A/N: This chapter's been a long time coming, I know. I swear I haven't forgotten it. It's mostly because I kept trying to make it into more than what it is, which is basically a transition chapter made up of several different small-ish moments that I feel are important but in no way deserve their own chapter. So they're all jumbled together here. It'll get super angsty and good next chapter, I promise!

5.

Sirius was on the floor, out of breath, bleeding, and wondering how the hell he'd gotten himself into this situation. There was a boy on the bed with a broken leg, clutching that rat bastard Peter Pettigrew, and a girl with bushy hair, her trembling hand training a wand on him. Harry was standing over him, also out of breath; with a look of such hatred on his face Sirius was having trouble believing he was James' son. To make the situation even more absurd, his cat companion had leapt onto his chest in what Sirius assumed was a touching but misguided attempt to protect him.

Sirius and Harry stared at each other for a long moment, and the resounding silence wasn't broken until the sounds of someone moving around downstairs reached their ears.

"WE'RE UP HERE!" the girl screamed suddenly. "WE'RE UP HERE—SIRIUS BLACK—QUICK!"

Sirius jumped, making Crookshanks dig his claws into his chest. He quickly debated whether or not he should make a run for it, but the sound of footsteps hurrying up the stairs and the way Harry gripped his wand tighter stopped him.

The door burst open; a shower of red sparks raining down. Harry whirled around and Sirius's heart leapt into his throat as Remus ran into the room. He quickly took in the situation and then, in a move that baffled all of them, shouted, "Expelliarmus!" He caught all three of the children's wands and then stepped closer to Sirius, keeping his wand trained on him and staring at him very hard.

Sirius was reminded of the last time he and Remus had been face to face, and if the angry, broken look in Remus' eyes were anything to go by Remus was remembering it as well. But Remus pushed that down, like Sirius had seen him push so many other emotions down in the past, and finally he asked, his voice shaking, "Where is he, Sirius?"

Sirius had imagined this reunion for so long and in so many different ways. Most of the scenarios consisted of Remus yelling at him, hitting him, maybe even hurting him like he'd hurt Remus that night, and God, he'd deserve that and more. But every once in a while he allowed himself to hope—sometimes he imagined Remus being angry at first, but then, thinking that they'd both already suffered enough, breaking down and embracing him… But those daydreams had never lasted long. The Dementors had sucked those away, leaving him with nothing but the memory of Remus beneath him, face down on the bed and struggling weakly as Sirius made the greatest mistake of his miserable life.

He'd imagined this hundreds of times. Of all the things Sirius had expected Remus to say to him… "You betrayed me, you son of a bitch" … "How could you have done that to James?" … "I never want to see you again" … "The Dementors are coming"… He hadn't thought Peter would have a damn thing to do with it. But that was undoubtedly who Remus was talking about. Very slowly, he raised his hand and pointed at Peter, who was still squeaking and struggling to escape the grasp of Harry's redheaded friend.

Remus scowled with recognition when he saw Peter. He looked back at Sirius and muttered, "But then... Why hasn't he shown himself before now? Unless"—Remus' eyes suddenly widened, and Sirius knew he'd put it together. He'd remembered the fight they'd had that night.

"…you thought I was a Death Eater."

"I don't think, Lupin, I know,"

"—Unless he was the one... Unless you switched... Without telling me?"

Sirius nodded.

"Professor, " Harry interrupted loudly, "what's going on -?"

But the question died in the boy's throat and Sirius' heart skipped a beat as Remus lowered his wand. Remus then walked to Sirius' side, seized his hand, pulled him to his feet so that Crookshanks fell to the floor, and pulled him into a tight hug. Sirius was so surprised that he didn't even have time to hug him back before the girl started shouting again.

"I DON'T BELIEVE IT!" she screamed.

Remus let go of him immediately and Sirius wanted nothing more than to pull him back again, but he had absolutely no right to do that. Remus had his hands full trying to calm the kids down, and Sirius turned his attention back to Peter once again.

He didn't know if he could fix things with Remus or not, but it could wait. Peter, on the other hand, deserved to die. And Sirius was going to make sure it happened.

Hours later, after he and Remus had convinced the children of his innocence, after he had watched as every bone in Remus's body shattered and reformed during the transformation, while he was being surrounded by Dementors intent on sucking out his soul, Sirius realized that he probably deserved it.

