Remus stared at the yellowing page in disbelief. He blinked and read the paragraph again. And again. He half-expected it to disappear, or to change its meaning before his eyes. But there it was, irrefutably. He grabbed another book, flipped through it to a chapter he’d read an hour previously, and compared the two passages. There was no mistaking it. A promise. A possibility. For the first time in weeks, he felt a smile touch his lips.

“Remus?”

He looked up. Molly was hovering at the door to the library. “How did you even get in here?” she asked. “That dratted Banishing Spell keeps sending me down to the kitchen every time I cross the threshold.”

He dragged his mind back. “Oh, I bypassed it.”

“Really? Good. Now I can get in here and—” She stepped over the threshold and vanished.

“I bypassed the spell,” he said to the empty air. “I didn’t take it down.” He’d been too focused on getting into the library and consulting the Black family’s books. He picked up the books he’d found and left the library. Molly had probably been coming to summon him to dinner. He wanted to keep reading, but he’d found that if he didn’t come to meals, someone would try to find him later and talk to him in that nervous, well-meaning way they had all adopted. He put the books in his room and went down to the kitchen.

It was a small group at dinner: Molly, Ron, Ginny, Kingsley, and Moody. Remus found he was surprisingly hungry. Molly smiled at him approvingly when he passed his plate for a second helping; she’d already forgiven him for her unexpected trip back to the kitchen (“well, it was faster than if I’d walked,” she’d said). Ron and Ginny were talking in low tones about Harry’s upcoming visit. With a start Remus realized that it was already the end of July. He looked up from his food to see Moody’s magical eye fixed firmly on him. He stared back. Finally the eye whirled around again.

“Alastor, not while we’re eating, please,” Molly said, bringing a bowl of trifle to the table.

Moody grunted and gave the trifle a deeply suspicious look before accepting his serving, but his eye stopped moving.

Remus shook his head when Molly looked at him inquiringly. “No, thank you. I think I’ll just go up to my room.”

“Good night, Professor Lupin,” the children said in response to their mother’s glare.

“Good night.” He made himself walk out of the kitchen and up the stairs at his usual pace. Once in his room, he locked the door and sat down in his armchair with the books piled on his lap.

Three hours later, he looked up and stared into space. He could do this, he thought. He could do it. He would have to plan—he would need some supplies—he picked up a piece of parchment and started scribbling on it.

He had covered the parchment with writing when he heard the tell-tale clomping of Moody’s uneven gait on the landing. There was a pause in front of his door. Remus remembered with relief that he hadn’t bothered to take down the concealing spells he had put up around the room when he moved in. Not even a magical eye could see through that barrier. After a couple of minutes, Moody walked away. Remus tucked the parchment into one of the books, stripped off, and got into bed.

He woke up in the middle of the night, as he had every night for the past six weeks. He rolled over and put his arm around the extra pillow he hadn’t let Molly take away. Pressing his face against it and inhaling deeply, he drifted back to sleep.

Four days later, Remus was ready. He chose the date of Harry’s arrival, so that he could arrange for the other Order members to be preoccupied with ensuring Harry’s safety. In the back of his brain lurked the thought that he didn’t want to give Harry the chance to become curious about his activities. He repressed the surge of anger that threatened to shake his hard-won control when he thought about Harry’s recent actions. In his darker moments he doubted if Harry had learned anything from his reckless trip to the Ministry, and he didn’t want Harry catching wind of what Remus had planned and trying to follow him.

Moody’s magical eye didn’t whirl towards Remus once during dinner. Remus stayed in the drawing room for an hour after dinner, half-listening to the children’s chatter. Once, when Ron yelped with laughter, Molly made as if to shush him; Remus made himself smile at her and shake his head. When he left shortly afterwards, he heard the room go silent for a moment behind him.

Remus waited for hours, until even the mutterings from Ron and Harry’s room had died down. Then he cast a silencing charm on his room and Apparated to a park half a mile away. From there he made his way, Apparating in short hops to deter possible followers, to the Ministry.

He stepped into the telephone box. “Alphard Black,” he said in response to the voice’s query. “Here to request a permit to import flying carpets.” He was torn between gratitude and anger that Fudge’s newfound cooperativeness hadn’t actually extended to doing anything practical, such as increasing security at the visitor’s entrance. Gratitude won out as the telephone box carried him down to the dimly-lit Atrium.

The fountain had already been repaired.

“Good evening, sir,” the security guard said. “Your wand, please.”

Remus stupefied him and walked on. His palms were sweating now; he wiped them on his shirt and summoned the lift. It seemed as if it would never arrive at the floor he needed, and he wasn’t sure if he wanted it to or not. Finally, or all too suddenly, he was there.

He stared at the unmarked doors for a long moment. Then he drew his wand and murmured, “Revelatus!” The doors shimmered and turned transparent, revealing the rooms behind them. The one he wanted was the fourth on the left. He hurried through it before the wall could revolve, before the spell could fade away, before he could lose his nerve.

And then he was there, looking down at the archway. He made his way down to the stone dais and pulled a piece of chalk from his pocket, drawing a large pentagram on the floor. He stood in the middle of it, laying a thin gold chain at his feet, and began chanting; the chalk lines started glowing, faintly at first and then more and more strongly as his voice grew louder. In each corner he poured out one of the vials he had brought: blood from his left wrist, drawn at dawn; blood from his right wrist, drawn at midnight; blood from his left elbow, drawn at noon; blood from his right elbow, drawn at sunset; blood from his scar, drawn at the darkest hour of the night. In the very center of the pentagram he poured the last vial, blood drawn from over his heart when the new moon appeared in the evening sky.

