Be All My Secrets Remembered

Lasciate Ogne Speranza

January 1981

There was a high-pitched trilling somewhere in the back of Sirius' mind, interrupting the previously delightful image of the Swedish Bikini Quidditch Squad. He groaned and flailed with one hand in the general direction of the nightstand. "Stupid 'larm clock," he muttered.

"Some of us, love, have places to be," came the amused reply from Dorcas, as the mattress shifted beneath her weight. "We can't all be idle Curse-Breakers."

"I'm sure I could get you an interview," he retorted, rubbing his eyes. The alarm clock had thankfully stopped making that dreadful sound, but it appeared that Dorcas hadn't heard him. Somewhere in the pre-dawn gloom, he could make out the familiar red-robed shape vanishing into the hallway. Pulling the covers back over his head, Sirius fell back asleep.

He wasn't sure precisely what awakened him the second time, but he found himself looking up at Dorcas, now fully dressed and studying him from the side of the bed. "What're you looking at?"

"You do know there are times when I've not even noticed you were in bed. You always bury yourself in blankets."

"At least I don't steal the blankets like certain others I might name," he pointed out. Then, raising himself on his elbows, he asked, "What time are you home tonight?"

"Not till past eight, I'm afraid. Training till four, then I've got to retrieve Professor Agrippa from Yorkshire." She was moving again, rooting about for her keys on the desk. "Do you plan to laze about all day then?" At his smug nod, she laughed. "Good-for-nothing."

"You like me that way, admit it," he challenged. "I'd not be nearly as appealing if I were actually useful."

"Oh, I don't know," Dorcas said, considering. "I've always had something of a soft spot for men who pretended to be good-for-nothings and secretly committed acts of fantastic derring-do when nobody was looking. Are you quite sure you aren't my personal Scarlet Pimpernel?"

"Your personal flower?" he frowned. "I do like to think of myself as somewhat more masculine than that, but I suppose if you insist..."

By then, she was doubled over from laughter. "I'd explain, but I haven't the time. I'll see you tonight." Still laughing, she strolled from the room.

Sirius followed her with his eyes, unable to quite shake the chill that had just run down his spine, raising goosebumps on his arms. Throwing off the covers, he ran after her. "Dorcas!"

She paused at the foot of the stairs to look up at him curiously. "Yes?"

"I..." Uncharacteristically, he hesitated. "Be careful. In Yorkshire, that is. You know."

"When am I not careful?" she enquired teasingly. Then, tilting her head to one side, she added, "Is everything alright?"

"Of course it is," he answered, too quickly. Except for the fact that Moony had just returned from who on earth knew where and had spent much of his time refusing to look at Sirius, he supposed everything was alright. That single fact bothered him far more than it ought to have done.

Dorcas climbed to the landing, a frown clouding her face. "Are you quite sure, love? You looked as if you'd seen a ghost."

Sirius smiled, not without some bitterness. "Lots of those about, these days." He looked at her for a second or two, before drawing her close to kiss her. "Dorcas, I--" He cut himself off, unable to quite form the words. "I've got something I need to tell you..."

She raised one hand to his mouth. "I'm sure it can't be as bad as you seem to think it is, whatever it is."

"Well, it's not bad...I mean, it's...I don't know, really," he finally admitted, defeated.

"We'll discuss it tonight at your flat. For now, though," she stepped back, "I'll be late, and Moody will have my hide. Lock up when you go."

And, pressing a quick kiss to his lips, she hurried down the stairs. Sirius remained where he stood, staring into space for a good five minutes, before returning to bed, annoyed with himself.

***

Professor Agrippa's laboratory was situated some twenty miles outside of Whitby, in what Muggles always saw as an abandoned cottage. Against the twilit sky, it presented quite the romantic picture, a thought that Dorcas quickly shrugged away as she hurried from the Apparition point to the laboratory's door.

"Professor?" she called, frowning. "Professor Agrippa, are you here?" As far as she was aware, he knew she was coming. "Profess--"

"Yes?" He emerged from behind a worktop, frowning. "I'm quite sure I've seen you before, though I don't remember your name..."

