Part I: May 14, 1976

“Huh. That’s interesting.” Remus frowned at the parchment in his hand.

“What?” Sirius leaned over his shoulder. “Oh, I see.”

“Are you planning on letting us in on it?” James asked mildly. He and Peter were acting as lookouts, one at either end of the corridor.

“There’s something here.” Remus pointed at the wall that he and Sirius were facing. “When I added it to the map just now, the line turned wiggly.”

Peter snickered. “Wiggly? Would that be the scientific term, Mr Lupin?”

“Well, it’s—” Remus touched the wall, pressing on it. Nothing happened.

“That only worked once, Moony,” Sirius pointed out.

“Yes, but wasn’t it spectacular?” He’d pushed on a doubtful-looking brick and the entire wall had shimmered away, displaying a giant spiralling staircase. Of course, as it turned out, the staircase only led to the kitchens, but the new route made kitchen raids much more dramatic.

“Yes, yes, yes,” Sirius said impatiently. He looked around the corridor. “I think—” He broke off. “Oh yeah.”

“What?” James craned his neck.

For once Sirius didn’t say anything. He touched—‘stroked’ was a better word, thought Remus—the engraved plate on the frame of one of the strangely still portraits lining the corridor. The portrait slid aside, revealing a hole in the wall. “Oh yeah,” he said again in immense satisfaction. “Come on, then.” He started clambering through the hole.

“Hold on!” Remus carefully added this discovery to the map before following Sirius. “Lumos,” he said as he swung through the opening.

A long, narrow passageway stretched before them. Remus moved aside just in time to avoid being squashed into Sirius’s back by Peter’s precipitous entrance. Finally, when James was through, the portrait slid back into place, sealing them inside. A row of torches on either side lit up in succession, gradually revealing a narrow, winding corridor.

“Sirius,” James said, “I hope you know how to get us back through that opening.”

“Hm?” Sirius was already heading down the passage. “Oh, sure. Anyway, if worse comes to worst, I have a knife.”

Remus looked at James and Peter and rolled his eyes before following Sirius, running a little to catch up.

“Sirius has a knife?” Peter murmured to James. “Is that a good idea?”

“I think he’s talking about that Swedish thing Remus gave him,” James whispered back. “It’s not as if he’s carrying a machete with him.”

“Swiss!” corrected Sirius. “It’s a Swiss army knife.” He sounded inordinately proud.

Remus smiled to himself. That had definitely been a successful Christmas present. It helped that he had added a protection spell so that Sirius couldn’t ever be hurt by the knife. He paused and added a few lines to the map, indicating a curve in the passageway, then caught up to Sirius again. “How did you know how to open the wall?”

“Hm?” Sirius was looking at the floor. “Look at all this dust. How long do you think it’s been since anyone came this way? Oh, the wall. Um...” He stood still for a second, thinking. “The nameplate on that portrait wasn’t brass.”

“Oh. Right.” Remus paused. “Should I be worried that that actually makes sense to me?”

“Yes,” said James, “but put it on the map anyway.”

Remus obeyed, standing still as he wrote in the detail and drew a rough sketch of the portrait. He looked up to ask if Sirius remembered the portrait’s name. The others were already out of sight. From the scuff marks they’d left in the dust he could tell that they’d started running. He sighed and started walking again, counting the torches as he went. After almost ten minutes a faint yell caught his attention. It sounded like Sirius. Remus heard the yell again, a little louder now. More insistent. More—panicked? Remus ran down the passage, heart beating faster, and skidded to a halt just inside a large, dark cellar. The others were nowhere in sight.

Holding his wand at the ready, he took a cautious step forward. Then another. He caught the scrape of a footstep on the packed-earth floor a second too late.

“AARRGH!” And someone—something—was on him, pinning his arms to his sides, trying to bring him down—he kicked backwards furiously. There was a grunt of pain and he kicked again, then elbowed what felt like ribs, before breaking free of his captor’s loosened hold. He spun around, wand lifted, and opened his mouth. “Petri—”

“Moony! Wait— Lumos—” James caught at his arm. “It’s just us!”

Remus looked around. Sirius was backing away hastily, hand pressed to his side. “Oh,” he said feebly. Perhaps he’d overreacted a bit. “Sorry.” He let his wand slide back into his sleeve.

“Ow,” said Sirius. “It was just a joke, Moony.”

“I thought—” Remus glanced around. “Where are we?” The walls of the cellar were lined with crates and casks.

“Not in a Death Eater lair,” Peter said dryly. “Contrary to popular belief.”

“Then what was all the shouting about?”

“We’re in the cellar of the Hog’s Head!” Sirius grinned. Apparently Remus was forgiven. “And we’re surrounded by booze.” He pointed to an open crate. “Ogden’s!”

“Well, we can’t just drink it,” Peter said.

“Why not? No one will know it was us.” Sirius pulled out a bottle. “Ever tried this?”

“It’s stealing, Sirius.” But James was looking at the bottle with interest.

“So, we’ll leave some money.” Sirius dug into his pocket and drew out a handful of coins, dropping them into the crate. “There. All right now?” He opened the bottle and drank a fiery mouthful. “Wow!” He breathed blue flame for a few seconds. “Here, Moony. Drink up.” He handed the bottle to Remus, who took it automatically.

“Why does he get to go first? Um, second?” Peter’s scruples seemed to have vanished.

“He has the most to celebrate,” Sirius explained. “Because of our transformations.”

Remus smiled. His friends had astonished him the previous month with their achievement. They’d run through the Forbidden Forest, the first time he’d ever been outside as a wolf. He thought again about the blur of impressions that lingered after his transformation. The wrenching pain and self-loathing that had marked every month since he was seven had still been there, but were tempered by the sensation of wet grass and moist earth under his paws, by the scents of the various creatures that inhabited the Forest, by the full moon, seen without fear for the first time in years. And he’d woken surrounded by his friends... Remus realized he was grinning like an idiot, and that the other three were looking at him with mingled affection and amusement. He hid his emotions with a long drink from the bottle. The liquor simultaneously scorched and soothed his throat. He wiped the back of his hand across his hot lips and gave the bottle to Peter.

Peter drank as deeply as Remus had and promptly spat out half his mouthful of liquor and fire. “Merlin!” He rubbed his watering eyes. “That’s—that’s—” He tilted the bottle to his mouth again.

“Okay, Peter, take it easy.” Remus took the bottle from Peter’s grasp and handed it over to James. “Your turn. Come on, you know Sirius won’t let us out of here without drinking.”

James grinned. “Too right.” He sipped carefully.

“And not like that!” Sirius grabbed the bottle and demonstrated, taking a long swallow. “Like this.” He forced the bottle back into James’s hand.

“All right, all right.” James drank again, coughed out a little flame, and passed the bottle back to Remus.

Sirius sat down on the floor. “Might as well be comfortable.”

Peter laughed. “That’s not comfortable, Sirius.” He transfigured a crate into an armchair and sat in it. “This is comfortable.” He took the bottle from Remus and toasted his own achievement.

“Oh yeah?” Sirius frowned in concentration and pointed his wand at another crate. A chess board appeared. “Damn.”

“I don’t want to play chess now,” James announced.

“Neither do I, Jamie.” Sirius waved his wand again, and the chess board turned into a chest of drawers. “Damn!”

The liquor made its way around to Remus again. “What are you trying to do, Sirius?”

“Make a sodding sofa!” He took the bottle from Remus and drank. “Open another one, Peter. This one’s empty.” He stared at the chest of drawers. “I don’t understand. I can turn myself into a dog, for Merlin’s sake. Why can’t I do this?”

Peter held up the new bottle. “It might have something to do with this.”

“You made your chair,” Sirius complained.

“You’ve drunk a lot more than I have.” Peter took a long swallow, as if he were trying to catch up.

