Sirius breathes and it's hard in the thickness of heavy air of early summer. There's a storm coming deep black and menacing from across the horizon but everything is eerily still and silent, not a whisper of leaves or a movement of anything alive. At the edge of the lake he looks across the placid surface filled with an insane desperation for something to move amongst all the stillness. There is pain in his chest, deep and sharp, and he doesn't know why it's there.

He doesn't turn when his name is called softly behind him, thready with guilt and quiet apology. He cannot turn, his body, rooted to the spot, will not move at his own will. It is Remus behind him, he knows, by the sound of his voice and the weight of his footsteps, soft and sure coming nearer. In that moment he wishes it was someone else, anybody else. He isn't sure he can bear the dulcet tones of his friend, his lover.

"You have to understand, Sirius…" Remus is saying, and he is calm, so calm.

Sirius turns to face him, mid-sentence.

"…there is so much at stake here." The man's gentle words are softened further with heavy guilt and the should have been a spark of compassion in Sirius upon hearing them. But there is not, and Sirius feels like maybe there never will be again.

"At least we can all agree on that." His own voice is harsh and alien to him, the recoil is apparent on the other man's features. "Peter. Of course, because his loyalty isn't in question at all is it, Remus?"

Sirius looks at Remus, the man is worn and a few scars could be seen shining silver along his cheeks and jaw line. His brown hair shows grey in a few places, and the amber highlights in his eyes are all but gone due to the dark conflict clouding them now. But to Sirius, he is beautiful, always so beautiful.

"I would die myself before seeing any of you harmed." His voice echoes in his head, the anguish in the words echoing the pain in his chest, leaving it broken and jagged.

"Peter would, too." Remus says quietly but he won't look at Sirius.

Sirius shakes his head. "I hope you're right."

There is a silence, long and filled with accusations and words they'll never say. And there is something in Sirius, a voice in his head, that is screaming for him to do something to change this to stop it.

"What is worse about all of this…" Sirius says finally, letting out a deep and beaten sigh, "Is that after nearly 10 years of friendship, Remus, it seems like none of you ever really knew me at all."

And he closes his eyes to whatever is written on Remus' face only to open them to find Remus still. He's twelve—maybe thirteen, and he's nearly out of breath and jogging ahead of him. Sirius is running to keep up, without knowing it, his body following confused and uncertain. The muscles burn in his legs as they take the stairs up to the third floor. Remus pauses at the top and bends over, hands on his knees, taking a breath and looking to either side. He turns to face Sirius and smiles, that brilliant, wild smile and holds his hand out.

"Come on, follow me"

Sirius takes his hand and they run together, they turn a corner sharply and Sirius stops and he can't breathe and tears burn and blur is eyes. But there is green smoke and this house, this house that Sirius knows. And the exhaustion he feels deep in his bones, he knows, is from a long flight from India. He's too late, it was already too late when he word had reached him. There is destruction and silence and Sirius falls to his knees weeping. There is a hand on his shoulder and he shakes it off violently getting to his feet so quickly he staggers.

It is Remus again, Sirius' own pain reflected on his features.

"No!" Sirius' voice cracks like whip. No, don't touch me. No, don't let this be real.

Remus reaches out again and Sirius screams no words, just pain and betrayal and guilt.

He is still screaming when he wakes up. Covered in sweat and sitting upright, the first tendrils of a migraine reaching out from his temples. The aftershocks of the dream leaving him wrung out and edgy, the pain of the memories still radiating in his chest. He breathes heavy taking slow deep breaths.

For a moment he doesn't move, just breathes. And then he brings his hands to his face rubbing them over his eyes. He looks at the clock, it is just after 4AM. He steps out of bed onto shaky legs and makes his way to the kitchen in the dark. He pulls a bottle of firewhiskey from the shelf and leaning against the counter in the dark he uncorks it and takes a long drink. It burns enough to shake him back to reality. He closes his eyes and Remus' face swims in his vision. No. He takes another drink.

"Café au lait, veuillez." Sirius winks at the brunette behind the counter and smiles at her blush. He glances around him at the morning rush and listens in on the animated conversations in rapid French.

He waits for his order at the far end of the counter, when the young girl hands it to him he notices her name and telephone number scribbled on the side of the paper cup. "Merci, Marie. Au revoir."

