Reprieve

Part Two

They slept until noon the next day. They had lunch at the flat, then Remus found the leash and collar he’d purchased earlier in the week to serve as a prop should another Auror drop by. Padfoot bristled at the sight of it, but at the patient look from Remus, submitted.

They started at the castle and wended their way slowly along the Royal Mile toward Holyrood Park. Padfoot seemed to enjoy the summer sun, the smells--hops-meat-grease-humans-perfume on the women-rain from the previous night--the noise--bagpipes-shouts-laughter-footfalls-cars-bells--and the cool cobblestones beneath his feet. He kept close by Remus’s side, the acme of obedience at least as far as appearances went. The man knew the truth; he felt the tremors that shook the dog’s frame every time he laid a reassuring hand between the jagged shoulder blades. “It’s all right,” he murmured once. “Padfoot--Snuffles. I’ve got you, it’s all right. People will think you were abused.” A second later he wished he hadn’t said that. “We can turn back any time you want.” But the dog huffed and shook his head, so they pressed on.

A few times Padfoot halted in front of a store window, pushed his nose to the glass and muttered beseechingly. Remus would kneel to tie him to a post, then he’d disappear into the store and emerge minutes later with the wanted item tucked under his arm. So Sirius came to possess a tartan scarf, an umbrella and raincoat, a six-pack of beer, and a few packages of chocolate digestive biscuits. There was a magic shop on Lawnmarket, but they did not go there. Sirius already had a wand (where and how he’d obtained it Remus had never asked) and Remus had already purchased all the magical items he thought the other would need on previous trips out of the flat.

They turned right on Main Street and followed it until it became Clerk Street, stopping at the Middle Eastern hamburger place for takeaway. They turned left a few blocks farther down, crossed the next busy street and followed the one that ran parallel to the university dorms, past the stone fountain with the lions, into the park. There, Remus let Padfoot loose. At first the dog hesitated. He crouched at the man’s feet, his shoulders hunched, his ears flat. A low whine escaped his throat.

“What is it?” Remus whispered, kneeling. He looked up and around, saw nothing except people--all harmless Muggles, he was willing to wager--and other animals. There was a group of university-age boys playing football, an elderly couple walking hand in hand, three girls tossing a Frisbee, a few other dogs and their owners, and birds--mostly seagulls and geese.

No Dementors. No Aurors. And no one paying them any attention whatsoever.

“What is it?” he asked again.

Sirius struggled in Padfoot’s form. Remus waited. Watched the nose cautiously scenting the air, watched the low-swinging tail, heard the whimper at each loud sound. And understood. “Too big?” he whispered. “Too much open space?”

Padfoot lowered his head and huffed.

“Ah.” For a moment he wasn’t sure how to respond to that. This was supposed to be Padfoot’s treat, a chance for him to get his energy back, for the two of them to forget, just for a little while, the danger they were in. “We could go back,” he offered again.

Again, Padfoot shook his head.

“Well…” And then he had an idea. Straightening, he coiled the leash until it fit into his pocket. “We could just walk,” he suggested lightly.

A wary glance around, then a short tail wag.

“All right, then.”

He headed for the Salisbury Crags, Padfoot trotting at his heels. Halfway across the sward he quickened his pace slightly. Glancing down, he saw Padfoot make what he took for a shrug and then do the same. Good.

They passed the kids playing football, and the elderly couple, who smiled and nodded in greeting. Then Remus began to walk a little faster. So did Padfoot, and the sound he made Remus interpreted as I can guess what you’re up to.

That was fine, though. Remus was pleased they could still read each other after all this time. When he took off at a run Padfoot hesitated for only a second, then bounded after him, churning up clouds of dirt and small pebbles. When he came near Remus paused to let him think the game was over, then took off quickly in another direction. Padfoot barked in betrayal, but gave chase anyway.