Dementors didn't seem to affect him as much as they did other wizards in Azkaban—mainly because he had the thought that he was innocent to keep him going—but they still made him feel as though he was drowning in frigid water. They still made him weak and shaky, they still made the dread and horror and hopelessness of Azkaban well up inside him in an almost unbearable wave. And, if there were enough of them, they still made him relive some of the worst moments of his life.

In Azkaban, these moments had often been varied. The day he'd run away from home, the night Lucius Malfoy and Snape had found him and Remus in their apartment, and the night Lily and James died had always been popular. Tonight for some reason, perhaps because he had seen him, spoken to him for the first time in years, everything was about Remus.

Dumbledore is sitting in front of him, is fingers steepled under his chin, wearing the world-weary expression of a man who is used to giving bad news. He says softly, "I received a message late last night- or early this morning, whichever way you wish to think about it. To my surprise it was from Voldemort himself. The message stated that he had captured Remus, but had no intention of killing him."

"But... why?" Sirius stutters. He is so consumed with panic and guilt and fear that the words barely make it out. "Why would Voldemort want him alive?"

"The message stated, and I quote, 'For entertainment purposes.'"

Then it changes to:

Remus is standing in front of him and asks, in the most pathetic, miserable voice Sirius has ever heard, "Why?"

"Why?" Sirius repeats. Distantly, he's shocked to hear the anger and hate in his voice. "Because when I started going out with you it was under the impression that werewolves were good fucks. Now I can't even get that. If you won't put out, what use are you?"

Sirius can practically hear Remus's heart breaking, and his heart breaks too. "Sirius, if... if you want we can. I... I mean... I'll try, I just... I'm-"

"Scared? I don't want to hear it, Remus. You've been nothing but scared for months now. Why don't you show some goddamn backbone?"

"Sirius, please-"

"It's too late, Remus. Don't beg. It just makes you look even more pathetic."

And then:

Lucius Malfoy is staring down at him, an altogether terrifying glint in his eyes, rubbing his thumb over Sirius's lips. "Black looks feisty," he says. "Maybe I should wait to do him until we get home. But don't worry. I won't leave you out." He runs a hand through Sirius's hair. "You can watch while Severus and I fuck your boyfriend here."

And finally:

"Sirius, wait-" Remus says, desperately trying to pull his arm out of Sirius' grip. Sirius hits him again Sirius's fist connects with Remus's jaw and his legs gave out.

"What?" Sirius asks, dragging him up off the floor. "What's wrong? You put out for Lucius, for Fenrir, for every other fucking Death Eater. You're they're whore, aren't you? That's what Lucius said. So why won't you put out for me?"

The realization occurred that he deserved this. Everyone he had betrayed everyone he had ever cared about, sometimes knowingly, sometimes not. That was just what he did, he supposed. He let down the people he cared about and he had done it so thoroughly that he'd be lucky to receive the Kiss. It would save him from trying to fix things…

And suddenly he was inside. The edges of his body were cold. He couldn't feel his fingers or toes, and when he tried to wiggle them to try and get the feeling back he found he was incredibly weak. It was a moment before he remembered that he was lucky to be feeling anything. He was lucky to still have his soul.

Somewhere a door creaked open and Sirius sat up quickly, the motion hindered not only by his weakness, but by the heavy manacles on his wrists, securing him to the floor. He looked up in time to see Dumbledore close the door behind him.

"Hello, Sirius."

"Dumbledore, where… where am I?"

"In Professor Flitwick's office," Dumbledore said, taking a seat on a creaky old desk chair. "We are awaiting the arrival of the Minister, and of the Dementors, so that the Kiss may be performed."

Sirius swallowed nervously, wondering if it was worth the effort to try and convince Dumbledore of his innocence. Before he could find the words, Dumbledore continued.

"However, I am curious about a great many things, Sirius," he said. "You have not been acting like an innocent man, but it appears that you have had ample opportunity to kill Harry Potter in recent months. The boy is still alive, so you're either incapable or unwilling. Which is it?"

"Unwilling," Sirius finally croaked out.

"Why?" Dumbledore asked sharply.