"Dorcas Meadowes, Professor. I left Hogwarts just a few years ago," she said, masking her sigh of relief to the best of her ability. "I'm with the Order now. We need to get back to Headquarters. Dumbledore told me you'd be ready to go?"

"I'm...well, yes, I suppose," he conceded, with a longing look around the laboratory. "I simply can't pack all this up and neither of my assistants were able to come today."

"I'm afraid there isn't the time for that, sir," replied Dorcas, her own eyes roaming about the place. "You're working with lycanthropy, aren't you?"

"I am," Agrippa said, smiling. "Very well then. Just let me pick up some files and lock up, and then we'll be off. How's that?"

"Perfect, sir. I'll be home for supper and you'll be off to...I don't even know where you're going, but I assume it'll be enjoyable." She found herself drawn to a table covered in charts and diagrams, some of humans and some of what appeared to be werewolves. She very nearly turned to ask him a question but managed to stop herself just in time. There would be ample time for questions later, after all.

That was when the door flew open and a young black-clad wizard rushed in, wand held at the ready. Dorcas ducked behind the worktop and drew hers swiftly. "Expelliarmus!" she shouted.

It missed. "Wait!" the intruder called out. "I'm not here to hurt anyone, I promise. Please, just listen to me."

His voice was incomprehensibly familiar, and Dorcas rose slowly, wand still held steady. What she saw made her blink in shock.

"Sirius?" She stared for a second or two, before it occurred to her that the young man standing in front of her had shorter hair and looked several years younger. "No, wait, you're not--"

"Who I am is irrelevant," he interrupted, glancing over his shoulder as if in search of someone following him. "Where's Agrippa?"

"In the back room. He needed to pick up some files..." She followed his gaze to the door. "What's going on?"

"They're coming. You need to get out now. There's no time."

"They--who--?" Then, as her apparently vanished senses returned, she added sternly, "Why should I believe you?"

"You've got to believe me. They'll kill you if they find you here. It's Agrippa they want." He was moving almost convulsively now, head constantly turning to look over his shoulder. "They'll kill both of you once they're done with him."

"I know. I was sent here to fetch him, but he doesn't want to leave without his files. He doesn't want them falling into the wrong hands. Now," she grabbed him by the shoulders and looked him directly in the eye, "tell me what the hell is going on."

He broke then, eyes lowered. "Death Eaters. They're coming. I don't know who told them Agrippa was being moved today, but they're coming. You've got to get out of here. I offered to come ahead of them, but I can't buy you much time. You need to go now."

Dorcas nodded. Letting go of the young man she was now certain was Regulus Black, she hurried toward the back room. "Professor, change of plan. We need to leave right now--"

Several cracking sounds split the air, audible through the open windows. Regulus made a soft whimpering noise. "I'm so sorry. I tried. Stupefy!"

Dorcas was halfway through a shielding spell when the world went black.

***

"They should have been back by now." Dumbledore was pacing back and forth in front of the window, a worried crease between his brows.

Moody shook his head, causing his new magical eye to whirl madly within the socket. Beside him, Minerva McGonagall rose to her feet and placed a hand on Dumbledore's arm. "There are all manner of reasons for delay, Albus. You shouldn't hold off any longer."

"I can't warn Flamel without Agrippa. You know that. It was for his and Petronelle's safety that we made sure only one person--" He cut himself off as the door opened to admit Remus Lupin. "Remus," Dumbledore managed to dredge up a faint smile, "is something the matter?"

"Professor Dumbledore, sir," Remus glanced from the Headmaster to McGonagall to Moody, "there's a French gentleman here to see you."

"Your escort, I presume." Moody lurched to his feet and all but pushed Dumbledore toward the door. "Go on, then. We'll take care of everything."

"But--"

"You trust me, do you not, Dumbledore?" Moody was now looking directly at Dumbledore, the false eye eerily focused. "I promise you we'll find Agrippa."

Dumbledore nodded. "Very well, Alastor. I'll send someone back for him."

