Certain Circumstances

Unfazed, Remus Lupin sips his cold tea. Not iced tea - rather, it was made at some point earlier that morning, hot, but now it is a little past two in the afternoon, and the tea is cold. Normally, Remus is the sort of man not to be distracted from his hot tea in the morning. It is ritual. It is routine. It has been for a long time, now - hot tea in the morning, and hot cocoa at night.

Still unfazed, Remus sips his cold tea. It tastes sweet, the milk chill and refreshing. It clears his head. The repetition of drinking his tea allows Remus to remain unfazed, despite the unusual circumstances. It allows for clinical diagnosis, for an almost mathematic approach towards a course of action, post-tea.

That morning had been - Remus believes this to be the technical term - a total and unmitigated disaster. The tea, while no longer hot, is at least some semblance of normality, for which Remus is extremely grateful. However, he is already halfway through this cup, and once he has finished he will be forced to cope. Or, to make another cup of tea.

That morning, to clarify, had been the sort of total and unmitigated disaster that is generally irredeemable. There is no going back. Not even a thousand cups of tea could rectify the situation. (Besides, Remus hardly has enough tea bags for a thousand cups of tea.) Remus Lupin, with one-third of a cup of tea total left and developing a bit of a leg jiggle, remains unfazed. But barely. And not for long. In a few swallows' time, all calm will be fractured, all pretenses scattered. Remus Lupin will no longer be unfazed.

On the cup of tea, Remus's hand clenches with a momentary chill. The liquid inside trembles. Remus watches it with slight, displaced confusion. Well, he tells himself systematically, now he knows what the worst is like. At the very least, he never has to wonder over the worst case scenario, not ever again. It has come and gone; he has weathered it, to sit and sip his tea after the passing of the storm.

Perhaps, it occurs to him then, a blow below the waistline, this is only the very center of it all, the proverbial eye of the hurricane.

No longer unfazed, Remus sets his empty cup down on the table in front of him. It clatters, and he pulls his hand back, as if burned. His eyes lift to the flat door, still half ajar, as it was left a while ago. Remus would check the clock, but to find out how long ago, exactly, would be far too depressing, and so he doesn't.

The day had started out as breakfast with Sirius, had taken a wrong turn somewhere towards letting it slip that James intended to propose to Lily, had taken another and infinitely more wrong turn towards a disastrous admission on Remus's part of a long-past attraction to Severus Snape, and had finally crashed in an all-consuming inferno of majestic proportions when Remus said five very stupid words and Sirius ran. For the hills, for all Remus knew. At this point he could be on his motorbike and headed to Tibet.

With some amount of fondness and no memory of how it once had been, to be unfazed, Remus tells himself that would be just like Sirius to do, wouldn't it.

With a low and self-reproving groan, Remus curses himself for thinking about Sirius, and then sets about making himself a full pot of tea.

He's going to need it.

*

It is two-forty-seven in the afternoon, a young muggle woman tells Sirius, and she does think it looks about to rain. Sirius thanks her and replies with distracted hurriedness. Later on, he does not remember what he said to her. All he really remembers is that she had been right.

Once it begins to rain he is already halfway there. The motorbike is a comforting purr beneath him, though his eyes are filled with the blinding rain, and he knows he'd be better off waiting until the storm is over. However, he does not. His destinations are gloriously clear, his resolve as impulsively set as ever it is. He has never been more viscerally sure of himself in his life.

Sirius Black is on his motorbike.

Sirius Black is driving far too fast, on his motorbike.

Sirius Black is in the rain, driving far too fast, on his motorbike.

And away, very far away, from Remus Lupin's flat, and towards a more upper class part of London. Firstly, he is going to break Severus Snape's nose. It is something he has wanted to do for a long time, something he should have done a long time ago but only just now has gotten the right amount of impetus to do properly. After he breaks Severus Snape's nose he is going to go to Godric's Hollow and kill James Potter. Or congratulate him. Or get very drunk and spend the rest of his life on James' couch. He has not yet decided which. Option one is looking appealing, but option three is rapidly becoming more and more tempting as the rain begins to come down harder.