Leaving the cafe he makes his way to his office, seemingly paying little attention to the world around him. But he notices the young girl to his right as she drops her teddy bear and her mother admonishes her as she stops to pick it up, he notices the official from the French Ministry of Magic who is guiltily smoking a muggle cigarette near the rubbish bin at his left. He notices everything, and yet none of them seem to notice him.

He stops at a street vendor who profits in both muggle and magical newspapers and magazines and purchases a copy of each of the major newspapers including the English-Daily Prophet, the headline blares at him but doesn't startle him the way things like that once did. His job has something to do with that, and so do distance and time.

Sirius sighs and shakes his head, he tried to imagine what it must be like to live in England at this moment. The headlines for the past several years has only gotten worse. Even in Paris they were talking of the way in which the English Ministry has fumbled things, and there was a great wave of support for Albus Dumbledore and Harry Potter. Harry Potter.

Sirius, however, is mostly ambivalent, he has been too far away from it for too long and he can no longer feel the shock of the turmoil that is rolling through his home country. The memories he still had were all so distant now, covered in the fine dust of bitterness and hidden away in a back cupboard of his mind and the rest of them were scattered fragments, malformed and only surfaced in dark and unwanted dreams.

He tucks the papers under his arm and continues down the street. As he stops at a traffic light, he smiles at the shiny muggle cars. He would never tire of them really. He thinks about his new Motorcycle, a Harley Davidson he'd had brought over from America. Beautiful machine. Perhaps, he would go riding tonight.

"Hello, Sirius." He expected it, had been waiting for it, but still that voice stings him and set his heart beating too fast.

Sirius takes a sip of his coffee and doesn't turn around. "I was wondering when you were planning on talking to me. I'm almost impressed that it only took you two blocks to work up the courage."

Sirius turns his head as Remus steps up to his right, smoothing down the front of his jacket.

They stand there in tense silence until the signal to walk blinks on and Sirius moves to cross the street briskly, unsurprisingly, Remus keeps up with him easily enough.

"You look good, Sirius." Remus says and Sirius hates that he has missed the sound of his voice.

"You look tense." He responds as he rounds the corner of the next block down an alley. He stops at what appears to be an employee entrance for a restaurant called "Catalina's", Sirius flips up a small metal covering to the right of the door and punches in his five-digit code on the keypad beneath it. The door swings open and they step into an elevator.

A disembodied female voice speaks. "Bonjour, Sirius Black. Vous avez un visiteur avec vous?" [Hello, Sirius Black. You have a visitor with you?]

"Oui. Remus Lupin. Numéro d'Identification sept-six quatre-trois-deux W R. Visite personnelle. Je vais accompagner."[Yes. Remus Lupin. Identification Number 76432WR. Personal Visit. I will accompany.] Sirius replies without looking at Remus.

"Remus Lupin. Veuillez prendre votre badge visiteur." [ Remus Lupin. Please take your visitor's badge.] The voice echoes in the small space.

When Remus doesn't move, Sirius glances over and finds the man staring at him.

"Remus, take the badge." Sirius points to the small slot at their right. After another moment, Remus moves quickly to collect the badge and clip it to his jacket.

The elevator moves in an undeterminable direction and Sirius can feel Remus' eyes still on him.

"What?" Sirius nearly shouts in frustration. Still a little on edge and having got very little sleep, Remus' presence has frayed the last of his patience.

"You remembered the number." Remus' voice is strangely flat.

"I was there when they burned it into your skin."

"Ministère des affaires internationales. Avoir une bonne journée." [Department of International Affairs. Have a good day.]. The voice echoes again as the elevator doors open.

Once again they are silent as Sirius leads them through a winding hallway past several offices, until they come to a door with a plaque that reads:

Sirius Black

Chef de Département [Head of Department]

Bureau d'Analyse Comportementale [Office of Behavioral Analysis]

Balancing, his papers and coffee and presses his hand to the plaque and the door swings open. He motions with a nod for Remus to pass and kicks the door closed behind them.

The office is a practice in organized chaos. For all that it is a large space, it is cluttered. At the far end of the room, bookcases run the length of the wall with hundreds of books stacked and shoved haphazardly upon their shelves. A large table sits in front of them, layered with maps and folders and boxes of case files are piled in two of the three chairs surrounding it.

The far right wall is covered with large maps of England, France, Germany, Spain and the United States. Red dots are scattered in various places across them, some moving, some stationary, some occasionally disappearing and reappearing in an entirely new area of the map. Each red dot has a tiny box following it with a name inside. Along the left wall are prison standard photographs with various notations and other papers surrounding them.

