[FIC] What Secrets Keep - R - S/R - 11/16+epi

[jenexell]

Title: What Secrets Keep
Series: What...
Author: jenexell
Pairings and Characters:Sirius/Remus (implied past relationship), Harry, Ron, Hermione, Pettigrew (the usual suspects)
Rating: R - Some not so pleasant imagery here and there.
Disclaimer: If this was real, I wouldn't share. As its not, I'm sharing with no personal gain or profit, other than perhaps to feed my attention whore complex. non-recognisable elements are mine! plagiarists will be eaten alive by weasels. Much information has been gleaned from the books (obviously), films, various Wiki's, other internet sources and my font of all HP knowledge ttfan.
Distribution: My Journal (jenexell), and quite a few other places too. (attention whore complex). If you want it, link back to my journal, don't steal its naughty.
Warnings: None for now.
Spoilers: Everything and nothing. Set during Book 2, Chamber of Secrets, but does diverge quite wildly from cannon in some respects. References pretty much everything, although I'm trying to ignore Pottermore because she keeps messing up my backstories!

Summary:Au Book 2. Sometimes there are just too many secrets, and sometimes all it takes to start unravelling them is a failed spell from a broken wand. But with secrets, lies, half truths, mysteries and a giant snake in the pipework, who can be believed?

Previous Parts:
::Prologue::1::2::3::4::5::6::7::8::9::10



Chapter Eleven - Limbo under the Moon.

Harry had come.

He hadn’t run to his professors. He hadn’t run to the Ministry.

He’d believed, at least enough to give them, to give him, a chance.

Harry had come.

He was truly James’ son it would seem. Or at least he had his father’s approach to rules.

It had been more than a week now, since Harry had walked back into the hut alone under his invisibility cloak, and with that one action justified Remus’ faith. Sirius had to admit he felt a bit guilty for doubting them both. For doubting Remus’ trust and perception, and Harry in general.

It was just so hard to see daylight sometimes. So hard to believe in good things happening after all the bad. After so long in the dark.

But Harry had come. Harry believed him. The dark clouds Sirius had seen in Harry’s green eyes - in Lily’s eyes - hadn’t completely lifted. It chafed. It hurt. Then again, he couldn’t expect more could he? Harry didn’t completely trust him, why would he? Harry didn’t know him.

But Harry didn’t hate him. Harry believed him. Harry had come.

It was more than he’d ever dreamed of. Harry knew the truth and didn’t hate him, and for Sirius Black that was more than enough for now.

*****

The patience for which Remus Lupin had always been renowned was finally wearing thin. He’d been patient as he’d pursued Sirius through the school, been patient while they’d tried to locate Dumbledore. Been patient through Sirius’ mood swings and tantrums. Been patient as they’d waited for Harry to make his decision and seal their fates - A werewolf assisting an escaped convict? Oh yes, Harry had most certainly held both of their fates in his hands for those tense few hours. Remus had been under no illusions as to what would have happened to him, what could still happen to him, if he was caught aiding Sirius Black.

But he could deal with that for the most part. He could endure Sirius’ fickle temper and mercurial moods because helping him was the right thing to do. Just as trying to find him had been the right thing to do before, no matter how long it took. He felt no pangs of conscience hiding from the Ministry; it had been part of his life since long before Sirius had escaped Azkaban. As for the search for Dumbledore, well that was something else.

Dumbledore and Hogwarts were synonymous. Dumbledore and the highest authorities in Wizarding Britain had always been synonymous in Remus’ mind too. That Dumbledore would become somehow unreachable had never even occurred to him. Even when Dumbledore had left the school - an event that still seemed to Remus as implausible as Sirius suddenly admitting a desperate longing for the passionate embrace of Severus Snape - he’d assumed they would be able to locate and make contact with him fairly quickly.

Remus Lupin was not a man prone to wading through the murky waters of conspiracy theories, but he was sorely tempted to believe in one now. It was like someone knew they would be looking for Dumbledore, so had arranged to get the Headmaster as out of the way as they could get him without doing something drastic, like killing him.

Whispers at the back of The Hogs Head and information Remus had been able to gather by taking a brief trip back to Diagon Ally to have a little chat with Tom had told them that Dumbledore was out of the country on business with the International Confederation of Wizards; exactly where, no one seemed to know. The most obvious thing to do of course would be to send an owl, but there were just too many risks involved.