Bars of light rose up from the lines he’d traced on the floor and enclosed him. At last he finished the incantation and said the words that sealed the protective power into the necklace he’d brought. The light flared brightly and then winked out; the necklace glowed for a second before fading away. Remus picked it up. The power of the spell was still vibrating around him. He fastened the chain around his neck and took a deep breath.

He stepped through the veil, and gasped at the icy shock of it. But there was no air to fill his lungs, and he made no sound as he panted for breath. He blinked, but could see nothing. He had no idea how long that lasted; abruptly he was breathing normally. The air around him changed subtly, becoming greyer somehow. He realized he could see a little now.

He looked down. He was standing on loose shale that shifted under his feet ceaselessly. There was a starless sky overhead, hung low with clouds, almost the same color as the dark shale. He started walking; his steps were silent. But around him he could hear a faint rustling. As he walked, the rustling grew louder. The chain around his neck was warm.

He walked. The rustling was very loud now. He caught a glimpse of something moving out of the corner of his eye, but when he turned his head, he could see nothing. He wasn’t sure if he did want to see anything that might be there.

He walked. His legs didn’t grow weary. There seemed to be a little more light around him now, or perhaps it was just a little less dark. The heat from the chain he was wearing spread through him, warming him against the clammy chill he felt everywhere else.

He walked. The surface he was walking on seemed to change, and he looked down. He was walking through water that wasn’t wet, that didn’t make a sound as it eddied around his legs. It was a river the same color as the shale, and when he stepped out of it onto the shale once more and glanced back, it was already gone.

He walked. He could have been walking for a thousand hours or a thousand days by the time he saw something, perhaps a figure, breaking the endless dark sweep of sky and earth.

He stopped. His heart was pounding. One of the books he had found had said, “What the seeker sees is not what is, but what he is capable of seeing.” Remus thought that this meant he wouldn’t see anything too horrifyingly incomprehensible, but he wasn’t sure. He waited.

The thing—definitely a figure, he decided—grew clearer, seemed to come closer. In the dim grey light, Remus realized that it was a sphinx. Queen of riddles, guardian of secrets.

The sphinx opened her mouth and spoke. Her voice clanged like a gong. “It is not often that a living mortal walks this plain.”

“I am searching for someone,” Remus said as steadily as he could.

“Do you think to cheat death?” The metallic voice shook through him; even his bones were reverberating.

He took a deep breath. “He entered this place by accident.”

“Many men think their death are accidents.” She blinked slowly.

“He tripped. He fell through a portal,” Remus said. “He wasn’t dead when he fell.”

“Ah.” A long pause. “I know the one of whom you speak. He entered as you did, but he came unguarded.”

Remus didn’t let himself hope yet. “Yes.”

“Why do you seek him?”

“It wasn’t his time.” He tried to keep his voice even, tried to keep out all the pain and anger and resentment that roared through him.

“When is it any man’s time?” She tilted her massive head to one side. Remus looked in that direction and, with a shock, saw James standing there, a grey shadow, all the color washed out of him.

The sphinx was staring at him. “You did not come for him.”

“No, I—he—” He couldn’t take his eyes off James’s grey face. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. James’s drained eyes looked back at him for a second before he turned away and faded into the inchoate rustling.

“I ask again,” the sphinx said inexorably. “Why do you seek him?”

Remus bit his lip. “I love him.” It sounded so feeble. “And he—he lost twelve years when he was—” He couldn’t say ‘alive’, because then he would have had to say ‘dead’. “Before he came here. I think—I believe that he should have those twelve years back. That’s all I ask. Give him twelve years, to make up for the time he was in prison. Dead on earth.”

“Twelve years.” There was another long pause.

Desperately, he added, “There was a singer, once. He came for his wife.”

“Yes.” The sphinx stared at him. “He gave a song for her. What will you give?”

Hope leapt in him. “Anything. Myself. My life.”

“Ah.” The sphinx blinked at him. “And would he accept this trade? Your life for his twelve years?” She shifted, and in the space she left Remus saw him at last. Unlike James, Sirius wasn’t grey; he was a shocking jolt of color, black hair, blue eyes, and fair skin against the dim sky and the sphinx’s dull form.

“Sirius—” He tried to take a step forward, but couldn’t; there was a compulsion holding him back. Sirius’s head dropped, and he stared at his feet. He too seemed bound, restrained. Remus wasn’t even sure if Sirius knew that he was there.

“Would he?” The sphinx asked again.

“I don’t know,” Remus said, although he did. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Doesn’t it? You say he had no choice in the manner of his death. Would you take this choice from him as well?”

Remus couldn’t take his eyes off Sirius. “Yes,” he said. “To save him, I would.”

“Your life for his twelve years,” the sphinx said again. “Freely given.”

That rang a bell. He latched onto the phrase. “Yes. Freely given,” he repeated.

The sphinx shifted again, and Sirius stumbled forward, toward Remus. “Take him, then. Leave this place. If you can.”

His jaw dropped. “I—Take him?” He could barely get the words out; his mouth was dry.