So Sirius told him the story, the same story Remus had told Harry and his friends an hour or so before. When he was done speaking, Dumbledore continued to stare at him, seemingly unimpressed. Sirius swallowed nervously, his mouth suddenly dry. If Dumbledore didn't believe him, it wouldn't be long before…

"You have to believe me, sir. James was my best friend, practically my brother. I wouldn't have ever knowingly betrayed him. And Remus… you know what they did to him. I would die before I let anyone hurt him like that."

"I seem to recall that you did 'hurt him like that'," Dumbledore said lightly. "The night the Potters were murdered, as a matter of fact."

Sirius gaped for a moment, absurdly angry that Remus had shared that information. But then he remembered that he had no right to be angry when it came to Remus and focused instead on Dumbledore. Whatever he said, it had to be the truth. Dumbledore would see straight through anything else. "I've made mistakes," Sirius finally managed to say. "Becoming a Death Eater wasn't one of them."

"If I were to ask Lupin about the story you've just told me, what do you think he would say?" Dumbledore asked.

Sirius thought that was not only an odd question, but also a useless one. What was the point in asking Sirius what he thought Remus's opinion was? If he didn't believe him, if he truly wanted to ask Remus what his version of events was to verify what Sirius had said, nothing Sirius could say now could have any effect.

But, because it was Dumbledore and because Sirius knew the answer, he said, "He'd say I was awful. He'd say that I hurt him and betrayed him and all sorts of other horrible things, I imagine, and I'd deserve it." He paused and glanced at Dumbledore's face. It was blank, unreadable. "But he'd also say that I'm not a Death Eater, that I didn't betray my best friend and his family, and that I've never killed anyone, let alone thirteen people with a single curse."

With a slow, contemplative nod, Dumbledore rose and went to the door.

"Wait, do you believe me?" Sirius asked, hating the desperate tone of his voice. "Where are you going?"

"I am going to clean up this mess the best I can, Sirius. If all goes according to plan, I expect I'll see you again someday." Dumbledore flicked his wand and the heavy manacle around his wrist disappeared. A second later he was gone, the door closing with a soft snick behind him.

Sirius watched him go, not allowing himself to hope Dumbledore could fix anything. He'd need a miracle to get out of this particular predicament.

A few minutes later, the miracle appeared in the form of Harry Potter and his bushy-haired friend on the back of a hippogriff.

June, 1994-

Remus saw the soggy envelope left in front of his door, and his heart started to pound. He stared at it for several moments, not entirely sure how he should react, before picking it up, and letting himself into his apartment. He tossed the letter onto the table and proceeded to ignore it for the next hour and a half. He made himself supper, (fried eggs and toast, because he'd always loved eating breakfast for supper), took a shower, and straightened up his seedy-looking little apartment.

Why hadn't he torn open that letter the first instant he'd seen it, soggy, and written on in Sirius' handwriting? Well, a very large part of him had wanted too. That same part was dying to know where Sirius was, how he was doing, what he thought about... well, everything really, how he felt about everything. But there was another part of Remus that told him, before he found out what Sirius thought and felt, he should probably figure about what he thought and felt first.

He didn't know.

It was something he'd put off thinking about since that night in June when he'd burst into the Shrieking Shack to see Sirius—pale, filthy, hurt—lying on the dust covered floor. He'd hugged him then. He didn't know why.

There were so many pieces to the whole situation and each had to be thought about, decided upon... he didn't know where to start.

Start with the letter, he told himself. So he sat down at the table and reached for the letter. It was still damp. The owl that had delivered it must have encountered some pretty heavy rain. His heart was pounding again. It was ridiculous, really, the amount of havoc the sight of Sirius' handwriting could wreak on him.

With a self-depreciating snort, he ripped open the envelope, pulled out the letter, and started reading.

Moony,

I wanted to let you know that I'm successfully out of the country and heading south—(I can't tell you where, on the chance that this letter may be intercepted).

Here, several of the lines had been crossed out. Whatever Sirius had been trying to say, he must have thought better of it in the end. Remus squinted at the parchment trying to discern the words underneath the scratches, but no luck. He shrugged and continued reading.

I realize the events of that night probably cost you your job, and I'm sorry. I remember how difficult it always was for you to find employment. If you ever need anything, let me know and I'll help in any way I can.

I hope you'll write me occasionally. It gets lonely, sometimes. Of course I'll understand if you don't.