Dodge, stop, run, feint, again and again. Remus was breathless by the time they reached the Crags. There was a painful knot in his side and his ankles throbbed. He wasn’t used to this. He sank to the grass, breathing hard, and was knocked flat as Padfoot ploughed into him. They fell together and Remus hit his head on the soft ground, but he didn’t care. His arms went around the thick, furry neck and he laughed as hard as his tired body would permit. The laughter tore out of his lungs in painful bursts and he knew, somehow, that if he stopped before his energy left him completely he would cry. These actions were too familiar. This hot breath on his neck, this weight pushing him into the ground--if he closed his eyes, let go of the present he might find himself listening for the soft pounding of cloven hooves against the turf, might find himself wondering Where was Prongs? Where was Wormtail?--yes, even Wormtail because even now it was painful and difficult to reconcile the friend he’d known and grieved for with the craven, grovelling, duplicitous wreck he’d encountered in the Shrieking Shack. They all used to fall on top of him--him, the monster--as though protecting him from incoming fire. And then they would just lie there. He would watch the sky (a pleasant thing to do when the moon was waning), and slowly, one by one they would transform, Sirius to tell a joke, James to utter a disparaging remark about Sirius’ sense of humour (questionable to begin with, downright dreadful once you got him going), Peter to laugh and laugh, even if he didn’t quite get it.

Someone in the park below was laughing, someone young. The sound drifted up to him on the buffeting wind. He tried to close his ears against it; he didn’t need this now. Sirius had to go where he could be safe. If Remus became too enwrapped in his memories, bewitching as they were, he might relent and allow the other man to stay, until the next full moon and however long afterward.

He started to get up, brushing dirt and blades of grass from his elbows and the back of his shirt. Padfoot whined in protest, but Remus pushed him off and sat up, drawing his knees to his chest. He looked down at the park. It was late in the day, but the sun wasn’t even close to setting though the shadows stretched long across the hills and field and the sunlight between them was burnished. More young people had turned up and were flying kites. Remus watched the rainbow-coloured diamonds and arches bob uncertainly and then soar up and around as the wind caught them and pulled their strings taut.

They were alone on the Crags. Every living thing in the park besides the midges and the occasional seagull was far from earshot. To be perfectly safe, though, he surreptitiously slipped his wand from his pocket and cast a warding charm on the area. Any Muggle who came within ten metres of them would suddenly remember urgent business to which he or she had to attend elsewhere. They would take no notice of the shabbily-dressed, thin and greying young man or the equally dishevelled black dog who crouched at his side and to whom he sometimes turned to speak.

“You built a kite for one of my sisters once, didn’t you,” Remus mused softly, as much to himself as to Padfoot. “For Julia. She was crazy about you. We all went down to fly it one day, that summer we all spent at my house, and it was so windy and the kite was so powerful that it pulled her into the air. A little five-year-old girl. James rescued her on his broomstick. But once she was on the ground, she ran straight to you. Do you remember that?”

Nothing, not the slightest sound in reply. Remus wanted a response; Padfoot could not speak, but he could communicate a simple yes or no. The words Remus wanted most of all, “You were wrong last night; you’re not the boy I knew and right now I need more than anyone’s ever been needed”, were impossible, but he thought he’d know if Padfoot thought them. Those words would have sent relief and gladness racing through his veins like a sunstruck, newly-thawed stream.

But Padfoot did nothing, the wind picked up, the shadows deepened, and Remus gave up trying to cajole. Dislodging himself momentarily from the massive dog, he rummaged through the shopping bags, found their hamburgers and chips, and set Padfoot’s on the ground before him. He took a few bites of his own, but he wasn’t particularly hungry, so he gave the rest to his friend, who needed the nourishment (such as could be found in a greasy hamburger) far more than he did. When the hamburgers and chips were gone he broke open one of the packages of digestive biscuits and fed a few to Padfoot, who crunched them up messily.

“I always wondered,” Remus said as he leaned back on his elbows again and watched his friend eat, “if despite its healing properties, chocolate’s really safe for you in that form. I’ve been told it’s bad for dogs.”

Padfoot gave him a long look that meant plainly, I can always eat chocolate. He crunched up the rest of the biscuits, licked his chops free of crumbs. Then, to Remus’ surprise and gratitude, he lowered himself to the ground behind the man’s back so that he had something soft and warm against which to lean.

