Accidentally In Love

Accidentally In Love Part X: Breaking Points

"How are you doing?" Alice asked Sirius as she gathered papers off the table.

"Me? Sirius asked, surprised. "Absolutely fine, except I'm not looking forward to chasing down this bastard." He poked the case file with his wand. "You're the one we should be worried about." He reached out and patted her stomach solely so Alice would scowl and bat his hand away. He grinned at her.

"Piss off. I meant... how are you really doing?"

"Thank you for that clarification, Temptress."

Alice scowled at him. "With the attack on the Quidditch stadium, idiot."

"Oh. I've got a few leads, but it's not like we're just chasing down one or two Death Eaters this time. They were all in on it, weren't they?" Sirius said with a scowl.

"But the Potters... I know they were like parents to you."

Sirius grimaced. Grief was a new emotion to him, and one that he was not entirely comfortable with. "I'm fine," he said, forcing a smile. "After all, they weren't my parents. They were James's."

"But-"

"I mean, technically, both of my parents are still alive, right? It's not like what James has to go through, or Lily, for that matter. Or Peter. His dad died when we were all fourth years, you know. Or Remus, who lost his Mum just a year ago. So I'm really quite all right." The faked cheerfulness in his tone made his voice high-pitched and cracked. "So believe me, Alice, I'm fine."

"Right," she said, backing off. "I can see that, Sirius."

He smiled at her again, although this time it was more genuine. "I'll be fine, Alice," he reassured her. "Don't worry about it. I'm holding everything together."

"I know you are."

***

Remus had always hated going to the Werewolf Registry Office for those bimonthly updates, and now that he dealt almost exclusively with Macnair, it was nearly unbearable. But Macnair had been more valuable than Remus had anticipated, and the Order had been able to thwart three minor attacks and one major one. So, distasteful as it was, Remus could accept it. But that didn't mean he had to enjoy doing it.

He hadn't expected anything unusual today, which was why he was so surprised when, after the obligatory questions and the addition of two minor regulations to the Werewolf Code of Conduct, Macnair handed him a sheaf of parchment.

"Here are your travel papers," he said.

"Travel papers?" Remus said, finding it hard to speak against the lump in his throat and the unwelcome surge in his stomach.

"Yes. I am afraid they are rather thick, but the Soviet Union is a bit, well..." Macnair grinned wryly.

"Regulated," Remus finished, his hand reaching out.

"Very much so," Macnair agreed.

Remus stared down at the pile of papers, bound together with a gleaming silver clip, stamped and signed and declaring that Remus Lupin, werewolf, had clearance to travel to Leningrad.

"Wait a minute," he said slowly. "I'm not going to Leningrad."

"Yes, you are," Macnair said, flashing another smile. "I've also been asked to give you this." He handed Remus a sealed scroll, with the Dark Mark stamped into the wax. "You should be pleased. These orders come from very high up indeed."

Remus nodded, probing for exactly how high up. To his absolute delight, he managed to get a clear picture and a voice he recognized as Lucius Malfoy. Macnair didn't seem to notice. "The Dark Lord must be very pleased with you, because this is an assignment I didn't expect him to delegate to... well, to you and..." Macnair waved a hand, leaning back comfortably. "I didn't expect it. But you've done well."

Remus nodded again and stared back at the papers. "So we're to go to Leningrad..." he said, his voice trailing off in wonder.

"Yes. You've not been there before, have you?"

"No. Never. But..." it was unfolding fast, the implications. The Soviet Union had such a terrible reputation, but such a fascinating history, and he'd seen pictures. And if Voldemort's pattern was like it usually was, their mission would take them to a museum at least, but more likely a historical landmark. Maybe the Winter Palace. Maybe the Kirov Palace. Maybe....

"Well then, if you don't have any more questions?" Macnair prompted, and Remus looked up suddenly, tearing his mind away from the visions he was conjuring.

"No, I think I understand. Thank you."

Macnair inclined his head. "No. The Dark Lord thanks you."

***

"Leningrad?" Sirius said, his voice barely strained down from a shout. "You're going to Leningrad?"

"Yes." Remus was darning a pair of gloves. Leningrad would be cold, even now in early spring. "What?"

"Just... what's the Werewolf Registry have to say about this?"

"Macnair was the one who handed me the orders. So I'd say they're fine with it."

"Do border guards know they are?" Sirius asked sarcastically.

"I would think that's what the papers are for, Sirius. To tell them. I've told you before, it's not unheard of for werewolves to get permission to travel for certain purposes. Alphard traveled all the time."

Sirius opened his mouth to argue, but shut it abruptly. Remus sighed, tying off the thread and looking mournfully at the clumsy job he'd done. Sirius stalked to the window, staring out it angrily.

He looked different, Remus realized, setting the glove down slowly. His hair was mussed and he hadn't shaved in two days, and there was something more. There was some frenetic energy that made him seem to vibrate, even as he stood motionless at the window. "What is it?" he asked.

"Does Dumbledore know you're going?" Sirius said, the words clipped as he stared out the window.

Remus grinned wryly. "Yes. Actually, it's funny you mention that."

Sirius turned to face him. "Why?"

"According to Dumbledore, the object Voldemort wants isn't nearly as powerful as he thinks." Remus chuckled. "Kind of comforting, really, to realize that he is fallible."

"What does he want?"

"A reliquary of Rasputin's. Dumbledore laughed when I told him."

"He laughed. It's unimportant, it's all a fraud- it's laughable, and yet he's still letting you go into the Soviet Union and risk your life over it?"

Remus shrugged. "I don't mind."

"What does Voldemort even want it for?"

"I don't have the first idea, Sirius. It's not like he gives me these orders himself, and even if he did, I can't exactly question him."

"You're a Legilimens," Sirius retorted.

"And I'm going to be able to use it on Voldemort without him catching on? I don't think I'm quite that good, Sirius."

"Then what are you playing at? If Voldemort won't tell anyone what he's planning-"

"Sirius, I am doing what Dumbledore tells me to do. It's what I have to do. Do you understand?"

"No!" Sirius barked, and Remus sighed heavily at the flashing grey eyes and the anger etched across Sirius's brow. "I don't understand, and I want it to stop! We're still losing people, and we're still losing this war."

"It's not a war, anymore," Remus muttered. "It's a massacre."

"And nothing you've been able to find out and tell us has won this war!" Sirius raged. "There are still spies on our side and ambushes we don't know about and families killed in their homes!"

"That's not my fault!" Remus retaliated, stung. "I can't stop the entire force of Death Eaters, Sirius!"

"I didn't say you could! But when they figure out what you're doing, they'll torture you until you talk, and then they'll kill you!"

"I'd never talk."

"They'll kill you anyway, then! And no nice, neat Avadra Kedavra. They'd... they'd..." Sirius's eyes flew wide and Remus knew he was seeing visions that were too gruesome and terrifying to put into words. But he knew them well, because they haunted his own nightmares as well. He walked over and laid a hand against Sirius's back.

"It's a risk we all take," he said, knowing he was lying even as he said it. If Sirius was killed, it would be in battle. It would probably be quick. But Sirius drew away from his touch.

"I don't want you going," he insisted stubbornly.

"I'll be fine. Actually, I'll be safer on this trek to Leningrad than I would be here."

"I don't. Want. You going."

There was a hot, dull ache behind Remus's eyes. "I'm going." Sirius muttered something in response. "What was that?"

"I don't like that you're actually grateful to the Death Eaters."

"What?!"

"You want to go! I can tell! You're excited about this trip!"

"Well, yes, if you want the truth! But that doesn't mean-"

"It does too! It means that the Death Eaters are doing something for you that I can't do!"

"Yes, they're sending me on a mission that goes against everything I believe in, and I have to go because you know what? I don't care about the damn reliquary but the person I'm going with is hovering on the edge, and if I keep after him maybe I can get him to help US. I am not trying to save the world anymore, Sirius! I am trying to save one single soul!"

"And what good does that do, when you might lose yours?"

"It is important!"

"How important can it be?"

"Important enough that Dumbledore wants me to continue!"

"That's not good enough!"

"It has to be!" Remus raged. "What other option do we have, Sirius?"

"You can not go to the Soviet bloody Union on the Death Eaters' orders!" Sirius thundered. "Refuse!"

"You know what would happen if I refused!" Remus shouted back. "You said it yourself! They'd kill me, Sirius! Like they almost did the first time!"

The color drained from Sirius's face. "I was exaggerating. It's not like that," he said, but they both knew it was exactly like that. Remus stared at him, helpless. "You don't have to go," Sirius repeated.

"I have to. I'll be all right, Sirius. In fact, I'm probably safer on this mission than I am here in London. Please, Sirius. It will be fine."

Sirius closed his eyes and turned back to the window, laying his forehead against the glass. "It's not that. It's that they're giving you something we can't give you."

"And it's not important," Remus insisted, coming to stand behind him. He touched Sirius's shoulder hesitantly. "Just because there's a bright side doesn't mean I'm out to join the Death Eaters. There are things that are more important to me than seeing the world."

"It's not seeing the world. It's freedom," Sirius said, his shoulder still stiff.

"And being told to go is freedom? Sirius, I have no more freedom under them than I do under us." He laid his head against Sirius's back, between the shoulder blades, and slid one arm around to Sirius's chest. "Please. Trust me."

Sirius caught his hand in his and squeezed. "I do."

***

The wail of the train's whistle echoed through the station, and Remus and Regulus sprinted to catch it, throwing themselves up the steps just in time. It was a small train, with only two passenger cars and the rest meant for cargo, but an unoccupied compartment was still easy to come by.

