible poetry was concerned.

"Occitan."

"What?" she blinked.

"Occitan. From the South of France. I found the book by accident after I dropped you off at La Sorbonne that day in Paris," he said, as if that explained everything. "Roughly translates to 'Lady, the most beautiful ever born, and the best that ever lived'. Quite a few of those. Courtly love and all that. Eliane helped me with pronunciation." He added quickly, "And nothing else, you hear?"

"I didn't say anything," Lily protested, feeling the heat rise in her face. "It's absolutely lovely."

Sirius grinned, "Is it the words or my voice that you like?"

"Both, actually. You do this thing with your voice when you say them...it's a bit disconcerting."

"In a good way, I hope?" Leaning close again, he continued, "Mas jonchas estau aclis, a genolhos et en pes, el vostre franc senhoratge."

Lily shivered. "And that means?"

"'With hands clasped, kneeling or standing, I submit to your noble rule,'" replied Sirius. And kissed her. They pulled apart some seconds later, and Lily had to catch her breath. Sirius looked equally surprised. "I don't know what I expected, but it wasn't that."

"What do you mean?" she demanded. "I've kissed boys before."

"Have you really?" he sounded genuinely puzzled by the idea. "I thought you were the Virgin Queen of Gryffindor." She whacked him on the shoulder. "Ow! Well, I have reason. Look at how you treated poor Potter."

"I was about to say you weren't bad yourself, but if you're going to go and be a prat, I'll keep my compliments to myself," she retorted.

"Who were they?" Sirius asked, sounding mildly curious.

"Well...there was Anthony Travers at beginning of last year. We went out for about two weeks before we both realised we were too busy for one another." She shrugged. "And Mark, my neighbour."

"A Muggle?"

"Yes. Another instance where we realised very quickly that things just couldn't possibly work out. For one thing, he refused to believe me when I tried to explain to him that I didn't actually go to school in Windsor. I decided that the revelation that I was in fact a witch might shock him far too much."

Sirius nodded. "I'm sorry."

"Oh, it's quite alright. He wasn't particularly good at snogging, if you ask me," Lily grinned. "What about you?"

"Oh...well..." Sirius trailed off, glancing down. "Five."

"Just five? I was expecting something in the neighbourhood of at least thirty, from what I hear about you," she teased.

"Are you serious?"

"No, you are," Lily exploded into laughter. "Oh no! You were supposed to stop me!"

"Allow me, Lil. I feel it my duty to save you from your tendency toward terrible punning," he bent forward and kissed her again.

"What in bloody hell is going on here?" James Potter's disbelieving voice echoed through the corridor. Lily and Sirius jumped apart as if hit by an electric shock.

"Prongs...er..." Sirius glanced between the blushing Lily and his best friend, then pointed upward. "Mistletoe!"

"I don't see anything," James replied forbiddingly.

"What?" Both Lily and Sirius looked up. And, much to their dismay, the mistletoe had vanished. "But it was there, Prongs, I swear. We both saw it." Lily nodded, still quite unable to speak. "Look...caught up in the moment and all. And I had to stop her from making those awful puns..."

"What were you going to do? Kiss her to death?" The sarcasm in James's voice would have done Severus Snape quite a bit of credit. "You're a bastard, Black."

"Now wait just a minute!" Lily finally recovered her voice. "What business is it of yours anyway? I have every right to snog Black if I want to."

"Of course you do," James answered tonelessly. "As I have the right to hex him...Irrupta vomicae!" he cried, pointing his wand in Sirius' direction.

"Protego!" Sirius had his wand up instantly, deflecting the hex upward so it hit one of the paintings. The gentleman previously sitting calmly at a table jumped to his feet in horror as purple boils erupted all over his skin. "The Purple Boil Hex? Really, Potter, aren't we going a bit overboard?"

James merely glared.

"Oh, fine," Sirius sighed. "I'll absent myself from your presence, your worshipfulness." As he passed James, he pointed upward, "You've got a visitor."

Hovering above James's head was the sprig of mistletoe. The other boy gaped.

"Told you so," Sirius remarked, vanishing down the hallway.

Lily was the one glaring now. "Well?"

"Well what?" James asked, distractedly, his eyes on the mistletoe as he reached up to grab it and it darted out of the way. "Do you see this thing?"

"I see that thing, Potter. I also want an explanation. I have a right to snog whomever I please. And it pleased me to snog Sirius Black."

"Evans..." James sighed. "Right. Of course. I know."

"You're going to apologise to him, aren't you?"

"Of course not. He still hasn't apologised for exploding firecrackers under my bed the other night," James protested. "For that alone, he deserves purple boils."

At that, Lily couldn't help but stifle a giggle, "You boys..."

"What?" He reddened slightly, then looked up again. "It's not going away."

"Doesn't appear to be," replied Lily, taking several careful steps before deciding she was in fact sober enough to walk back to Gryffindor Tower on her own. "Goodnight, Potter."

"Wait a minute. It won't leave me alone until I kiss someone, will it?" James asked, reaching for her arm. "And you're the only one around."

"Brilliant, Potter. Like I'm going to believe that wasn't planned."