That morning had been, quite possible, the most unfortunate seventeen minutes of Sirius Black's life. Sirius blames Remus Lupin. He blames Remus totally and completely. He does not, fortunately, want to break Remus's nose (Remus has a rather nice nose the way it is, thank you). Breaking Severus Snape's nose is recognizable, even to Sirius, as an act of random violence to relieve Sirius's sudden and copious amounts of aggression. Besides, Sirius tell himself, with a certain amount of sickeningly vicious pleasure, any change to Snape's nose will undoubtedly be an improvement.

Great, slimy, Godawful git.

Remus has always been something of a mystery to Sirius, libraries and quiet corners and wise solemnity. But this goes beyond the realm of simple confusion - well, why would anyone like writing a Defence Against the Dark Arts Essay? - and into a universe of dumbfounded outrage. Fancying Severus Snape is not the sort of thing any friend of Sirius's should ever in their right mind do. It is unspeakable, unfathomable, unimaginable and, not to mention, thoroughly unhygienic. Not only is Sirius perplexed, he is disgusted. There is a sick feeling knotting in the center of his belly, growing larger each time he so much as remembers to think about it.

And this is Remus, for Merlin's sake! Careful and painstakingly precise, ridiculously meticulous in every single one of his endeavors.

Granted, Remus had attempted to explain that it had been third year - over four years ago - but Sirius had by that point already been so incense he had neglected really to listen. Besides, if Sirius's incredibly incensed brain chooses to think about anything other than the reason for its incensed state, it is what Remus had said afterwards, in a fit of helpless compulsion, about which it thinks.

Sirius is both enraged and utterly perplexed, which serves only to fuel his anger.

Driving the motorbike too fast in the pouring rain certainly helps. It makes Sirius feel rebellious and manly. It makes him forget he is simply enraged and perplexed. That's the glorious thing about breaking the rules: for a few brief but glorious moments (worth all the imminent repercussions), one can feel like a rebel, instead of just an idiot.

Sirius continues to blame Remus. He is wet, and he blames Remus. He is speeding towards Severus Snape's flat to break Severus Snape's nose, and he blames Remus. He might very well manage to crash his motorbike and injure himself severely and, if he does, he will blame Remus.

Of course, he realizes as he speeds past the blurred scenery, indistinguishable for the sudden downpour, Remus Lupin is no doubt sitting, alone, in his little, clean flat at this very moment.

Blaming himself.

Sirius Black revs the motorbike engine in a fit of livid testosterone. He almost felt sorry for the man whose fault this entire situation is, in the first place.

And he blames Remus.

*

When Severus Snape opens the door - due to an insistent and somewhat insane pattern of rapid knocks upon it - it has just stopped raining outside. The sun is peering out from behind the clouds. It seems as if the day may yet be salvageable as remotely pleasant.

Except Sirius Black, wet and demented, is standing on the other side of his doorway.

"What in the devil's name are you doing here, Black?" Severus grinds out, after the initial shock wears off. Actually, Sirius looks just as surprised to see Severus in front of him as Severus is surprised to open his door to the demanding pounding of Sirius Black.

"Snape," Sirius says. Severus waits. But any clarification as to what in the devil's name Black is doing here does not seem forthcoming.

"Well? Severus snaps. "You certainly haven't come here to tell me my--" But then, one of Sirius's fists has collided with Severus's face, swooping out of nowhere with admirable but dizzying vengeance.

Severus doesn't realize for a full five minutes that he has fallen down.

He thinks he is still standing, therefore, when Sirius says, "You aren't anywhere near good enough for him," and is gone moments later, with a decidedly sloshy stomp.

"Mmfunghnuh," Severus manages, which means very, very much, for all that it actually says very, very little.

*

So far, things are going rather well. But then again, most things go rather well for James Potter. He has always been an excellent Quidditch player, got top marks in his class during school, is a very handsome young man, has a good deal of money and a nice place set up for himself in Godric's Hollow, and an incredibly beautiful woman named Lily Evans who did, eventually, give in and assent to being his girlfriend. As it stands, James Potter gets what he wants more often than not. And so far, things are going rather well.

He does not actually believe they can go otherwise.

While he has not exactly made the romantic dinner for two himself, he has bought it with his own money. And the candles and the candlesticks. And he chose from a terrifying assortment of roses the half-dozen he has set between said candlesticks. And he folded the napkins all by himself. Three and a half times. He also changed the pattern on the napkins, and got rid of an awful stain he is still quite sure was caused by Sirius. He has dimmed the lights in the dining room, and thrown open the brand-new (as of this morning) drapes to the brand-new (as of this morning) picture window, letting the fading afternoon sunlight filter inside.