It wasn’t even a matter of being physically unable to leave the school to look for him either. Granted, thanks to Dumbledore’s decree that The Dementors couldn’t enter the grounds, Hogwarts was, somewhat ironically, the safest place Sirius could be; once past the ring of wraiths that patrolled the borders, he was free to move about as he pleased really, provided he wasn’t seen of course. That didn’t mean however that Sirius couldn’t leave if he so chose, there was nothing physically stopping him so long as he stayed in his animagus form. The trouble was that neither of them wanted to leave.

Not with Peter still living at the school. The thought of venturing very far with Peter in such proximity to Harry made both of their skins crawl. Then there was the fact that there was an enormous snake slithering through the pipe-work petrifying students. No, leaving Harry wasn’t an option.

So they were stuck. Caught in a strange limbo of waiting. Hoping for Dumbledore’s return and living on a knife edge of indecision. There were times Remus was all too aware that Sirius was only keeping his word not to go after Peter again because of a single conversation between him and Harry.

“I’m glad you didn’t kill Peter.”

“He’d have deserved it.”

“I don’t think my Dad would have wanted his best friend to become a killer. Not for him.”

It was true, James wouldn’t have wanted it, but at the same time Sirius’ grievance with Peter was not in James’ name alone. No Sirius had reason enough to hate Peter on his own behalf and a fair few others besides. Every one of his friends who said nothing when he was arrested and locked away without trial. The Ministry, for casting aside his rights and condemning him on the evidence of those not qualified or entitled to make judgements. Dumbledore, McGonagal, even Remus himself, who all knew Sirius so well and yet turned their backs with such ease.

It was nothing short of a small miracle that Sirius’ hatred and ire were aimed entirely in one direction, and that Sirius had retained enough sanity not to become the creature he had been painted to be. How easily it could have happened. Stripped of his mind, his conscience and his humanity by the Dementors, left only with his pain and hate, Sirius Black could have become something so much worse than a Death Eater. He could have become a predator. A creature hell bent on rage and revenge; meting out his own justice to quell the demons in his head.

With all that in mind, Remus found himself wondering if perhaps he was wrong to hold Sirius’ guilt and loyalty over his head as he was. Why not let him go? Why not let him tear that snivelling treacherous little rodent limb from limb? Because James wouldn’t have wanted it? James was dead. What about what Sirius wanted?

Watching Sirius sleep. Watching the great black dog twitch, whimper and growl, legs scrabbling frantically against some unseen foe. Attacking? Being Attacked? Chasing or being chased? Remus couldn’t tell, but those sounds, the obvious distress, the fact that Sirius would rather spend most of his time in his animagus form because such night terrors were somehow better than that which would haunt his human mind made Remus wonder. What if? What if it would bring Sirius some kind of peace? What if letting Sirius kill Peter would vanquish whatever monster pursued him through his dreams?

Or was it his own anger, hate and guilt talking? His own broken heart. More than James and Lily, Peter Pettigrew had destroyed Sirius’ life, Harry’s life, and his own life. James and Lily were gone, were hopefully if such a place existed, in a peaceful and joyous beyond, watching and waiting with those they loved for those left behind to join them. He, Sirius and Harry though, they were the ones who had to stumble on. Harry, growing up without knowing the love and comfort of his real parents, Sirius wasting and rotting in a living hell. And for himself? Years of a shadow life. Of starvation and pain and loneliness, of scratching his way through day after endless day without hope, without real purpose.

If he let himself think about it, he could almost see himself doing it, never mind Sirius. If he let himself imagine the life he had lost because of Peter. The love he’d allowed Peter to convince him was being betrayed. The home he’d walked out of believing the lies Peter had fed him. All that time. Wasted. Stripped away and stolen from him. From them all.

But killing Peter could no more give him back those years, than it could give Harry back his parents, or erase the stain of Azkaban from Sirius’ wounded mind. Nor could it relieve him of his burden of guilt. Because he was guilty. Guilty of abandoning Sirius. Of turning his back on him. He knew why he had, he could remember with gut clenching clarity the thoughts and emotions that had nearly consumed him in the wake of the Potters’ deaths. But in the end, he’d been wrong. They’d all been so very wrong and killing Peter would not put that right.

The only way to do that was to clear Sirius’ name. However long it took. No matter what abuse Sirius threw at him in the worst of his fits of rage. No matter how many nightmares he had to listen to. And in clearing Sirius’ name, the way would be cleared for the real villain, the one truly responsible for the deaths of James, Lily, those Muggles and who knew how many others to be brought to justice.