"We would have been here earlier if you hadn't had to stop and see that church," Regulus groused as they settled in their seats.

"We made it in time," Remus pointed out.

"Barely. This isn't a sight-seeing tour, Lupin. We're here on orders from the Dark Lord."

"But I'll..." Remus broke off, annoyed. "Never mind."

To his surprise, Regulus cocked his head. "But you what?"

"It's nothing."

"No. If you're going to drag me around the historical sites of Berlin, you're going to explain why." Regulus arched an eyebrow at him. "But you what?" he repeated.

"I'll probably never have the chance to see Berlin again," Remus muttered, sorting through his bag and pulling out a book.

"Well, whyever not?" Regulus asked. "Just get my brother," his lips twisted distastefully on the words, "to bring you back when all this is over."

"The Werewolf Registry won't let me come back."

"They will if the Dark Lord is in power."

"I doubt it," Remus said darkly.

"He's promised Dark Creatures who serve him their rights," Regulus said. The tone of his voice was petulant, and Remus noticed that his eyes lacked any fire of conviction.

"Look," he said, choosing his words as carefully as possible, trying not to sound too excited, "all through history dictators and governments have made promises like that. 'Fight for us and we'll give you your freedom.'"

"They follow through," Regulus argued. "Look at the American Civil War. Convicts were granted their freedom to fight for the South, and that wasn't retracted."

Remus raised his eyebrows, impressed. "That might be so, legally," he said. "And maybe it would happen for a few years. But the old prejudices never die, and you can never tell what will happen. Maybe Voldemort would give me my rights. But would a new Headmaster at Hogwarts hire me to teach? Would a shop owner still employ me? No. People would eventually be calling for Voldemort to hunt me down and stamp me out, and if he didn't do it, they'd do it on their own. Regulus, just look at the country we're going to to see how political promises don't pan out. Communism was supposed to bring wealth and prosperity for all. From what I understand, it hasn't. Promises are never kept."

Regulus sniffed. "You're a pessimist. And I hardly think comparing the Dark Lord to Lenin is accurate. Their ideologies are completely different."

"But the concept of promises made during wars is not," Remus argued.

"Answer me this, then," Regulus said. "At least the Dark Lord promises you your rights, which is far more than your side does. So how could anything he does be worse than what you have now?"

"You know how you asked me why I don't just go with Sirius when all this is over?" Remus asked.

"Yes."

"If Voldemort wins, there won't be a Sirius to go with. He'll be dead." Remus opened his book. "Now shut up and let me read."

***

The memo was on his desk that morning. Even before he opened it, Sirius knew its contents. The Aurors were being authorized to use the Unforgivable Curses in apprehending suspects; the situation was that desperate.

Sirius shrugged off his leather jacket slowly and laid it across the back of his chair, never taking his eyes off that piece of paper that gave him the right to torture, control, and kill. He sat down heavily, deliberately set the memo aside, and pulled forward the top folder on his stack of case files. Then he had to wonder if someone had placed it there deliberately, because the suspect in question- Walden Macnair- had the attack on the Lupins listed as one of his many supposed credentials.

The bright stale lights and cubicle walls faded, and once again he was in the Lupins' dark living room, with blinding flashes of spells and shouts echoing about him and the scents of ashes and blood sharp in his nostrils. His hands began to shake and the papers in the folder fell to the floor. His stomach twisted in panic and his muscles tensed to the point of pain as sweat sluiced down his back. In his head he could hear the shouting voices muffled by masks and Damien's hoarse cries, and all he could think was he had to save Marilyn, save Damien, save Remus.

Someone touched his shoulder and he grabbed his wand and spun around. "Stupefy!"

Time stopped for a long, sickening moment as Alice Longbottom's eyes widened and she fell to the floor, her pregnant body clumsy and heavy. He tried to dive forward and catch her, but his limbs wouldn't obey and all he could do was stand helpless, watching as she hit the ground. Someone shouted something- he couldn't make out the words- and he stared at her in horror.

A fist connected with his face, and time snapped back into motion as his head whipped around with the force of Frank's blow. From the corner of his eye, he saw Frank pulling back again and he braced himself, preparing for an impact that never came. Moody caught Frank's arm, smoothly and calmly, and Damien seized Sirius himself from behind.

He let himself be dragged away, still watching Alice's inert form with a sick sort of horror. "Is she...?" he whispered.

Damien shook his head. "I doubt it, although the baby-"

There was more to his sentence but Sirius didn't hear it. He had grabbed the waste paper basket and was locked in a battle of dry heaves.

When the attack subsided and he could look around, he was in Elphias Doge's office. Doge, Damien, Moody and Mulciber were all watching him, their wands at the ready.

"Alice?" he croaked out in a voice horse from strain.

"You have other problems right now, Black," Mulciber growled. "Should we bind him, do you think?"

"I've got his wand," Moody said, holding it up. "He won't get far."

"You don't need a wand to Apparate away," Mulciber muttered, but he quieted at a glance from Doge.

"This is the second time you've put a fellow Auror at risk," Doge said to Sirius. "I would like to hear your reason for this time. What happened?"

Sirius glanced around. All four faces were expressionless and stony. "It wasn't like last time," he began. "I was reading a case file and all of a sudden... well, I guess you'd call it a flashback." Even he cringed at how silly that sounded when he said it. "I was caught up in my thoughts and when Alice touched my shoulder, I didn't really think. I just reacted."

"Constant vigilance," Moody said, nodding.

"Not funny. And not necessary in the Ministry," Mulciber said sulkily. "Particularly in the Auror Headquarters,"

"Except there's someone trying to do in Aurors, and it looks like an inside job," Moody growled.

"Well, I'd say we have our most likely suspect. He tried to kill Longbottom and stunned... well, Longbottom."

"Ridiculous," Damien said, his voice low and threatening. "It was established that Sirius was under the Imperious curse last time, and this sounds like a psychological issue."

That statement made Doge's face twist, and Sirius's heart sped up as he wondered if his job was in danger, even as his throat closed at the defense.

"What was the flashback?" Doge asked.

With an apologetic look at Damien, Sirius answered, "The attack on the Lupin house last year. The case file I was reading was of someone who was suspected to be involved."

Mulciber snorted. "Ten points from Gryffindor for sentimentality."

"Watch it," Moody snapped, his wand raised and pointed at Damien, who was poised to attack.

"Mulciber, Lupin, I think we can handle this without your help." Doge flicked his wand and the door opened. "Mulciber, I want a full report on the raid on the Malfoy Manor on my desk by lunch. Lupin, I've got a lead for you on Stern: he was spotted at the Hogshead last night. Go follow up, immediately." He watched as the two men walked out. "And don't kill each other," he shouted as they left.

"Is it a good idea, putting Lupin on the Stern case?" Moody asked, his eyes still trained on Sirius.

"No, but we'll discuss it later, Alastor. Give Black his wand back."

It seemed to Sirius that Moody, for all the faith he'd seemed to display, was reluctant to hand the wand over, but he did so. With the smooth wood back under his fingers, Sirius felt calmer. He sat down in the chair Doge gestured to.

"Do you need a drink, Sirius?"

"Thank you." Sirius accepted a glass of water.

"So you had a flashback," Doge said.

"Yes, sir." Sirius sipped the water.

"Please describe it."

Warily, and worried now for the safety of his job, Sirius did so. Doge listened, his face impassive, his hands folded on his desk.

"Was this your first one?" he asked Sirius when he finished speaking.

Sirius considered it. "I think so. I've had nightmares about that night, but nothing quite like this."

"Do you have flashbacks of any of the other attacks? The Quidditch attack?"

"No, sir," Sirius lied, although none of them had been this intense.

"I see." Doge made a notation on a piece of paper in front of him. "Well then. I suggest you pull it together, Mr. Black. I understand that there are issues with the situations at hand that the mind does not simply deal with, but in light of how desperate our situation is becoming I can not afford to give you time to deal with this. If this in any way impacts your work again-"

"It won't," Sirius interrupted hastily.

Doge looked at him from under shaggy grey brows. "It wouldn't be the first time," he said, and his voice held a note of kindness. "And I'm sad to say it won't be the last. No more flashblacks."

"Yes sir." And with that, Sirius slunk out of the room.

***

They sat in silence all morning, Remus reading a mystery novel and Regulus working his way through Grindewald's Ghosts, a book Remus had always meant to read and never had about those who suffered in the 1940's. It struck him as an odd book for a young Death Eater to be reading, but perhaps the author would be a more powerful force on Regulus's mind than a half-blooded gay werewolf had the power to be. After a while he set down his own book and stared at out the window at the countryside rushing past.

He wished it was Sirius sitting across from him, and that this was an adventure and not a fool's mission. He could imagine Sirius sitting and reading a novel, chin propped on his hand as he did so, his feet tangling with Remus's. There would come a point where one of them would get tired and stretch out across the seat, his head pillowed in the other's lap. In fact, Remus lay down now, his head resting on his bag as he closed his eyes and tried to imagine it was Sirius's thighs beneath him. As he drifted off to sleep he imagined he heard Sirius's voice in his ears.

When we woke up Regulus was staring out the window chewing on his fingernails, a waxed paper packet beside him.

"Where are we?" Remus asked groggily, shaking his head to clear it.

Regulus jumped. "Poland, I think," he said absently. "Do you want something to eat?" He held out the packet. "The lunch cart came by. I got a sandwich, but I wasn't hungry." He leaned down and picked up a bottle. "I got you a drink as well."