The sphinx’s form blurred suddenly, and when she spoke, her voice sounded oddly like that of Minerva McGonagall. “He has been somewhat of an anomaly,” she said dryly. “He bears too many hallmarks of his life for this place.” Then the clanging, metallic voice returned. “And you make a claim that cannot be denied. But it is not given to you to know the span of your life, nor of his. He may have twelve years or more, or twelve days. Or you may.”

“I understand,” Remus said. He reached out to take Sirius’s arm, but that strange compulsion held him back again.

The sphinx spoke. “Certain restrictions must be laid upon you. Do not touch him, do not speak to him, and do not look at him once you have begun your journey. And the journey once begun must not be halted. Else he will stay in this place, and you must go on without him.”

“I understand,” he whispered once more. He looked at Sirius one last time, then turned and began walking.

He couldn’t hear anything from behind him, not even the rustling that had accompanied him before. Perhaps he should have told Sirius to follow him; perhaps Sirius was still standing there, waiting. But his own footsteps were silent, so maybe Sirius’s were as well. And if he turned—

He didn’t turn. He walked. He didn’t know how long the silence lasted.

“Moony?”

Remus nearly stopped stock-still in shock. Sirius’s voice, sounding confused and worried.

“Moony? What’s going on? Where are we?”

Remus opened his mouth and shut it again hastily. He walked on.

“Moony? I’m kind of—I mean, this is really strange. Why won’t you talk to me?” Sirius was pleading now. “Where are we going?”

Don’t turn around, Remus told himself fiercely. He clamped his lips together against the desire to answer, to reassure.

“How long have I been here? I’ve been so cold.”

Sirius hated being cold. Remus desperately wanted to turn around, to embrace him, to share the warmth of his protection spell. He kept walking.

“It’s still cold. Can’t you—if I could just walk next to you. Can you slow down? I’m sure I could catch up.”

Don’t turn around, don’t look at him. Remus tried to maintain the same steady pace. It was difficult, walking on the terrible little pebbles that shifted constantly under his feet. It was as if he were constantly walking uphill, but when he looked, the ground stretched, flat and even and endless, in front of him. He was tormented by the fear that the slippery stones would make him slide, lose his balance, twist around. That he’d inadvertently see Sirius, or whoever—whatever—it was that followed him.

“I’m really tired, Moony. Can’t we take a rest?”

Remus opened his mouth to say no, but clapped his hand over his mouth and managed to stop himself. Don’t talk to him. Don’t turn around.

“I don’t think I can go on. I’ll just stop here for a moment.”

Then Remus could hear nothing, not even the soft shh of movement he only realized he’d been hearing once it was gone. He almost stopped. But before he could come to a complete halt, he made himself pick up the pace again.

Behind him the awful silence continued. His neck was tense with the effort of not-looking. He was growing tired, as he hadn’t on the way in, and his footsteps were dragging. Ahead of him, all around him, a wash of dark grey made his eyes hurt as he tried to distinguish something, anything, that would tell him how much farther he—they—had to go.

At last there came a sad whimpering noise from behind him, as if Sirius had transformed into Padfoot. Remus heaved a huge sigh of relief. But the whimpering grew fainter and fainter, as if Padfoot were falling behind.

Remus slogged on. Bring him back, bring him back, bring him back, ran through his head. His hands were shaking.

Suddenly an agonized howl shocked him; he froze for a split second, one foot lifted. His hands flew up to the sides of his face like blinkers, keeping his eyes trained in front of him. He set his foot down into what he realized was that strange not-water river, and went on walking. The horrible howling continued.

Bring him back, don’t turn around, bring him back, don’t stop, bring him back. He was panting, and his heart was hammering against his chest.

The howling rose and rose until Remus felt as if his skull would split open. He was just barely shuffling forward now, dragging his exhaustion behind him like a leaden weight. He stared at his feet, trying to urge them on.

And then he tripped over something, maybe a ledge, and fell forward, catching himself on his hands just in time. He got to his feet as quickly as possible and took another three steps before he realized that the howling had stopped, to be replaced by something else.

“Lupin! Dammit, boy! What the hell were you thinking?” It was Moody. “Oh. Oh, sweet mother of Merlin.” He sounded awed.

Remus looked up. He was standing on the stone dais.

Moody was standing in front of him, staring over Remus’s shoulder. Remus was frozen. He couldn’t turn around.

“Moony,” Sirius said from behind him.

It seemed he couldn’t speak either.

“Moony,” Sirius said again.

Moody gave an exasperated growl, grabbed Remus’s shoulder, and turned him around bodily. And there he was. Sirius. He was crouched on the floor in front of the veil, rubbing his chest as if it hurt him.

Remus fell to his knees. He stretched out a tentative hand; Sirius seized it. After a minute he registered that the chain around his neck was so hot it was burning him. He looked over his shoulder and saw that the lines of the pentagram he’d drawn were smoking. He took off the necklace carefully and dropped it into the center of the pentagram, where it sizzled and vanished.

Moody scowled. “Time to go, lads,” he ordered. “Bad enough that I had to clean up after you, Lupin. Speaking of which—” he gestured to the pentagram.

Remus got to his feet. “What do you mean?” The lines of the pentagram had caught on fire somehow; Remus blinked and extinguished the flames. The pentagram disappeared.

Sirius struggled up, still clinging to Remus’s hand. He swayed, and Remus untangled his hand and put his arm around Sirius’s waist. “Moony,” Sirius whispered into Remus’s ear. His breath was warm. “Oh my God, Moony.”