Getting up from the couch, Remus crossed the small space of the cabin and crouched down next to where Sirius lay near the fire, body jerking and pained sounds escaping every so often. It was a risk, but it wasn’t like he could pass on his lycanthropy by being bitten. And it wasn’t like he was afraid of a little pain, a nip from Padfoot could hardly compare to some of the self inflicted wounds he’d suffered over the years.

Reaching out a hand, he carefully lay it on Sirius' head, and when the canine didn’t immediately snarl himself awake and snap, he began to stroke him. Slow gentle strokes from head to tail, palm flat, open hand running over prominent ribs and matted fur.

Whimpers subsided, the spasms calmed and eventually blurry blue eyes opened.

Above all else, there was one reason to leave Peter alone for the time being and stay exactly where they were.

“Sirius.”

Blue eyes blinked and sluggish sleep haze cleared. Remus felt a smirk twitch his lips.

“Up. It’s almost invasion time.”

*****

As much as it annoyed Ron, he wasn’t entirely surprised that Harry had decided to give Black the benefit of the doubt, nor was he all that surprised when Harry insisted on going back to the hut night after night to visit. He supposed that if he was like Harry - having no parents and growing up with a horrible aunt and uncle - and all of a sudden a man his parents had considered close enough to name his godfather turned up out of the blue, then he probably wouldn’t care that the man was a mass murdering psycho either.

Not that Black really behaved like a mass murdering psychopath. Not once had he done anything any more alarming or disturbing than most of the adults he knew did.

It was all so confusing. Sirius Black was a Black, and everyone knew about the Blacks. Everyone knew Dark Wizards came from Slytherin too. Ron had grown up with that knowledge; it was like one of those facts that just were. Like how the sky was Blue, and water was wet. And yet, this Black had been in Gryffindor, and so had Rat-man. Of course he’d known Pettigrew had been a Gryffindor, but no-one had ever said anything about Black being one. Now no matter which way it spun out, a Gryffindor had sold Harry’s parents out to you-know-who. A Gryffindor had been a Dark Wizard.

Then there was how Black said he’d never had a trial, and was sent to Azkaban unfairly.

But the Ministry just wouldn’t do that. Ron couldn’t really articulate what the Ministry of Magic represented for him; he’d always been so inordinately proud that his Dad worked for the Ministry. Working for the Ministry meant his Dad was doing good things, helping people and looking after people and making sure everything worked properly, because that’s what the Ministry did. Working for the Ministry was important and right. So Black couldn’t be right, he had to be lying, because if the Ministry could do what Black said they’d done to him, it made the Ministry something rotten and bad. That couldn’t be true, and yet there seemed to be no evidence at all that a trial ever happened. Well evidence that Hermione could find at any rate.

It was almost physically painful, like it would tear everything he knew to pieces, but Ron had to admit that it increasingly looked like Hermione’s theory about Black was right. Every story Ron had ever heard about Sirius Black, and he’d heard a lot, said he was one of you-know-who’s most loyal followers, but a loyal follower of you-know-who wouldn’t be worried about the Muggleborns in the school with the whole Heir of Slytherin thing, and Dumbledore being gone. No, they’d be like Malfoy, strutting around all smug and celebratory. One of you-know-who’s followers wouldn’t hate Snape either. All the slimy gits loved Snape and Black most definitely hated him. And one of you-know-who’s most loyal certainly wouldn’t voluntarily help a group of second year Hogwarts students, who among them counted a muggle-born and a half-blood, with their transfiguration homework.

Still, Ron wasn’t ready to believe like Harry and Hermione did, not just yet. So that’s why he went along every night. Someone had to be the voice of reason, and Merlin knew it wasn’t Hermione. Oh no, she was certainly not the voice of reason when it came to Black. She was worse with him than she was with Lockhart. Just because Black had apparently saved her from the Basilisk she now looked at him like some kind of great hero; some kind of great hero who’d been grievously wronged by a cruel world.

And then there was Lupin. Ron didn’t know what to make of the second fugitive currently hiding in Hagrid’s home other than the fact that he was clearly very smart. Hermione smart, and like Black, in dire need of a bath and some new clothes.