Once Dumbledore left, Moody turned and surveyed the scattered people in the parlour. "You!" he declared, pointing at the shortish young man with dull blond hair who was reaching for his coat. "What say you to a quick jaunt to Whitby...what's your name?"

It took several tries and a very mild stutter, but the young man identified himself as Peter Pettigrew.

"Well then, Pettigrew?" Moody prompted. "You know where Whitby is, don't you? You could Apparate there, fetch Agrippa and Meadowes, and be back in time for supper. You're already leaving anyway."

"Well, I..." His eyes were wide, not terribly unlike a frightened rabbit. Moody had to fight the urge to groan. "I had a meeting..."

"I told you, it won't take very long at all. Surely you can spare some of your precious time, Mr Pettigrew." The threat was unmistakeable, and he could see Pettigrew swallow before slowly nodding. "Right. I'll see you later."

It was the perfect excuse, Peter knew. In fact, Whitby was precisely where he had been about to go. That being said, Moody would certainly ask what was going on if he returned empty-handed. And Peter knew he couldn't lie to that awful eye...

"Oi, Peter!" It was Remus, and Peter glanced back as his friend caught up with him. "I'll go with you. Two wands are better than one and all that."

It was all Peter could do not to shout his refusal. "It's alright, Moony. I'll be fine, I'm sure."

"No, I mean it." Remus glanced warily over his shoulder. "I'd rather not stay in the same room with Moody if it's all the same to you. He keeps looking at me as though I'm about to pounce on him. Someone really ought to point out that I only do that once a month." The bitterness in his voice was palpable.

Peter laid one hand on his shoulder. "He's paranoid. You know that. But really, Moony, why don't you just go home? You look tired."

"Full moon's in a few days. No surprise there. It'll distract me, and besides I'm better with shield charms than you are," he added with the shadow of a smile. "You won't stop me."

I may not, but you will be stopped, Moony. You will not see what I've done.

Peter swallowed. "Alright, then. Let's go."

The moment they stepped onto the road from the Apparition point, it was obvious that something had gone horribly wrong. Smoke billowed from the small building and flames shot forth from the windows. Remus seemed about to run forward when Peter grabbed his arm. "We're too late, Moony. We need to get out of here!"

But Remus had already caught sight of the clump of people on the nearby hillside and drawn his wand with a murderous expression.

"Moony, there's only two of us, for God's sake! At least go back and tell McGonagall. I'm smaller; they're less likely to see me if I wait here." Peter knew he was begging, had ceased to care. "Please, Moony. Don't do anything stupid. That's Padfoot's area, not yours," he joked desperately.

"Let go of me, Wormtail." It was the nickname that sent Peter reeling backward, the voice that sounded so very much like...

"No," he whispered. "Don't make me. Please don't make me." But even as he spoke, he could feel the Mark burning on his forearm, feel himself raise his wand to point at Remus' retreating back. Not the Killing Curse. I won't do it. I won't.

The word emerged as a hiss, sounding nothing at all like Peter's voice. "Stupefy!"

Remus crumpled to the ground. He did not even turn his head.

His hands were shaking so hard that he nearly dropped the wand into the grass, and he shoved it into the pocket in his robes to keep from losing it. Remus was still breathing, but he would not be moving for a long while yet.

This is not Peter, he told himself as he stared down at his friend's limp form. Wormtail did this. Wormtail is the traitor. Peter does not exist here. Only Wormtail.

He could feel himself calming, ever so slowly. With one last glance at Re--Lupin. He's Lupin. No more, no less.---Lupin, he made his way toward the cluster of figures and the echo of a woman's screams. As befitted his name, he was all but unnoticed as he slipped into the group, his eyes fixed on the ground.

Thankfully, he was no longer shivering. That would have been difficult to explain.

Agrippa lay huddled on the ground, breathing harshly. Beside him, a young woman Wormtail could not recognise from where he stood. At least not until someone--he never saw who it was though he had his suspicions--stuck out a foot to trip him. His hood flew loose from his face as he struggled back to his feet.