“You didn’t Obliviate the security guard. He would have identified you in a heartbeat. It’s that kind of carelessness that’ll lose us the war, boy.” Moody pulled out a battered fork from a pocket, and held it out in their direction. “This will activate in thirty seconds.” Remus put Sirius’s hand on the tines and covered it with his own. That disorienting jerk/pull, and then they were whirled away.

They arrived in a tangled jumble; Moody’s wooden leg was jabbing Remus’s side painfully. He disengaged himself and helped Sirius to his feet. They were in the drawing room of Sirius’s house, and they weren’t alone. Molly was there, her face white and drawn.

“Oh,” she said, and burst into tears. She tried to step forward, but Moody held up a hand.

“Stay where you are,” he growled. “As for you two—” He squinted at Remus and Sirius—“you’d better go upstairs and wait.”

“Wait for what?” Remus asked.

Moody glanced around; what he was looking for wasn’t apparent. “The others,” he said at last, very reluctantly.

“I see.” He thought he did. “All right.”

Sirius took a deep breath and started moving slowly to the door. Remus caught him up in two steps; he was about to take Sirius’s arm when he caught the minute shake of Sirius’s head. He realized that Sirius didn’t want Molly to see how unsteady he was, and didn’t touch Sirius until they were safely out of the drawing room and making their way up the stairs. Then he drew Sirius’s arm over his shoulders. Sirius’s body was solid and warm against his.

They reached their room in silence. Remus guided Sirius to the bed and helped him sit up, propped against a stack of pillows. Sirius opened his mouth, but before he could speak, Molly came in with a tray of food.

“I thought you might be hungry,” she said, setting the tray down on the bedside table.

He’d never felt less like eating. “Thank you, Molly.”

She darted a glance at Sirius. “It won’t be long before they’re here.”

“All right. Thank you,” he repeated.

She looked at Sirius one last time and left, shutting the door behind her quietly. .

“Are you hungry?” Remus asked.

Sirius visibly thought about this. “I don’t think so,” he said at last. “I’m—I don’t know what I feel. Confused. I—can you—” He stretched out his arms.

Remus got onto the bed and put his arms around Sirius, who buried his face in Remus’s neck.

“Moony. Oh God, Moony. You—” Sirius was shaking.

“Sirius.” He petted the dark hair. Still no grey there. “Sirius. It’s all right. You’re here.” He rested his cheek against Sirius’s head and breathed in the familiar scent of his lover. “You’re here,” he said with more assurance.

“How—how long was I—” Sirius had wrapped his arms around him and was clutching him tightly.

“Almost six weeks. Forty days,” he said into Sirius’s soft hair. Compared with the other time he’d lost Sirius, it shouldn’t have seemed long. But it did.

“What about Harry? How is he?”

“He’s fine,” Remus reassured him. Something occurred to him. “You should have some chocolate. Hold on.” He disengaged one hand and reached into the drawer of the bedside table. There was still half a bar of chocolate there; he unwrapped it and handed it to Sirius, who broke it in half again and thrust a piece back at him. They both ate. After a minute or two Sirius stopped shivering and simply lay against him, pressed up against him from head to toe.

A knock on the door startled them. “They’re here,” Molly said without opening the door. “Can the two of you come down?”

He separated from Sirius reluctantly, and they went down to the drawing room. A surprising number of people were there: Moody and Molly, of course; Arthur, Tonks, Kingsley, and—Remus winced—Snape. And Dumbledore.

Remus blinked. “What—how did you all get here so quickly?” He was supposed to be the only one who could activate the emergency contact spell that would summon all available members of the Order to Headquarters.

There was a brief pause. “Remus,” Dumbledore said, “it’s been three days. Molly let us know that you had ... left. Alastor and Kingsley have been keeping watch in the Ministry, and we’ve been waiting for Alastor to alert us if anything happened.”

“Oh.” He looked at them more closely; not everyone was meeting his eyes. Another question occurred to him. “How did you know what was happening?”

Moody snorted. “We found your notes when we searched your room. And you left a trail a blind man could have followed. Sloppy work, Lupin. Very sloppy.”

Remus shrugged. He didn’t feel like telling them that he hadn’t thought he’d be coming back. He rather thought some of them had guessed that already.

“Where’s Harry?” Sirius asked abruptly. “Is he really all right?”

There was another pause. “Harry is quite well,” Dumbledore said. “He’s at the Burrow. We thought it best that he not know of—not know anything about this. He has been told that Remus was called away unexpectedly.”

“But I can see him later, can’t I?” Sirius looked eager.

“Well—” Dumbledore adjusted his robes and looked away. “We’ll see.”

“At any rate,” Snape broke in, “shall we get on with it? I brought the Veritaserum.”

Of course. He should have thought of that.

“This will be a novel experience,” Sirius said, sitting down on one of the few remaining chairs. Remus sat on the sofa next to Tonks, who squeezed his arm. Today her hair was neon green and hung in ringlets nearly to her waist.

“Telling the truth?” Snape pulled out a vial of clear liquid and unstoppered it.

“No, the Veritaserum. Well, that and taking a potion from you without being afraid you’re trying to kill me. You wouldn’t dare, not in front of all these people. Not your style.” He grinned through the strained silence that followed.

“I leave that to rash fools like you,” Snape said, measuring three drops of the potion into a spoon and handing it to Sirius, who waited for Dumbledore’s nod before swallowing it.