Everything, James decides as he glances around for the umpteenth time, looks perfect. The room looks perfect. The dessert looks perfect. He looks perfect. Lily looks perfect. Everything is more perfect than he could have possibly presumed it to be.

Lily twirls her spoon in her hand.

"It's chocolate mousse," he tells her. Muggle-born, she has told him on many occasions that her favorite muggle dessert is chocolate mousse. At first, he thought it was some rare species of fauna, until doing a bit of research and discovering he could not very well go into a muggle grocery and order a slice of moose, the chocolate variety.

"I see," Lily says. She gives James a Look. It is not the sort of Look that James was giving his dining room; the former is more for scrutiny, while the latter is something of proud benevolence. "Did you make it?"

"Sort of," James replies. That much is the truth. She smiles slightly - flattered that James would make chocolate mousse for her or seeing right through his choice of words, it doesn't matter - and tries it.

"It's very good," she tells him.

"Isn't it?" James says.

Yes, things are going very well. James is quite assured of the fact that he is in love with Lily Evans and she is in love with him. Secured to his person is a little velvet box with a little engagement ring inside, sporting an anything-other-than-little diamond. James admits that he is nervous but admits also that he has nothing to be nervous about. Lily Evans likes chocolate mousse.

"What was that?" James asks, realizing that Lily has said something, and that he was not actually listening to her.

"I said, it's nice that you remembered I like chocolate mousse."

"Yeah--Yes. Really. I mean, why wouldn't I remember?" James grins charmingly. It's not Sirius's charm, really, but his messy hair complements it, gives him a sort of roguish good cheer. Lily smiles back, at least. "So," James continues, heartened, "I've been thinking for a while, about us, and."

"Is that knocking?"

"What? No, not at all. What I was going to say was that I wanted to do this right, because I've been such a prat about you in the past, so I remembered you'd liked that one."

"No, that's certainly knocking."

"No, it isn't, and it if is, let whoever's knocking hang for a moment. Lily Evans, will you marry."

And then the door bursts open and Sirius is there, dripping water all over James's new carpet.

"Hallo, Sirius," Lily says, her expression half-bemused, half-terrified. "James was just about to ask me to marry him. I was just about to say yes, but now I'm not so sure. Do I have to marry you, too? Do you like chocolate mousse?" She stands, folding her napkin politely and letting it drop to her seat. "If you'll excuse me, gentlemen."

"I just," Sirius says, "broke Snape's nose."

"I'm going to break yours," James says.

Lily disappears in the direction of the bathroom.

"Have you any idea," James asks. "Have you any."

"Congratulations. Why did you tell Remus and not me?"

"Because of this!" James waves his hands around vaguely. "I was going to tell you first thing after but I didn't want you raining on my proposal!" Sirius stares at James. James seethes at Sirius. Sirius has blood on his knuckles, a panicked look in his eyes.

"Well if you'd told me," Sirius begins.

"I only wanted you to know if she said yes," James interrupts him. "Please get out of my house. Best friend you may be, but I'm going to have to propose in the bathroom, now, thanks to you." Sirius wonders if James is really angry. All James looks, for the most part, is incredibly confused, as if the impossible has just happened. As if a house ghost has interrupted his proposal, not Sirius. As if someone has just made him head of the Ministry of Magic. As if Voldemort has walked in his front door with a bouquet of flowers.

As if the proposal he has been planning - enough to buy a jolly new window, hello - has been ruined, and that was a possibility he had not come to think on, yet.

"Hang on a minute," James is saying, trying to piece together his thoughts. "What's this business about breaking Snape's nose?"

*

This cup of tea is hot. In fact, it is so hot Remus has burned his tongue on his first sip, and is only just now able to taste things without being overwhelmed by that unpleasant tingle. For a while he tried to read, and then he attempted to write Sirius a letter, which he would have sent to James, only it was far too incoherent to be sent. It sits beside him, on the coffee table, in between saucer and teapot. He has migrated from kitchen to living room because his armchair does not creak while his leg jiggles, which is certainly much better for thinking.

It's almost half-past six. Remus thinks idly that he should have some breakfast, only wouldn't that be funny? Breakfast at night can't very well be called breakfast, he tells himself, and then, that this train of reasoning is probably why he did not manage to write a coherent letter to Sirius, in the first place.