That was when the second captive's eyes met Wormtail's, pinioning him where he stood. No. It couldn't be. There was no reason why she should be here, Peter's faint voice insisted. But she was, and Wormtail could do nothing for it.

"Ah, Wormtail," the Dark Lord almost purred. "I had wondered when you would deign to join us."

Wormtail sank to his knees before the black-cloaked figure, burying his face in his hands to hide the tears that were forming at the corners of his eyes.

***

Agrippa had never experienced the Cruciatus Curse, and had counted himself thankful for that blessing. But, as he watched Dorcas Meadowes writhe beneath its effects, all he could think was that he would rather it were him. Lord Voldemort obviously had reasons for his forbearance. He wondered if anyone had noticed yet that they were far later than they ought to have been. He wondered if Dumbledore had sent reinforcements and hoped he had not.

"Please," he tried to call out, though it came out no more than a whisper, "she doesn't know anything."

There was no answer or even acknowledgement. Only the crack of one last person Apparating nearby and a rustle of robes as the new arrival made his or her way forward.

"My lord, if I may speak."

He knew that voice, recognised it somewhere through the haze. Precise, low-pitched, and oddly beautiful in its resonance. A voice the speaker had only recently grown into. Though his eyes were squeezed shut, he could see the young man now, pallid and skinny, a nose like a bird of prey, and eyes darkened by innumerable secrets. Oh Severus, what have you done?

"Speak quickly," snapped his master.

"You're wasting time, my lord. Foolhardy self-sacrifice is a province for Gryffindors. You'll get nothing out of these two; they're Ravenclaw." So dispassionate, so clinical. He might have been discussing ingredients, the effectiveness of one over another. "They follow orders, do everything by the book, as it were. If told to keep secrets, they keep them to the grave, and we haven't the time, my lord. The Aurors will be here any moment."

"I do not fear them, Snape. I would suggest you guard your tongue." In contrast to the words, his tone was dubious, doubtful. "But you do make a good point. Avada Kedavra!"

Agrippa held his breath, but nothing happened.

"Requiescat in pace," he murmured reflexively. All these years, and he had yet to grow out of the habit. Had it not hurt so much to move, he might have crossed himself as well, on instinct.

He remembered the young lady from Hogwarts, remembered liking her quite well as a fellow Ravenclaw. And now she was dead. It really ought to have stung more, but the knowledge of Severus' betrayal seemed to have numbed him to all else.

I should have fought harder. Should have made Albus see, should have... But what good did it do now? Lying here on the frosted grass, unable to move, what good did regrets do him now? He was just another tired old man.

"Morsmordre!"

He could hear the telltale crackle of the Mark forming far above his head.

"Bring him, Snape. I want him alive." The words were followed by further cracking sounds, as the Death Eaters and their master presumably Disapparated.

The grass crunched beneath Severus' feet and Agrippa felt the shift in the air as the young man leant over him. "I didn't know, sir, I swear it," he whispered, his voice cracking under the strain. "I never thought...not you..."

"I am Nicolas Flamel's Secret-Keeper, Severus, and Lord Voldemort seeks immortality. Surely a mind as brilliant as yours ought to have made the connection by now," Agrippa murmured in response, wincing at the burn of the cold air through his lungs. "You made your choice, I see."

"No, not this. Never this."

"Allegiance has a price, Severus. I had hoped you would not be the one to pay it." He swallowed. "Must tell Albus he needn't worry. I swore to hold my tongue, and hold it I will. As the lady did."

"Meadowes," murmured Severus. "Bellatrix took her. To do what, I don't know."

"Bellatrix...I should have guessed she'd be here. And the Malfoy boy...not so much a boy anymore, of course. It's strange, really. If Dippet had been Headmaster during your first year...he was grooming Malfoy for Head Boy. Albus gave the position to Edgar Bones instead." He swallowed painfully. "He never had much liking for Slytherins, regardless of ability. A pity, that. So much promise, just wasted..."

"Professor..."