“Just sit on the floor, Sirius.” James demonstrated by sliding to the floor and collapsing against Peter’s chair.

“No! I know I can—” Sirius flicked his wand, and the chest of drawers turned into an elaborate treasure chest. “What the—”

“Just sit on the floor, Sirius!” The other three said in unison.

Sirius sat defiantly on the lid of the chest. “Why do I keep making chests?” He grabbed Remus’s arm and pulled him down to sit on the chest as well.

There was a pause while they considered this. “Chesterfield,” Peter said suddenly, and belched.

“Chesterfield,” Sirius repeated. The bottle had made it around to him again. He drank thoughtfully. “Chesterfield. The subconscious is a wonderful thing.”

“Or frightening, in your case,” said James. He rested his head against the arm of the chair. “This stuff is strong. My head feels odd.”

“Your head looks odd!” Peter ruffled James’s hair and laughed. Then he put his hand on his own head. “My head feels odd too. It’s hot in here, isn’t it?”

“Not particularly,” said Remus. He should have been too warm, with Sirius leaning against him, but he wasn’t. “I think you’re drunk, Peter.”

Peter thought about this. “Yes, I believe I am. Wow, I’ve never been drunk before.”

“All right! Peter’s losing his virginity!” Sirius toasted this.

“Well, so’s Remus.” Peter reached over and snatched the bottle out of Sirius’s hand.

“Really?” Sirius looked at Remus. “Haven’t you ever got drunk?”

Remus shook his head. “But I don’t think I’m drunk now. I feel just the same as ever.”

“You haven’t had enough, then.” Peter gave him the bottle.

“He’s had quite a lot,” James pointed out. He was sliding farther and farther down onto the floor. “As much as I have, I’d say.”

“Right, but if he’s not pissed, he hasn’t had enough, has he? Drink up, Moony.”

James and Sirius nodded their agreement with this attempt at logic. Remus shrugged and drank as they stared at him. He felt a warm flush as the alcohol spread its fiery trail down into his stomach. He coughed a little and the flame tickled his lips; for a second his tongue felt hot, his cheeks, his eyeballs. Then it passed, and he set the bottle down on the floor.

“Well?” Sirius demanded.

“Well, what?” His elbow was knocking companionably against Sirius’s.

“Are you drunk yet?”

Remus pondered. “No.”

The other three boys looked at each other.

“Weird,” said Peter.

“Yeah.” James was almost flat on the floor now, his head propped up at an uncomfortable angle against Peter’s chair, just enough to allow him to drink from the bottle. “Maybe it will take effect if we wait a bit longer.”

So they waited, and drank, for an hour, during which time his friends grew steadily drunker and Remus felt exactly the same as he had when they’d entered the cellar. Sirius was slumped against him by now, talking away; it seemed to be a story about something he’d conjured his sister’s dolls to do when he was seven. “I took my mum’s wand, see, and—are you listening?”

“Yes, Sirius.”

“Because I wasn’t supposed to do magic. I didn’t have my own wand. Just the toy wand. Did you have a toy wand?”

“No,” Remus said patiently. They’d already been over this part of the story several times.

“Huh. So I took Mum’s wand and—” Sirius’s attention was distracted suddenly. “Oi, Jamie!”

“What?” James had given up the struggle to remain upright some time ago and was flat on the floor.

“Were you sleeping?”

“No,” James denied, rubbing his eyes.

“Yes, you were. And so’s Peter.”

“Peter’s snoring,” Remus pointed out. “Perhaps we should go back to the tower. It’s late.” He’d made this suggestion a couple of times, but had been ignored by his friends.

“You’re not drunk yet,” Sirius complained.

“Sirius, I don’t think I’m going to get drunk. Maybe I can’t.”

“Oh...” Sirius gave him a sad look. “That’s too bad.”

“Yes, I know.” It was almost always easier to agree with Sirius. “So let’s just go back, all right?”

James pushed himself to a sitting position. “Yeah, good idea. This floor’s bloody hard.”

“Yes, so let’s go.” Remus stood up and offered a hand to James, pulling him up. James staggered a little when he got to his feet. “Wake up, Peter.” Remus shook Peter’s shoulder.

“What?” Peter mumbled.

“We’re going back now.”

“Oh. All right.” Peter lifted himself out of the chair.

“You too, Sirius. Up.”

Sirius got to his feet. “I’ll just take this,” he said, leaning down precariously and grabbing another bottle.

Remus took it away from him. “I think you’ve had enough.”

“Remus,” Sirius whined, but he stood back as Remus replaced the bottle.

Remus turned the chair and the chest back into crates, and set out for the passageway. After a few steps he realized that no one was following him. “You all need to come with me now,” he explained.

“Right,” they chorused, and stumbled after him. At least James and Peter did; Sirius was casting a last, longing glance at a cask of ale.

Remus sighed. “Sirius!”

“Oh, all right. Coming.”

Somehow they all made it through the passageway and back out through the portrait, which opened obediently for them once Peter had the bright idea of ‘simply asking it nicely,’ as he said.

Once in the corridor, however, all hell broke loose. Remus didn’t realize it right away, unfortunately, as he was looking at the map to plot out their route back to the tower. From what he was able to reconstruct, Peter had decided to try on one of the suits of armor in the corridor; the armor’s occupant took umbrage at this, and started hacking at Peter with his sword. Thankfully seven hundred years of immobility had taken their toll on the knight, and his blows fell slowly and weakly. James and Sirius leapt to Peter’s defence, or tried to; Sirius ended up lying on the ground, clutching at the knight’s foot, while James grabbed ineffectually at his shield. Peter was trying to enlist another suit of armor to defend him. The whole business created a horrific racket just as Remus noticed that the dot representing Filch was headed in their direction.

He couldn’t decide what to do first, until a yell from Sirius helped him make up his mind. He cast a silencing charm and looked at the map again; Filch was still coming towards them.

“Gah!” Sirius yelled again. “Help!”

“Okay!” Remus said, beginning to panic. “Um... Petrificus Totalus!”

He realized that he’d cast the spell a bit too widely when James toppled to the ground alongside the knight. “Damn. Ennervate!”

James rolled over, groaning.

Peter abandoned his conversation with the other suit of armor and ran towards them. “Are you all right?”

“Never mind that,” Remus said, seeing that Filch would be on them in a matter of minutes. “We need to get out of here. Wait—first we need to put this armor back in place.” He tried to pick up the fallen knight. Sirius put his hand under the knight’s back and pushed up. With Peter adjusting the knight’s sword, they propped the armor up and restored order to the corridor. “Now, come on!”

“I don’t think I can move,” James said pathetically.

“Shit!” Remus said. His Muggle cousins had taught him some curses the previous summer. They were very satisfying, he’d found. “Get up, James! NOW!” He hauled on James’s arm.

After an agonizingly long delay, James stumbled to his feet. Remus dragged him down the corridor until they reached a small closet he’d noticed earlier. He shoved James inside. “We can all fit in here,” he said, turning to Sirius and Peter. They weren’t there.

“Shit!” he said again. “James, stay.”

James barked. What a time for him to adopt Sirius’s sense of humor. Remus sped back down the corridor and found Sirius and Peter embroiled in a frantic conversation with one of the portraits.

“But it wasn’t my fault! I just—” Peter was saying to the witch in the portrait when Remus hauled him away.

“Sorry, ma’am,” Remus whispered. “It’s an emergency. Sirius, come along.” He could hear Filch’s boots on the stone floor.

Somehow he got them both to the closet and pushed them inside before Filch spotted them. They waited; fortunately some of Remus’s anxiety seemed to have communicated itself to his companions, who stayed silent.

Finally Filch moved along. Remus waited until the map showed him on another floor altogether before cracking open the closet door. The other three fell out, with a grunt from Peter as one of James’s elbows caught him in the side.