A large mahogany desk stands at the center with a high backed leather chair behind it. The desk it's self is surprisingly organized by comparison. A file bin stands in one corner filled near to overspilling with folders. A handful of envelopes and a single folder marked 'urgent' lay at the center of the desk. An expensive quill and ink set sits near the top behind a brass name place with Sirius' name and title. At the other end a single lamp flashes on as Sirius nears the desk.

Across from the desk are two matching leather armchairs and a small table between them. The only personal things in the office sit on this table. Two award plaques for outstanding service and a small jewelry box left open to display a stunning gold medal resting against the black velvet.

Sirius moves silently behind the desk and sets his coffee down. He leafs through the letters before opening the folder. Remus stands awkwardly next to one of the armchairs as Sirius reads. Sirius closes his eyes and tries to push through the frustration he feels as he reads.

Suddenly, he yells loudly startling Remus. "St. Clair!"

Within a moment a young man with thick glasses and a thin face bursts into the office.

"Oui, Monsieur Black. What can I do?" He speaks with a heavy French accent and his eyes are on Remus' back.

"I need you to take this over to Desmond and tell him I better have a report I can read within twenty-minutes." Sirius' tone is clipped and curt, but the man doesn't move, his eyes still locked on Remus' back. Sirius narrows his eyes and tosses the folder at the man. "Now, St. Clair. Do it now."

The young man scrambles to collect wayward pages and his brown hair flops on his forehead as he nods before quickly exiting.

"The door, St. Clair." Sirius calls after him and the door closes.

Remus is staring at the wall of maps now. Lifting a hand as if to touch it but doesn't. "You did it." He whispers. "You actually did it, just like our map."

"I did." Sirius looks at him struggling with the ache in his chest. "Took me ten years but eventually I figured it out."

Remus turns to him and there is a pride in his eyes that Sirius can't bear to see.

"Sit down, Remus. I imagine you want to have some sort of conversation."

Remus sits down in one of the chairs across from Sirius' desk. Sirius continues opening letters and reviewing their contents briefly. When Remus doesn't speak he sits down in his chair and folds his hands in front of him.

"Spit it out already, Remus." Remus shifts in his chair his eyes going back to the map on the wall.

"Dumbledore asked me to come, he wants to speak with you." Remus says at length.

"He could have come himself."

"He wants to be discreet." Remus raises a hand and rubs his chin.

"Of course." Sirius laughs, but it's bitter. "And I should just pack my bags and hop to it, I suppose?"

"Sirius…" Remus said meeting his eyes for the first time. "Things are worse than they say in the papers."

"I know." Sirius keeps his voice flat and his face unreadable. He watches pain flicker across Remus' features.

"Please, come talk to him." Remus' voice is tired and Sirius knew it was a no easy thing for the man be sitting here.

"There's nothing for me in England anymore, Remus." Sirius shakes his head.

"Harry is in England." Remus says quietly and Sirius can hear the unspoken "and so am I"

"Harry doesn't need me. That was made perfectly clear." Sirius doesn't even try to hide the accusation in his tone.

Remus lets out a whoosh of air and leans forward in his chair. "Are you never going to forgive any of us or will our past sins forever be a barrier for the future?"

"For which? Casting me the traitor?" Sirius can feel the beginnings of his anger seeping out and forces himself to calm down. "It isn't my forgiveness you should be looking for."

"Sirius, please." Remus reaches out placing his hands palm down at the edge of Sirius' desk. Sirius' eyes are drawn to those hands and he wishes for the first time that the softness of them was a memory that he no longer had.

"You were the one, Remus, who told me I should go—that Harry should go to his aunt and uncle in Surrey, that you needed space and time to heal or whatever the line was." Sirius stands and looks away from Remus.

"I never told you to leave the country."

"Yes well, better exiled than a pariah." Sirius replies stuffing his hands in his pockets, "The food is better here anyway."

There is a beat of silence and Sirius looks at Remus. He looks much older than he should, his hair more grey, new scars obvious on his arms and hands. His eyes are tormented and tired, his whole being seems dimly lit.

"You've done well for yourself." Remus offers off-handedly, but that was Remus, if all else fails make small talk.

Sirius looks back at him. "I've survived."

"We need your help, Sirius." Remus says carefully. "Do you even remember what it's like to be fighting for a cause anymore?"