It was without a doubt the most thoughtful (probably only thoughtful) gesture that Regulus had extended towards him. "Thank you," Remus said, taking the sandwich and the bottle. Regulus just shook his head and went back to staring out the window. Remus ate in silence.

"Do I look like my brother?" Regulus asked suddenly.

"Pardon?"

"Half the people I know say I look like him," Regulus said, now staring down at his hands, "but the other half say we look nothing alike. Do I look like him?"

"I can tell you're brothers," Remus answered thoughtfully. "Especially in the nose and jawline. But no, you don't look exactly like him or anything." He took a bite and chewed slowly. "Actually, you look more like I'd have throught your Uncle Alphard would have looked when he was our age."

"How the... did you know Alphard?"

"Yes." Remus took another bite. "Did you?"

"Why you impenitent-" Regulus began, but something in his head stopped whatever that line of thought was and he turned angrily back to the window. "Not really," he admitted after a long silence. "He was always traveling, and when he did come he was closer to Sirius. I always thought he didn't like me." Regulus chuckled dryly. "He probably didn't. He didn't like any of the Blacks much, did he?"

"He didn't like your father, no."

"But he believed in blood purity."

"Yes," Remus sighed. "He said so when Sirius ran away from home."

"That's what I've never understood," Regulus said, leaning forward suddenly. "I know he was upset when Sirius ran. When I saw him after that, he was kind of... well, it tore everyone in the family apart. Alphard was no exception. But he left Sirius his money anyway. Why?"

"Do you really want to know?" Remus asked. Regulus answered the question with a disdainful sneer, and Remus heaved a sigh. "All right, I get it. He was a werewolf."

Regulus blinked. "Who, Sirius?"

"No, Alphard. That's how I know him. We met at the Registry when I was ten, and we wrote for almost five years." Now Remus looked out the window, surprised at the tears pressing against his eyes. He blinked rapidly and his vision cleared. "But he told Sirius. And Sirius accepted it. That's why."

"Alphard didn't die of pneumonia, did he?" Regulus asked, catching on quickly.

"No."

"Does Sirius know that?"

"I don't know, to be honest. I've never told him, but Sirius is smart enough to put it together. He certainly knows the consequences if a werewolf kills and is captured."

Regulus sat back against the seat, thinking about it. "Do you think Uncle Alphard would have joined the Dark Lord?"

"No. I remember him saying something about it in a letter. Something about not being able to trust anyone who's after that much power. He was right. Voldemort isn't trying to work for the people he wants to rule- he wants power for himself. Voldemort's first- and only- priority is to Voldemort. Your uncle didn't trust him at all."

Regulus sighed and picked his book back up. "Sometimes, I can see why." He turned back to the book, indicating the conversation was over.

Remus picked up his own book, trying to still the hope that was burgeoning in him.

***

"And just how are you supposed to control that?" James demanded later that night. "No more flashbacks? It's not like you asked for one."

"I know," Sirius said glumly.

"Is Alice all right?" Lily asked anxiously.

"Yeah. They took her to St. Mungo's and they said the baby was fine."

"That's a relief."

"Tell me about it." Sirius shook his head. "I didn't mean to hurt her, much less the baby. I couldn't have forgiven myself if...." He shuddered. It was unthinkable.

"Do they really think it will be a problem?" James asked as Lily went into the kitchen to start dinner.

"I guess so. Look, Prongs, it does make a certain amount of sense. Aurors can't afford to be going to pieces. What if it happens while I'm tracking a Death Eater?"

"It's not that I don't understand," James said. "Believe me, I do. It's just you can't be the only one to deal with this. I mean, Mr. Lupin was defending his own home and his own family. Can you really tell me he hasn't had any flashbacks or other mental problems? Bloody hell, it took him a few months to be able to walk at a normal pace and he still limps, and yet they aren't threatening to shuttle him off to some other division."

"He's older," Lily shouted from the kitchen. "More experienced. He knows how to cope with it. Sirius will too, in time."

"But time is what we don't have," Sirius pointed out.

"Or manpower," James said.

"Well, then, what's your suggestion, Prongs? What do I do about this?" Sirius got up and started pacing. "I've been over and over it, but I can't come up with anything."

James thought, rubbing his hand across his upper lip. "Did anything trigger it?" he asked.

"Just seeing the file on a suspect in the case." Sirius shrugged. "I can't spell all the files to give me warning or anything."

"But you've seen those kinds of files before," James argued. "Did you and Remus fight today?"

"No, not today. He's away. You know that."

James eyed him shrewdly. "Did you fight before he left?" Sirius flushed, remembering the argument. James nodded. "What about?"

Sirius opened his mouth to explain, and then shut it awkwardly and looked at James helplessly. For the first time since he was eleven, he couldn't explain to James exactly what had happened. Not because he didn't know, but because James couldn't know that Remus was spying on the Death Eaters.

"What?" James asked. "Come on, Sirius. You can tell me."

"I can't," Sirius said miserably.

James's face tightened. "Look, I thought we were past this, Sirius. I thought you knew that you can talk to me about Remus."

"It's not that," Sirius insisted. "It's..." he tried to think of how to phrase it, especially has he had the sickening realization that James would be offended Remus hadn't told him about the assignment. Wouldn't he? "It was nothing, James," Sirius lied, feeling sick at the deception. "Just one of those stupid arguments."

James didn't believe him- Sirius could see it in his expression. But there was nothing he could say.

***

The train stopped, and Remus opened his eyes. "Border guards," he muttered unnecessarily, stretching. Regulus was still staring out the window, lost in thought.

It was a wizarding train, so Remus wasn't expecting men in uniform or... what was he expecting, anyway? He wasn't sure. What he got was a pair of wizards, both in red robes. The one had a bored, slackened look about him, whereas the second had a more pinched, strained expression. Neither one smiled. Remus gave Regulus (who had snapped out of his trance) a significant look, and Regulus rolled his eyes.

"Documenti, pozhalujsta," the sour-faced wizard snapped.

"Govorite li vy po angliyski?" Regulus asked.

"Nyet. Documenti, pozhalujsta."

Regulus sighed. "Get your papers out," he hissed at Remus, who really had been smart enough to figure that out and had done so. He handed them to Regulus, who handed them over to the border guards. They were snatched out of Regulus's hands, and the two guards poured over them, conversing in rapid Russian.

"Do you have any idea of what they're saying?" Remus asked quietly.

"Yes." There was a deathly silence from the two guards as they turned and looked at Remus, and then one short, angry word that sounded more like a curse than anything else.

"They just found that you're a werewolf," Regulus informed him.

"You think so?" Remus shot back sarcastically. Regulus fixed him with an icy glare of death. Remus noticed his face was much better suited for that expression than Sirius's had ever been. He rolled his eyes back and sat back, trying to act casual and as if the expression of the Soviet wizards wasn't affecting him in the least.

The truth was, it bothered him every time he saw it, and these days he was seeing it more and more often.

For some reason- perhaps because it was what he was used to- Remus was expecting trouble, but after a thorough examination the guards shoved their papers back at them and left the compartment. Eventually, the train lurched into motion again, and Remus peered out the window. The countryside didn't look any different, despite the fact they were in a completely different world than what he'd grown up in, but he was convinced it felt different. Regulus snorted again- his favorite means of expression- but Remus noticed he seemed just as fascinated as well, he just hid it better.

"So this is the Soviet Union," Remus finally said, just because it seemed like they should have some way of marking getting this far.

"Bugger off," Regulus said, picking up a new book.

Remus couldn't help laughing when he saw that it was We the Living.

***

The flat was quiet.

Sirius hadn't noticed it the day before because he'd spent his evening with James and Lily, and when he'd come home he'd been tired enough to fall asleep quickly. But tonight he was home alone, a plate of warmed-up leftovers, a bottle of beer, and an overwhelming silence.

"This is ridiculous," he said out loud. It was his imagination, but his voice echoed.

He ate his dinner as he read a book, focusing more on the pages in front of him than the food he ate. And then the chapter was finished and his dishes were cleaned and dried, and an entire evening alone stretched out in front of him.

It was stupid, Sirius told himself as he wandered the flat. It was stupid to feel out of sorts and alone, because he'd lived alone for months before Remus had moved in with him. There were all sorts of things he could do. There was that book he'd been reading, files to catch up on, friends he could go see... and yet, here he was, opening drawers idly.

The black writing caught his eye because it was familiar, but Sirius couldn't quite place it. It tickled the edges of his memory, but he couldn't quite place it. It was a sheaf of letters, all short, all detailing meeting places.

They were from a Death Eater.

Sirius felt his blood chill. It was ludicrous, of course. Absolutely ridiculous to feel like this. Remus was spying for Dumbledore. He was working with the Death Eaters. Of course there was contact. How had he thought the Death Eaters communicated with each other- telepathy? These letters were normal.

Except that they were mainly from the same Death Eater. The handwriting was consistent through over three quarters of the letters. And every time, Sirius couldn't shake the feeling that that handwriting was familiar.

His mind flashed back to Hogwarts as he tried to place who it could be. Perhaps Snivellus Snape. He'd certainly be foul enough to be a Death Eater, even if Sirius hadn't heard a whisper of his involvement in the Auror office. He remembered Remus's defense of Snape, the way he tried to get them to lay off, even when he and James were rightfully provoked....

He shook his head angrily and stuffed the letters back into the drawer. What would it matter if the Death Eater was Snape? Or anyone else they'd known at school? Remus was loyal, and Dumbledore would never let him spy if he had any doubts about that.

