Had We Never Loved So Blindly

Author's note: I'm sorry it took me so long to update. Despite my attempts to keep it within bounds, this chapter grew and grew. I hope you enjoy it. I think it's fairly decent, but then I'm the annoying sort of person who laughs at her own jokes, so who am I to say?

When I started writing this story I hardly dared hope for even a handful of reviews, but now that I've received a healthy armful, it appears that I'm still immoderately greedy for more - LOL. Heartfelt thanks to those of who took the time to review and send encouragement: Tippie, Thorny-Rose, Lissa86, FifteenStitches, ramenhead, msmarvelfreak, and baseballmomok.

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Had We Never Loved So Blindly
by MahsaFF

Chapter 5

Sirius strolled down the dim hallway towards the library, levitating his goodwill offering to Remus in front of him. He was aware of a pervasive sense well-being—or was it smug satisfaction?—they did feel rather similar. Whatever it was, he hadn't been this cheerful since Harry had visited at Christmas. Why was anyone's guess. Had it come from that bizarre dream or, a disturbing thought, from doing a good deed for Remus? Merlin forbid he should turn into one of those smarmy Wizard Scout types. His second cousin Altair, for example—a substantial blot on the family landscape if ever there was one—had made life miserable for man and beast by constantly dashing about inflicting acts of kindness on an unwary populace.

Whatever the reason, Sirius meant to enjoy the mood while it lasted. Tipping a jaunty wink to the elves heads mounted on the wall, he made his way through the hall towards a shaft of sunlight marking the library's open door. The aroma arising from the two steaks—medium well done for himself, very rare for Remus—was enticing, and Sirius imagined that he could detect a faint twitching of elven noses as he passed. The rest of the Order viewed the heads with ill-concealed disgust, but it was different when one had grown up with them.

Arriving at the library, Sirius nudged the door wider with his foot and floated the plates into the room. Remus was roosting in his favourite place, a table near the sunny window overlooking Grimmauld Place. Staid leather tomes and rolls of parchment were strewn about him in something not unlike wild abandon: on the table, on the floor, and heaped onto nearby chairs.

Sirius grinned at the familiar scene spread before him. Wherever Remus went, he managed to make himself the eye of his own little academic hurricane of books, papers, quills, and ink. Sharing a dormitory with him for all those years had been a challenge in that regard. Although James always claimed that a chief factor in finally snagging the woman of his dreams had been his undeniable prowess in cleaning charms, a skill honed in the thickets of debris that Remus managed to accumulate in their seventh floor room.

But excepting the clutter that had accreted around Remus, the library was tidier than any other room in the house, thanks to Molly's efforts. Efforts she'd made entirely on Remus's behalf, Sirius reflected a little grumpily, as she positively doted on him for some unfathomable feminine reason. The doxie-eaten carpet and draperies were reasonably clean, and the bookshelves looked as if they'd been dusted within living memory. Even the windows sparkled cheerfully, letting in the leaf dappled light of a spring day.

Remus, on the other hand, was not sparkling. He was hunched over a thin quarto volume and frowning at the words as if they'd done him some injury, which—given the nature of the books in the Black family library—wasn't completely outside the realm of possibility. His face was pale except for red spots high on his cheekbones and his eyes had a feverish glaze. He was rapidly jotting notes with one hand, while resting his forehead on the other and gripping his fringe somewhat tensely.

Oh, yes, Sirius thought, as he watched Remus's battered quill jabbing with more force than was strictly necessary at an inoffensive sheet of parchment, definitely tense. As usual on the day of the full moon, Remus strongly resembled a man who'd been hitting the Pepperup potion far too hard.

Remus had yet to notice Sirius in the doorway. Or he had, of course, noticed him. From extensive past experience, Sirius had learnt that it was impossible to sneak up on the man, and most especially when one's presence is being heralded by an overpowering odour of beef. To put it more precisely, Remus had yet to acknowledge Sirius's presence. Which could mean one of two things: either he was absorbed in his work, or he was still irritated about this morning's little conversation. Sirius wasn't overly fussed about the second possibility; no man stuffed to the gills with Fitch & Sons' sirloin could remain irked for long.