“Are you Sirius Black?” Dumbledore asked.

“Yes, of course.” Another grin. “Ask my mother, if you dare.”

“That’s no good,” Snape said. “If—this—thinks he’s Black, he’ll be able to answer truthfully. Ask him something only Black would know. And don’t let Lupin do it.”

“Nasty suspicious git,” mumbled Sirius.

Snape drew breath to launch a counter-attack, but Dumbledore held up his hand. “Now, then. Sirius, Remus, I’m sure you’ll understand our caution. Severus, if you could just monitor the progress of the Veritaserum, that would be most helpful.” He turned back to Sirius. “Perhaps you could tell us what happened to you when you—er, fell through the veil.”

Sirius shivered. “God. Well, Bella had hit me with that Stunning Spell, so I couldn’t move. I just plummeted. It was like falling when you’re flying. Down, down, down. Seemed like I was falling forever. And it got so cold.” He shivered again, as if he were still feeling it. “Like I’d never be warm again. Like Azkaban...”

“What happened then?” Dumbledore asked quietly.

“I don’t know, really. I was in this place. This cold, grey place. And I—I think I saw James and Lily.”

Remus started.

“God, they looked so young,” Sirius continued. “Do you know, it’s just starting to sink in that I’m almost twice as old as they were when they died? I always thought of Moony and me as still being the same age as James. But we’re not, are we, Remus?”

“No,” Remus whispered. Tonks squeezed his arm again.

Sirius was fully under the influence of the Veritaserum now, talking away. “Sometimes I look at you and I still see the boy I knew then. Isn’t that strange? I don’t see your grey hair at all, or your crow’s-feet, or those lines around your mouth. I just see you, Moony.”

“I understand,” Remus managed. He did, too; sometimes when he woke in the mornings and looked at Sirius’s face, relaxed and unguarded in sleep, he saw the boy he’d fallen in love with almost twenty years ago.

“Sirius, could you—”

But Sirius was still intent on saying something, and overrode Dumbledore’s attempt to guide him. “But I don’t mind the grey hair or any of that. I don’t care that we’re getting older. It’s just that it was so odd to see James and realize how young we all were then. Young and reckless. Even you, Remus. I mean, coming to live with me after we left school wasn’t the wisest decision you’ve ever made, was it?”

Remus was painfully aware of their audience, but Sirius seemed to be waiting for an answer.

“I didn’t regret it,” Remus said to him. “I still don’t.”

A smile spread over Sirius’s face.

Snape cleared his throat ostentatiously. “Must we listen to more of this drivel, or can we get on with the real purpose of our meeting? I’d hate to think I slaved for hours over that Veritaserum just to hear soppy declarations of puppy love.”

“Shut up, Snape,” Sirius said. “Just because no one would ever want anything to do with you—”

“Sirius!” Dumbledore interrupted. “Can you tell us how you made your way back to this side of the veil?”

“Remus found me,” Sirius said promptly. “I don’t—until he told me upstairs, I didn’t know how long I’d been there. It seemed like forever, though. I was just there, not doing anything. I knew something wasn’t right, but I couldn’t work out what it was.”

“The sph—They called him an anomaly,” Remus offered, strangely reluctant to go into detail about his own experience.

“Ah. Hm. Go on, Sirius.” Dumbledore reached into a pocket and drew out a packet of sweets, which he passed around. Only Tonks took one.

“Remus found me, and he was talking. I don’t think I could really hear everything. Maybe I wasn’t allowed to. It seemed like he was talking to someone else, but I could only hear what he was saying.” Sirius looked thoughtful. “I heard enough, though. Moony, do you know what I’m going to do when I get you alone?”

Remus felt his eyebrows shoot up. Next to him Tonks shook with suppressed laughter. Molly said quickly, “Now, Sirius, we don’t need to hear that—”

“I’m going to kick your arse! What the hell were you thinking?” Sirius glared at him.

Remus shrugged. Molly looked relieved, while Tonks was clearly disappointed.

“What did he do, Sirius?” Dumbledore asked.

“He was going to stay there in exchange for me. As if I’d want to be here without him.” A brief pause. “Oh... Christ, Moony.”

Remus risked a glance around the room. Molly had started to cry; Arthur had his arm around her. The others seemed discomfited by these revelations, except for Dumbledore, who was looking thoughtful and all-knowing again. “A gift,” he said. “Not an exchange. Was that it, Remus?”

Remus nodded. “Freely given,” he said. “And she—they said it was a claim they couldn’t deny. No, that it was a claim that could not be denied.” Somehow the distinction seemed important.

“I see.” Dumbledore appeared to be the only one who did see; the rest looked confused. “And was there a journey?”

“Yes,” Remus answered. “I don’t know how long it took. I’m not sure how time works there. It didn’t seem like I was there for three days.” He paused. “Sirius?”

Sirius looked at him. “Yes?”

“Do you remember talking to me? While we were there?”

Sirius shook his head. “I just remember following you. It didn’t seem to take very long. I don’t think I said anything to you. I know you didn’t talk. Why? Did you think you heard me?”

Remus nodded. “It’s not important.” He’d tell Sirius later, when they were alone.

Dumbledore shot him a shrewd glance, but kept silent.

“What I want to know,” Moody said suddenly, “is if this really is Black or not. I saw him come out of that thing, but no one knows how it works, do they? I hate to say it, but I’m with Snape. I want some proof.”