Sirius shut the drawer determinedly and stormed out of the bedroom, slamming the door. It was definitely time to get out of this flat- the emptiness was playing with his head. He grabbed his jacket, went outside, and climbed on the motorbike. As he flew off into the night, the cold air against his face blew away the unease and brought him back down to earth, as even as he soared through the sky.

***

The train lurched to a stop, the air clogged with soot and smoke. Remus peered out eagerly, ignoring Regulus's long-suffering sigh.

When Sirius traveled, Remus told himself that cities were cities, and places like Prague and Budapest and Paris and Frankfurt were probably very much like London or Dublin, only with different landmarks. He knew it wasn't true, but he forced himself to believe it anyway.

Now here was Leningrad spread before him, and Remus couldn't wait to jump off the train and explore it all.

"We'll have to find someplace to stay," Regulus was saying as he shrank his current book (Merlin's Trousers: The Life and Times of The Greatest Wizard Ever) and slipped it into his bag. "I have a list of places." They walked off the train and stepped down onto the platform, and Regulus looked about with a pleased expression. "We'll find something."

Remus nodded, but he wasn't really listening. Everywhere around him he could hear people talking in Russian. The language was so different from English, with sharp, crisp syllables and a completely different inflection to the words. Signs hung from the ceiling and on the wall, all in the Cyrillic alphabet which seemed more like an Ancient Runes test than a proper language to him. And everywhere, people were moving about their business. He was disappointed to see that they were dressed much like the Muggles he saw in London. The hats were a bit different, and perhaps the cut of the coats, but nothing overly exotic. Secretly, he hoped wizards were not the same.

Regulus was moving through the throng impatiently, peering up at signs and comparing them to a sheet of paper he was holding in his hand. Remus followed him out of the depot and into the street, completely lost and not caring in the least as his eyes took in the city of Leningrad.

Amazingly, Regulus did seem to know exactly where he was going. He walked through the streets with a quick, confident step, not looking around much except to glance at signs. Remus suddenly noticed for the first time that Regulus was wearing a plain robe that was obviously second-hand and wasn't wearing his ring, and as he looked around the street he decided that might not have been a bad idea. From what Remus knew of Soviet history, advertising that you were a member of the aristocracy of any sort was a bad idea.

But despite that, Leningrad wasn't quite what Remus was expecting. The little he'd read about Soviet Russia led him to expect extreme poverty visible everywhere, gray, grim faces, and guards constantly marching. And yet, Leningrad was reputed as one of the Soviet Union's most beautiful cities, and he could see that in the architecture, particularly the spire of the Peter and Paul Fortress, the dome of St. Isaac's Cathedral, and the Church of the Savior on the Spilled Blood. He was lost in thought about it when he crashed into Regulus, who had stopped suddenly. "This is it," Regulus informed him, as the inn appeared before them. It was a shabby little place, with the smell of onions and dill coming from a kitchen in the back. Remus followed Regulus in.

Regulus conversed with the innkeeper, a thin man with a consumptive face. Remus had to admit that he was impressed. As far as he knew, Sirius wasn't multilingual. He could speak English impeccably (when he so chose) and some smatterings of French (including all the dirty words), but nothing fluent. Not like the way Regulus was talking. Regulus slid a few Galleons across the tabletop and the innkeeper returned a pair of keys, and then gestured for them to follow him as he lead them to their room.

It wasn't as comfortable as those in the Leaky Cauldron, but there were two beds, both spread with faded red rugs. The wooden floor was bare, there was a small dresser, and a print with garish colors hanging over the lamp between the two beds. "I've never cared for Soviet art," Regulus said once the innkeeper had left them. "It's very block-like and crude."

Remus set his bag down on one of the beds. "Where are we?" he asked. "And don't tell me Leningrad," he said as Regulus opened his mouth. Regulus shut it promptly. "Where in Leningrad are we?"

Regulus pulled out a map and unfolded it, sitting down on his own bed. "We're here," he said, jabbing at an intersection. "The old Imperial Palace is over here." He pointed at a place halfway across the town. "There's an inn slightly closer, but I didn't want to be too obvious about what we're here for."

"And the Palace?" Remus asked. "What's that like?"

"Hard to say for sure," Regulus answered, rubbing his chin. "It's considered a State Museum now, but I don't think it's terribly well guarded, at least not by Muggles. From what I understand of Communism, any relation to the past and the bourgeois is deemed unpatriotic. So hopefully, the relics of the Imperial past have pretty much settled into dust under nice pretty glass cases. It shouldn't be any harder than some of the other jobs we've had."

"We can hope," Remus muttered, far less optimistic. "What about wizards? Rasputin was reputed to be one of the most powerful wizards ever. Surely they would guard anything to do with him- or destroy it. How do we even know this reliquary that Voldemort wants even still exists?"

"The Dark Lord said it does."

"Helpful," Remus muttered. "What does he want it for, anyway?"

Regulus shrugged. "I don't know. It doesn't make that much sense. I've read up on Rasputin, of course, and the only connection I can make between him and the Dark Lord is the quest for immortality. You've heard the story of Rasputin's death, right?"

"Poisoned, shot, drowned, and by some reports castrated?" Remus asked.

"Exactly. The Muggle history I read-"

"Wait. You read a Muggle history?"

Regulus glared at him. "Yes. Rasputin was a rare wizard in that he lived among Muggles and still used his magic. A most interesting case. But as I was saying, the Muggle account I read is skeptical of the story of Rasputin's death. There was no poison found in his blood during the autopsy, and the entire story of his death just doesn't really make sense." Regulus smiled nastily. "The Muggles didn't quite believe the entire thing. It was too elaborate. For instance, the Prince Felix invited him over that night with the lure that his wife would be there. However, Felix and Rasputin were friends in and of themselves. In fact," Regulus made a face that was disgust tempered with deep amusement as he watched Remus, "some say that Felix and Rasputin were more than friends, given that Felix was a gay transvestite."

"Funny," Remus said dryly.

"You don't know much about Rasputin, do you? He'd fuck anything. Quite an accomplishment, given that the man reputedly had the most intense body odor in the city. Of course," Regulus mused, "he was also reputed to have a thirteen inch cock."

Remus's eyes bulged out of his head. "Ouch," he said, before he could think of anything else to say. Regulus looked up, startled, and then began to laugh. It wasn't a long one, but it was a crack in his defenses. Remus smiled sheepishly.

"Anyway," Regulus said, bringing himself back under control, "the Muggles are skeptical. They suspect that Felix and his cohort Dmitri made up most of the story to cover for the fact that they were incompetent." He sniffed disdainfully.

"You don't believe that?"

"No. I suspect that Rasputin found some way of magically extending his life, and it was destroyed in the process. Or the method could only absorb so many assassination attempts."

"And you think that's what Voldemort's after?"

"I think that's exactly what Voldemort's after."

Remus nodded grimly. "Right then. So what are we going to do?"

***

They were running down the alley- Sirius could see a flicker of dark robes as their quarry turned the corner. His breath was coming fast and hard; these Death Eaters had given them a fight already. Three Aurors were still back at the warehouse where they'd ambushed the Death Eaters, and only two of them were still breathing.

"I'm getting too old for this," Sirius heard Moody mutter, and then he heard the crack of Apparation as Moody decided enough running was enough, and then the shouts in the alley ahead of him. Sirius and Frank rounded the corner, both trying to regain their breath as they prepared for what was coming.

Moody had successfully Apparated in front of the Death Eaters, and he had been joined by Damien Lupin, who must have had the same idea. With Sirius and Frank closing in from the back, the odds seemed quite good. The Death Eaters were surrounded, and there was no way out.

There were six of them, four of them in the dark robes and the masks that Sirius had come to expect, and two in ragged robes with some sort of cowl pulled across their face. Sirius didn't have time to wonder about the difference in costume as a Death Eater raised his wand and pointed it straight at him. "Sectumsempra!"

Fortunately, Sirius had been quick enough with a Shield Charm, and fired back with a hex of his own. But there was something about that voice, that curse... he knew it....

It couldn't matter right now though- this was no time to be trying to place voices in his memory. This was the time to be fighting, firing hexes and dodging spells.

It seemed never-ending. Sirius had only been out of school and in training for a matter of two years, and yet a part of him was tired, even as he fought. There was a sameness to it, each battle a firing and retaliation of hexes, defenses, curses, and charms. And the Death Eaters never seemed to dwindle in number. But the exhaustion was pushed aside as a curse whizzed past him, gashing his thigh.

It hurt, but like always, the pain could be pushed aside with adrenaline.

The colors of magic flared off the brick walls and the puddles by dumpsters, and yet nothing seemed to happen, not really, until two Death Eaters bore down on Frank, and suddenly the Auror was sprawled across the pavement, blood on his cheek and his temple. Sirius was abruptly aware of how far back he'd been pushed as he tried to run to Frank's inert body, the voice of his mind telling him the light wasn't green, the light wasn't green.... He saw Frank turn a little and the band around his chest released, until he saw the Death Eater raise their wand.

"Avada Kevadra!"

There was a flash of green light, and the Death Eater fell to the ground.

The other Death Eaters exchanged glances, and although Sirius was standing almost still in his shock he could feel that the tide of battle had turned. The Death Eaters had not expected the Killing Curse from this source, and now they knew at least two of the Aurors had enough power to perform it. Because Sirius knew, without a doubt, that Alastor Moody had not cast the Avada Kevadra. And with the look on Damien's face, Sirius would bet money he'd cast it again.

It didn't happen. Sirius heard that familiar voice again say "Portus", and they were all knocked over by the escaping Death Eaters who'd grabbed the Portkey. The force of the magic kicked sand up into his face, and Sirius closed his eyes and threw an arm up involuntarily. When he opened them, the Death Eaters were gone, save the one lying on the pavement.