"I will not tell him anything, Severus. I am an old man, and I have lived my life several times over. Death does not frighten me as it does him." He could feel the young man's grip tightening on his hands.

"It is not death he would offer." The words emerged without inflection, but the hoarseness in Severus' voice spoke volumes. "He's but given you a taste. Meadowes got off easy."

Agrippa forced his eyes open, but even then he could see very little, save the stars glittering far above his head. "She died bravely. She did her duty. I shall do mine."

Severus rose to his feet, a black shadow against a black sky. A single droplet of water landed on Agrippa's hand, chilled from the air. The last thing he heard was Severus' voice, smooth, and caressing. "Avada Kedavra."

***

There was music playing in the bedroom. Sirius frowned, pulling his wand from his pocket as he set the bottle of wine on the table. "Who's there?" he called.

No answer. Just the music, a woman singing in what sounded like German, an orchestra swelling behind her. The melody sounded familiar, though he certainly couldn't recognise it. Dorcas would know. Anything classical was more likely than not to belong to her anyway.

"Dorcas?" Sirius stepped forward, his footfalls echoing through the flat. "Dorcas, where are you?"

A few more steps forward, and he swallowed against the sudden surge of dread.

"This isn't funny..."

In the doorway to the bedroom, he froze. For a split-second, he told himself she was sleeping. He almost believed it, told himself her eyes weren't open, staring unseeingly upward. She was joking, she was playing, it wasn't true, it couldn't---

Just going to fetch Agrippa. That was all. There weren't any Death Eaters there. They didn't know where he was. I'm dreaming. It's all a horrible nightmare. I'll wake up and she'll be there.

---he felt the wand drop from nerveless fingers. So much for constant vigilance. But it didn't seem to matter all of a sudden.

"No."

He barely heard his own whisper over the lush interweaving of violin and soprano. Nor did he hear anything behind him until too late.

"You see what happens to traitors, pet?" Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew the voice, the dark caressing murmur. "Poor sweet boy. You don't belong with them."

"You killed her."

"Oh, not me. The Dark Lord had no use for her." Press of silksmooth wood against his neck, his own wand balanced delicately between her fingers. Sirius wanted to close his eyes, block out the image before him, but even when he did, it was still imprinted on the backs of his eyelids. "Silly Mudbloods. Shouldn't involve themselves in matters above their station."

"Whatever you want, Bella, just bloody do it. Isn't that your modus operandi? Take what you want, laugh, turn, and leave?" He barely recognised his own voice, cracked, harsh, breaking beneath the strain of his rapidly fraying control. "Do it. I dare you."

"That doesn't work on me, sweet." Even so, there was laughter in her voice, twined with her perfume, sweetly recognisable. "At least it doesn't now. And I don't kill."

Sirius spun, pressed the tip of the wand into his throat as he looked directly into her eyes. "What, not even your own family? Your own flesh and blood?"

"Not if you want it, pet. Or don't you, really?" She lowered both wands, stepping forward to murmur her next words almost directly into his mouth, "You haven't forgotten, I see."

Sirius jerked back so sharply that the backs of his knees collided with the bed. Quick and sinuous as a cat, Bellatrix was on him, pinning him against the sheets, both wands in her right hand. Sirius' fingers brushed against something cold and smooth, realising belatedly that it was Dorcas' arm. Dorcas, who was dead.

Dead. The word pounded within his skull. Dead, dead, dead. Did that mean Agrippa was dead too? He had no idea and he almost didn't care.

"What do you want?" he finally asked, forcing his eyes back to focus on Bellatrix. She was smiling down at him, lashes lowered over mesmerising eyes. "What do you want, damn you?"

"What do you think?" she purred. "There's still time, pet. There's still a place for you, with us. With me." Her fingers traced downward from his mouth to his collarbone as he swallowed convulsively. "I've wanted to see you for so long. You can't fight me, Sirius. You know that, deep down. You don't want to fight me."

He barely needed to think. One motion snatched both wands from her loosened grip, and another knocked her off-balance, and he was upon her. Looking up at him, she laughed. That was before he felt his lips form the word that transformed her smile into a rictus of pain.