The letter reads,

Sirius,

Please forgive my insanity. You did happen to come late, not that I am blaming you for coming late or even remotely put out that you did so, though I do believe it was hunger that caused me to say what I did, and thus your lateness is vital to my explanation. My words were no doubt the product of hunger and insanity both, the insanity perhaps born of that aforementioned hunger. In any case, if you would please disregard all words that passed between us earlier, it would be, I feel, the best course of action for the both of us. Perhaps we can have lunch at another time to make up for this morning's failure. I promise I will have a very large breakfast beforehand, so that if you are late, I will not become so hungry as to say anything else as absolutely ridiculous.

Remus

The problem is very much that Sirius is late to most everything. Not that Remus minds, as he has grown quite used to such behavior. Not that it was hunger that made him say what he did, though insanity must certainly have been a factor.

The breakfast itself had been Sirius's idea. He'd pop over, he'd said; they'd have some toast and eggs, spend a good, solid amount of time together - which was hard, as they lived farther apart than could allow the sort of communication there had been during their school years - and just have, generally, a good time of it, together. It had very much been the sort of plan Sirius would come up with. It had very much been the sort of plan Sirius would come up with in a desperate attempt to reclaim the free-for-all youth that had governed said school years. Remus, always more than willing to indulge, had said yes, because he misses that sort of camaraderie as well, and is yet terrified of growing apart from his four closest friends now that school is over and, come fall, past routines will be broken. Forever.

Remus does not deal well with the changing of a constant.

Perhaps that is why he said what he did, Remus decides. The knowledge that his past is now past, and he must face a future with no similarities to the ways of life to which he has grown far too accustomed, must have been the catalyst. That's it exactly. Remus grabs up his quill and the slip of parchment, crossing out the first attempt at an explanation, and beginning a second.

Sirius,

James is marrying Lily. Or so he wants to. You live halfway across London, closer to James and to Peter than you do to me. I believe that most of what I said this morning was driven by the realization that our years at Hogwarts are finally at an end. I am unused to living without the three of you. I was more afraid than I would have liked to admit, and it manifested itself this morning in my thoughtless words. Please, forgive me for my foolishness, my inability to see the motives behind my own actions. I believe that, now I am at last fully aware of what has been bothering me, I shall be able to combat all further foolishness in this vein before it should pose any more problems.

Remus

Later, Remus decides he will tear the letter up. It stares back at him now, calling him a liar and a fool both. He has tried to placate himself, and he has almost begun to believe his own placations. He takes another sip of tea. He sets the cup down in its saucer. He looks at the letter again, reproachful.

He wonders at how long it will take owl post to reach Tibet from Godric's Hollow. A long time, he decides finally.

Reaching over the cup and saucer, Remus picks the letter up once more, and crumples it.

*

"So then you decided the best course of action would be to break Severus's nose," Lily is in the middle of saying, as Sirius dries himself off with two of James's bath towels. They had to get Lily out of the bathroom to get to the towels, so that Sirius could stop dripping on things. Now, Lily, who is pointedly not looking at James, and James, who is pointedly glaring at Sirius, and Sirius, who is looking rather shaggy, are sitting in a half circle on James's living room floor, trying to work things out.

"Well, yeah," Sirius replies, not looking ashamed so much as he does proud, and not so much proud as he does sheepish. "And I don't regret it," he adds, half-heartedly. "Except my hand is kind of swollen." There is also a cold washcloth wrapped around the knuckles of Sirius's right hand. "But other than that, I don't regret a thing." Lily looks slightly put out.

"However, I can't seem to get from point A to point B," she continues, attempting patience. "Remus said something to you which you can't at this moment divulge, you ran off, and decided somewhere in between running off and breaking Severus's nose that Severus's nose needed immediate breaking. Is that it?"

"Exactly." James, despite the fact that he is an Adult now and does not indulge in childish games, despite the fact that he is more than just a little peeved by Sirius's sudden arrival in the middle of chocolate mousse, is trying not to let himself smile. Luckily enough, Lily is pointedly not looking at him, and therefore will not be able to tell just by the twitching of his lips the scope of his emotional state.

"So what is it Remus said?" James asks, before Lily can attempt to negotiate any further. "Inquiring minds need to know."