Snape nodded emphatically. “I’d like more than this fairy tale we’ve been hearing. Bad enough that the real Black might be back without putting up with an impostor. Or a fantasy sprung from Lupin’s thwarted ... passion.”

Sirius sprang to his feet, ready to pull out his wand; Dumbledore held up his hand. “Sit down, Sirius. I do think it would be best if you could furnish some evidence as to your identity.”

“He hates Snape,” Tonks whispered to Remus. “That’s proof enough for me.”

Sirius sat grudgingly, shooting one last blazing look at Snape. “Fine. I’ll give you proof, Snape. Go over to that writing desk in the corner.” He pointed to an imposing piece of furniture, all curlicues and fretwork.

Snape approached the desk warily.

“All right,” Sirius said, “there’s a hidden compartment. See all those flowers carved into the top? They’re all roses, except for one poppy. Find the poppy and press the center.”

The long yellow fingers traced over the surface of the desk. Suddenly Snape jerked his hand away as if it had been scorched. “Ouch! Dammit, what kind of trick is this?”

“So, you found it. It burns anyone who’s not a Black.” Sirius’s voice was bitter, as it always was when he spoke of his family.

“Alastor, why don’t you verify that?” Dumbledore suggested.

Moody joined Snape in front of the desk, wand in hand, and examined the piece of furniture minutely. At last he grunted. “Yes, it’s keyed to the Blacks.”

Snape exploded. “This proves nothing! Get over here!”

Sirius stood up, went to the desk, and pressed on the flower. A small panel slid aside. “If you want more proof,” he said, “reach inside and take out what you find there.”

Snape glared. “Why? Will I actually lose a finger this time?”

“No, you’ll lose your entire hand.” Sirius looked surprised. “Veritaserum lasts a long time, doesn’t it?”

“When I make it, it does,” said Snape. “You take out whatever is in there.”

Sirius reached into the compartment and pulled something out, then held it out on the palm of his hand. It was a signet ring. “This one’s keyed to me.”

Moody waved his wand over it. “It’s keyed to Sirius Black, at any rate. Anyone else who touched it would have his hand blown right off.”

“I thought you threw that away,” Molly said. Her face was blotchy from crying.

“I threw my father’s ring away. This one is mine. I wouldn’t have kept it, but it unlocks all sorts of useful things around the house.” He looked at Dumbledore. “Will that do it?”

Dumbledore paused. When he spoke at last, his voice was gentle. “Just one more question. In your sixth year at Hogwarts, you told Severus how to find Remus in wolf form.”

Snape hissed and looked as if he wanted to go for his wand.

Sirius turned pale. “Yes.”

“Afterwards I spoke to you in my office. Did you ever tell anyone about our conversation?”

Sirius’s voice sounded choked. “No. No, I didn’t.”

Dumbledore looked at Remus, who shook his head. Sirius had never wanted to talk about that, and Remus hadn’t wanted to hear anyway. “What did you do when I finished talking with you?”

Sirius looked as if he were trying not to answer, but the reply was forced out of him. “I cried.”

Remus’s eyes widened. He had never seen Sirius cry.

“Snape, if you dare say anything, I’ll hex you so hard your grandmother will feel it.” Sirius was glaring fiercely.

Snape gave him a little smirk. “My lips are sealed.”

“I mean it!” Sirius took a step toward him.

“In fact, they will be,” Dumbledore said. “Everyone in this room has taken a vow of silence. Once they leave the room, they won’t be able to speak of this unless I release them.”

Remus was relieved. Clearly, so was Sirius. “All right. Fine.” He took a breath, visibly calming himself. “So, is that enough information? Or would you like to embarrass me some more?”

Dumbledore smiled indulgently. “No, that’s fine. I’m satisfied.” He said that in a way that implied everyone else should be as well. Only Snape, blowing on his burned fingers, looked as if he wanted to object, but Moody elbowed him sharply and Snape subsided.

“Good.” Sirius turned to Tonks. “Can I borrow your owl? I want to write to Harry and let him know what happened myself, so that he doesn’t just have to hear it from Molly and Arthur. Then maybe I can visit him tomorrow. He’s at the Burrow, right? So I can Floo in.”

“I’m afraid that won’t be possible,” Dumbledore said.

“What? He thinks I’m dead, for Merlin’s sake. I have to tell him I’m all right! I have to see him!” Sirius’s voice was raised, and his eyes were blazing.

“No one outside this room can know,” Dumbledore replied quietly.

“And that’s already too many people,” Moody grumbled, looking around as if trying to decide who the weak link would be. “We can use you if everyone thinks you’re dead.”

“Oh, the way you used me for the past year, keeping me locked up here with nothing to do but listen to my mother’s insane screaming and wait for Moony to come back from those bloody long trips?” Sirius was yelling straight into Moody’s face.

“Sirius,” Remus said. “Sirius!”

“What!” Sirius whirled and stared at him.

“They’re right. You can be much more effective this way. And it’s safer.” Not that that would have much sway over Sirius.

Tonks chipped in brightly, “You can be a secret agent! Wreaking havoc wherever you go.”

“He does that anyway,” Snape muttered. He was still nursing his burned hand.

“But Harry—” Sirius looked at Remus imploringly.