"I never fought for anything but the people I loved." Sirius retorts bluntly.

"And now?" Remus is fishing, but Sirius can't tell if it's for Albus or himself that he asks.

"Now I fight for the people other people love." Sirius watches something change in the depths of those golden eyes and part of him wishes he knew what it was.

The door bangs open and St. Clair pokes his head in.

"Sir, we've just got a patronous from Marquis, seems they've been ambushed." The whole sentence is rushed out on one breath and Sirius looks to the map of England. Just outside of Leeds, Sirius watches a group of red dots, two of them disappear and then another.

"Send two teams to their location and have a couple of healers go with." Sirius barks out. "I want an update every fifteen minutes."

The man nods and leaves as quickly as he came closing the door with a bang.

"Look, I imagine you're staying in town. Come by my flat around nine or so this evening and we'll talk some more." Sirius says absently as he writes down his address on a bit of spare paper.

Remus takes the paper and leaves without another word. Sirius hardly notices as he turns to pull a few files from the table behind him.

Sirius pours himself another drink and stares around his flat. It is nothing special, a simple and underused space. Three rooms all cramped together and sparsely furnished. Sirius' eyes fall on the cabinet in the corner. For a moment he only looks at it. Carrying his drink over to it, he kneels and opens one of the drawers. Inside is a carefully catalogued file system for Sirius' life. All the things he had found, and researched back when he couldn't remember who he was.

He pulls out a thick folder and opens it in his lap. He takes another drink. The first thing he comes to is his Certificate of Completion for Hogwarts. Followed by various transcripts and records of grades and behavior. He remembered the letter he had gotten from Minerva when he had owled and requested she send him anything she could about his time at Hogwarts. He had explained why, she had responded with a carefully worded letter that attempted to hide her care and concern behind her trademark stoicism, along with a great deal of what the folder now held.

Then there were the pictures. The Marauders and Lily, the castle, other friends he had once known. So many things, so many faces, that were lost to him now in more ways than one. There was a photograph there of James and Lily's wedding, they looked so happy and blissfully carefree for the moment.

Closing the folder Sirius stands and puts it away, closing the drawer with more force than necessary. Walking across the room he sits at the table and lights the cigarette and refills his glass. It is three glasses and half the pack of cigarettes before a sharp knock at the door startles Sirius from his thoughts.

He's a little unsteady as he makes his way across the room. He pauses at the door, taking a breath and trying to steady himself a bit. When he opens it Remus is standing there looking utterly out of place and unwontedly beautiful. He stares at him for a minute, his fingers itching to touch him just to see if what he remembers is right, instead he pulls his gaze away and steps aside to let Remus in.

Once inside Sirius pours himself and Remus a drink and they sit together in silence at the table for a long time before Remus speaks.

"I'm sure you've heard about the goings-on. Quirrell and the stone, poor Ginny Weasley and Tom Riddle's Diary, the Tri-Wizard Tournament and all that." Remus begins and Sirius only nods. "Things keep happening, things that we can't explain or prepare for. I fear, Sirius, that we are coming to the end of this war and it will be worse than we ever imagined."

Sirius takes another sip of firewhiskey. "What is it that you want from me?"

"I know that Albus needs your help." Remus said. "But…more than that…Harry seems lost. He has a mental link with Voldemort and all of the pressures of this war rest on his shoulders. He's just seventeen, Sirius."

"I don't see how I can help you with that. I don't know him." Sirius takes another long drink and kicks his feet up on the table. " I barely knew him back then. And he's a man grown by now."

"He is so very like James, Sirius, but he has his mother's heart and the burden of her compassion as well." Remus offers, his voice laced with sadness. "He needs someone who understands what it is like to fight everyday of you life for love you don't feel you deserve. To lose the people that matter most to you in the world."

Sirius looks away. "And why not you?"

Remus hesitates. "I am more the friendly uncle, I think. I taught him for a year at Hogwarts. The relationship is different, there are things he wouldn't dream of talking to me about. My worry is that he talks to no one. My greatest fear is that Harry will fall victim to this war in ways worse than death."

They settle again into a long silence. Their eyes locked and Sirius is drawn again to the familiarity of Remus' features, his expressions, his voice.

"I'll need some time to think, Remus."

Remus stands, leaving half his drink still in the glass and looks down at him. Sirius finishes the last of his glass and and stands too.