"Well you won't," Sirius mutters, looking for all the world like a sullen teenager. Which is, technically, exactly what he is, and James feels rather disappointed in him for it.

"That's hardly fair," he protests.

"Well, you didn't tell me about Evans! Lily," Sirius amends. "Sorry, Lily."

"That's quite all right, Sirius." Lily seems to be suddenly in a rather good mood, as if she has just put together a few vital pieces of a puzzle. Sirius realizes he has interrupted things. He realizes also that perhaps Lily is grateful for the interruption.

"Well, I would have told you," James says, running his fingers through his hair and managing only to muss it up further, "only I was just asking Remus in a roundabout way that, if I was to attempt to propose to someone at some theoretical point in time, what might be the best way to do said proposing. You know Remus. He put two and two together and got four."

"Some friend you are," Sirius says. (Still sulking.) He rubs his wet hair with a damp towel. He, too, Lily notes, is the sort of boy who can make even clumping, soggy hair look attractive. After a Quidditch match, James can manage it, too.

Not that Lily ought to be thinking about things like that at a time like this.

"You know," James says. "I don't think you ought to be saying anything about friends, bursting in here, and dripping on my rug, and ruining my proposal!" Sirius is not sure whether James really wants to kill him, or if James is about to burst out laughing. It doesn't seem as if James is sure, either.

"As proposals go," Lily points out, turning the engagement ring around her finger, "I'd say your bathroom is a decent enough locale."

"Well, but it wasn't," James attempts.

"It'll be something to tell our children," Lily says, wickedly.

Sirius looks from the gaping fish expression on James's face to the flash of mischief in Lily's eyes to the gaping fish expression on James's face once more. Obviously, James has not thought this through. Just like Sirius did not think breaking Snape's nose through. His knuckles are aching, a dull, throbbing ache, as if he's bruised important bone. His hand is swollen, the skin pink and puffy. It is only minimal comfort that Severus Snape is lying somewhere, gushing blood out of his broken nose. Actually, it's hardly any comfort at all, although definitely satisfying. Sirius supposes that Remus will be angry about it, when he finds out. (Remus always finds out. Rather the most infuriating of all of Remus's traits.) At least he won't get detention for it. There will be no more detention for Sirius Black.

The thought makes him feel as if a bucket of ice has just been dumped in his stomach.

"Children?" James is asking. He sounds as if he can't breathe. "Wait a second, hang on, hold everything, what's all this about children?"

"Well, I didn't mean immediately," Lily says calmly. "You're the one who proposed. In your bathroom." Sirius decides then there's only so long a man can spend watching James Potter gasp for air and grasp for words.

"Oy, what time is it?" he asks.

"Six-forty-three," Lily tells him, as James no longer seems capable of the English language.

"Children?" James manages, valiantly. Lily leans over and pats him on the arm.

"And I got to Remus's at just before two," Sirius thinks aloud.

"I was just being awful to you, James. But you deserved it," Lily explains, feeling a little kind now that she's gotten the last of her awfulness out of her. "Don't think about it."

"Which means I've been gone for over four hours," Sirius concludes finally.

"Far more than," Lily says helpfully, "almost five."

"I should leave you both to your baby-making," Sirius says, a weak attempt at humor, "it sounds sort of private."

James regains all the coherency he needs to at last verbally destroy Sirius Black - before beating him within inches of his life, of course - as the door slams, and Sirius is already squishing off with alarming alacrity.

"I hate my friends," James says, staring at the door. "What the hell was that?" Lily shrugs, grins, stares at her inordinately large diamond, and then smiles.

"Wait," she says simply, "until I tell Petunia."

*

Sirius Black is now torn between a handful of possible options. He can either return to Remus's flat and demand an apology, return to Remus's flat and demand an explanation, return to Remus's flat and apologize, himself, or go off and get completely blitzed. While either of the first three choices would at least end him up back at Remus's flat to work their problems out, after, of course, any further, preliminary idiocy, it seems as if he has decided to get completely blitzed. Against even his own better judgment.

First of all, James is going to marry Lily. The very concept is ridiculous. James is Sirius's age, and does James see Sirius running off to get married to a beautiful redhead? No, Sirius doesn't think so. Sirius isn't running off to get married to anyone at all, for that matter. He doesn't have the inclination. His life is only just beginning. Whatever would he want to get married for?