“Right,” said Remus. His time in the closet had allowed him to think about the logistics of herding three intoxicated adolescent wizards through Hogwarts. “Peter, you and Sirius wait here.” He pushed them back inside the closet. “I’ll be back for you.”

“No, Moony, wait!” Sirius sounded desperate. “Don’t leave me here!”

“I’ll be back, Sirius, don’t worry.” Remus leaned in and whispered to Sirius, “James can’t make it back without me. But you and Peter will be all right here, won’t you?”

Happily this made sense to Sirius, who nodded and gave Remus a broad wink. “Oh... right. You take care of Jamie, then. Peter and I’ll be fine.”

Yes, they would, thought Remus as he cast a locking spell on the closet. “All right, James. Here we go.” He put his hand under James’s elbow and they started off.

Halfway there James got the hiccups. Other than that, he did fairly well until they were at the foot of the tower stairs, at which point he whimpered sadly, hiccupped, and sagged against Remus. Remus sighed, pulled James’s arm over his shoulders, and painstakingly dragged him up the stairs.

“I’m tired of the hiccups,” James muttered as he was yanked through the empty common room. “Can I have a glass of water?”

“When we get to the room,” Remus assured him. “Just a few more stairs now, all right?”

Hiccup. Hiccup. Hiccup. Remus was tired of them too by now. He got James into the room and deposited him on his bed.

“Water?”

“Yes, just a minute.” Remus went to the bathroom and came back with a glass of water.

James drank it hastily. “Oh,” he said suddenly, leaned over the side of the bed, and vomited. “Oh, yuck,” he said when he was done. He put his head back on his pillow and fell asleep.

Remus stared at the spreading pool of vomit for a second. Then he opened James’s trunk, pulled out his Quidditch robe, and threw it on the dirty floor. He pushed the robe around with the toe of his shoe until most of the vomit had been soaked up. James could clean it all up tomorrow. And he still had Peter and Sirius to deal with... He sighed. A sudden moment of panic made him look at the map. Miraculously, they were still in the closet; Remus wouldn’t have put it past them to undo his locking spell with what he’d heard his father refer to once as “the luck of the drunk”.

He made his way back to the closet in question, ducking out of sight to avoid McGonagall at one point. More proof for their theory that Hogwarts teachers never slept.

When Remus opened the closet door, he saw why they were still there. Peter had passed out sitting up on the floor and Sirius was entertaining himself by spelling Peter’s hair different colors. He looked up from a strand of electric purple and smiled beatifically at Remus. “You came back!”

“Yes, of course.”

“Good.” Sirius bestowed another enormous smile on Remus.

Remus waited, but Sirius didn’t say anything else. He leaned forward and shook Peter’s shoulder. “Wake up, Peter. Peter. Peter!”

“He’s out,” Sirius explained. “Out, out, out, out, out. Out like a light.” He said confidentially, “He’s pissed out of his brains. Guttered. Gudderly uttered. Udder—utterly guttered. Utterly guttered,” he repeated with triumph.

Remus rolled his eyes. “Yes, Sirius. Well, I suppose we’ll have to carry him.” He bent down and got Peter’s arm around his shoulders, then stood up. “Give me a hand, will you?”

“Of course!” Sirius leapt up helpfully, tottered for a second, and then slid down the wall into a heap. “Wow, why’d that happen?” He reached out and grabbed Remus’s robe, apparently with the intention of hauling himself up again.

“It’s all right,” Remus said hastily. “I’ll deal with Peter and come back for you.” He tried to loosen Sirius’s fingers with his free hand. If his robe ripped, he’d have to sew it up, and he was a terrible sewer.

Sirius held on. “Will you? After you take Peter back?”

“Yes,” Remus promised, still working on Sirius’s fingers. “Now let go of me.”

“Oh. Sorry.” Sirius released him and leaned back against the wall. “Lumos,” he said, and was lit by his wand’s soft blue glow. “I’ll just wait here, then. In the closet. Until you take me out...” He yawned.

Remus hesitated, then dragged Peter out. “I won’t be long,” he said before he shut the door.

The closet was silent. Remus got his arm more securely around Peter and started walking him back. After a few minutes of Peter’s complete non-cooperation, Remus decided to see if he could carry Peter, and rearranged his hold on his friend so that Peter was flopped over his shoulder, head banging against Remus’s back. “Time to ease up on the sweets, mate,” Remus muttered. But it was much easier simply to carry Peter than to try to haul his limp body, especially up and down stairs. The staircases seemed to have multiplied since his trip back with James.

They were lucky again on this trip and didn’t encounter any other late-night wanderers. Perhaps this was that luck of the drunk his father had mentioned. Whatever it was, Remus was grateful to dump Peter on his bed. Peter snorted and rolled over; his purple hair gleamed in the lamplight. Remus was looking forward to Peter’s reaction to his new hair color in the morning. He wiped his sweaty face off with his sleeve and began retracing his steps for the second time that evening. “They’re going to pay for this one,” he mumbled.

“What was that, dear?” asked the Fat Lady.

“Oh—er, nothing. I’m sorry to disturb you,” he offered. The Fat Lady had never spilled their secrets yet, but there was a first time for everything, and Remus thought it best to err on the side of politeness.

“Not to worry, dear. Boys will be boys, after all.” She winked at him and he gave her a little wave before escaping. Sirius was much better at charming her than he was.

Looking at the map, Remus made his way back to the closet. At one point he saw Snape moving about, leaving the dungeons and going to what Remus thought was an empty classroom. That was interesting. He filed it away to tell his friends about in the morning. For now he kept a wary eye on the Snape-dot in case their paths intersected.

He couldn’t believe it. Sirius had stayed in the closet, even though, Remus realized, he’d forgotten to re-set the locking spell. He opened the door cautiously in case Sirius was preparing to ambush him. But all Sirius had in store for him was another smile. “Hello, Moony.”

“Can you walk now?” Remus asked hopefully.

Sirius clawed his way up the wall. This did not look promising. But Sirius said, “Of course!” and set off, staggering, down the hallway.

Remus watched him weave uncertainly for a minute, and then caught up to him in three strides. “Here,” he said, grabbing Sirius’s arm and draping it over his shoulders. “This will be easier.”

“Okay,” Sirius said, surprisingly agreeably; he usually hated to admit he couldn’t do something. That was the source of most of his success at Quidditch; James would express doubt about, say, Sirius’s ability to dodge a Bludger while simultaneously executing a behind-the-back pass of the Quaffle, and Sirius would work on the maneuver until he’d proven him wrong. Remus wondered about this unexpected acquiescence.

“Moony?” Sirius whispered.

“Yes?” He looked down at the map, which he was holding in his free hand. They still had a clear path.

“When we get to the room, there’s something I want to tell you. Okay?”

“Can’t you tell me here?” Remus just wanted to crawl into his bed and sleep, not stay up till all hours listening to more of Sirius’s stories about his childhood exploits.

“Here? In the corridor?” Sirius sounded appalled. “No. In the tower, okay?”

“Well, all right.” Perhaps by the time they got back, Sirius would have forgotten about it.

“Good.” Sirius sounded pleased, and Remus felt a little guilty. “This is fun, isn’t it?”

Remus repressed his sigh. “Yes, Sirius.”

“We have fun together,” Sirius insisted.

“Yes, we do.”

“Like in the Forest last month. And that time we spelled Snape’s quill.”

Remus smiled. They’d enchanted Snape’s quill so that every time he wrote the word ‘I’, the quill added ‘am the pitiable possessor of a protuberant proboscis.’

“And the time—you know, you could come and visit me this summer,” Sirius said suddenly.

Remus stumbled.

“I mean,” Sirius went on quickly, “I could ask my parents if all of you could come. You and Jamie and Peter. Would you?”