“I know. But—” He can’t hurt you if he doesn’t know you’re alive, Remus thought. Better to rephrase that. “If we keep this a secret, it will be much harder for anyone to use you against him.” He decided to use the trump card. “It’s to keep him safe, Sirius.”

“It’s for Remus’s sake too, Sirius,” Tonks said. “Necromancy is still illegal.” She didn’t add that Umbridge’s anti-werewolf legislation had tripled the penalties for werewolves found engaging in illegal activities.

Remus felt compelled to clarify this. “Technically, you know, it wasn’t necromancy. That’s actual communing with the dead. I don’t think Sirius was really dead, so this was—”

“Dance around it all you like, Lupin,” Snape snapped. “The fact is that you were practicing Dark magic and that makes your so-called friends very uncomfortable. So does—this—” He waved in Sirius’s direction. “This thing’s presence.”

“That’s not the point!” Tonks said. “Don’t accuse Remus of Dark magic. And we’re thrilled to have Sirius back!”

“Are you?” Sirius asked quietly. “Maybe you are, Tonks. But as for everyone else— I doubt it.” So he too had noticed the way most of the others didn’t want to meet his eyes. “But all right. I’ll play by your rules. I’ll pretend to be dead. I’ll hide out. I’m good at that. But I’m not going to stay here.”

“No,” Dumbledore said. “I think it would be best if you and Remus went away for a while.”

“And brush up on your glamours and Disillusionment Charms before you do,” Moody ordered.

“Fine,” Sirius said. “I’m tired now. If there’s nothing else, I’d like to sleep.”

Veritaserum, Remus remembered, was often followed by a kind of crash, in which the user collapsed.

“Yes, that’s fine.” Dumbledore popped another sweet in his mouth. “We can arrange the details later. Remus, why don’t you go with him?”

They were going to talk about him and Sirius, he could tell. “All right.” He got up and managed a smile for Tonks before following Sirius out of the drawing room and up the stairs to their own room.

Sirius sat on the bed. “I’m not really tired, Moony,” he said when Remus would have drawn the bedcurtains. “I just said that to get out of there. Come here and tell me about this necromancy business.” He patted the bed beside him.

Remus sat obediently. “It wasn’t necromancy, really. I found some of your father’s books. One of them mentioned a way to get past that portal without being trapped behind the veil.”

Sirius waited. He’d learned how to be quiet in Azkaban, Remus thought. He went on. “It only works for people who have already had a—what you could call a brush with death. So I think that’s why the technique is almost unknown. It was described in one of those old handwritten spellbooks your father had.”

“A bit more than just a brush with death, I think.” Sirius’s voice was gentle. He put his hand in the neck of Remus’s shirt and ran his fingers over the scar there.

Remus shivered at the touch. “Yes. You’re right. It’s a spell that can only be worked by ‘those who have had a death and been reborn themselves’.” When he closed his eyes, he could see the entire page of the book in front of him, the fine calligraphy describing horrors. “So it is Dark magic, I suppose, since it’s most likely to be worked by Dark creatures. Werewolves. Vampires.”

“Ghouls?” asked Sirius. His hand was still inside Remus’s shirt.

Remus thought about that. “I don’t think so, since they’re not really reborn. They’re more like ... the animate dead.”

“Like me?” Sirius’s voice was very quiet.

Remus turned his head and looked Sirius in the eye. “No. Not like you. You’re alive. You—in that place, I saw the dead. And I saw you. You weren’t one of them.”

“Did it—they—whatever you talked to really call me an anomaly?” Sirius asked.

“Yes,” Remus said firmly. He watched Sirius think about this, blue eyes focusing on a point over Remus’s shoulder.

“So I’m more like you, then. Dead and reborn.” He smiled a little, as if this pleased him. “And how long will it take Snape to work out what you did?”

Remus shrugged. “Mad-Eye knows, but he won’t say anything to Snape. So it depends on how long it takes Snape to find your father’s books once we’re gone. I put them back in the library and left that Banishing Spell up.”

Sirius grinned. “Quite a while, then. My father loathed the Snapes. Kept calling them Johnny-come-lately nouveau riche upstarts. That kind of thing had a way of working its way into his spells, even when he wasn’t trying for it.” He smiled again. “And I’m getting out of here and leaving all that shit behind!”

“Yes.” Remus leaned against him.

“And you’re coming with me.” Sirius pulled his hand out of Remus’s shirt and worked it into his hair instead.

“Yes.”

“If you don’t want to, you know, I’ll stay here with you.” The long fingers carded through Remus’s hair.

“No, I want to.” He caught Sirius’s hand. “Snape was right. I’ll make them nervous. And this place is no good for you.” That was putting it mildly.

“Well, if you’re certain...” Sirius yawned suddenly. “Oh. Now I’m tired.” He shifted, kicked his shoes off, and lay down on the bed. “What is it?” He asked after a minute, looking up and seeing Remus staring at him.

“It’s—” Remus started unbuttoning Sirius’s shirt.

“Moony—” Sirius started to sit up. “I don’t know if I can—”

“No, I just want—I need to—to be close. To see you.” He pulled the shirt off and set to work on the trousers.

“All right.” Sirius wriggled his way out of the rest of his clothes and stretched. Remus stared at the body he never thought he’d see or hold again.

“Oh God, Sirius.” He picked up Sirius’s hand and kissed it, held it against his face, smelled it. The narrow wrist with its delicate pulsebeat; the smooth inner forearm and the crook of the elbow; the strong bicep and shoulder... He looked at, then kissed, every twist of muscle, every place he’d kissed and loved a hundred thousand times before. He buried his face in Sirius’s neck and inhaled deeply.