"Sirius, we're running out of time." He lifts a hand and places it on Sirius' shoulder. Sirius can feel the heat of his skin burning through his t-shirt. Their eyes lock and for a moment everything falls away leaving just the two of them and a handful of inches between them.

In the back of his mind, smothered by the alcohol Sirius' better self revolts and screams out warnings. But Sirius raises his hand and brushes a piece of hair from Remus' eyes.

"How is it that after sixteen years and when it looks like you haven't slept right in a week, that you can still be so damn beautiful." There is a shift of color in Remus skin and he closes his eyes. For the life of him, Sirius cannot remember what it is that has kept them apart for so long.

He knows he shouldn't, but all the things that were firm and unforgiving have softened just enough for him to brush them aside. And he grips the front of Remus' tattered sweatshirt and pulls him against his body.

Remus is breathing fast and when he tilts his head up to look at him Sirius' hand finds the back of his head and brings their lips together. Remus tastes like chocolate and firewhiskey and that flavor that is undeniably him and it is so familiar it causes an ache in Sirius' chest. Sirius' tongue presses for access and Remus relents and the kiss is hot and fierce and they stumble of few steps backward before breaking apart for a breath.

"Sirius…" Remus' voice is raspy and so quiet, Sirius can't decide if it's a plea or refusal.

He places is finger gently on Remus' lips. "Shh."

And he kisses him again.

Sirius can't feel his hands and there is a steady pain running the length of his shoulders and arms, the tips of his bare feet brush against rough concrete. He smells the musk of sweat and water-rotted wood intermixed with the rusty smell of dried blood. When he opens his eyes, he looks up to find himself hanging from exposed rafters. There are murmurs behind him and dark laughter.

The corners of the room are dark and in a circle of light his own shadow sways. From behind him comes a whispered word and then pain lights his body, every muscle contracting and singing with the effects of a curse. He can't breathe, his mind is washed with white and a trickle of blood trails down from his nose. Screams are ripped from his body wild and animalistic as his body jerks violently on the chain.

The impact as his body hits the floor jars him awake. He is tangled in the sheet and for a minute he doesn't move. He tries to replay the dream in his mind. It's new. He scrambles for the leather bound journal and pen that sit on his nightstand. Standing on unsteady legs, he pulls the string and the lamp sends light rushing across the room.

"Sirius?"

The voice startles him and he drops the journal and the pen rolls beneath the bed as Sirius stares at Remus who sits mother-naked, running his fingers through tousled hair.

"Shit."

The night comes back quickly in flashes of images and sounds. Sirius' skin heats and his head swims. He turns picking up his jeans from the floor and pulling them on. He doesn't bother looking for his shirt and makes his way to the bathroom without a word to Remus.

He splashes water on his face and stares into the mirror. Dark circles lay beneath his eyes. "Idiot."

He dries his face and makes his way to the kitchen grabbing the nearly empty bottle of firewhiskey from the table as he passes. He puts a pot on for coffee and takes a swig of firewhiskey before throwing the bottle with enough force to shatter it in the sink.

"Sirius." This time it's louder and tinged with regret. "Sirius, are you okay?"

Sirius looks at Remus who is now haphazardly dressed and wide awake. Merlin be-damned but Sirius' body responds. He looks away.

"I'm fine. I'm sorry."

The coffee finishes and Sirius pours a cup form himself and Remus.

They stand awkwardly in the small kitchen taking careful sips of the hot coffee.

"Sirius, last night…" Remus begins but his voice wavers and he doesn't finish his thought.

"Last night was a mistake." Sirius scalds his tongue as he takes a quick drink, "Tell Dumbledore I'll be there as soon as I am able to level things off at work."

Remus sets his cup on the counter and moves toward Sirius, placing a hand on his arm. "Sirius…we should talk…"

Sirius meets Remus' eyes. "Go home Remus."

Sirius makes himself watch the hurt swim in Remus' eyes before he turns away. Sirius is still standing in the kitchen when he hears the front door open and close. He follows the sound and collapses on the sofa in the living room. His eyes burn but the tears never come. He hasn't cried in years.

Drink up with me now

And forget all about the pressure of days

Do what I say and I'll make you okay

And drive them away

The images stuck in your head

The people you you've been before

That you don't want around around anymore

That push and shove and won't bend to your will

I'll keep them still

Soundtrack: Elliot Smith- Between the Bars