“I—” To cover his hesitation, he looked at the map. It took him a second to register what he was seeing: the Snape-dot was moving rapidly towards them. In fact—he glanced up, then looked back at the map. Snape was around the corner from them. He pulled Sirius into an alcove.

Sirius was still talking. He didn’t seem to notice that they weren’t walking any more. “You could come in July. And we could go to Diagon Alley.”

“Shh,” hissed Remus.

“But it’d be brilliant, Moony. We could—”

“Shh!” The map showed Snape about to round the corner.

“—plan our first prank for—”

In despair, Remus clapped his hand over Sirius’s mouth. Sirius went on talking incomprehensibly for a few seconds; his lips brushed softly over Remus’s palm. Then, at last, he was silent. Remus held his breath as Snape strode past them, never once glancing at their alcove.

Sirius wriggled against him. Remus realized that he had pushed Sirius against the wall and was leaning on him, hand still clamped over Sirius’s mouth. Sirius was looking at him intently; he didn’t seem angry that he’d been manhandled into the alcove and restrained there. Remus gingerly lifted his hand off Sirius’s mouth. Sirius didn’t say anything. They stood there in silence for a few minutes, still touching; Remus’s shoulder pressed against Sirius’s arm, and Sirius’s knee bumped his thigh. Finally Remus looked at the map once more and saw that Snape was on another floor. “Let’s go,” he said. His throat felt dry.

“Okay.” Sirius draped his arm over Remus’s shoulders again and allowed himself to be led out of the alcove. After a minute he started talking. “So will you come? If it’s all right with your mum?”

“I—yes,” Remus said. Sirius’s hand was gripping his shoulder. “I’ll ask her.”

“Brilliant!” The hand on his shoulder tightened, then relaxed. “That’ll be great, Moony.”

“Mm.” If his mother agreed. If Sirius remembered this conversation in the morning. “We’ll see.”

Sirius chuckled. He was still very close to Remus, and his breath huffed in Remus’s ear. “Sounds like something my mum would say. ‘We’ll see.’ You’re always so cautious.”

He would have shrugged, but Sirius’s arm weighed his shoulders down. “Someone has to be. To balance you out.”

Sirius laughed again. “You’re balancing me right now, Moony.” He leaned heavily on Remus as if to demonstrate.

“Am I?” He wondered if he should try to edge away. “Oh look, the tower stairs.” What a fatuous thing to say. “We’re almost there.” That wasn’t much of an improvement.

“You’re a good friend,” Sirius said as they started up the stairs.

“Um. Thanks.” He made a mental note of the fact that Sirius was a sentimental drunk. “Um. You too.”

“Do you really think so?”

Oh no, he’d opened the floodgates. “Yeah. Oh, we’re here.” He gave the Fat Lady the password. “Just one more flight of stairs, Sirius,” he said, urging Sirius upwards.

“Good. I mean, it’s good that you think I’m a good friend. Because you know, Moony, I really—I—” Sirius stuttered to a halt as they came into their room.

Remus led Sirius over to his bed. Sirius sat on it heavily and then slumped over, staring at his feet. He looked tired and worried. An unexpected pang of tenderness struck Remus. “Do you need some help with your shoes?”

Sirius nodded. Remus knelt and started picking at the tight knots in Sirius’s shoelaces. After a moment he ventured, “Was that what you wanted to tell me?”

“Hm?”

Remus looked up. “Before, you said you had something to tell me. Was that it?” He’d loosened the laces enough to pull one of Sirius’s shoes off, and set to work on the other one.

Sirius’s eyes focused on him. “Oh. That. Er ...no. But it’s not—I don’t— I’ll tell you in the morning.”

Remus undid the last knot. “Okay, then.” He stood up. “Need anything else?”

Sirius smiled at him. “No. Thanks.” He fumbled his way under the covers; Remus untied the bedcurtains for him and watched as Sirius vanished behind the red velvet.

“Good night, Sirius,” he said, stripping off and climbing into his own bed.

“Night, Remus.” There was a pause. “Talk to you tomorrow.”

Remus waited until he heard Sirius’s breathing even out before he fell asleep.

In the morning, Peter yelled in horror when he saw his hair, and James cursed violently at the sight—and smell—of his Quidditch robe. Neither boy was appeased when Remus pointed out, quite rationally he thought, that they had only themselves to blame.

The racket roused Sirius, who woke groaning and clutching at his head. “Merlin, what happened last night?”

“How much do you remember?” Remus asked carefully.

“Oh...” Sirius started to sit up and then thought better of it. “It’s fuzzy. Did you shove me in a closet?”

Remus laughed. “Yes, but I had a good reason.”

“You’d better remember hexing my hair, you wanker!” Peter said, throwing a shoe in Sirius’s general direction.

Sirius ignored him. “And I think I remember that you brought me back here. And I was talking. What was I saying?”

Remus wasn’t sure if he felt disappointed or relieved. “Oh ... not much. Don’t worry about it.”

Sirius squinted at him. “Really?”

“Yes, really. Really,” Remus repeated when he saw the look of doubt on Sirius’s face.

“All right.” He closed his eyes. “Wake me when I feel better.” After a second he mumbled, “We’ll have fun this summer, though.”

Remus stared at Sirius’s face for a minute. Then, slowly, he smiled.

Part II: October 22, 1981

Remus stepped inside his flat and halted. Sirius’s cloak was hanging on a peg in the hall. Remus hung his own cloak next to it and closed the door behind him. He walked into the kitchen. Sirius was sitting at the table, a bottle of gin and two glasses in front of him.

“Hello,” Remus said. “I thought you wouldn’t be back until tomorrow.” A month ago he would have gone to Sirius and kissed him. No, he thought, a month ago Sirius would have been standing behind the door, would have jumped on him when he came in.

“Case finished early,” Sirius said. His voice sounded thick. “Where have you been?”

“I went out for drinks with some people from work,” Remus said evenly. He dropped his bag on the floor.

“Who?”

“Oh, you don’t know them. What have you been doing?” He hesitated, then sat at the table.

“Peter was here.” That explained the second glass. “He couldn’t stay long.” Sirius poured himself another drink.

“Oh?” Remus cast about for something to say. “I haven’t seen him in a while. How is he?”

“Fine. Busy.” There was a pause. Sirius was staring at the table. “Did you go out a lot while I was away?”

Remus suppressed a sigh. “Sirius, you were only gone for three days. And no. Tonight was the only time I went out.”

“Was it.” It came out as a statement, not a question.

His exasperation escaped. “Yes!” He took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down. They hadn’t even been talking for five minutes and they were already arguing. “Look. A couple of people from work invited me. You know I need to keep this job.” He’d lost two jobs already, and had gone without work for agonizingly long periods in between. “So I need to be friendly with them. Try to fit in.” He hated the way he sounded, justifying himself. Defending himself against an accusation that hadn’t been voiced.

“Yeah. Sure.” Sirius drained his glass and filled it again.

Remus cast about for a new topic of conversation. “So, um, how was your case?”

“Fine,” Sirius said tersely. “Why are you asking?”

“Just curious.” He picked up the extra glass on the table and turned it in his hands.

“Do you talk about my job with your friends at work?”

Remus blinked, disconcerted. “No, of course not.” Sirius had been given a medium-level security clearance the previous year; his work was confidential.

“Of course not,” Sirius repeated. “What about me?”

“What about you?” He stood up and carried the dirty glass to the sink.

“Do you talk about me? Do your friends know about me? Or is that another ‘of course not’?” Sirius sounded bitter.

“I don’t talk about you at work, no.” Remus turned on the water and rinsed out the glass.

“Do they even know I exist?”

He kept his back turned. “They know I have a flatmate.”

Behind him, Sirius laughed humorlessly. “So they think you’re footloose and fancy-free, is that it? Unencumbered?” Remus heard the clink as Sirius topped off his glass. “Single?”

He turned around. “I don’t know what they think, Sirius.”