The entire alley echoed with the silence. Sirius sat up, struggling to his feet slowly, eyes fixed on the black-robed figure before him. The woman- it was definitely a woman- lay perfectly still, as if she'd been frozen. He'd never seen a person killed in front of him by Avada Kedavra before, and he slowly bent down to remove her mask. Her face, the face of a thirty-something woman- was frozen in shock, her eyes still open.

The blood pounded in his ears.

Beside him, Frank groaned, and Sirius snapped his attention away, surprised to see the man still on the ground. He moved forward, his leg throbbing in response from where the Sectumsempra curse had hit. He knelt down, and his legs finally gave out so he was sitting beside Frank on the ground. Frank's eyes were glazed, but when Sirius touched him his pulse was strong and his skin was warm. He sighed with relief and looked up.

Moody was standing over the body of the dead Death Eater, an unreadable expression on his face. Damien came up beside him.

"Do you know who she is?"

"No. Do you?"

Damien shook his head. "Never seen her before." Sirius thought that he should look far more stricken to see a dead woman he'd never seen before lying on the ground, especially knowing that he'd killed her. But Damien looked about as distraught as if he'd killed a rat or some other small animal.

Moody bent over and closed her eyes. "Black, is Longbottom all right?"

Sirius tore his eyes away from Damien. "I think so. Badly concussed, though."

"Get him to St. Mungo's, and get that leg looked at, too. Lupin and I will make the report."

***

The pub was a far cry from the Leaky Cauldron or the Dragon Rider. It was a mangy, grimy place with clouded glasses and cheap booze. Sirius huddled in a corner, a bottle of whiskey in front of him.

"You won't find answers at the bottom of the glass, lad," he heard Moody say, as the older Auror slid in across from him.

"Not looking for answers," Sirius said sulkily. "Trying to forget the questions. How did you find me, anyway?"

Moody signaled to the waiter for another glass, and then took the bottle from Sirius. "Tracking charm," he said casually. "You'll want to be much more careful about that. No telling who could follow you."

Sirius shrugged.

"It's been a rough week for you, hasn't it lad?"

Sirius looked up, startled. Sympathy from Moody was not something he was accustomed to. "I suppose," he admitted. "Alice...."

"She's fine," Moody said, waving his hand dismissively. "I'm more worried about you."

"The leg is fine," Sirius said. "They didn't just let me go from St. Mungo's; they all but kicked me out. I'll be back at work tomorrow."

"That's not what I'm worried about."

Sirius sighed heavily. "This isn't one of those 'let's sit down and discuss feelings' type things, is it?"

Moody pinned him with blue gimlet eyes and a scowl. "Have I ever been the type to discuss feelings, Black?"

"No," Sirius admitted.

"Good. Now that we've got that codswallop out of the way, you need to be more careful. Not just of watching for tracking charms and keeping your eyes open, although you could stand to do better at that. But getting attached. Getting emotional."

"I thought you said this wasn't about feelings."

"It's not. It's about not letting yourself have feelings. That's different."

"So different," Sirius said sarcastically.

Moody rubbed his chin. "You almost weren't accepted to the Aurors, you know."

Sirius stared at him. "No," he finally said. "I didn't know."

"Mmm. Your magic is first rate, no doubt, and you're one of the more intelligent applicants we've ever had. But this," Moody tapped the table, "is why. Too emotional. Too unstable."

Sirius drew a breath in with a hiss. "I am not unstable!'

"Unpredictable, then," Moody said, unperturbed. "Sometimes I still wonder if it wasn't a mistake, but this is war, and we need every man we've got. But it was a mistake to pair you with Lupin. Told Doge that."

"Piss off," Sirius said tiredly. "I'm handling it."

"That's just it, Black, you're not. But you'd better start."

"Look, one flashback-"

"You think I'm going to believe that?" Moody said, setting his glass down. "You think I didn't see your face today when you saw that Death Eater dead?"

"Because she was killed with an Unforgivable!"

"You've seen people killed by Unforgivables before."

"Not by Aurors."

"Yeah." Moody picked the glass back up, filled it, and downed the contents in one gulp. "Well," he said, pushing his chair away from the table. "You'd better get used to it."

***

They began planning the next morning, and the first step in their plans was to tour the Imperial Palace.

For months- no, years, truly- Remus and Regulus had hated each other. Sometimes outright, sometimes cordially, but the fact was Remus thought of Regulus as Sirius's snobbish, spoiled, selfish little brother and Regulus thought of Remus as the epitome of everything his line had stood against. They'd worked together, yes, but that was out of necessity, not out of desire.

Now, here they were in the Imperial Palace, thousands of miles from Hogwarts or London, and they'd finally found common ground.

"This is the Portrait Hall," Regulus whispered reverently when they entered. Both of them stared around at the paintings, the mammoth portrait of Nicholas I, the huge chandeliers, the gilded furniture. "It's nothing like what we've seen outside, is it?" Regulus murmured.

"It's nothing like I've ever seen before." Remus gravitated over to a table holding ornate antiques. "Look at these. These must be worth a fortune."

Regulus looked over his shoulder. "At least."

"You actually sound impressed. I thought your family was rich."

Regulus snorted. "There is a difference between rich and aristocracy," he said. "Despite what my parents would have us believe. We're the first, and perhaps figuratively the second, but nothing like what the Romanovs were." He turned and inhaled deeply. "The columns," was all he said.

Remus could see why he appreciated them: giant pillars of marble framing a row of ornate crystal chandeliers.

They both knew that no reliquary of Rasputin's would be on the paths or in the rooms marked out for tourists. But they wandered through every last room regardless, taking their time to dawdle over what fascinated them most.

"It astounds me, in a way, that a tsar would create something like the Mountain Room," Remus said that afternoon, when they stopped at a restaurant for a late lunch.

"Why?" Regulus asked around a mouthful of dried herring. "Tsars have children as well. Well, had."

Remus shrugged. "You just never think of people in history having lives, you know? They're names and dates and figures and deeds, but not really people."

"On the contrary," Regulus said, wiping his mouth with a paper napkin. "That's exactly what makes history interesting. It's that these people who did these great things had lives. They had wives that they fought with over money and children who they yelled at to go to bed and they had pets and they liked Quidditch or Gobstones or art or whatever, and they went to school. When you remember that history was real people, it becomes far more attainable and incidentally far more fascinating."

"I always fell asleep in History of Magic," Remus confessed.

"It was my favorite class," Regulus said. "I was going to do the N.E.W.T. level, but..." he shrugged, but Remus saw regret etched on his face.

"Why didn't you?"

Regulus stared at him for a long moment as if he were an idiot, and suddenly Remus remembered that Regulus had started Hogwarts when they'd been in their fourth year. He'd been in the service of the Death Eaters for two years, which meant....

"Oh."

Something hard and cold in Regulus's expression thawed slightly. He propped his chin on his hand. "I got twelve O.W.L.s," he said. "That's even more than Sirius. I was a Prefect my fifth year, and I probably would have been a candidate for Head Boy. But my father told me I'd go further in Voldemort's service."

"And here you are."

"Here I am," Regulus agreed. The words hung thick in the air between them, until finally Regulus sighed. "A glorified delivery boy and petty thief," he sighed.

Remus felt like he was walking on a tightrope, not quite sure what the right thing to say next would be. He watched, mute, as the emotions flickered across Regulus's face, bringing the resemblance between him and Sirius to the forefront. Then suddenly, he snapped out of it and balled up his paper.

"We'll have to go back to the Palace tomorrow," he said. "We never did find anything related to Rasputin."

Remus almost smacked himself in the forehead. "I totally forgot. I was just enjoying it too much."

Regulus sighed. "So was I."

***

The flat that Damien Lupin now occupied was in a building run by a wizarding landlord. Sirius had been there before. The building itself was in good condition, but the flat was extremely austere. The Lupins had been on the lower end of the middle class to begin with, and most of their possessions had been destroyed in the attack on their home. Remus had helped his father get a couch, a table and chairs, two armchairs, a bed, and a chest of drawers from used furniture dealers. Damien had had little to no interest, and had not added much to the flat in the time since. A few necessities and two shelves of books, but not much else.

The one thing Damien had managed to save and display from his former home were photographs that Peter had found in the ruins. They were set on every available surface, some in their original frames, some in new, cheap frames. There was a ragged book on the table next to the armchair that Damien obviously favored, and a worn afghan that Sirius had seen James rescue puddled on the floor.

For all that it was the saddest flat Sirius felt he'd ever seen, Damien greeted him rather cheerfully, asking him to join him in the kitchen for dinner. The kitchen didn't reflect the austerity of the rest of the place. The pots and pans were new, and the shelves were well-stocked. Damien pulled down a few tins of soup and opened them, heating them with quick, efficient taps of his wand and making hot chocolate with a few more. "Have a seat," he offered, and Sirius sat at one of the kitchen chairs.

In the light of the kitchen, he could see the dark shadows under Damien's eyes as the older man served him, and a few new lines. He wondered if they'd been there for a while and he was just noticing them, or if he noticed them because he expected Damien to look different after the events of yesterday.

"Did you see the new model that BMW put out?" Damien was asking, a shiny Muggle motorbike magazine on the top of the neat pile of papers on the table. "I'm thinking of going to test drive one this weekend."

"I didn't know you were thinking of buying a bike."

"I'm not," Damien admitted. "And I certainly can't afford a new BMW. But I don't intend on telling them that."