"Crucio." It sounded like a scream in his head, balancing on the edge of a sob. Both wands held pointed toward her, and the red light streaming forth from them seemed fit to blind him.

The curse, itself, held for only a few seconds but the force of it threw him backward off the bed. He could hear Bellatrix gasping for breath. Ignoring his own weakness, he staggered to his feet, the wands aimed at her.

She was, somehow, still smiling. "You meant it, didn't you? You really truly meant it. Oh, you will go far, cousin dearest."

"Do you honestly believe I'd even consider it?" he spat. "She never did anything to you. Nothing at all."

"She," Bellatrix gestured vaguely toward Dorcas, her eyes remaining upon Sirius' face, "tried to take what was mine. It might be a personal failing, but I don't like to share."

"You're a monster." His voice was shaking, much to his chagrin. "Get out."

Bellatrix smiled. "You don't want me to leave. Not really."

"Get the hell out of here." He threw her wand into the other room. It made a satisfying crack against the far wall. "If I ever see you again, Bellatrix, I will kill you. Kin or not. I don't care."

"I never thought I'd find you tiresome," she remarked, feigning a yawn. "You sound almost righteous. How very disappointing."

"You heard me. Or do I need to use Imperius?"

At that, she laughed. "Two Unforgivables in five minutes. And here I thought you wouldn't do our family proud after ending up in that awful House. You might make a Black after all."

"I'm as much a Black as you are," he hissed. "Now, I told you to get out. I mean it." Then, as something occurred to him, he added, "Where were you?"

"What do you mean?" She looked slightly puzzled at the question.

"Yorkshire. Where in Yorkshire?"

"Agrippa's laboratory. Just outside Whitby. Why do you ask?"

Sirius didn't answer at first. Just raised the wand. "Imperio." She froze where she stood, eyes glazing over. "You're going to take her back, Bella. You're going to leave a perfect scene of the crime for the Aurors to find. And then you're going to go home." His voice shook. "The next time we see one another, one of us will die. I imagine it'll be you, but we never know, do we?"

He closed his eyes until he heard the door close behind her. The bed, when he looked at it again, was empty, as if she'd never been there at all. Maybe, he told himself, if he looked at it long enough he'd realised he'd dreamt the whole thing.

Maybe. Just maybe.

***

Remus Lupin awakened in bed at the Order headquarters to find Professor McGonagall looking down at him. "You've had quite the knock on the head, Mr Lupin."

"I noticed," he muttered, wincing as he tried to move his neck. "Got me from behind."

"So Mr Pettigrew told us. He brought you back here safely, thank goodness. Moody should never have sent him."

It was then that he noticed the handkerchief in her hand, the telltale redness around her eyes. "What happened? Where's Agrippa?"

"They got there before we did. He told them nothing and they killed him for it. Miss Meadowes too, the poor girl."

"M---Dorcas?" Remus half-shot upright before curling back into a foetal position from the sheer agony of trying to move. "You don't mean..."

"I'm afraid I do, Mr Lupin." She dabbed at her eyes. "Mr Pettigrew told us what little he'd seen--apparently they left him in a Full-Body Bind that wore off after they left--and it appears that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named did the deed himself."

"And Agrippa?" he whispered.

"He didn't see. I didn't want to press the poor boy; seeing one of his classmates die was surely enough."

Remus had to swallow hard against the lump growing in his throat. "Has anyone...does Sirius Black know yet?"

McGonagall shook her head and shrugged. "I can't say, unless he's spoken to Mr Pettigrew already. The Headmaster's called a meeting of the Order this evening to tell everyone. He's taken Professor Agrippa's death rather hard."

"Can't blame him," murmured Remus. "I can't even think why...what could anyone have wanted with Agrippa? He never did anything."

"He's a half-blood whose latest project involved a cure for lycanthropy," McGonagall suggested bleakly. "Although how they knew about the latter is anybody's guess."