“No? What about the person who asked you out tonight? What did he think?”

“It was a group of people, I already told you that. They were only being nice.” Remus heard himself justifying again, and winced.

“Nice. Right.” Sirius drank again. His face had got very red. “Do you like them?”

“They’re all right,” Remus said carefully. In fact they made him feel like a horrible snob, despite the fact that they never said anything outright to him about the fact that he’d gone to Hogwarts and they hadn’t. So he’d been pleasantly surprised when they invited him to the Leaky Cauldron. “Um... Do you think perhaps you should stop drinking now?” The instant he asked, he regretted it.

“Why?” Sirius knocked back his drink defiantly.

“Don’t you have to work tomorrow?” Remus set about making himself a sandwich he didn’t want to cover the fact that he hadn’t sat back down with Sirius.

“Maybe. So what?”

“So you’re going to have a hell of a hangover at this rate. We don’t have any more hangover relief potion.” Sirius had finished it the morning he left on his assignment.

“What? Why didn’t you get more?” Sirius glared at him.

“I’m not the one who drank it all. And I didn’t think you’d go on a bender the minute you came home!” Remus clamped his mouth shut; that burst of anger had surprised him.

“You know, I hate that superior attitude. Just because you’re some kind of freak who can’t get—” Sirius stopped abruptly, eyes wide. Remus realized that he’d dropped the knife he’d been holding. His hands were cold. Sirius opened and closed his mouth before saying sullenly, “Anyway, I wouldn’t have if you’d been here.”

Freak was still sounding in Remus’s head. He responded only to Sirius’s last comment. “I didn’t know you were going to come home early,” he said as evenly as possible. He couldn’t help adding, “You could have owled.”

“Not where I was. If you understood anything about it, you’d know that.”

Remus stiffened. “I didn’t know where you were, either.” And whose fault was that? He wanted to ask. He looked at his sandwich and felt ill.

Sirius mumbled, “Even if I’d owled, you wouldn’t have been here, would you? You’d have been off with those friends of yours.”

Remus saw that Sirius’s hands were shaking. He felt a momentary pang. “Siri—”

Sirius’s head jerked up. Remus realized that he couldn’t remember the last time he’d used the nickname. They stared at each other for a long moment.

“Don’t,” Sirius said.

“Don’t what?” Remus asked, sounding, he thought, like an idiot.

“Don’t—don’t try to distract me!” Sirius burst out. “I know what you’ve been doing behind my back!”

“You don’t know anything,” Remus said coldly. “Not one fucking thing.” He threw his uneaten sandwich into the bin. “This is a waste of time,” he muttered. “I’m going to bed.”

As he brushed by Sirius on his way to the bedroom, he caught an involuntary whiff of suspicion/anger/jealousy/fear. He’d never smelled fear on Sirius before. Freak, he thought painfully.

Remus closed the bedroom door behind him. He undressed and lay down, but couldn’t fall asleep. He stared at the silvery gauze bedcurtains. He’d picked them out for the light they cast on Sirius’s black hair and creamy skin.

He could hear Sirius moving around the kitchen. There was the sound of glass breaking, followed by a stream of curses and a couple of muffled thuds, before everything fell silent. Remus gazed at the silver canopy and listened to his own breathing, trying without success not to hear Sirius’s voice saying that word, over and over again.

Part III: September 12, 1995

Remus unlocked the front door and stumbled into the house. Sirius was standing there, waiting for him.

“I need a shower,” Remus said.

“That bad?”

“Worse.” He went upstairs, stripping his clothes off en route. He stayed in the shower until the water ran cold. When he got out, he saw that Sirius had put out fresh clothes for him, and there was a warming charm on his towel. A little of the tension he’d been carrying ever since he left the house ten days previously drained away. He dressed and went downstairs to the living room.

Sirius had been standing by the window, looking out. He turned when Remus came into the room. “I thought you might go to bed. Aren’t you tired?”

Remus sighed. “Yes, but I don’t think I can sleep.”

Sirius nodded. “I know that feeling. Um... do you want something to eat?”

His stomach clenched. “No.” He could still smell the decay, the sickening stench of corruption—“No,” he repeated.

“A drink, then?”

That sounded good. “Yes, definitely.”

Sirius handed him a glass of whisky, and watched thoughtfully as he drank it down. “Can I ask you a question?”

Remus poured himself another drink. “All right.”

“Have you ever been drunk? I mean,” he went on when Remus stared at him, “I think I—I remember that you couldn’t—that you hadn’t, before. So I was wondering if you’d found a way to get drunk. If you wanted to.”

“Ah.” Remus sat on the sofa. “Yes, actually.”

“Oh?” Sirius sat next to him. “Which? Wanted to or did?”

“Both.”

“Hm.” Sirius sounded intrigued. “Well, then. I have an idea.”

Remus paused. That could be good or bad. “Do I want to hear it? Never mind. I’m going to hear it anyway, aren’t I?”

A grin flashed across Sirius’s face. “You know me so well. Yes. I think you should get drunk now.”

“What?”

“You should get drunk. Smashed. Pissed. Intoxi—”

“Sirius!” Remus said firmly. “I get the idea. Why on earth do you think I should do that?”

Sirius ran his fingers through his hair. “Oh, well. It would give us something to do.”

“I hadn’t realized we were that hard up for entertainment.” But he refilled his glass.

Sirius rolled his eyes. “You know that’s not what I meant. It’s just—I was just thinking that it would be good to have a distraction. Something to do instead of sitting here and brooding about the mission.”

Every time he closed his eyes he saw the bodies again, twisted and mangled until they were almost unrecognizable as human. Almost, but not quite. “Hm.”

Sirius clearly sensed that he was wavering. “That’s why most people get drunk, after all. To forget their troubles.”

It had never worked that well for Remus. He looked away.

“Or for fun,” Sirius added. He touched Remus’s shoulder. “Or to relax.” He squeezed gently. “You could do with some relaxation.”

“Well...” What else was he going to do, after all? “All right.”

Sirius let out a little breath. “Okay. Good.” He picked up the whisky again. “Do you want to keep on with this?”

He shook his head. “No, it’ll be wasted on me. Do we have anything cheap? Or anything we wouldn’t normally drink? It doesn’t really matter what.”

Sirius got up and went over to the drinks cabinet, peering inside. “There’s the homemade elderflower liqueur Arabella sent you last Christmas.”

“I changed my mind,” Remus said hastily. “It does matter. How about vodka?”

“Yes, here’s a bottle of Stoli. What do you want with it?” Sirius pulled out the bottle and a clean glass and came back to the sofa.

Remus waved the glass away. “This won’t be pretty,” he warned Sirius. He opened the bottle, took a breath, and started drinking. He got a quarter of the bottle down before he had to pause.

Sirius was staring at him in amazement. “Moony, that’s incredible. Do you know how much money you could make in bars with that trick?”

“Actually, I do. It’s bought me dinner more than once.” He lifted the bottle to his mouth again and drank steadily. This time, when he lowered the bottle, it was only a third full. He coughed. “Oh, sorry. Did you want some of this?”

“No, that’s—you just carry on,” Sirius said, still agape. “I’ll have a whisky.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.” Sirius poured himself a drink and sipped it.

“All right, then.” Remus finished the bottle. His head was starting to spin.

“How long—um, when will you—” Sirius gestured with his glass.

“I’ll be drunk in about three minutes,” Remus said. “It should last a couple of hours.”

“Will you be hungover?” Sirius sat next to him.

“Now he asks,” Remus muttered. “Probably not. I’ve only been hungover a couple of times.”

“Really? When?”

His tongue felt heavy in his mouth. “I drank a bottle of tequila once before I transformed. Not a good idea. And I was hungover the last time I got drunk.”

“When was that?” Sirius was starting to smile. Remus replayed his last words and realized that he’d been slurring.