Certainly not for the first time in his life, and not for the first time since Padfoot had shown up on his doorstep a few days ago, Remus found himself wondering where the dog ended and the man began. He still remembered the initial strangeness of scratching his friend behind the ears and receiving an ecstatic tail wag in response. How did Sirius think when he was Padfoot? Was it strange for him to lick hands and have his head patted or to lie as he now lay with a human resting against his side, one idle hand stroking his matted fur lightly? It had been different with Prongs and Wormtail. One did not immediately want to throw one’s arms around a stag or a rat. What made it all right with Padfoot? Remus, who had never had a pet, had always wondered whether it was that Padfoot was a dog…or that Padfoot was Sirius?

He could not imagine his friend’s thoughts while in dog-form. He himself had so little control over Moony’s actions, and Moony retained barely a shred of Remus’ memory during the full moon. Remus was still astounded that the werewolf had not ripped out Sirius’ throat that foolish April night twenty-three years ago when his friends’ suspicions about him had finally been confirmed. (The way Sirius and James described it later, they’d followed him and Madam Pomfrey to the Shrieking Shack, then sneaked in under the Invisibility Cloak after the matron had left. They’d thought they were safe, but the wolf had smelled them and they’d run for their lives down the passageway and out of the Shack…where Sirius, usually so swift and agile, had tripped over one of the Whomping Willow’s roots and fallen out from under the Cloak. Remus did not share Moony’s memory of crouching over the boy, drinking his fear as though it were blood, his teeth an horrific ten centimetres from the pulse at his throat, and he was glad he did not. All he remembered was waking at dawn in a hospital bed to find one hand numbed by some healing salve and swathed in bandages, and James and Sirius pale as ghosts--but safe--in chairs by his bedside, snoring, their raven heads together.)

Remus’ chest rose and fell with Padfoot’s breaths. It was a soothing motion, rather like lying in a calm ocean where gentle waves lapped at his body and held him afloat. He’d been to Capri once not long ago, to see an Italian witch who’d been involved in the invention of the Wolfsbane Potion. After his talk with the witch--who’d met and interviewed dozens of werewolves while conducting her research and was sympathetic but not pitying--he’d gone off to stroll through the lemon groves and to swim in the sea. It had seemed then that the fragrance in the air and the coolness of the water, and the hope he now had in his heart could by themselves shatter his curse. They couldn’t, of course, and he’d come to his senses by nightfall, but that day he’d felt young for the first time in years, and not quite so alone in the world.

The memory made him smile, but it also reminded him of his friend’s plight. Sirius would need days--weeks--years, perhaps, of sunlight and clean water, good food, greenery, and sweet-smelling air to recover from his long captivity. Or maybe he never would. Maybe the chill of Azkaban was in him permanently, as Remus’ curse was in him and could not be extracted by any means yet known. He shuddered to think so. His own pain he could deal with; he’d done so for so many years. But his friend’s…

He made a decision. “Padfoot--I mean Snuffles,” he whispered, “I’m going to fight for you.”

Padfoot raised his head with a jolt and looked at the man. The red and gold of sunset flickered in his deep, gleaming eyes. Remus lifted a hand to touch his muzzle, but he shook his head violently, brushing the hand aside.

“I am,” said Remus. “I should have been fighting for you from the start. I should have asked questions, wondered--” He stopped himself. They’d gone through this the night Sirius had arrived at his flat. “You’re going to be free,” he went on, making the words heavy with conviction and promise. “Really free. And I’m going to help you. I’ve been talking with people. I haven’t said anything about you directly, but I’ve mentioned how merciless Barty Crouch was in his prosecution of suspected Dark Wizards just to…what?”

Padfoot was growling deeply, his ears flat. Remus saw his throat strain to get one word out. Giving up, he only shook his head.

There was a pause. Remus frowned. Then-- “Why not?”

Padfoot rolled his eyes, then looked at him, and the man felt his heart clench because the fear in those pale dog-eyes was so palpable. Still, he reached out again and grasped a handful of fur, determined to show the other that he too could be stubborn.

Padfoot shook him off again and clambered to his feet. Teeth bared, hackles raised, there was nothing about him now that invited cuddling.

Remus pushed himself to his knees, grunting as stiff joints throbbed in protest. “Why not?” he said again, less patiently.

Padfoot said nothing, though the growl he uttered sent shivers racing through Remus’ blood. They glared at each other in the gathering shadows for perhaps a minute. Then the dog turned and started down the hill. Halfway down, he paused and looked back over his shoulder, to see if the man had followed him.