Remus had more than a few suspicions in mind, most of which began with the name Severus Snape, but he chose to keep them to himself. He wondered if Snape had been there when Agrippa died, and if he felt any remorse whatsoever for his mentor's death. Everyone at Hogwarts knew Snape had been Agrippa's favourite.

"If you've got..." he started, hesitated a moment, "I'm alright, Professor. You don't need to stay here."

She smiled, albeit a slightly watery one. "If you say so, Mr Lupin. I'll see you this evening."

***

They buried Dorcas Meadowes on a beautiful, blustery day. Unseasonably warm as it was, the patches of half-melted snow trapped in the shade were the only reminders that it was January. From beyond the walls of the cemetery, the wind caught the occasional snatch of conversation--lectures, professors, friends, anything but death.

The back of Remus' neck still throbbed, though whatever potion Lily had brought him from St Mungo's had helped a little. Beside him, Peter's black eye was slowly fading. It occurred to Remus that he had never asked how Peter had come by it. It hadn't seemed particularly important in the grand scheme of things, and Peter hadn't elected to say anything himself.

James and Lily stood together, Lily's face buried in his shoulder. As for James, his eyes were not on the grave, but following the nearby figure of Sirius Black with no small amount of concern. Remus was quite sure Sirius had attended the service, though he had been too busy comforting Emmeline Vance to notice. She was still crying silently as she had all morning, tears making tracks down her face. As far as Remus could tell, she did not even notice anymore.

Sirius stood apart, his posture betraying nothing. It was only when Remus stepped forward to toss his clump of cold earth on top of the coffin that he caught sight of his--but is he really still your friend after everything that's happened? Really?--Sirius' face. Shadows pooled beneath his eyes, and his jaw was set to the point that it made Remus wince inwardly. He looked as though he had not slept for days.

"Padfoot," he murmured, reaching forth to touch his arm. Sirius jerked back as if stung, and Remus had to fight not to react to the expression in the other man's eyes. Rather than saying anything more, he beat a hasty retreat.

Thankfully, he and Emmeline were among the last to come forward, and the guests began to trickle away soon after. Only Dorcas' parents remained, and Sirius, separated by the gaping hole in the ground that two oblivious cemetery employees were now filling.

A small group had gathered some distance away. Dumbledore murmuring condolences, James doing his best to keep from glancing back at the silent Sirius, and Lily dabbing at her eyes with her sleeve.

"She used to talk about how she knew she would die young," she was saying with a bitter smile. "She never saw herself with children or growing old, she just...didn't. It's why she loved Sirius, you know. Because he never made her think of those things."

Not so now, thought Remus. He waited until Dumbledore had led James and Lily away, until Mr and Mrs Meadowes had finally retreated. Sirius had not moved. But even before Remus advanced to his side, he spoke for the first time.

"I'm told you were there." Flat, almost disinterested. "What happened?"

"Someone knocked me in the back of the head," was Remus' soft reply. "I didn't see anything. Pa---Sirius, I'm so sorry. Truly I am."

"Moody says Voldemort killed her personally." A bitter smile surfaced for an instant. "Should I be proud of that, do you think? I wonder how he knew. I wonder who told him."

"You should come inside." Remus squinted into the horizon, where the dozens of spires of the city of Cambridge reached upward to brush the sky. The air had grown chilly all of a sudden. "There's nothing more you can do here."

Sirius stared down at the newly turned grave with its simple granite stone: Dorcas Meadowes, 1960-1981, beloved daughter. And below, four lines that Remus did not recognise. "Her father picked out the poem. He said she'd always liked it."

"I'm not surprised. She did always insist upon living for the moment," he acknowledged, though warily. "Come on, Padfoot." The nickname, despite his avoidance of it over the past year, still came naturally. "Please?"

"No." He shook his head, perhaps harder than necessary. "Go away."

"Padfoot--"

"Haven't you bloody done enough?" Before Remus could react, Sirius shoved him backward. He only barely caught his balance against a nearby tombstone. "Get the hell away from me!"

Too shocked to form words, Remus could only stare.