Remus rubbed his hand over his face; it felt hot. “Um... 1989. No, 1990. I was in Peru.”

“Peru? What were you doing there?”

He closed his eyes and let his head fall back against the sofa. “Mummies. They called me in to deal with some cursed mummies that were causing problems.”

“They brought you all the way to South America for that?” Sirius added quickly, “Not that I doubt you were the best wizard for the job, just—”

Remus opened his eyes. The room was beginning to look a little fuzzy. “I was already there, traveling around. I think I’d been in Brazil when I got the message. Maybe it was Uruguay. No, Brazil.”

“So? What happened?”

“I removed the curse from the mummies and we put them back in their crypts.” He felt compelled to explain, “Mummies are very important in the Andes, you know. The ancient Incas believed—”

“Yes, yes,” said Sirius. “Save the lecture. I meant, how’d the bit where you got drunk happen?”

“Oh.” The memory made him grimace. “Peruvians drink something called pisco. It’s like brandy, except worse. Stronger. Foul-tasting stuff.”

“And why’d you get drunk in the first place?”

“Questions, questions,” mumbled Remus.

“Sorry,” Sirius said, but he didn’t look sorry. “It’s just—I mean, I’d like to know. But you don’t have to tell me.”

Remus forced a smile. “Yes, I do, or you’ll be at me all night.”

“Well, yes,” Sirius admitted. “So what happened? You took care of the mummy problem and the whole village decided to celebrate?”

“Not exactly.” He swallowed dryly. “I took care of the mummy problem, but it didn’t really matter. Two days later soldiers came to the village and killed everyone.”

“What? Why? Because they were wizards?”

“No. The soldiers didn’t know about that. No, it was something to do with a terrorist group there. Apparently someone in the village had helped the terrorists, or perhaps the soldiers just thought they had.” He took Sirius’s glass out of his hand and emptied it. “I’d been in a cave higher up the mountain for the full moon. I came down just in time to see the end of the massacre.” And he’d concealed himself quickly. “When the soldiers were gone, I went into one of the houses and found a couple of bottles of pisco and drank them.” He’d sat on the floor next to the body of the witch who had been his primary contact, arranging her shawl to cover the bullet wounds in her torso. “If I hadn’t been—if I’d been there, I could have tried to stop them. But I never even had the chance.”

Sirius touched his shoulder. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“I know, but—”

“Moony. You couldn’t have done anything.” Sirius squeezed his shoulder. “If an entire village couldn’t save itself, you wouldn’t have made a difference.”

He swallowed. “But I—Sirius, I never got to try. At least I could have tried.”

They were silent for a minute.

“So,” Sirius said. “I see you’re not a happy drunk.”

Remus shrugged. “Were you expecting singing and dancing, perhaps? A lampshade on my head?”

Sirius put his arm around Remus’s shoulders. “Oh, maybe just a witty anecdote or two.”

“No, sorry. I seem to be out of those.” He leaned forward and picked the bottle of whisky up off the coffee table, then refilled Sirius’s glass and handed it back to him. He let his head fall onto Sirius’s shoulder; it seemed to help with the spinning.

Sirius kissed the top of his head. They were quiet for a few minutes. Then Sirius said, “Did you bring anything back with you?”

“What?” Remus was confused. Sirius had seen him enter the house empty-handed just over an hour previously. “From the mission?”

“No, from South America. You know, like a souvenir.” Sirius’s breath was warm against his cheek.

“Oh.” He thought for a second. “I didn’t bring anything back, but a couple of people sent me things when I came back to England.”

“Really?” Sirius sounded interested. “What did they send?”

“Um... Don’t remember, really.” His vision was blurry.

“Didn’t you keep the stuff?” Sirius drank some more of his whisky.

“Oh, yes. There’s a box in the attic.”

Sirius snorted. “Of course there is.”

After a second Sirius’s tone registered with Remus. He lifted his head. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Well, that’s what you do, isn’t it? Put everything away and forget about it.” Sirius picked up his glass with an unsteady hand. “Do you have a box for me?”

“What?”

“Do. You. Have. A box. For me?” Sirius repeated. “You know. To go along with all the other boxes. What did you do when—what did you do with all my things?”

Sirius had never asked that before. Remus was silent.

“You put them in a box and forgot about them, didn’t you? Forgot about me.”

“No,” Remus said painfully. “You know I didn’t forget you.”

“But you wanted to.” Sirius drained his glass and refilled it. “And there’s a box.”

Abruptly Remus was furious. He pulled away from Sirius. “Why do you keep harping on about the bloody box?”

“Because I want to know! Come on, Remus. Why won’t you tell me?”

Remus was seized by a perverse impulse. “You want to know. Fine. Let’s go to the attic.” He got to his feet; the room tilted around him. He staggered to the door.

Sirius jumped up and followed him, grabbing his arm. “Steady, steady. Damn, you’re drunk.”

“S’what you wanted, isn’t it? Get me drunk,” he mumbled, struggling up the stairs. “Pry all my secrets out of me. Spill my werewolf guts...”

Sirius guided him across the landing and up the narrow staircase to the attic. “What was that? I can’t hear you.”

“Nothing!” he said loudly. A cloud of dust made him cough. He hadn’t been to the attic in almost a year. “Lumos.” The light revealed a few stacks of boxes and some old furniture covered in dust sheets.

Sirius looked around. “Some of these boxes aren’t labeled.”

“Of course not.” Remus leaned on a rickety chest of drawers. “How do you label your failures?”

Sirius winced. There was an uncomfortable pause. Finally Remus pushed himself upright again and went to one of the stacks of boxes. He started pulling the stack apart. “It’s on the bottom,” he said, sneezing as more dust flew up. At last he unearthed the box. He and Sirius looked at it for a moment before Sirius knelt next to him and opened it.

“Oh,” Sirius said. “Oh, Moony.”

Remus looked into the box for the first time in almost fourteen years. On top of a jumbled mass of items was Sirius’s old Quidditch gear. Sirius lifted out the pads and held one to his face, inhaling. “God, it still smells like that oil I used to use on it.” His long fingers stroked the leather. He set it aside almost reverently and reached into the box again. “Oh, I remember this!” He sounded delighted.

Remus glanced over; Sirius was holding a framed picture. It was of the two of them, wearing formal robes. James and Lily’s wedding.

Sirius dug into the box again. “This is—I think it’s good we’re doing this, Moony.”

“Do you?” His voice sounded strange.

Sirius must have noticed too, because he looked up from the box. His smile faded. “What’s wrong?”

Nothing, he started to say, but that wasn’t fair to Sirius. “It’s—I was thinking of the day I packed that box.”

Sirius paused, then said hesitantly, “Can you tell me about it?”

He looked away, remembering. “Some Aurors came to the flat. They told me what had happened. They wanted to take me to the Ministry, but I—I wouldn’t go.” He couldn’t, wouldn’t, believe what they were telling him. He’d stared at them, unresponsive, until one tried to take hold of his arm. “I went to Godric’s Hollow to see for myself. They hadn’t taken—the house was—the bodies were still there.” James’s blue eyes, open and empty behind his smashed spectacles. “The Aurors caught up with me and took me back to the flat. They told me I could stay there or at my mother’s.” You’re not under arrest, Mr Lupin. But we are authorized to take certain precautionary measures. “I couldn’t stay at the flat. But I couldn’t just leave everything. I couldn’t—couldn’t stand the thought of someone else going through our things.”

“So you packed,” Sirius said quietly.

He’d gone through the flat picking up everything of Sirius’s he could find—everything that the Aurors hadn’t already confiscated—and throwing it into the box. “Yes.”