Rolling his eyes to himself, Ron followed Harry and Hermione the last few steps into Hagrid’s hut. From the outside it looked every bit as unoccupied as it should be. No light seeped from behind the closed shutters, no smoke appeared to rise from the chimney. But Ron knew from the experience of the last few nights that once inside it would be a different story. The main room would be lit with the glow of lamps and a cheerful fire would be warming the hearth. Nevertheless it was always a bit disconcerting when they knocked on the door and it opened to reveal only darkness within, and yet once they stepped over the threshold and through the charms affecting the exterior of the tiny cottage, they would find themselves bathed in welcoming light. It was also disconcerting that Black was always behind the door, ready to close it once they’d passed through.

The click of the latch was the cue, and as one the trio began to untangle themselves from the cloak, Harry instantly turning to give the two adults in the room a cautious smile. “Hi.”

“Hello Mr Lupin! Mr Black.” Hermione wasn’t nearly so cautious. Grabbing the bags both Ron and Harry were carrying, she moved instantly to the table in the middle of the room and dropped them on the surface along with her own bag. “We brought food. Sorry it isn’t much. We had hotpot tonight and we couldn’t exactly fill our pockets with that. But there’s bread rolls and fruit, and...”

“Thank you Hermione.” Lupin cut her off gently with a small smile. “That’s very kind of you.” Glancing around at the others, he offered them the same smile. “All of you. But really you shouldn’t go to so much trouble. Sirius and I can manage.”

“But... But you need to eat!” Hermione protested.

“She’s right, we do.” Black grinned, walking over the table and snatching up an apple that had rolled out of one the bags. Taking a hearty bite, he cast a meaningful look at Lupin and winked at Hermione. “Hmmmm.”

Lupin frowned at Black then turned back to the others who had by now found themselves somewhere to sit around the table. “You three alright?”

Ron shrugged, “Another day, another disaster.”

“Disaster?” Lupin looked up in concern.

“Not a real disaster.” Harry rushed to reassure, seeing the alarmed looks on the faces of the two adults. “Lockhart...”

“Ah.” Sirius subsided with a rueful shake of his head. As far Ron could tell, both Lupin and Black shared much the same opinion of Lockhart as most of the male population of the school. Which was the complete opposite of the opinion held by the majority of the female population. “So come on then, entertain us, what did Flopfart do this time?”

As Hermione scowled, Harry coughed, and Lupin shook his head with a sigh, Ron actually thought he might be prepared to forget anything and everything negative he’d ever thought about Sirius Black and herald him as the his new hero. He couldn’t wait to use that name in front of the twins. Hell he wished he was brave enough to use it to the man’s face.

But even as Ron was basking in awe, Hermione was talking. “It wasn’t really his fault.”

Now it was Harry’s turn to sigh. “Hermione, he almost burned down the great hall.”

“He didn’t mean to. He was trying to cheer us all up.”

Ron caught Harry’s eye and they both groaned. “How exactly, would turning all the candles in the great hall into little flaming pixie things make any of us feel better?”

“I thought they were pretty.” Hermione huffed.

“Until they started dripping hot wax and zooming around like fireworks.” Ron countered.

“Or setting fire to the banners.” Harry added in.

“I’m just glad someone thought to close all the bloody windows.” Ron sighed dramatically. “Can you imagine those bloody things lose everywhere? Hogwarts would have been ash in hours.”

“It wasn’t like he did it on purpose!” Hermione continued to protest. “Something went wrong. They were just supposed to dance a bit.”

“And that,” Black spoke up, “Is why the man is a f....”

“Sirius.” Lupin cautioned quickly.

“...fool.” Black finished with a raised eyebrow at Lupin, as if challenging him to claim he’d been about to say anything else.

Harry and Ron shared a smirk. Despite what Lupin might believe, they were well aware of the scolding looks he’d been casting Black every time the escaped convict had sworn in front of them, and somehow Sirius’ attempts to curb his more colourful language were more amusing than some of the language itself. On the other hand, Ron couldn’t wait for the right opportunity to use some of the more extravagant expressions Black had used to describe Snape, preferably on the Twins. Best not to let Ginny hear though; she’d only tattle to their Mum.

“Well I think you’re all just ghastly to ridicule someone who is only trying to help.” Hermione huffed a little petulantly, folding her arms across her chest.

“You’re right Hermione.” Lupin agreed smoothly, with a sage nod. Black looked to Ron and Harry and rolled his eyes, which made the two boys grin.