He had not. Remus still knelt on the windswept crags, his heart hammering, everything inside him slowly turning to ice. He had not expected a rejection. They were friends, conspirators. They fought on the same side. What happens to one of us happens to the rest of us. Wasn’t that what James always said? True they’d been severed by twelve years of doubts and betrayals, but the twelve years were over, they both knew the truth, and surely they needed each other now more than they ever had in the past. Sirius’ rejection robbed the air of any remaining warmth, almost stole the breath from his body. Now he felt old.

He hadn’t heard the other’s approach, but suddenly there was hot breath on his neck. He shivered.

He felt his sleeve being tugged, gently but insistently, and then he was stumbling to his feet and gathering shopping bags. Padfoot nudged him behind the knees, propelling him forward, then hurried ahead of him, tail wagging, tongue lolling between sharp teeth. The Good Dog Act, Remus thought, starting down carefully, tripping on the uneven ground. Padfoot was back at his side in an instant, all solicitousness. Remus leaned on the dog to steady himself and afterward allowed himself to be lead down the dusky hill. He knew the act, and was undeceived. There was nothing conciliatory about Sirius; there never had been. He hoped Sirius remembered that Remus was more than capable of putting up a good fight, and intended to do so once they reached the flat.

They passed down the streets in silence, Padfoot leading. Remus trailed him and felt the lights from each passing car slam into him. He felt hot and cold at the same time; hot because inside his heart was thumping erratically with anger, his blood roaring through his veins; cold because his mouth seemed frozen in a rigid frown, his shoulders stiff and aching. The wind rushed at him like the tumult of years; he pushed forward against it, determined not to be caught up, to keep up with Sirius.

Sirius transformed as soon as Remus locked the door to the flat. He disappeared into the den; Remus went into the pantry to drop his bags on the table. A minute later Sirius was back with a rucksack. He started for the table, but Remus barred his way.

“Tell me why,” he said.

Sirius stopped and looked at him, his expression neutral. “I should think it would be obvious.”

“Tell me anyway.”

“Remus…”

“And don’t use that patronizing tone with me,” Remus said, himself surprised by the slight snarl that crept into his voice. “We’re not schoolboys anymore. I’ve been looking out for myself for thirteen years now.”

“Some job you’ve done.” Sirius’ tone was brusque, but held no malice. Still he winced, and Remus felt the air go out of his own lungs as well. “Didn’t mean to say that,” he said at once.

Which was not the same as an apology, and Remus knew it. He refused to move when the other man tried to shoulder past him.

“Remus.” Now there was a growl, low-pitched and threatening.

“I’ve faced down creatures a lot more frightening than you,” said Remus calmly, crossing his arms over his chest and meeting the other’s pale blue gaze.

“And I’ve faced you down,” said Sirius. “Me and Padfoot. Believe me, old friend, you’re nowhere near as frightening as your alter ego.”

Remus’ face burned. Accusations reared up inside him, a few of them damning. Sirius was innocent of the Potters’ deaths, but he was by no means an innocent. Remus clutched his arms and fought the urge to fling the past like a great bloody corpse in the other man’s face. It would serve no purpose, he told himself fiercely. He’d already forgiven Sirius the worst thing he’d ever done; he could not rescind now. To do so would only divide them again, this time, perhaps, forever. So he held his hurt and fury inside him and said thickly, because his throat was closing, “I see. I’m the one who said we could not never go back, after all. How could I forget? But I suppose some things haven’t changed; you’ve always kept your own council, but I wonder what it is I did to deserve your distrust.”

He hadn’t meant to shock, but it was a relief to see Sirius’ pupils dilate, to hear the indrawn breath. Sirius turned away and Remus closed his eyes, thinking that it was over, that he’d ruined everything after all.

But then the other man said, very quietly, his voice hoarse and raw, “You think I don’t trust you? My friend, my only friend… You think…” There was silence for a beat, then Sirius lifted his head. “You think I don’t want to keep sleeping on your floor? That I prefer sewers and back alleys? You think I’m not going to miss talking with you? Goddamit, Remus, you’re the first human being I’ve talked to in thirteen years!” He turned around. Framed by the unruly black hair, his face was white as a skull, his eyes very bright. “You think I don’t want to stay here, is that it?” he demanded, advancing. Remus took an involuntary step backward, though there was nothing threatening in the other man’s manner. “You think I don’t want you to come with me?” Without warning a claw of a hand shot out and seized one of Remus’. The grip was strong; Remus did not try to fight it.