"Well, I bloody well wasn't going to kiss Padfoot," he retorted.

"Maybe you should have. He's quite good at it."

James flushed to an impressive shade of red. "Evans, please?"

"You have a girlfriend, Potter, who happens to be a friend of mine. I'm not going to kiss you," she wrenched her arm free. "Besides, you're too rude."

"Rude? What did I do?"

"Sirius," she smiled, "was far more genteel."

"Genteel? Padfoot? I'll believe that when I see it. He wouldn't know genteel if it slapped him in the face," he remarked. "What did he do? Recite poetry or something ridiculous like that?"

Lily didn't answer.

"I should have known," he grimaced. "I can recite poetry as well as anyone else."

"Really?" Lily regarded him dubiously. "Not in Occitan by chance?"

"In what?"

"Never mind," she turned around and began walking again. "I'm going to bed."

"Evans, wait!" He racked his brain. "What light through---no, that won't work. Umm...er..." suddenly burst out, "Evans!"

"What, Potter?" demanded Lily, exasperated.

James straightened, fixing hazel eyes upon her face. "Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?" he asked softly. "Thou art more beautiful and more temperate."

Startled, she couldn't quite speak at first.

"Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May," continued James. Emboldened by her silence, he moved toward her with the suggestion of a smile, "And summer's lease hath all too short a date..." Now very close, he stopped, tilting his head to one side in enquiry, "Yes, Evans?"

"That was...surprising," she finally said, wishing fervently that her face didn't have to reflect every single thought fluttering inside her head. Least of all the fact that she'd never seen him smile quite like that before...Lily, really. It's just poetry. What on earth is wrong with you? As if to make up for her previous inability, she added with as much acidity as she could muster, "You never struck me as the literary type."

"I'm not. I just liked it when I read it once," he replied. "It was the first love letter my dad wrote my mum, or so she told me."

"That's..." Lily grasped for the words, "...actually rather sweet."

"I thought it was soppy at the time," he said with a shrug. "Things change. It's not...Occi-whatever, but we can't all be Sirius Black."

"You sound bitter," she observed.

James shrugged again. "It doesn't matter. I'm the one with mistletoe floating over my head, after all."

She seemed torn between walking away and it was hard to tell what else. "I suppose, out of charity..." she temporised.

"I don't take charity. Either you want to or you don't," he snapped, before apparently changing his mind and kissing her before she changed hers. It lingered, deepened even. Neither of them seemed entirely willing to pull away.

Lily Evans, what are you doing? The voice of conscience spoke up with more than a small hint of reproof. Kate's boyfriend, Lily? She jerked back to stare at him with one hand over her mouth.

"Was it that bad?" James demanded.

"No!...I just...Kate..." the last word slipped out with a guilty reddening of her cheeks.

"Oh hell." James, to his credit, averted his eyes in obvious embarrassment and guilt. "I didn't...it's my fault. I shouldn't have..."

Lily shook her head, "Don't." As she glanced upward, she smiled wanly, "it's gone, at least."

"At least," he agreed. "We'd better go to...well, back to the Tower. You know."

"Yes," she nodded emphatically, "let's go."

***

How Sirius ended up in the broom closet, he couldn't have said. Nor did he expect to find anyone else there until he trod on someone's foot and Remus Lupin's voice let out something vaguely resembling a yelp.

"Moony?"

"Padfoot?"

"What are you doing here?" Sirius pulled out his wand. "Lumos."

Light flooded into the small room. Remus squinted against it. "We were playing Sardines and I found Peter." Pausing at the confusion on Sirius' face, he added, "We were playing Sardines, weren't we?"

"Evans and I had narrowed it down to Sardines or Charades," he admitted ruefully. "But I don't remember much, so it's entirely possible you're right."

Remus shrugged. "Doesn't matter. Peter found me, and he fell asleep while we were waiting for the rest of you," he gestured to the softly snoring pile of robes in the far corner. "I was fairly close when you trod on my foot."

"I am sorry about that. Wasn't expecting to find you in a broom closet, after all," Sirius replied.

"I don't suppose that sort of logic makes sense unless one was playing Sardines."

"Drunken Sardines in a castle with hundreds of secret passageways. Now there's a brilliant idea," Sirius pointed out with a grin. "We ought to be happy nobody accidentally ended up beneath the giant squid."

"You've got a point there," Remus considered. "Where is Evans anyway? And Prongs, for that matter?"

"Well, Evans and I were in the corridor, minding our own business. Prongs showed up and decided I deserved a case of purple boils. Thankfully, I have fairly decent reflexes and blocked the hex. When I left, they were bickering."

"Same as ever, then?"

"Just about."

Remus frowned. "Why did Prongs suddenly decide purple was your colour?"

"It might have had something to do with kissing Evans," Sirius finally confessed.

"You did what?" his friend gaped. "Why?"

"Torchlight, mistletoe, pretty girl...it's not terribly difficult to puzzle out, Moony."

"But it's Evans."