“So other than Defence against the useless Professor, what else have you three been up to today?” Sirius asked to break the slightly awkward silence that had descended.

“Nothing special.” Harry shrugged. “Professor Sprout stood in as cover for our Transfiguration lesson today. She showed us how to turn paper scissors into pruning shears which was fun until Neville almost took one of his fingers off and had to be taken to see Pomfrey.”

“Might have been fun for you.” Ron harrumphed, “You didn’t have her constantly asking you about your little sister.”

“I don’t think one question counts as an inquisition Ronald.” Hermione defended the Herbology professor. “And you should be grateful that the professors are looking out for Ginny. You’d be the first one to complain if there was something wrong with her and no one said anything.”

“Hermione has a point.” Harry agreed.

“Is everything alright with your sister?” Lupin asked with an edge of caution, not wishing to get his head bitten off by the defensive redhead.

“She’s FINE.” Ron blurted impatiently.

“She has been a little...” Hermione frowned, clearly struggling with how to best articulate her thoughts. “I don’t know... vague, lately. Professor Sprout wasn’t the only one to notice you know. Professor Burbage asked a couple of us to keep an eye on her. Keep an ear out in case she’s being bullied or something.”

“And is she?” Lupin pressed with a frown, making Ron wonder exactly what it was Lupin thought he could do about it if she was. Or why he’d want to for that matter. He and the twins on the other hand. Well, she might be annoying, girly, bratty and a snitch, but she was their sister. Picking on her was their job.

“Not that I’ve seen.” Hermione shrugged. “Although I heard a couple of her dorm mates talking about her sleep walking.”

“Ginny doesn’t sleep walk.” Ron scowled, unsure if he should be insulted at the suggestion on his sister’s behalf or not.

Hermione shrugged again. “That’s what they were saying. They were talking about it in the bathrooms yesterday.”

“Bloody girls. Have you lot got nothing better to do than gossip in the loos?” Ron snarked.

“Well Sor-ry!” Hermione snapped back. “Anyone would have thought you’d be grateful I was looking out for your sister.”

Across the table Black snorted and turned to look at Lupin who appeared to be smothering a smirk. “Fifth year.” He said apparently out of no-where.

Lupin seemed to have no trouble understanding, his expression turning thoughtful for a moment before he shook his head. “Sixth.”

“five sickles?” Black threw back with a grin.

“Done.” Lupin replied, holding out his hand, which Black took and shook.

On finding themselves the focus of three identical confused and slightly put out looks, the two adults assumed disconcertingly innocent expressions.

“What?” Ron growled.

“Nothing.” Black just shook his head, clearly amused.

“I have a feeling we don’t want to know.” Harry spoke up cautiously.

“Believe me Harry.” Sirius sighed dramatically, “By the time it’s all done with, you’ll find you know far more than you ever wanted to. Enjoy your ignorance while it lasts.”

*****

Sirius should have known his words would come back to haunt him. Ignorance was supposed to be bliss, just as he'd suggested to Harry. But it was ignorance that was driving Sirius to distraction now. His own ignorance. Or more importantly, the fact that Remus insisted on keeping him in ignorance.

With days of tedious waiting where every minute felt like an hour, trapped in Hagrid's hut with nothing to do but sleep and slowly drive each other crazy, and evenings spent in the company of youngsters where hours felt like minutes, one week had turned to two and onwards. Sirius knew the effort to always keep it together while Harry was visiting made him trying to deal with during the day. He knew Remus still didn't really trust him. He believed him, in his version of events, but he didn't trust him.

But as the run up to the full moon approached, he'd never thought Remus would shut him out completely. Once, so long ago it sometimes felt more like an old movie he'd watched than a part of his life, his helping Remus through the trial of the moon would never be in question. Now though, as the moon grew fat, Remus drew away from him. Refused to talk to him.

Adamantly refused to disclose his plans. Where he was going, or how he planned to keep himself and others safe. Old worries crawled at that back of Sirius' mind, but he quickly threw them off. Wormtail's insidious whispers would not turn his head again. They should never have made him believe what he had about Remus in the first place.

He'd known that for a long time that Remus had never been their spy, but it wasn't until he'd heard from Remus' own lips the truth about his disappearances, about his injuries and secrecy, that the final doubts had been laid to rest.