“I don’t trust you? Do you think I don’t wonder how in the hell you can trust me? I’m not talking about the Potters!” he spat, when Remus started to speak. “Do you think I don’t think about everything that happened when we were students, the times I almost got you killed? I had nothing else to think about in Azkaban! The Dementors took all my good memories, so that was all I had left of us.” He lifted the hand he held so that it was between both their faces. Even in the wan light the scars were visible. There were more, but his clothing hid them. Sirius said, heavily, “I remember how you got all of these. That’s what I remember of our friendship.” He thrust the hand away from himself and staggered back.

Remus, holding himself tensely said to the bowed black head, “I made choices, too. Do you think they were always the right ones? I had some say in what went on, don’t forget that.”

“Not as Moony.”

“Not so much as Moony, although he came to trust Padfoot, Prongs, and--Wormtail, I think because I did. The three of you meant something to him. I know that once Moony had to choose between his nature and what he must have understood somewhere inside him, and he made the right choice.”

The other man said, dryly, “Sure about that, are you?”

“Yes.” Remus took a step forward, though he hesitated to touch the other man. “He’d have ripped Severus Snape to shreds, but he knew not to touch Sirius Black.” He tried to smile, but it came out as something of tired grimace. “What that has to do with your refusal to let me help, I don’t know, but--”

He got no further. Sirius put his arms around him and drew him close.

Remus had been held before, by various people. He knew that there were different ways of embracing. Sirius was not hugging him now; he was drawing him in, almost crushing him in his thin, wasted arms as though to ingrain the other man’s body upon his own. Remus hung in limbo, neither comforted nor alarmed, but simply surprised into speechlessness. He felt the other’s heart tremble against his own and knew that he was not the only confused one present. Sirius dropped his head onto Remus’ shoulder and expelled a ragged breath.

“I want you to come with me,” he said. “Or I want to stay here. But I can’t…” He drew in another shuddering breath and tightened his grip.

Remus had the impression Sirius was bracing himself before saying something he didn’t like or had been afraid to for a long time. He kept quiet and simply waited until the other man was ready.

At length, Sirius said again, “I want you to come with me. But I can’t let you. I can’t let you help me in any way except by keeping an eye on Harry. That, at least, won’t look suspicious.” Another deep breath, and then, in a quiet rumble that Remus felt all through his body, “The first few months I was at Azkaban I still had some hope. I knew what really happened, and it seemed reasonable someone else would figure it out, too. I waited for you, Remus. When I couldn’t stand being human I became Padfoot and waited for Moony. We waited for months and months. You were the smartest one of us and I kept thinking, All right, he’s had enough time to mull it over and sober up--let’s get the rescuing started, shall we? But you never came and after a few months I began to forget why it was I should count on you. I forgot everything except why I shouldn’t. Harry told me…in the Shrieking Shack…that he hears Lily--dying--when the Dementors go near him. What do you think I hear? The Potters, of course, and you trying to tear yourself to pieces because James wouldn’t let you get at Snape. I hear what you said to me--afterward…”

Remus remembered. He closed his eyes against the memory, but it stayed. “It was a cruel thing to say. I’m sorry for it.”

“It was true. It’s still true. I’m dangerous to be around. Not just because I’ll have Dementors and Aurors on my trail, but because sometimes I just don’t think. I almost killed you and Snape. I nearly got Maddin killed--you remember--with the motorbike. I got the Potters killed. I nearly scared Harry out of his wits last year. I broke that Weasley boy’s leg. If you’re with me I’ll worry. I trust you, but…I don’t think I trust myself, yet. If you’re here, if you stay out of the way, I won’t worry so much. If anything happens to you, dammit, I won’t forgive myself!”

Remus could not feel his own body any more. Everything had been reduced to erratic heartbeat and jerky, shallow breaths. In all the years he had known the other man he had never heard an outpouring like this. Had James, ever? he wondered. He hadn’t meant to open these floodgates and he felt strangely guilty for having done so. Sirius should not talk like this. Sirius who ran with werewolves and braved the Forbidden Forest and dazzled girls with illegal flying motorbikes, should not cling or talk so.