Sirius laughed, but his laugh was half-hearted. Just yesterday Damien had killed a woman using a curse that by all rights should have landed him in Azkaban for life, and here he was eating soup and talking about test driving motorbikes.

Damien didn't seem to notice his pensiveness, however. He chatted amicably about the motorbike and cars, and about a Ferrari that he wanted to try out and a Mustang that he wanted to buy used and recondition. If Remus was here, Sirius knew he'd be pleased to see the old passions surging again, but tonight, Sirius couldn't stand it.

Couldn't stand it until they'd finished their soup and went into the living room, where Damien poured a glass of whiskey for them both as they settled into armchairs. Out of habit, Sirius picked up the frame nearest to him and studied it. It was a picture of Marilyn and a four-year-old Remus sitting on the couch in their pajamas, torn wrapping paper scattered around their feet. Marilyn had a cup of coffee and was smiling tiredly, and Remus was leaning against her shoulder and holding a stuffed bear with a ribbon around his neck. Sirius recognized it as the one he'd pulled from the wreckage.

"That's Peanutbutter," Damien said, glancing over at the picture. "Ask Remus about him sometime."

The words were light, but now the mask had dropped and Sirius could see the grief etched on the man's face. Damien leaned forward and took the picture from Sirius, touching it gently. "That was Remus's fourth Christmas. It was the last one before he was bitten. The next Christmas was..." Damien shook his head and fell silent.

"She looks so young to me here," he said finally, touching the picture again. "It's funny. All those years we were married and I never really saw the changes in her. She complained about her thighs getting larger or gray in her hair, but I never really saw it. I only saw her."

Sirius nodded, and he suddenly realized that Remus now had threads of gray in his own hair. He'd noticed, yes. But it hadn't sunk in.

Damien put the picture down reverently, and toyed with the gold band he still wore. "I miss her, Sirius," he confessed, his voice cracking. "Every day, I miss her. I can't believe she's gone. Not always. Not forever."

"Um." Sirius desperately wanted to say something, but for once in his life was at a complete loss. Everything would be wrong. But Damien was still staring at his ring, lost in the past and in pain.

"I know it should be getting better, but it doesn't. Every day I wake up and I think she should be there beside me, and we're home, and any minute Remus will come in and bounce on our bed to wake us up and I should sleep while I can. And every time I reach for her she's not there, and then the reality that she never will be again comes crashing down on me. I could kill them for that."

"You did kill one for that," Sirius said softly.

Damien looked up, eyes blazing. Sirius certainly never considered himself a coward, but he hadn't felt this scared in Damien's presence in years. "You would, too," he said. "Tell me, if someone killed someone you loved- if someone killed Peter, or James, or... or Remus... tell me you wouldn't kill them."

Sirius opened his mouth to deny it. But the words stuck in his throat.

***

It took them a week and a half to plan a strategy, and even then, both Regulus and Remus knew it was a paper thin one. The whole escapade was preposterous. Artifacts that had belonged to Rasputin were not prominently on display in the former Romanov home, and both of them were pretty sure that the reliquary would be under some sort of protection by wizards.

There were anti-Apparation wards on the entire palace, which shocked neither of them. Portkeys were not effective either. And the place was guarded not only by Muggles, but also by wizards. However, they'd done this before.

They finally discovered a weakness. "Ventilation shafts," Remus muttered. "Why is it always ventilation shafts?"

"It's a chimney," Regulus said.

"Same thing, in function."

"I guess." Regulus pulled on black trous and a black shirt. "I know the cat burglar outfits we're wearing fall into that description, but ventilation shafts?"

"In cinema, anyway," Remus said.

"Wouldn't know. Never been. Are you ready?"

Remus picked up his wand. "I'm ready."

It was easy to get in. Too easy, Remus thought as he followed Regulus through the chimney. It dumped them in a room that wasn't on the tour path, empty and dusty and dark.

"Lumos" Regulus muttered, and a faint light illuminated the tip of his wand. Remus stayed close, reluctant to light his own for fear of attracting more attention.

They crept through the rooms, searching. They'd come to the conclusion that anything belonging to Rasputin would be in the bowels of the palace, so they made their way down to the cellars.

"How do we even know it's still here?" Remus whispered. "What's to say that no one else ever stole it? Or looted it? For all we know, a Muggle could have it."

"The Dark Lord did a Locator Charm on it," Regulus confessed.

There was something wrong with that, and as they entered yet another room of the cellar, Remus realized what it was. "With all the secrecy that the Soviet Union hides behind, how could he do a Locator Charm?"

"He's powerful," was the best explanation that Regulus offered. He pulled out a sketch of the cellars of the palace that he and Remus had constructed from information that they could find in a Soviet library. "Look. If we're right, we might have some luck in the next room."

"No," Remus said suddenly as they stopped and another door appeared. "This is it."

The room they entered was dark, with thick layers of dust and heavy cobwebs on the surfaces and in the corners. It was a study, with a carved desk piled high with old papers and walls lined with books. Regulus moaned as he saw them, pulling one down and opening it with reverent fingers.

"Don't even think about it," Remus said, not able to hide his grin.

"But these are... they're... I mean, look at them! They're all books of magic!"

"They're also probably books of Dark Magic," Remus reminded him.

Regulus gave him a withering glare. "In case you've forgotten, Lupin, we are on a mission for the Death Eaters."

Remus pursed his lips and looked around again.

There were scrolls, sealed with black wax and piled half-hazardly. There were old, dusty quills, and dried up pots of ink. There was a shelf of trinkets and artifacts: chalices, jeweled boxes, bowls and pieces of jewelry. There was a Pensieve that Remus itched to look in, and a cabinet that, when opened, revealed shelves of potions ingredients.

"I wonder where his wand is," Remus whispered to Regulus.

"They probably broke it," Regulus decided. "See anything that looks like the reliquary?"

"I'll check the desk drawers."

"I'll take the cabinet," Regulus said.

As Remus pawed through the desk, he had a glimmer of what Regulus was saying earlier. There wasn't really much interesting in the desk; there was parchment, more ink, bits of twine and blobs of wax. In fact, it looked like the contents of pretty much any desk anywhere in the world, Remus supposed. It did give the Mad Monk a certain humanity.

He was musing about that when Regulus hissed at him. "I've found it," he said, brandishing a large crystal topped with a tarnished bronze piece.

"Great. Let's get out of here."

"But the books-"

"No. Let's just get-"

There was no warning; only a flash of light and then a deep voice booming, "Put your wands on the floor and put your hands behind your head."

They both froze.

There was an exchange in Russian, harsh voices and clear anger. Regulus sucked in his breath, and nudged Remus. When Remus turned, he saw Regulus's eyes wide open, and suddenly knew what he wanted.

Because Regulus wanted him to see it, it was right there on the surface, easy to find and easy to interpret. It was the translation of two words of the conversation: Kill them.

They had to get out of here, and now.

The blast was deafening. It had come from Regulus's wand, bringing down rubble and dust. "Run!" Regulus shouted, and Remus took off for the door.

Two wizards blocked his path, dressed in red robes. One was smiling, and it was a smile Remus had seen long before, years and years ago in nightmares and in childish reality. The wizard raised his wand, and Remus dove aside just as the Avada Kedavra was fired. The green bolt of light hit the potions cabinet and the sound of breaking glass echoed.

In the Soviet Union, the Killing Curse wasn't an offense for those who kept the peace.

He heard a cry of pain from Regulus and breathed a quick thankful gasp: pain was better than death. Then his attention was diverted back to the two wizards closing in on him.

Transfiguration had always been his friend in these situations. It was a sure enough way of reducing your enemy without resorting to killing them. But as Remus fired a transfiguration spell at one of the wizards, he saw the spell deflect and suddenly a pedestal became a rabbit. Beside him he heard Regulus swear, and he knew whatever Regulus had tried hadn't worked, either.

Seven wizards around them at least. They were closing in, their wands trained on them both. Beside him, he heard Regulus breathe in deep, and he knew that both of them would do the same thing.

In times of stress, they say your life passes before your eyes. It wasn't his life, per se, not in a series of images and pictures. But Remus was suddenly, intensely aware of the smell of his mother's perfume, the feel of canvas under his knuckles, the pain of a full moon, the taste of wine, the tickle of a teddy bear's fur, James and Peter and Sirius and their laughter, the tang of blood and the scent of fear and everything swirling together as he raised his wand.

A section of the ceiling fell, burying two screaming Soviet wizards under the avalanche. Remus was nearly sick, but he held on.

And beside him, Regulus raised his wand as well, pointing it at another approaching wizard.

"Avada Kedavra."

***

"Peter," Sirius said, hands shoved in his coat pockets as he entered the Leaky Cauldron. The inn was largely deserted tonight; Sirius supposed many people weren't daring to venture out these days.

"Sirius," Peter said, smiling as he pushed a pint of dark ale over to Sirius's spot. Sirius noticed that his friend looked tired and drawn. "How are you?"

"Had better days," Sirius said. "What about you?"

"I could say the exact same," Peter sighed. "Did you hear what Dumbledore wants me to do?"

"No. What?"

Peter sighed. "I need to go to Dublin for a week. Dublin! Dumbledore has some people he wants me to make contact with. Recruiting and trying to convince them to join the Order."

"Sounds like a good job," Sirius said.

"I guess," Peter said, although his face was twisted in annoyance. Sirius suspected Peter had meant to complain about it, but changed his tune at Sirius's response. "I'm just not fond of being away from Tina for that long. I don't know how you and Remus do it."

"Do what?"