So no, he wasn't worried as he once was that Remus was letting his wolf run wild. Now his worries were much the same as they had been during their school days. When he'd been forced to wait, helpless, powerless, for the dawn to come and for the slow process of healing to begin. It was why they'd worked so hard to become animagi in the first place, to help Remus. To be with him, help distract the wolf and be right on hand in the aftermath.

Being an animagus had helped with pranks, had helped him sneak and snoop as an Auror, had ultimately been what had enabled him to escape Azkaban and the ability to shut off part of his human mind even for a little while was the only reason he was anywhere near sane, but it wasn't the reason. It wasn't why. Remus was why. And no matter what else had changed, that hadn't.

But Remus didn't want him there. Remus didn't want him to have anything to do with the wolf. He said it was because the wolf wouldn't remember. He said it was because the wolf was different now, and it wasn't safe. He said it was better if he went alone.

He said.

Sirius didn't believe.

Wouldn't believe.

They'd argued. They'd fought. Remus insisted Sirius remain at the hut to meet Harry as normal. Instead Sirius told Harry they wouldn't be there for a couple of days, and to come back after. He'd lied. Said they might have a way to contact Dumbledore. Remus hadn't liked him lying to Harry almost as much as he didn't want Sirius with him for the moon.

Sirius hadn't liked lying to Harry either. But Remus wouldn't tell Harry about the wolf. How could he doubt Harry's reaction? James hadn't turned his back, why would Harry? Remus had looked at him long and hard when he'd said that, an odd expression on his face that Sirius couldn't decipher.

It didn't matter.

No, that wasn't right. It did matter, but it wasn't his choice and Sirius understood that. Azkaban wasn't so isolated that he didn't know about the changes in the law that had taken effect after the end of the war. The cells of Azkaban were made fuller still by those were-wolves unable to cope with the restrictions placed upon them. It seemed to Sirius that it was only by the grace of the gods that Remus hadn't wound up his neighbour. Or worse. So no, it wasn't his decision. Remus had so little choice in so much of his life, only the direst need would make Sirius take this choice away from him.

And by that logic, he knew he probably should respect Remus' wishes about the moon. He should. But he wasn't going to. Especially since Remus had apparently decided to try and make sure he wouldn't follow him, and had put a sleeping potion in his tea that afternoon.

The sneaky, conniving, snake of a wolf.

Sneaky, conniving, but clearly slipping wolf. Firstly, he'd only been knocked out for a few hours, and secondly, it wasn't like Sirius wouldn't be able to follow Remus' scent.

Sprinting across the rain sodden grounds, paws kicking up mud and new spring grass, Remus' trail was a bright vibrant blaze through the damp and darkness. It couldn't be easier to follow, even as it meandered through the trees of the Forbidden Forest.

The scent of acromantulas curled at the edges of his awareness, but thankfully Remus' path seemed to stay close to the edges of the woods, giving the dens of those giant arachnids a wide berth. If that damned demonic car was out there tonight, it was keeping its distance, as were the centaurs and other beasts. Not too surprising, they could probably smell the scent of a werewolf passing through their domain and were wisely choosing to steer clear.

Eventually the trail broke free of the trees and Sirius slowed to a trot then cautious halt. He was beyond the borders of the school now. Another reason for how quiet the forest had been. Dementors prowled this area.

He’d been picking up whimpers and mournful wails on the edges of hearing for some time now and in the clearing they were nearly all he could hear. This was definitely the place, and yet it was all wrong. The half collapsed cottage couldn't possibly hold Moony in check, and the noises were strange, distorted. Muted, pained, confused and ill?

Tentatively, Sirius crept forward, ears flat as the noises called to something instinctive inside of him that spoke of deep distress and sickness.

Picking his way through the fallen timbers wasn't easy. It felt like the wooden floor would give way beneath his feet with every step. There was magic here. Lots of it. It crackled in the air. He could taste it, smell it, and through his canine nose, see it. It wove its way across the floor like sparkling ribbons, not there in full sight, but only out of the corner of the eye.

Another deeper wail split the air. A thud from beneath him. Hurrying his step, Sirius tried to find a way down to what lay below, but Remus' scent was thick here, and overlaid by the cloying aroma of wolf. Deep, darker, more visceral than how Remus usually smelled, and yet very much the same.