"You should have been there. Where were you? You were sent with Wormtail, they told me." Sirius' eyes were wild, unfocused, and his voice cracked on the final words. "Where were you, Moony?"

"I told you where I was," Remus willed his hands to stay at his sides, resisted the urge to either touch Sirius or clamp his fingers down around the tombstone in front of him. "I tried, Padfoot. They got me from behind. I told you."

Sirius shook his head, stepping back. "I don't believe you."

At those four words, Remus could only stare. Sirius was shaking, whether from the cold or from emotion, or some combination of the two, it was difficult to tell. "I don't--"

"You've been hiding something all these months. I've seen it. Everyone else has too."

"You can't honestly believe--"

Sirius cut him off, snarling, "Oh, can't I? Secret meetings, mysterious disappearances? You've barely spoken to me for a year, Remus. Did you think I wouldn't notice?"

Remus, still reeling from the unprecedented accusation, fought for words. "You truly think I had something to do with...?" It was his turn to shake his head, to retreat into cold rationality, his particular forte. "You're raving. I had a perfectly good reason to avoid you, and I should think you of all people are aware of precisely what that reason was. You can't blame me for something beyond my control."

"Beyond your control?" echoed Sirius, on a thread of bitter laughter. "You were there."

"And you weren't," Remus spat. What little colour remained in Sirius' face drained away, and he staggered backward. But somehow, in spite of the nagging of conscience to stop, that he'd said enough, all the confusion and anger of the past year moulded itself into words poised to stab. "That's what this is, isn't it? You're looking for someone to blame. You always look for someone to blame, Sirius. It's never you. No, it can't possibly be you. Not Sirius Black."

Someone was tugging at his sleeve, but he shrugged them away, advancing on Sirius.

"Well, I'm not going to be your scapegoat this time. Of the two of us, Padfoot, which one seems to you more capable of betrayal? Think on it," he said, the words feeling to him like sharp-edged slivers of ice upon his tongue. "Think very, very hard."

Sirius flinched as if struck. And then, he smiled, the expression so horribly painful that Remus very nearly regretted everything he had just said. Nearly. "But don't you see, Moony," he murmured, "the villain is always the one you don't expect."

And with that, he walked away, half-stumbling over a nearby gravestone. Remus made a truncated movement forward, only to find Peter had grasped his shoulder.

"Don't," murmured Peter. "Let him be. He needs time alone."

"Do you really think so?" Remus' voice sounded flat, making no secret of how unconvinced he was. "Somehow I don't see that helping."

"Think about it, Moony. He's not going to listen to you, or to any of us. Even Prongs hasn't really tried to say anything and you know why?" Remus shook his head, and Peter continued, "Because Prongs knows better. He's not in his right mind, Moony," Peter said, managing a faint smile. "He'll come round. Just wait."

Remus just nodded slowly. Sirius had vanished from sight, and it almost seemed that he could hear a dog howling, a single thread of anguished despair wending upward until the wind carried it away.

***

If he could have laid his exhaustion at the door of long-distance Apparition, Dumbledore would have done it without hesitation. But he knew well that it was more than that. Two funerals in two days, a colleague and a student, hundreds of miles apart. Both had been small affairs; only he and the Flamels had attended Agrippa's. Faust, tied as he was to Wittenberg, was forced to send his regrets.

Too many funerals. Too many wearing black.

But he was forced to consider the alternative, and could not bring himself to relent. They would prevail. They had to. If not...the consequences would surely be far worse.

All the same, he was forced to admit as he opened the door to his office that it was growing harder and harder to justify his choices.

The room looked just as he had left it on first glance, but even so, Dumbledore paused to draw out his wand. Something did not feel right. And, as he reached the centre of the room, he saw why.

Severus Snape was huddled against one of the bookcases. His eyes were so dark they seemed gaping holes into the very pits of Hell. In his hands was twisted the chain of a pewter crucifix. A very familiar pewter crucifix.

Dumbledore froze where he stood.

Severus' smile was the grin of a skull. "Can you spare a misericorde for a damned man, Headmaster?"