Hoping to hear from you soon,

Padfoot

Remus stared at the letter, not entirely sure what to think. The letter was undoubtedly from Sirius—it was written in his handwriting—but it didn't sound like Sirius. It was too stiff, too formal. In the past Sirius had written letters like Sirius had sat on a couch, that is: loose, relaxed, and flopping all over the place.

Remus squinted at the paper again. Was it Sirius's handwriting? He hadn't seen it in so long, maybe he was wrong. He set the letter down on the table and went to his bed, crouching to pull a box out from underneath it. It wasn't a particularly nice box, just simple, light brown wood and a lid with hinges that squeaked when you opened it, but for almost as long as he could remember, he'd used it to store the things that were important to him.

After digging through it for a moment, passing over the various sentimental odds and ends, Remus finally found it; a letter Sirius had written him in the summer between their sixth and seventh years at Hogwarts. He took it to the table, pointedly not reading it and meaning to compare the handwriting with that of the new letter, but with one glance at the first line he was drawn in.

Moony,

Would you hurry up and get here already? Prongs and I are going completely mental trying to find something to do. Mrs. Potter has taped A List of Things James and Sirius are Not to Do to the kitchen cabinet. I normally wouldn't care, but the Potters are good people and I don't want to make them angry.

Which bring us to you, Moony. They've outlawed just about everything James and I find entertaining. As our primary source of LEGAL fun, you need to come visit ASAP or James and I might get bored enough to shag each other.

Remus remembered how his jaw had dropped the first time he'd read that and he failed to suppress a smile.

Only joking! Had to make sure you were still paying attention. (The only one I'll shag is you. Another reason you need to get here, fast).

Hope last night wasn't too rough on you. Before you know it, the Marauders will all be back at Hogwarts, running amok and generally ruling the place.

Talk soon,

Padfoot

P.S. Peter says he can't make it to James's this summer. Apparently he and Mummy are too busy collecting clippings from Witch Weekly. Silly little rat.

Remus, who had been grinning broadly despite himself, felt the smile slip from his face when he read the postscript. What was it Sirius had said to Peter a few weeks ago in the Shrieking Shack? "I'll never understand why I didn't see you were the spy from the start…"

Now Remus was beginning to wonder why he hadn't seen it himself. For all his fawning devotion to James and Sirius, Peter had always been the odd man out. He had always been alienated, either by personality, or brains, or talent, or simple geography.

Maybe he was simply talking himself into it, but the more he thought about it, the less surprised he was that Peter had betrayed him. He and Peter had never clicked like Peter had with the others. No matter how hard Remus had tried, Peter had been scared of him since the moment James had told him Remus was a werewolf.

That Peter had betrayed James, Remus found a little harder to believe.

Remus shook his head and pushed that thought away, refocusing on the letters in front of him. The handwriting matched without a doubt. After another moment's consideration, Remus chalked up the stiff, formal tone of the letter to the fact that Sirius had just spent the last twelve years is Azkaban. His communication skills were undoubtedly rusty. But then, Remus thought, neither of them had ever been very adept at communicating.

He sighed, pulled out a piece of parchment, ink, and a quill, and started writing.

Padfoot,

It's good to hear from you—I'm glad you're abroad. Go someplace sunny and warm. Dementors don't usually like bright sunlight.

Don't worry about me. I can take care of myself. I was hired at a Costa Coffee here in London. It's a Muggle job, but as long as I can make rent I suppose I don't really mind.

If you need anything, let me know.

Moony

Remus looked it over, satisfied. Sirius didn't need to think Remus didn't want to speak to him, but Remus refused to talk about anything of import. If they were going to cross that bridge, Sirius was going to have to cross it first. Remus suspected he had tried—that's what all the scratched out writing was—but Sirius hadn't had the guts to actually say it, and Remus refused to make this particular issue any easier for him.

October, 1994

Moony,

Something's not right. I've been hearing whispers about You-Know-Who, and Little James wrote me to tell me his scar has been hurting. After that mess at the World Cup, something is definitely going on.

In Britain now—I'd like to see you sometime, but for now I'm keeping an eye on L.J.

Keep your ears open and your head down. Who knows what the old Death Eaters will be up to. Let me know if you catch wind of anything.