Eventually he found it. A hatch, clearly shored up with wood taken from the ruins of the cottage, and surrounded by numerous charms, wards and magical barriers. Beyond the door he heard a crash, another whimper and a cry so distressed and jumbled it made Sirius scrabble at the hatch unthinkingly; paws and claws making not a mark on the well protected surface. On the other side an answering scratching, slow, sluggish and uncoordinated.

Moony was down there. Moony was trying to get out. Or at least trying to reach him, but it didn't have the aggressive feel that Sirius remembered. Even in play and affection Moony had always been dangerous. What waited on the other side of the door didn't sound dangerous. It sounded...
… pathetic. Not how Moony should sound at all. Was Moony sick? Injured somehow? Could werewolves even get sick?

More than anything Sirius wanted to change back and remove the wards barring his way, but even without the threat of being seen by the Dementors, he had no wand, and wasn't stupid enough to face a werewolf out of his animagus form. So he could do nothing. Only lie down, his muzzle to the hatch, aware that just inches from him, Moony lay collapsed and confused. Somehow weakened and unwell. And completely outside of Sirius' power to help.

Time crawled. The moon dragging itself through the early spring night, dipping in and out behind the clouds. It rained. Moony grew quiet. The air turned frigid.

Hunkered down over the hatch Sirius whined quietly as he waited.

*****

Remus woke choking, the burn of bile in his throat, retching spasms heaving him into consciousness. It was almost more effort than he could manage to move his face away from the acrid puddle that now stained the cellar floor, but with a groan he managed to roll onto his back.

Everything hurt. It always hurt. Pain was inescapable, inevitable and all consuming when the moon came, but even through the dense fog clouding his mind Remus could tell that there were no wounds this time. Just the burning ache, dulled like his mind.

Clearly the moon had set and the dawn had come, but right now Remus couldn't gather the wherewithal to be relieved or feel much of anything other than the ache, nausea and disconnection. His most pressing concern, the only concern that could break through the desperate desire to curl into a ball and return to oblivion was the need for water. To sooth his parched and cracked lips, and wash the acid burn of vomit from his mouth.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Remus knew he should move. The wards lifted with the rising of the sun; something he'd set up after learning the hard way what could happen if he didn't have the strength to release them himself. But it felt like too much effort to even try.

Another retch prompted him to roll onto his other side having no desire to choke and suffocate on his own vomit. The glassy sound of a bottle rolling and colliding with another followed the movement. Vomit was a very definite part of his immediate future.
“Are you awake?”

The sound of those words sliced through Remus like a blade; first literally, and then once the agonising pain in his head receded enough to allow actual thought, in a far more metaphorical sense.

Sirius.

The voice was unmistakable. The tone of feigned nonchalance ringing with the memory of times long past. It was a tone that Remus knew well, but one that he alone now would know Sirius well enough to recognise.

He didn’t want to, but the voice compelled him. With a grunt, Remus opened his eyes and met a sight that was straight out of memory. If he could ignore the ragged clothes and straggly beard. Sirius sat sprawled on the steps down into the cellar, feet planted wide apart, knees bent, one elbow resting back on a step while in his other hand rested what was clearly even in the dim dawn light filtering through the hatch, a small brown glass bottle.

“Wasn’t sure how long you’d sleep.” Sirius continued absently, his gaze never leaving the bottle. “Can’t understand most of the gibberish on this thing, but I get the basic idea. Muggle pills and Fire-Whisky. Nice combination.”

“It works.” Remus croaked defensively, feeling anger rise up to meet the nausea and brain fog.

Sirius finally looked away from the bottle and Remus found himself looking into piercing ice blue; eyes more lucid and clear than he’d seen them since their reunion. No shadows. No flicker of madness. Just the burning brightness of his memories, filled with intelligence, danger and the indefinable something else that had once sent shivers from the top of his head to the tips of his toes.

He could read these eyes, but before he could read them properly, another wave of nausea broke and Remus, spurred by instinct more than will, found himself on his hands and knees, limbs shaking as his body rebelled against the cocktail he’d poured into it the night before.

It seemed like forever. Pain and churning guts and expelled fluids. Complete and utter humiliation at this most devastatingly obvious evidence of how low his life had sunk.

Then there was a hand. Gentle, calming, soothing. Stroking his hair as an arm wrapped around his shoulders and soft murmurs filled his ears.

“I’m sorry Moony. So sorry. This shouldn’t have happened. Not to us, not to you of all people. I’ll put it right Moony. I swear I’ll put it right. You, me, Harry. We’ll make it right again I promise.”

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