"So? Potter informed me in August that he's moved on with his life, and I gleaned through various channels that you'd apparently moved on with yours. Of course, based on his performance earlier tonight, I suspect he was lying through his teeth." Sirius shook his head with mock dismay, "How can I act accordingly if people don't tell me the truth?" He might have said something else, except that his eyes flickered upward and he stopped short, biting back an undignified attack of laughter.

"What's going on? What are you...?" Remus looked upward. "Oh. When did that get here?"

"Just now."

"Mistletoe doesn't move, Sirius. At least it's not..." he poked at it with its wand, causing it to jump back and forth to avoid him, "...supposed to."

"I don't think we ever had enchanted mistletoe at Christmas before. I rather like it," declared Sirius, following the sprig with his eyes before grinning in a way that could only be described as thoroughly wicked.

"I don't like that look."

"You never like that look. I happen to like it very much," Sirius objected. The grin did not fade in the slightest. "What would you do if I kissed you, Moony?"

"You'd have worse than purple boils," Remus retorted. "I'd turn you into a mouse or something."

"Would you really?"

Remus sighed, "Maybe not a mouse. But I'd at least turn your face green."

"Oh, surely not," Sirius' expression fell somewhere between a smile and a pout. "You're not even a little curious?"

"I'm not curious. You probably have awful breath."

"Evans didn't think so."

"I am not Evans," stated Remus.

Sirius laughed, "Obviously not. You are neither a redhead nor a girl. I should think it quite plain to see that you're not Evans."

"Then why on earth are you talking about kissing me?" Remus enquired, closing his hand around the wand in his pocket just in case.

"Because I wanted to see your reaction, Moony. You're ever so much fun when you react," his friend remarked.

Remus looked him up and down, dubiously. "Right. So you're joking."

"I never said I wasn't. Nor that I was."

"Sirius, give me a straight answer or I'll..."

"You'll what?" Sirius practically purred. "Hex me?"

"Don't tempt me. I might."

"Ah," The syllable sustained over a second or two, "I don't know. The gentleman doth protest too much, methinks."

"You're menta--"

Even Sirius had to admit that the kiss was entirely on impulse. He'd actually only intended to tease Moony, but curiosity had got the better of him, as it had a tendency to do. Good thing I'm not a cat, he mentally refuted the remark his much-abused conscience seemed intent upon making and---Sweet Merlin, Moony, what *are* you doing with your tongue?

"Bloody hell!"

At the sound of Peter's voice cracking on a frankly terrifying pitch, a shock seemed to race through Remus' entire body. Sirius held him steady, keeping him from slamming backward into a shelf filled with cleaning potions, and turned slowly to face the wide-eyed horror of Peter Pettigrew.

"What the hell was that?" the blond boy demanded. "Were you two...tell me I didn't just see what I thought I saw."

"What did you think you saw?" asked Sirius innocently. Beside him, Remus hunched lower, the collar of his robes barely hiding his flushed face. "A bit of...merriment, perhaps?"

"Was there something in that champagne? It's thrown you two round the bend, it has," Peter managed to stammer out, "You're both completely off your heads. Not to mention...completely bent!"

"Not completely," Sirius countered. "Only somewhat."

"Right. I'm going to go sleep this off." He hurried past them and pulled open the door to the hallway, pausing only to remark, "I really hope I was dreaming."

Sirius turned back to Lupin, whose face was now halfway hidden behind his robes. "It's safe to come out, Moony. The mean little rat is gone."

"He's not mean, nor is he little. And he has a point."

"Does he?"

"Yes. You just kissed me," Remus pointed out.

"And?"

"That's not exactly normal, now, is it?"

"I'll not argue that," replied Sirius. "Are you objecting?"

"I'm..." Remus reddened again, ducking his head, "not commenting."

"Do I have to do it again?" Sirius teased.

"No! I mean...er..." Remus sighed. "Do you have to do this?"

"Do what?"

"Be difficult." Prompted by Sirius' querying look, he continued, "Be slippery. Kiss me."

"Was that an accusation or an invitation?"

"Padfoot!"

"Sorry. I had to. I couldn't not react to that. I'm not made of stone."

"Obviously not. At least your mouth isn't."

"Was that a compliment?"

"N---er. I suppose it was. Backhanded, I'd have you know," he added emphatically.

"I acknowledge the backhandedness," replied Sirius, looking perfectly neutral. "We should probably leave before Wormtail spreads all sorts of unsavoury rumours."

"We should."

After a pause, Sirius asked, "Well, why aren't we moving?"

"Inertia," Remus answered, as if that explained everything.

Sirius quirked one eyebrow upward, "I'll refrain from saying what you probably think I'm going to say."

"Thank you."

"Let's go, then," Sirius pulled open the door and stepped into the hallway before turning back. "Moony?"

"Yes?" Remus asked cautiously.

Sirius hesitated barely an instant. "Would it be presumptuous of me to point out that...that wasn't exactly unpleasant?"

"I...thank you, I suppose," Remus closed the door behind him and leant against it. "Though I have absolutely no idea what to do with that remark."

"Nor do I. Just thought I ought to point it out."

"Right then," Remus straightened. "Shall we to the Tower?"

"Let's."