Remus realized all that belonged to the distant past. The boy who’d run madcap through his childhood had had no idea what horrors lay in wait for him, what betrayals. Remus wanted to lift a hand to stroke the tremors away as he would have done for Padfoot, but Sirius held him too tightly. All he had at his disposal were words, and those he knew how to utilize, through years of practice.

“You’re the one who reminded me that one of Voldemort’s greatest powers was his ability to divide. Why let him retain that power over us now he’s gone? James would want us to work together.”

Sirius laughed cuttingly. “We keep saying that, don’t we? What James would’ve wanted. We’ll never know, will we?”

“No, we shan’t. But we can make choices we think he’d have been proud of.”

Sirius lifted his head and pulled away slightly. “He wouldn’t’ve wanted me dragging you into danger. He’d’ve wanted someone on the right side of the law looking out for his son.”

“He has Dumbledore and all the teachers at Hogwarts. He has Arabella Figg. And you are on the right side of the law.”

Through gritted teeth: “But we can’t prove that, can we? So help me by staying put! You have a life here.”

“Here?” Remus raised his eyebrows. “In Edinburgh? I moved here only a few days before you arrived. I haven’t even finished unpacking.”

“I don’t mean here. You know what I mean.”

“No, I don’t.”

Sirius backed away from him then, leaving him feeling oddly bereft. He sank into a chair and raked his fingers distractedly through his shaggy black hair. “You know what I mean. I cost you your job--no, I did--but you have friends. Colleagues. You’re a professor…”

“I told you,” said Remus quietly, not moving, “I’ve had exactly three friends since I was bitten.”

“But in thirteen years…”

“In thirteen years I never found anyone to trust or who could trust me. Is that so strange? Remember what I am.”

His head bowed, his face half-hidden behind his hands, Sirius’ expression was difficult to read. His next words came forth in a reluctant mumble: “What about that girl…”

“What girl?”

“The one you liked.”

“I’ve liked a few girls. I loved one. Perhaps you’re referring to her?”

“The Ravenclaw girl. The one with all the hair. Joan or June or something.”

A ghost wind blew long dark hair across his memory. “Jane.” The name came to him with surprising ease. He’d forgotten how many years had passed since he’d spoken it, or even thought about the young woman who’d owned it--who still owned it, for all he knew. “Jane Darrell.”

“Her. What happened to her?”

Remus kept his expression neutral. That too was surprisingly easy. “I don’t know. I haven’t seen her in more than twelve years.”

Sirius lifted his head. His brows were drawn together in exasperation. “Don’t tell me you…”

“…Got royally pissed the night the Potters died, spent the next day nursing a hangover you’d have been proud of, went to her flat the next day and broke things off.”

“Why, Remus?”

“That should be obvious.” How easy it was to meet that intense blue gaze! He’d not have thought it possible. “With you and James and Peter gone, there was no one else except her. But she didn’t know about me.”

“She didn’t? But, I thought--”

“No, she never did. We never lived together, so it was relatively easy to make excuses the night of the full moon. If she figured it out on her own I don’t know. I don’t think she did. I didn’t want her to know. I wanted one relationship in my life to have nothing to do with what I was. Am.”

“Ah.” Sirius’ long fingers curled around the tables’ edge. He looked down at them. “I see.”

“So, I never told her,” Remus said. “With you gone, though, I’d have had to. With you gone, there was no one left in my life except her. There were my parents and my sisters, but I was twenty-one. I wanted an adult relationship. I wanted to be with someone who didn’t feel she had to protect me from the world. We’d talked about werewolves, before. We wrote our Defence Against the Dark Arts essays together. I had an idea she’d take it…fairly well. But I didn’t want my secret to become part of our relationship. I wanted one thing in my life to be relatively normal. You know, I always envied you in that respect. You and James. I couldn’t have it that way, so I let her go. Maybe it was a mistake, but…we’ve already established I’m a bit of a coward.”

“I liked her,” said Sirius.

“No, you didn’t.”

Sirius frowned. “Maybe I did. I didn’t understand what was so special about her. Why you fancied her. She wasn’t that pretty.”

“I thought she was. In a way. She wasn’t your type.”