"Well, you travel so much. Sometimes it seems like you're gone on missions more often than you're home."

"I guess," Sirius said, tracing his finger down the condensation on his glass. "But Remus and I aren't you and Tina."

Peter looked up sharply. "And just what do you mean by that?"

"Oh, calm down Wormtail. I don't mean anything by it. But you and Tina are like Prongs and Lily, you know? Talking about marriage and kids and lifetimes and all that. Remus and I aren't."

"I thought you loved Remus," Peter said, his voice defensive.

Sirius rubbed his chin, trying to remember when he'd told Peter that. Then again, maybe he hadn't. Peter might be a bit thick at times, but he could be very observant when he wanted to be. "I do," he said, drawing out the syllables, "but love doesn't have to mean a lifetime."

"So after a few years..."

"Who knows? That's more the point. Maybe I will spend my life with Remus," he said, although the words sent an odd shiver down his spine that wasn't entirely comfortable, "and maybe I won't. That's the point."

Peter nodded. "Anyway," he said, retreating rapidly from the discussion of deep emotion, "don't you ever worry?"

"I worry we might be killed, sure. Who doesn't these days?"

"But more than that?" Peter asked. "Don't you ever worry about... temptation?" He looked nervous, and suddenly Sirius realized what was bothering Peter.

"Don't worry, mate," he said, clapping Peter on the shoulder. "She's not going to find another bloke just because you're gone for a week. And if she does, especially after all this time, you're better off without her."

Peter made a face. "Easy for you to say." He fiddled with his napkin. "I found a letter in her drawer."

"A letter?"

"I didn't mean to look," Peter said, "but it was from Thomas Mortigan. You remember him, right? The Ravenclaw keeper?"

"Yeah. What did it say?"

"Nothing, really. I mean, it didn't seem like a love letter. But why didn't she tell me they were writing? What's she hiding?"

Sirius shook his head, squashing down a shaft of doubt as he thought of the letters in Remus's dresser drawer. "She's probably not hiding anything. There's all sorts of reasons people don't advertise their correspondence."

"Can't think of many," Peter said grumpily. "Only if they're hiding something they don't want you to see."

"Or if it's just not that important," Sirius said. Or if it's dangerous for your lover to know any more, I suspect, he added in his head. "Come on. Forget this, and let's play a game of darts."

Peter finished his beer. "You're on."

They stayed at the Leaky Cauldron until two in the morning, and when Peter left, he seemed much happier and more comfortable, and promised to bring Sirius back something from Dublin. Sirius watched him go before he Apparated home to the flat. The conversation about Tina had bothered him. Sirius knew Remus didn't trust Tina at all, and sometimes, he wondered if Moony didn't have a point. But on the other hand, Peter seemed so happy.... It was all too confusing, and he was glad that he and Remus didn't have to deal with that sort of shite.

But before he went to bed, he read the letters in the dresser drawer again.

***

They were running, Remus and Regulus, running through the streets of Leningrad. Remus stumbled over a curb, and Regulus reached down to grab his arm, pulling him roughly to his feet. Their breath came in harsh sobs.

They stumbled into a park, and Regulus was the one to collapse on a bench. Remus bent over, hands on his knees as he gasped for air.

"We have to keep going," he said.

"Five of them," Regulus said, and there was a sob in his voice. "We killed five of them."

"I know." Somewhere deep inside, Remus was screaming. "But they would have killed us. We know that, Regulus." But Remus was shaking.

He'd killed two, in fear for both his life and Regulus's. He had never killed before. Not as a werewolf, not in the alley the night he and Lily were attacked, and not that night in his home, when his mother died, although there it was merely a lack of opportunity. He'd killed- something he'd tried his entire life not to do. And yet, that wasn't something he could think about now.

"We've got to get out of here," he said, standing up and putting his hands on his head, still trying to catch his breath. The spring breeze was cold against his sweat soaked shirt. "Regulus, we've got bigger problems."

Regulus looked up. "What do you mean?"

"Didn't you notice anything odd about the way they accosted us?"

Regulus's brow furrowed in thought as he replayed the scene, and Remus could see the precise moment where it all clicked together. "They spoke English," he said, suddenly. "They didn't even try Russian."

"Exactly," Remus said. "They knew we were coming."

***

Their flight from the Soviet Union was something of nightmares. They couldn't risk returning to the inn for their belongings, and they were in a strange country where they didn't know the Apparation points or the Wizarding society. Their fear heightened the darkness and they could both hear their hearts pounding in their ears.

They stole broomsticks. Regulus made a weak joke about how after what they'd done, broomstick theft seemed like a small crime, but Remus was nearly sick again, thinking that he was uncomfortable taking charity from well-meaning friends, and here he was actually stealing. But there was no time for another solution, and no time for conscience. And, some part of Remus admitted, Regulus probably did have a point.

In the cold air above unfamiliar country, clarity began to return. Guilt churned in his gut, and as he looked at Regulus, flying beside him, he knew Regulus felt the same way. Remus wondered if this was the first time that Regulus had used the Killing Curse. From the miserable hunched shoulders and the bowed head, he suspected it was.

But then, Remus realized, it wasn't only guilt haunting Regulus. There were not many people in the world who knew where they were and what they were going to do, and Remus would bet money that Sirius hadn't been sending anonymous tips to Soviet guards about his whereabouts. Someone in the Death Eaters- perhaps even Voldemort himself- wanted him and Regulus dead.

It wasn't a terribly chilling thought to Remus. After all, if Voldemort ever truly suspected what he was, his life was forfeit anyway. But Remus had never even met the man, whereas Regulus had seen fit to swear service.

But guilt and loyalty were abstract things at the moment. The next question was how to get out of the country alive, and once they did, what happened next.

Hours later, just before the sun broke over the horizon, they landed. "I've got to stop," Regulus admitted, his teeth chattering. "I'm freezing."

Remus nodded, rubbing his own arms for warmth. "Where do you think we are?" he asked. He looked around.

They'd landed in a meadow of sorts; a desolate wasteland- or at least, it looked it in the gray light of a cold pre-dawn. Regulus breathed on his hands, looking around. "I have no idea," he finally confessed. "Maybe Lithuania. But it's going to take us days to get out of the Soviet Union if we keep taking brooms."

"How about Portkeys?" Remus asked. "We really just need to get out of the country and home."

"We can take a train home," Regulus mused. "You still have your papers on you, right?"

"Right. But they'll be looking for us?"

"No." Regulus shook his head. "Not outside the country, I don't think."

"I hate to remind you, but we killed five wizards. We're wanted criminals."

Regulus shook his head impatiently. "It will drop. The Soviet Ministry has enough problems without searching for us. Once we're outside the country- or at least out from behind the Iron Curtain- we'll be fine."

"If you say so," Remus said doubtfully. "So how do we get out of the country, and how do we get home from there?"

"The second is easy. The first..." Regulus scratched his chin. "The Soviet Union is a big country. I can't imagine the anti-Apparation spells take up the entire border."

"Or we could not Apparate. Sneak out the Muggle way."

Regulus dug through his pockets, and finally pulled out a map. "I did bring this," he said. "Just in case. Dolohov gave it to me. I think we can trust it."

"If you say so," Remus said.

"It's not like we have much of a choice. But he did defect from the Soviet Union." Remus nodded and peered at the map. "He told me he left here." Regulus jabbed at a section of the border. "There's no wizarding guards right here, or at least, there weren't when he left. Probably because it's so heavily guarded by the Muggles. However, anti-Apparation spells are extremely heavy there, as are a few others. We can't just walk through, of that I'm sure. I'm guessing it will be like in the Imperial Palace; we won't know what they've put there until we get there."

"Great." But it was the best plan they had.

It took them a full day to reach the border; a full day of harrowed silences and constantly glancing over their shoulders, ready and waiting for the entire Red Army to come after them. A full day of no food and minimal water, because they only had what they'd carried into the Palace, and they couldn't risk stopping anywhere. All day Remus imagined everything that could go wrong- and there were so many scenarios- that the day and the countryside seemed interminable.

Finally, they landed in a dense forest. There were watch towers, and from here Remus could see the small forms of Muggle guards keeping a lookout. Regulus landed beside him, breathing heavily. Remus could see that his shoulders were shaking. However, his face was set in harsh lines, firm with resolve.

"I've been thinking about it," Regulus said. "We know there's an anti-Apparition spell in effect. We could try a Portkey, but I suspect that that's no good, either. It would be too easy."

Remus nodded. "So any ideas?"

"You're good at Transfiguration," Regulus said, and Remus nearly fell over with shock at the casual way Regulus paid him a compliment. "We could do human Transfiguration."

"Regulus-"

"No, hear me out. This should work. The kind of charms they'd lay on the border to prevent people from flying out would be the kind that would cause broomsticks to fail, right? Braking charms and the lot? Any sort of barrier would be too hard to keep up over the entire border. Plus, Muggles would notice with birds falling dead and their airplanes, right?"

"I guess," Remus said doubtfully.

"So, you Transfigure me into something that can fly, like a pegasus or a hippogriff. I'll carry you over the border, high enough that the Muggle guards won't see us.

"I could do that. But what if there's some sort of anti-Transfiguration work, you turn back into a human, and we both fall to a gruesome death from seven hundred feet in the air?"

Regulus shrugged. "Then Voldemort gets his wish, doesn't he? Both you and I are dead."

***

"Black."

It was late, and the office was nearly deserted. Sirius looked up to see Doge standing over his desk, a case file in hand. "Yes, sir?"