Padfoot

Remus stared at the letter, particularly the phrase "Little James", and then it dawned on him. "Little James" was Harry. With a snort of laughter, Remus shook his head. It was certainly a fitting codename for the boy.

Remus scribbled a hasty reply before the tawny owl that had delivered Sirius's letter could fly away.

Padfoot,

Have heard whispers well—I'll keep my eyes open.

Try to stay out of trouble. You're no use to L.J. dead.

Moony

December, 1994

Moony,

Any chance you could send me something to eat? The rats have started getting clever.

I hope last night's moon wasn't too rough on you. I'd be there if I could. If you wanted me there, that is. Remember that moon Prongs got into it with a centaur?

Padfoot

Padfoot,

I've attached a parcel with some food. You should have asked me sooner. I'd never let you live off of rats.

The moon was fine. I'm just tired. Moony hasn't spent the full with anyone in a long time. It might not be a good idea to keep him company.

Tell me the next time you need something.

Moony

March, 1995

Padfoot,

I saw Greyback last night. Don't worry, he didn't see me. Apparently he's trying to recruit wolves for something. I don't know what. Sounds like the kind of thing you might want to know.

I've been reading about L.J. in the Daily Prophet. I'm surprised you haven't run out to save him yet.

I've attached another parcel of food—hope you enjoy it.

Moony

Sirius didn't write him back. For the first few weeks, Remus wasn't concerned. Often several weeks went by between correspondences. He was a bit preoccupied, anyway. He'd lost his job at the Costa for showing up to work late a few too many times. His transformations had been ridiculously rough the past few months, and had caused him to sleep through his alarm more than once.

Remus eventually realized what was causing Moony more stress than was necessary. It was the city. Even on the new moon, when the wolf was usually tucked away, fast asleep inside his chest, he could feel it pacing. It was restless, terrified, and trapped by all the concrete and steel and glass, yearning for the open spaces and the deep, dark forest. So when he lost his job, he looked for a place in the country and found a ramshackle little cottage barely within his price range.

By May he was all settled in and worry for Sirius had started to grow in his chest. If Sirius had been captured by Dementors it would have been front-page news, so he wasn't worried about that. But if Sirius had fallen ill, if he'd starved or frozen to death, if Death Eaters had found him… then the odds were Remus would never know what had happened.

By the first week of June, Remus was furious at both Sirius and himself. What right did Sirius have to do this to him? To come waltzing back into his life, talk to him a handful of times, and then disappear again?

And how stupid was he, to let Sirius do this to him? How stupid was he to even speak to Sirius again? Sirius had hurt him horribly, in ways that no human being should ever be hurt. Remus had every right to ignore him, to let him starve, but no.

He'd told himself he was in control, that he dictated their communication and their relationship (whatever that was). He'd been lying to himself.

These were the thoughts that raced through his mind every time he let himself slow down enough to think them. They played on a loop, like a toy train on a circular track: concern for Sirius's safety, anger at Sirius for him being a general dick in all things, anger at himself for being stupid and lonely enough to think that this time with Sirius might be different, and then back to worrying whether he was dead or not.

He was thinking these thoughts late one night in June as he was doing the dishes (by hand, rather than by magic, simply because it gave him something to do), when there was a knock on his door. Remus froze, and thought very hard about who knew his new address and who didn't. Dumbledore was the only wizard he had told, simply because there wasn't anyone else to tell. He'd be genuinely surprised if it was a Muggle. He'd deliberately made sure he had no close neighbors and was a decent distance from any major road.

Flicking the soapy water off his hands, he retrieved his wand from where he'd tossed it on the kitchen table. He went to the door and placed his hand on the knob, before taking a deep, steeling breath and opening it.

Sirius was standing on the stoop, filthy and unhealthily thin, but very much alive. Despite all Remus's inner ranting and fury, his heart leapt at the sight of him. Luckily, he was able to stop the grin from spreading across his face. "Sirius," he said. "What are you—"

"Dumbledore sent me," Sirius interrupted, his voice hoarse and grim. At his tone, Remus's momentary happiness dissipated like a popped soap bubble. "He's back, Remus," Sirius said. "Voldemort is back."

Mwahaha! Cliffhanger! (sort of). Hope you enjoyed it! I'll hopefully post again soon. Thanks for reading! and I'd love to hear what you think