But the point remains. James is getting married. James proposed to Lily in his bathroom because Sirius barged in on his proposal over chocolate mousse -- which Sirius will never hear the end of, he knows that full well -- and Lily accepted. James's incredibly huge diamond ring is taking up residence on Lily's left ring finger, which displays quite clearly that marriage is imminent. Well, who in Merlin's name told James he could go and do a stupid thing like propose to a girl? Certainly not Sirius. It could have been Peter, Sirius realizes. If James said, 'Hey, I've an idea, I'm going to spend a minor fortune on this great big ring and propose to Lily, I think it's the best idea I've ever had,' then Peter would no doubt have told him it was, indeed, the best idea James had ever had. Even though it is quite clearly the worst.

It could also have been Remus. Remus knew, after all, before Sirius knew. Now, Sirius knows, but there is absolutely nothing he can do about it. James has doomed himself. Sirius is helpless. Sirius thinks that Remus should have been a bit more intelligent about a crazy thing like this, but obviously Remus is not the man Sirius thought he was. Fancying Severus Snape, encouraging James to marry Lily -- it is time, Sirius tells himself firmly, to face the fact that Remus Lupin is stark-raving mad.

Poor Moony. Finally gone off his rocker.

It is then that Sirius pulls over to the side of the road, stops his motorbike, and puts his damp head in his hands. He has not called Remus Moony for a full two months. Perhaps even more. Two months have passed, and Sirius has been off with James in Australia for a month and a half of that, and speaking with Dumbledore about the Order, doing all he can for Dumbledore and the Order, nonstop for the other two weeks. Two full moons have passed, and Sirius has been so busy he has even managed to forget.

Sirius has refused to grow up just yet. He forgot, however, to refuse to grow apart.

Sirius turns the bike in the opposite direction. It has to be a while past seven. The remaining storm clouds have gathered together in the sky, making the world look dark, bruised, an angry gray. Sirius stares at his swollen hand before he kicks the bike into gear and speeds back towards Remus's flat.

Two months.

Two months.

Two months is far too long.

It is, after all, just like a regular summer vacation. Only this time, they're not returning to Hogwarts in the fall. Two months could very well become two years. Sirius's gut clenches, spasmodically.

He steps on the gas, and drives on.

*

Remus is making sandwiches. He decided a few minutes ago that he would like a melted cheese sandwich or two, and so he is setting his mind to the task of slicing a loaf of bread, cutting ample cheese, buttering a pan a bit too avidly. Arranging the cheese in odd patterns atop the bread. Cutting the crusts off the bread and eating them untoasted. Pondering whether he should make a double-decker melted cheese sandwich, and deciding against it as the cheese will not melt properly, should he attempt to do so. He makes two sandwiches, which have too much cheese inside them, and sets the first onto the pan, watching as it sizzles. It is hot in his kitchen, but cold in his living room. He will make himself a cup of hot cocoa, as well.

He thinks perhaps it was raining earlier, as the humidity is gone from the air, but he is not sure. He has all-too effectively wasted an entire day to tea and self-serving laziness. Now, he will eat his cheese sandwiches, drink his hot cocoa, read a book, and go to bed.

Tomorrow he will owl James to see if, one, his proposal went all right, and, two, if Sirius has shown up. Or has left any word about planning to move to Tibet. Either way, he will at least probably have heard from Sirius, for it's James Sirius most often runs to, when Sirius has cause to be running.

Remus flips his cheese sandwich over. It sizzles again. The side now on top looks delicious, perfect and golden brown, not burnt at all. Remus does not smile. He almost manages it, though.

There is a knock at his door.

Maybe it's James, Remus thinks. Maybe it's James, come to ask Remus if he's the one who chased Sirius off to Tibet.

Maybe it's Lily, Remus thinks as he wipes his hands off on a dish towel, come to ask Remus if he's the one who encouraged James to propose.

Remus, in no hurry to answer the door, pads across the living room. His hand smells faintly like cheese, he notes, as he brushes some hair out of his eyes. Cheese and butter and slightly stale bread.

He moves his distinctly cheese-y hand towards the doorknob. He opens the door.

"You got rained on," Remus tells Sirius, who looks decidedly wet, and decidedly disgruntled.

"Yeah," Sirius says. "Yeah, I did."

"Oh," Remus says.

When next they speak, they speak in unison.

"We should move in together." Sirius.

"I meant," Remus, "as a brother."