Doge fiddled with the edge of the folder- a gesture of uncertainty that Sirius had never seen him make before. "I debated for a long time about giving you this," he said. "Especially in the light of your recent... problems."

Sirius debated it, and then decided he really didn't feel like dealing with the consequences of hexing your boss. "Give me what?" he asked tiredly.

"This is not a case for you to be working on," Doge continued. "In fact, I want the file back on my desk in the morning. You are not to be involved in any way. I'm having Kinns and Longbottom handle this one."

"All right," Sirius said, suspecting he should be filling with dread. But nothing flooded him- he felt dead inside. "What is it?"

Doge dropped the file on his desk. "Just so you know. If it was me, I'd want to know. I'll leave you alone."

Sirius watched him retreat, and then opened the file. With a jolt equivalent to a lightning strike, he saw Regulus's face, name, and details. And under the suspected activities was the attack on the Lupins.

***

Human Transfiguration was difficult, but it was something Remus had worked at until he could accomplish it perfectly. The truth was that he'd always been a bit jealous of the others' Animagus powers (even if they had gained them for him), and had felt a little inadequate as well. It had come in handy, both in struggles with Death Eaters and... at other times. (James had never quite forgiven him for that time seventh year when Remus had turned him into a wombat, and it had been worth every second of the month's detention he'd served.) But human Transfiguration still carried its risks, and Remus always had that flash of nerves right before he did the spell. He felt the shaft of fear down his spine as he spoke the words, and then Regulus was gone and a winged horse was standing in front of him, pawing at the ground.

The pegasus was black, with a clipped mane and deep, dark wings. There was an elegance to him that Remus found almost laughable, just given what a shaggy mutt Sirius made when he transformed. They stared at each other, and the eyes that met Remus's were startled, but still reflected the human intelligence and haughty pride that characterized Regulus.

Remus hesitated for a moment, and then the pegasus nudged him with his nose, tossing his head back in an indication to mount. He reached out and touched the black mane hesitantly, and then clambered up. The pegasus reared back, and with a powerful leap they were airborne.

Remus had ridden brooms before, many times. He'd always loved the freedom of flight and the wind rushing through his hair. He'd ridden Sirius's motorcycle, and loved that even more, especially with his arms around Sirius's waist and the scent of leather in his nostrils. He'd even once ridden a hippogriff, during a Care of Magical Creatures lesson. But nothing in his life had been like this.

The pegasus's flanks were strong and warm beneath his legs, and the motion of the wings rippled the muscles beneath him. He clung to the neck as he leaned forward, soft, hot hair beneath his hands and cheek. They were soaring, the trees dwindling to tiny toys beneath them, and then Remus saw the watchtowers pass below him. Nothing happened. Regulus didn't turn back into a human, they didn't hit a wall of death rays or static... they just flew over the border.

He'd expected they'd land immediately, but the pegasus continued to fly, dipping and soaring through the sky. Several of the maneuvers sent Remus's stomach plummeting through his mouth and made him clutch at the neck for dear life, but when the pegasus looked back, Regulus's eyes were amused.

Finally they landed, and Remus slid off, his legs shaking and his heart in his throat, adrenaline coursing through him. He took a deep breath and pulled out his wand, and then Regulus was standing in front of him again, laughing and exuberant.

"That was great!" Regulus said, nearly bouncing where he stood. "I mean, that was bloody brilliant, flying like that! Wings!" Remus laughed, although he was feeling rather shaken himself between the two Transfigurations, the flight, and the escape. "If I thought I could do it, I would have flown us all the way back to England!" Regulus exclaimed. "As it is, when we get to the ocean, let's do it again. Turn me into a pegasus again and I'll fly you all the way home!"

"But until then, let's find a train station," Remus said, but without any heat. In the moonlight and in the aftermath, Regulus's face had softened. His eyes were bright and he was smiling with pure joy, something Remus had never seen from him. And for once, he looked like the seventeen year old boy he was. "We really do need to get home. And there's a lot to figure out."

"I know. But, oh! If I could fly like that again.... You know, my mother once wanted to attempt the Animagus transformation. If I could turn into something with wings on demand..."

"You don't pick the animal you turn into," Remus reminded him.

"I know," Regulus said. "But imagine you could." He kept up a steady stream of monologue as Remus performed a Locator Charm to find the nearest train station and then began spelling a Portkey. He was still talking when they were seated in a comfortable compartment and Remus drifted off to sleep, the sound of Regulus's happiness in his ears.

It was still dark when he woke. Regulus had turned on the light in their compartment, and was now curled in a corner, staring out the window at the darkness.

"Is everything all right?" he asked Regulus. Regulus nodded mutely, and Remus rubbed his eyes. "No one's after us?"

"They'd have caught us by now if we were," Regulus said. "We weren't that subtle." His hand drifted to his side to caress the book he'd been reading. Automatically, Remus glanced at the title, and his eyes widened in shock as he saw the Cyrillic letters.

"That's one of the books from Rasputin's library!" he said.

"Yes. One Rasputin wrote himself."

"Regulus! I said-"

"I know what you said. Shut up."

Remus was certainly used to hearing far worse from Regulus, but after their time in the Soviet Union and especially their escape, the harsh tone stung. He looked at the book again, but he couldn't tell anything about it, except that it seemed like it would be full of Dark Magic. Regulus went back to staring out the window, his face troubled. He was lost in thought already.

Remus looked at the book again, and wished Peter was here to help him figure out if the bad feeling he got was just nerves or an actual premonition.

***

Sirius walked for miles, leaving the bike at the Ministry. The spring night was chilly, with a light rain falling, but he was oblivious. Regulus was a suspected Death Eater.

It shouldn't bug him like this. He hadn't spoken to Regulus since his own sixth year, since he'd run away from home. He hadn't even thought much about the little twerp. But now that face was the only thing he could see in his mind.

He started in the general direction of the Potters, until he heard the clock chime three. Three in the morning- he'd had no idea it was that late. If James lived alone, Sirius would have gone there anyway, but with Lily in her seventh month of pregnancy... he wasn't that cruel, or that masochistic. He sighed and turned, continuing his lonely trek.

He didn't snap out of it again until he found himself in front of his own door, key in hand and rain water running down the collar of his jacket to freeze his neck. He opened the door to a dark and empty flat, and entered tiredly.

He knew he should sleep- he had to be back at the Ministry in a matter of hours. But instead he found himself wandering the flat again, until he finally opened the drawer with the letters Remus was keeping from his Death Eater correspondent. And now he recognized the handwriting.

I am trying to save one single soul! Remus had told him, and Sirius had responded that it wasn't important. He'd had no idea....

Letters in his lap, Sirius sank down on the couch and wept.

***

It took them two days to get home, and when they did arrive at the ocean, Regulus appeared to have forgotten his desire to fly. He was the surly and haughty Death Eater again, constantly reading the book he'd stolen from Rasputin's library and muttering to himself. Remus was relieved to part ways, even as he had the desolate feeling he'd made no real progress.

It was two in the morning when Remus arrived home, and the lights were off in the flat. He crept in quietly, aware of the late hour and the likelihood that Sirius desperately needed sleep. He fumbled out of his shoes and cloak and padded to the bedroom.

As he'd guessed, Sirius was asleep, curled on his side and hugging a pillow to him in a posture that went straight to Remus's heart. He desperately wanted to remove that pillow and slip into his spot under Sirius's arm, but he was hungry and filthy and those needed to be taken care of first. He leaned over and tenderly kissed Sirius's temple, brushing aside the black hair. Sirius sighed in his sleep, but didn't wake.

Remus made his way to the kitchen and put together a quick sandwich, wolfing it down without hardly tasting it. The weight of food in his stomach was uncomfortable; he regretted eating quite so quickly. He sat at the kitchen table for a moment, sifting through the papers that Sirius had left there. There were headlines of death and destruction and disappearances... he pushed them away.

The uncomfortable sensation in his stomach began to subside, and he made his way to the bathroom and shucked off his robes, climbing into the shower and just standing under the warm spray, palms and face tilted up.

The rustle of the curtain and cold air at his back were the only warnings he had before a pair of arms wrapped around his waist and a face nuzzled into the crook between shoulder and neck. Sirius was pressed against him, hard and already lubricated. Remus chuckled deep in his throat and dropped his hands to cover Sirius's, and Sirius needed no other encouragement before he was pushing into Remus, pinning him against the cold tile of the wall and breathing harshly.

It hurt. There'd been no preparation and over two weeks away from each other, and even if Regulus wasn't a homophobic bastard Remus wouldn't have been sleeping with him anyway. It hurt, but pain faded to something that was tolerable and mingled with intense pleasure, and Sirius was against him and around him and in him again, and the feeling of that reduced Remus to a quivering mess against the wall.

"Miss me?" he gasped when Sirius slumped against him, forehead against his shoulder and sated but still close.

"Don't leave again," Sirius whispered, and the tone of his voice was ragged. "Please."

Remus fumbled for his hand and squeezed it.

They didn't speak again until they were warm in bed, Sirius's head resting against Remus's shoulder, his arm heavily around Remus's waist. "Are you all right?" Remus asked.

Sirius was silent for a long while. Then, "Regulus?" he whispered.

Remus stiffened. "I don't know what you're talking about, Sirius," he said.

"You do."

Remus closed his eyes, unable to deny it. "Don't ask me about it, Sirius. If you value my life or his, please don't ask me."

"Why didn't you tell me?" Sirius finally asked.

"I couldn't. It's that dangerous, Sirius. Please. Trust me."

He heard Sirius's breath in his ear, ragged and slow. "All right," Sirius finally said. "I'll trust you, Remus."