“My type.” Sirius snorted. “I don’t even remember what my type was supposed to have been.”

Remus edged around the table, hoping the subject was nearly past. Now there was a small, bony white hand in his memory, brushing the long dark hair aside. If he didn’t move on quickly he might remember how that hand had felt running through his own hair, and then where would he be? He said, attempting levity, “Well, if I remember right, you kept company with a few girls who could’ve used men like me to pick their teeth.” A shrug. “She had nice eyes, your Jane. I was annoyed she was a Ravenclaw, and I was angry

you would’ve told her. Your secret was our secret. You were ours. I never told Maddin or any of the others. James never told Lily until he decided to marry her.”

Yet, you all but handed me to Snape, Remus thought, without malice. He was through with arguing. He couldn’t win with Sirius, not this way. All he could do was keeping talking and hope the other would not realize he’d made a serious tactical error.

“Listen,” said Remus when it became clear the other had nothing more to say on the subject of lost loves. “We need to get you out of here, the faster the better.”

Sirius looked up. “Ah-- Yes.”

“I don’t like the idea of an enormous dog carrying a kitten through the streets of Edinburgh. That’s rather conspicuous.”

“That’s how I got here.”

“I know, but I want to get you out a different way. I’m going to set up a Portkey. We’ll pick an area to which I can Apparate. I’ll set up the Portkey somewhere far away from any city, come back here and…you can be on your way.”

“Sounds like a plan. S’pose Barbados is too far to Apparate, ha?”

“Quite.” Remus was thinking more along the lines of a mountaintop or some place close to the sea. Some place where a man and a hippogriff could take to the skies unseen. Where they would not have to pass over any densely populated areas on their ride to freedom. But the image of Sirius lying out on some sandy, tropical beach had appeal. He could be there, if he flew hard and ran into no difficulty, in just a few days.

He knew what to use as the Portkey: something James had given him, something Sirius would recognize, something he could keep as a reminder of what he’d lost and what he had to live for. Something he might even find useful. He left Sirius to pack his rucksack and find Buckbeak, and went to his bedroom to find the item he wanted.

It was somewhere in one of the boxes he’d stored in his wardrobe, but he had no idea which one. He’d gone through two without success by the time Sirius came up behind him and said quietly, “I can tell you why I used you to get back at Snape. Why I was able to, I mean.”

Remus froze.

“You must’ve wondered,” he went on when Remus did not reply immediately, “how I was able to treat you so cheaply.”

Remus gripped the edge of the box, but did not turn. He did not want his friend to see his face. “I did wonder,” he said. “I still do.”

“It was--”

Remus made another decision. “Don’t tell me,” he said.

“But--”

Looking down he spied the item he’d been looking for, picked it up quickly, and pocketed it. “I don’t want to hear it,” he said, rising stiffly and turning to face the other man, “until you’re free.”

Sirius’ mouth curled in a mean smile. “Suppose that never happens.”

“The Sirius I knew wouldn’t talk like that. He wouldn’t call it over until he’d won.”

“That Sirius doesn’t exist any more.”

“Then I suppose I’ll never know, because he’s the only one I want to hear it from.” He could see his refusal to listen pained the other man. It pained him as well, but he’d heard enough wrung-out confessions for one night. He was not James; absolution was not for him to grant. Solace, the thing he’d give willingly, was not for Sirius to take. “When you’re free,” he said again, “you can tell me everything. I’m leaving now, but I’ll be back shortly.” He couldn’t look at the trapped, pleading blue gaze any longer. He went to get his coat.

Sirius should not have brought up Jane. Of all the things to which he could have appealed, that was the one thing he should have left untouched. An attempt to remind Remus that he had a life--or at least the potential to have one--could never have succeeded. Certain things could be repaired, it was true. These past few days were proof of that. Others were gone forever. Sirius knew that. He should have talked more about Remus’ sisters, or Harry, or mentioned the fact that wherever they went together, it would be next to impossible to get the Wolfsbane Potion, at least by legal means. But he was still unaware of his error.

As he buttoned his coat and reached for his scarf (it would be cold where he was going) it occurred to Remus that he had never actually promised Sirius that he would not meddle. That was the understanding, but he’d never said the words, and he was glad.

He did not enjoy lying.