It was Sirius’s turn to look away. “That day.” He was silent for a long time. Remus, watching him, thought perhaps he had got lost in his memories again, until he spoke in that cracked, hoarse voice. “That day. I laughed.” Another long pause. “Peter—he was so different. But he was the same. I couldn’t—I saw his face and I still couldn’t believe what he was doing. What he’d done. But all the pieces fitted together finally. And it was so... ” He took a deep breath. “So I laughed.”

Remus’s throat hurt. “Sirius...” He stretched out his hand. Sirius took it and held on tightly.

Eventually Sirius lifted his bowed head. “I think I’ve had enough of the attic.”

Remus got to his feet. “All right.” He hesitated, then picked up the box. In response to Sirius’s inquiring look, he said, “Maybe we can look through the rest of it tomorrow.”

Sirius nodded and followed him down the stairs.

Remus went into the study and set the box down. He turned and looked at Sirius, who had stayed in the doorway. “I think I can sleep now.”

“Good,” Sirius said. He stretched out his hand. Remus went to him and took it, and let himself be drawn across the landing to their bedroom.

Remus sat on the edge of the bed. Getting his clothes off suddenly seemed to be an impossible task. He yawned as he tried to make his fingers work on the buttons of his shirt. Then Sirius was there, gently undressing him. His warm hands pushed Remus down and drew the covers over him. “Thank you,” he mumbled into the pillow.

A kiss fell on his cheek. “You’re welcome.”

With Sirius’s strong arm wrapped around him, he slept at last.

Remus woke up in the morning with the sensation that someone was trying to drill their way out of his skull by way of his temples. His tongue was stickily dry. He sat up and set his feet on the floor, and then saw that there was a glass of water on the bedside cabinet with a packet propped up against it. Potentus Powdered Hangover Remedy. He ripped open the packet and poured the contents into the glass of water, which fizzed all too cheerily before becoming soothingly blue. He drank the concoction and sighed in instant relief.

He got up, pulled on his dressing gown, and stumbled to the bathroom to brush his teeth. When he came out onto the landing, a small sound from the study caught his attention. He looked in.

Sirius was sitting cross-legged on the floor with his back to the door, looking through the box. He was shirtless and barefoot, wearing only a pair of faded jeans. By his side was a stack of items. Remus could see a paperweight they’d brought back from a weekend at Brighton, a T-shirt with the Guinness logo on it, and a copy of How I Played the Game: Chaser Volatus Vickers Tells All, along with a few smaller things he couldn’t identify from where he was standing. As he watched, Sirius drew out something from the box. He heard Sirius’s breath catch and saw his arm move, as if he were putting his hand over his face.

Remus took a step forward. Sirius heard him and turned around. “Still alive, I see,” he said casually.

“Just barely. Thanks for the hangover powder.” He took another step into the room. “Are you—have you been in here long?”

“I don’t know,” Sirius said. He was holding a piece of paper. Remus recognized his own handwriting. “Want some tea?” He gestured to the pot resting on the desk, still steaming gently. There was an extra cup beside it.

“Thanks.” Remus poured himself a cup. “What’s that?” He pointed at the paper Sirius was still holding.

“Oh, it’s just—” Sirius’s voice caught. “It’s just a note you must have left me.” He cleared his throat. “It was in a book. I suppose I’d been using it as a bookmark.”

Remus sat down next to Sirius and glanced at the piece of paper. ‘Went out for food,’ he read. ‘Yes, I’m bringing some back for you. Welcome back, by the way. I missed you. R.’

There was a brief silence. Remus drank some tea. “I did miss you,” he said. “When you went away.”

“Did you? Really?” Sirius was gazing at him intently.

“Yes,” he whispered. “Every time.”

Sirius folded the note and tucked it inside How I Played the Game. “And I missed you,” he said quietly.

Remus lifted his hand and touched Sirius’s cheek. Sirius turned his face and kissed Remus’s fingers. They looked at each other for a long moment.

Remus dropped his hand to Sirius’s shoulder. “What else is in there?”

“Oh—” Sirius delved into the box. “Some photos.” He flipped through them. The four of them, some time during their seventh year. James and Sirius at a pub. Sirius holding a sleeping Harry. Remus lying on the ground, having been knocked over by Padfoot, who had planted his front feet on Remus’s chest and was panting happily at the camera.

Remus smiled at that one. “I never could take Padfoot anywhere.”

“Bad dog,” Sirius said suddenly. “You used to call me—Padfoot—that.”

Remus chuckled. “Yes, I did.”

Sirius didn’t say anything, but he put the photo inside the book as well. He glanced at Remus. “Thank you. For this. I know it’s—it’s not easy.”

“It’s getting easier,” he said. He squeezed Sirius’s shoulder. “What about you?”

Sirius was looking at the picture of the four of them again. “What do you mean?”

“What’s it—How is it for you?” They hardly ever talked about Sirius’s memories, or his loss of them. “What’s it like to—to see these things?”

“Oh.” Sirius’s head dropped a little. “It’s—it’s like trying to put together a puzzle without enough pieces.” He swallowed. “They—in prison, they ... worked on the bad memories. And those kind of ... took over. So when I find a good memory—” He touched the photo of himself with Harry. “I can’t always work out how to make it fit in.”

“Yes,” Remus whispered.

Their eyes met again. “Yes. You know about that, don’t you?”

He picked up the photo of James and Sirius. “A little.” James raised his glass and grinned out of the picture at him. “I think I—I think I should have gone to the attic earlier.”

“Oh, Moony.” Sirius reached out and touched his hair, letting it slide over his fingers. Remus leaned into the caress. “I’m just grateful you didn’t throw it all away.”

“I couldn’t have done that.” He pulled Sirius closer and kissed him. “Never.”

Sirius returned the kiss. “Good.”

Sirius’s lips were warm and soft against his, and he was still running his hand through Remus’s hair. Remus deepened the kiss and felt Sirius press against him. He wanted even more of that closeness, more of Sirius. “Mm. Come back to bed with me?”

“Oh, yes.” Sirius stood up and pulled Remus to his feet, then wrapped his arms around him and kissed him again. When the kiss ended Remus started pulling him out of the study. Sirius chuckled. “A little eager, are we?”

Remus stopped. “Is that a problem?” he asked innocently. “Because we could do something else. I could rake some leaves up for Padfoot to jump in.”

Sirius pretended to ponder this option. “Leaves? Really?”

Remus pushed him into the bedroom. “Maybe later. If you’re good.” He shed his dressing gown and lay down on the bed. “Now come here.”

Sirius laughed again. “I hear and obey.” He pulled off his jeans and lay down next to Remus.

Remus pulled him into his arms and kissed his lips, his cheek, his ear, his throat. Sirius tilted his head back, sighing with pleasure, as Remus worked his way down. The familiar scent of love/desire rose up from Sirius’s warm skin; Remus bit down on Sirius’s collarbone, and felt Sirius shiver underneath him. Sirius pulled him close, running his hands down Remus’s back.

Desire so strong it was need flared in Remus. He bit harder.

“Yes,” Sirius whispered and pressed even closer, rubbing his erection against Remus’s thigh.

Sirius’s eager response, as always, aroused and amazed him. He worked his hand between their bodies and took hold of Sirius’s cock, caressing him. Sirius licked his neck and bit his earlobe as he pushed into Remus’s hand. Remus buried his face in Sirius’s neck, tasting the warm soft skin, a little salty with sweat. “Sirius,” he said, voice muffled. “Siri...”

“Yes,” Sirius said again. He gave Remus’s arse a squeeze before pulling away and turning over to lie on his front. He looked over his shoulder. “Like this?”

The sight of Sirius, waiting for him, was irresistible. He growled. Sirius’s eyes darkened in arousal.

Remus knelt at Sirius’s side and ran his hand down from Sirius’s muscular shoulder, along his broad back, over his firm arse, down his thigh. He paused at the back of Sirius’s knee, exploring the soft skin there, and continued on down Sirius’s calf. He wanted to touch every part of Sirius, to hold him and possess him entirely. He ran his hand back up the long leg and fondled Sirius’s arse again.