“Mm...” Sirius had closed his eyes and was smiling faintly.

Remus ran his hands over Sirius’s chest, down his sides, over his belly, back up over his pectorals, down his arms and up again, delighting in the feel of warm, live muscle and skin under his fingertips. He trailed his fingers down the long thighs, lingered over the bony kneecaps, and kissed the place where the thigh muscle met the knee. He sat back on his heels and looked, looked, looked. Sirius’s cock was half-hard, lying against his thigh. Remus’s own arousal was lurking at the back of his consciousness, adding a languid tingle of pleasure to the feel of Sirius’s body under his hands, against his mouth. He put his hand under Sirius’s back and pushed him until he rolled over, stretching again.

Remus picked up one of Sirius’s feet and kissed the sole, the heel, the high arch. He investigated the delicate hollow of Sirius’s ankles, gave a firm massaging stroke to his calves, and licked the back of his knee. Sirius laughed and tried to pull away; Remus held on more tightly and gave him a little bite there. He slid his hands up the backs of Sirius’s thighs to his arse, rubbed slow circles on his buttocks, and kept on going up the long back to the broad shoulders, licking a broad swipe from the small of his back to the sensitive spot between his shoulderblades. Sirius was almost completely relaxed under his hands now.

Remus leaned over him to kiss the nape of his neck and gasped as his forgotten erection brushed against Sirius’s hip. He pulled back; Sirius reached back and groped at him lazily. “It’s okay,” he mumbled into the pillow. “Come here. And take your damn clothes off.”

“I can’t do both those things at once,” Remus pointed out, hauling his shirt over his head.

“Clothes first, then.” Sirius rubbed his cheek against the pillow like a cat.

That would be easy enough, Remus thought, shedding his trousers and lying down next to Sirius. He propped himself up on one elbow and stared down at Sirius again. The blue eyes opened and looked at him. “You don’t have to stop touching me, you know.” Sirius rolled onto his side, facing him, and stretched out a hand to trace the line of Remus’s collarbone. “God, you got so thin. I’ll have to do something about that.” He edged closer; his mouth was only an inch from Remus’s.

Remus waited, suspended in this moment before the kiss, looking into Sirius’s eyes and feeling his breath, warm against his face. Sirius’s lips curved in a slow, inviting smile. They kissed. It began as a gentle press of mouth against mouth, Remus savoring the feel of the soft warm lips against his. Then Sirius moaned and opened his mouth, and ferocious desire ripped through Remus. He groaned and rolled on top of Sirius, grinding hard against Sirius’s belly.

Sirius wrapped his arms around him, fingers digging into Remus’s back, and thrust his hips up. Remus was burning up everywhere that Sirius was touching him; the feel of Sirius against him was driving him mad. He pulled his mouth away from Sirius’s and started biting his throat. Then he felt Sirius’s hand work between them and grab his cock. He bit harder, muffling his cry, and came over Sirius’s stomach in a long pulse of pleasure. Sirius moaned again, rocking up against him, and climaxed with a shudder.

After a minute Remus realized that he’d slumped on top of Sirius, dead weight. He started to slide off; Sirius made a little noise of protest and rolled with him so that they were on their sides, facing each other, still embracing.

“Good thing I wasn’t as tired as I thought.” Sirius kissed him, then yawned.

“Sorry,” said Remus, not feeling very sorry at all. “I didn’t actually mean to do that. I just—”

“I know.” Sirius pulled the covers up over them, using a corner of the sheet to wipe off their bellies. “God, Moony,” he said suddenly. “You came and got me. No, that makes it sound like you picked me up at the train station. You rescued me from death.” He pulled back a little and stared at Remus. “What were you thinking?”

Remus let his fingers wander into the long, dark hair. “Do you remember when you came to my place last year?”

Sirius smiled. “Mm, of course.”

“And we talked about what had happened before—about James and Lily. And Azkaban. All that.”

“Yes.” Sirius was still relaxed.

“And I said some things to you. Do you remember that?” He kept stroking Sirius’s hair. “I said I hadn’t believed in you before, but that I always would now. And that I’d do anything to be with you.”

Sirius’s eyes widened. “Yes, but I didn’t think you meant you’d—that was when we thought I might have to leave the country again! That was about you coming with me to the Canary Islands, not about—about me dying. Moony, tell me you wouldn’t—” He stopped and took a deep breath. “Tell me. What would you have done if you hadn’t been able to take me out of that place?”

Remus paused. “I would have come back without you. You would have wanted me to look after Harry.” True enough, as far as it went.

Sirius let out a breath. “Okay. Good.” He drew Remus to him once more. “Don’t ever do anything like that again. Promise me.”

He sighed; his breath stirred Sirius’s hair. “I can’t.”

“Remus—”

“I can’t promise that, Sirius. I’d do it again in a second.”

There was a little pause. Sirius was caressing his back lazily. “All right,” he said at last. “I can’t blame you. I was just trying to imagine myself if—if anything happened to you.” His arms tightened around Remus. “In a second,” he echoed.

They kissed again. Remus could feel Sirius’s heart thudding against his chest, like a promise. He slid down a little and rested his head on Sirius’s chest. He let the sound of the strong, steady heartbeat lull him to sleep.

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