“Moony...” Sirius was starting to thrust against the bedclothes.

Remus yanked open the drawer of the bedside cabinet hastily and pulled out the lubricant. He stroked it over himself, whining a little as he touched himself, and drew his fingers down Sirius’s cleft. He growled again as he slid one finger inside.

Sirius had shut his eyes; his face was flushed and his hair was spread over the pillow in a dark mass. His mouth was open a little and he was panting. Remus thought he could watch Sirius, lost in sensation like that, forever. He leaned down and kissed Sirius’s hot cheek; Sirius turned his head so their lips met. Remus kissed him deeply, savoring the taste of his lover’s mouth. He drew his finger out and then moved it back in, watching Sirius’s fingers clench and relax on the sheet.

“Moony,” Sirius said again, more insistently. He shifted again on the bed. “Now.”

Remus felt heat flash through his body. He pulled his finger out and knelt between Sirius’s spread legs. With his hands on Sirius’s hips, he urged him up to his hands and knees before pressing his cock against the waiting opening. He pushed forward carefully; Sirius was tight and hot around him. Everywhere that he and Sirius were touching—his hands on Sirius’s arse; his legs pressed against Sirius’s thighs; his cock just barely inside Sirius—sent prickles of sensation racing through him.

Sirius’s head was hanging down, his spine a taut line. Remus ran a hand up to Sirius’s shoulder and leaned forward, thrusting in a little further as he did so. Sirius was trembling underneath him, breath coming in harsh pants. “More,” Sirius said between clenched teeth.

“Siri, I’ll hurt—”

“More,” he repeated, pushing back.

Remus couldn’t resist. He embedded himself in one stroke, groaning as he was enveloped, surrounded. He rested his cheek on Sirius’s shaking, tense back and tried to get his breathing under control. His heart was thundering. He loosened his grip on Sirius’s shoulder and moved his hand to Sirius’s cock, caressing him back to full hardness. After a few moments Sirius shifted underneath him. “Go,” he said.

Remus pulled back and slid back in again. Sirius still felt impossibly tight. But he was making the little noises that meant he was aroused and wanted more, so Remus kept going, thrusting in and out faster and faster. Sirius rocked back to meet him with every stroke, then pushed forward into his hand.

Remus stopped. Ignoring Sirius’s incoherent moan of protest, he wrapped his arm around Sirius’s waist and eased back until he was sitting on his heels with Sirius sitting on him, back to chest, still impaled on his cock.

“Oh God,” Sirius said. He adjusted his position a fraction so that his thighs were outside Remus’s. “God,” he said again.

“All right?” His hand was still on Sirius’s prick, fisting it slowly.

“Mm,” Sirius said. “You’re so deep. It’s so ...”

Apprehensive, Remus waited for him to finish the sentence. Instead Sirius moved, pulling himself off Remus’s cock. Then, unexpectedly, he shoved himself back down, forcing Remus even deeper inside.

Remus groaned in surprise and pleasure and bit at Sirius’s shoulder. Sirius was moving up and down steadily now; Remus could only push up a fraction. He could smell the warm clean scent of Sirius’s hair, his sweat, his arousal, and put his tongue out to lick it all off Sirius’s skin. Goosebumps stood up on Sirius’s shoulder where Remus was licking him, and his cock got even harder in Remus’s hand. Remus pumped him faster. Abruptly Sirius moaned and let his head fall back on Remus’s shoulder, and came with a convulsive shudder.

Remus brought his fingers to his mouth and licked them clean while Sirius’s breathing slowed. Then Sirius started to move again. It only took a few strokes before Remus felt intense pleasure spiking though him; he clutched Sirius even closer to him and bit the nape of his neck as his orgasm overtook him and he shook with sensation.

Eventually he realized that his foot was cramping, and that he was still holding Sirius tightly. Reluctantly he loosened his grip. With a sigh Sirius slid off him and lay down; Remus collapsed beside him, resting his head on Sirius’s chest. Sirius put his arm around him and stroked his hair.

“So. How’s the hangover, then?”

Remus snorted. “Gone. I think we may have found the perfect cure.”

“Too bad we can’t mass produce it.” Sirius started massaging the back of his neck.

“We could have fun trying.” He wriggled against Sirius meaningfully.

“God, Remus. Are you trying to kill me?” Sirius kissed him. “Not that that would be a bad way to go. But imagine the headlines. ‘Escaped Convict Buggered to Death.’ How humiliating.”

Remus laughed. “Or ‘Sirius Black Too Sexy for Own Good.’” He returned Sirius’s kiss.

“Oh yeah, that’d be better. And it’s accurate, too.” There was a pause. “So, are you all right about last night?”

“Getting drunk?” He put his head back on Sirius’s chest.

“And the attic. All that.”

He considered this. “Yes.”

“Really?” Sirius sounded pleased.

“Yes,” Remus repeated. “Like I said, I think I should have gone up there earlier. And I—there are things I shouldn’t have left up there for so long.”

“Mm.” Sirius trailed his fingers up and down Remus’s back. “Thank you. It was—I needed to see those things.”

“So did I.” He just hadn’t realized it until the night before, or hadn’t let himself realize it. He took a deep breath. “Maybe later today we could go back up there. I have some—some things I should go through. If you don’t mind.” He lifted his head and looked Sirius in the eye.

Sirius tightened his embrace. “Not at all.”

“Good.” He relaxed once more in Sirius’s arms.

“And maybe,” Sirius said hesitantly, “we could do that thing with the leaves some time.”

It took Remus a moment to realize what Sirius was talking about. “Oh yes?” He tried to hide his surprise. Sirius hardly ever transformed into Padfoot just for fun these days.

“Yes,” Sirius said. “I remembered how much I used to like that.”

“Okay.” He smiled. “Good. We’ll do that. But you have to help me rake them back up again.”

“A small price to pay.” Sirius kissed the top of his head.

Remus closed his eyes, but something intruded upon his consciousness. “What’s that smell?”

“What smell?”

“I think something’s burning.”

“Burning,” Sirius repeated. “Oh shit!” He shoved Remus off him and sprang out of bed. He grabbed Remus’s dressing gown as he ran out of the room.

A little more slowly, Remus rolled out of bed and pulled on a pair of boxers, then followed Sirius down to the source of the burning smell. As he’d feared, it was coming from the kitchen. Sirius was running water into a smoking pot.

“Do I want to know?” Remus asked.

Sirius mumbled a cleaning charm. It made little headway on the scorched mass that filled the pot. “I was making porridge,” he explained. “Good hangover food. Nice and solid.”

Remus made a face. “It doesn’t smell very appetizing now.”

Sirius was indignant. “This one is not my fault. It’s not!” he insisted as Remus looked at him doubtfully. “You distracted me.” He tried scraping at the burnt mess with a spoon.

Remus laughed. “It’s just a pot, Sirius. Throw it away.”

“Well...” He gave the ruined porridge another poke.

“Throw it away and come and take a shower with me,” Remus suggested. He held out his hand.

“You are going to kill me, aren’t you?” But Sirius abandoned the pot and took Remus’s hand.

“You have a dirty mind,” Remus said as they made their way out of the kitchen. “It was going to be an innocent shower. But now that you’ve given me the idea...” He let the sentence trail off.

“Oh no,” Sirius said in mock horror. “What have I done?”

“Stop protesting and get moving.” He pushed Sirius up the stairs. “We have a busy day ahead of us. Leaf piles, attics—” He stopped on the landing and pulled Sirius to him. “Sex.” He kissed him. “Love.”

“Oh yes.” Sirius kissed him back.

Around Sirius Remus could see into the study. Could see the opened box, contents spread over the floor. For the first time in over thirteen years it made him happy.

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