Sirius cleared his throat and in what he considered a highly creditable imitation of a house-elf, squeaked out, "Young master, I is serving your luncheon. Please, kind sir, you will dine now?" He ducked his head and smirked subserviently, congratulating himself on achieving the perfect blend of deferential and sardonic that Migsy, his father's valet, had always managed.

Remus unknotted fingers from forelock and frowned towards Sirius, his quill still poised over the parchment. Without missing a beat, he made an imperious gesture towards the settee and low table in the middle of the room and replied austerely, "Put it there, please, Blacksy," but ruined the effect with a sudden grin that lit up his drawn face. He placed a scrap of parchment in his book, closed it and, unfolding his long legs, rose from his chair.

Sirius levitated the plates carefully onto the table as Remus came over for a closer look, hands stuffed into the pockets of his worn trousers. Closing his eyes, Remus took a deep sniff.

"Steak," he intoned reverently. "But where—? How—?" he asked. His wondering expression was rather amusingly emphasised by the strands of hair he'd been gripping a moment before. They were standing on end like a series of exclamation points.

"Yes, indeed. I come bearing meat. And cutlery." Sirius tossed down forks and knives with a clatter. "I've generally found that a colossal steak is worth a thousand apologies. At least, it worked for my mum when she rowed with my dad. Reckoned you'd be feeling the strain a bit before the moon anyway, what with Molly feeding you up on pasta and sprouts and puddings. Bah." He shuddered dramatically.

Remus conjured two scarlet napkins, one of which he tossed to Sirius with a lopsided smile. "No apologies between us, Padfoot. You know that."

And it was true. Remus didn't hold grudges, even when well deserved. And although Sirius had benefited from that trait more times than he could count, he did occasionally feel that this turning the other cheek business could be taken too far when there were so many miscreants well worth resenting. The name Snape came to mind. And even Dumbledore had his moments. But beggars couldn't be choosers.

"All the same, I oughtn't to have said—" Sirius began.

"Stop."

"I only wanted to—"

"Sirius." Remus cut him off. "You're talking to the person who let his best friend languish in Azkaban for roughly a dozen—"

"That has nothing to do with—"

"So you will kindly permit me to be magnanimous over the trivial matter of your twitting me about my— about Tonks."

"It's not at all the same—" Sirius broke off when he saw Remus's mouth tightening. The werewolf temperament got a trifle frayed around the edges on the day of the full moon, so Sirius hastily changed tack and said, "But, uh, when you put it like that, right you are, mate."

"And I..." But whatever Remus was going to say, he dismissed the thought and instead dropped down beside Sirius on the settee.

Picking up his fork and knife, Remus paused for a moment with them suspended over his plate. Then he gestured to the steak with his knife and said simply, "Thank you, Padfoot."

"Tuck in, young master."

Remus mouth twitched. "Yes, Blacksy."

They ate in companionable silence for several minutes, and Sirius, who had been watching Remus from the corner of his eye, noted approvingly that his gift was being treated with all the respect it deserved. However, after getting himself around a healthy portion of the steak, Remus set down his plate with an air of purpose that put Sirius, who recognised the signs, slightly on guard.

But when Remus did speak, it was only to ask mildly, "What have you been up to this morning, Sirius? I looked for you after we—" His voice was tinged with something that might have been embarrassment. "After you left my room."

Sirius chewed. "Hm." Swallowed. "Well. Technically, I was with Buckbeak." His eyebrows invited Remus to ask.

And Remus, who could generally be counted on to be obliging in that way, obliged. "And by technically, you mean...?"

"I mean that in body I was in Bucky's room, but in spirit," Sirius glanced right and left as if someone or something—doxies, perhaps?—might be listening. Lowering his voice and leaning closer, he repeated, "In spirit, I was cavorting with... Emmeline Vance." He sat back and regarded Remus gravely.

Remus's forehead crinkled in confusion for a good two seconds, possibly even three, not that Sirius was counting, before comprehension dawned.

"Good dream, was it?" Remus's lips were puckered with the effort not to laugh. "Er, Sirius, you do know that Emmeline—"

"I know. I know! Give me some credit. But I have no way of controlling— I mean, it's not as if in my remotest imagination I'd ever—"

Sirius broke off with a shamefaced grin. He turned his palms up helplessly, a poster boy for virtue and modesty.

"What can I say?" He felt a satisfied smirk creep onto his face. So much for virtue. "As it turns out, my remotest imagination is more creative—far more creative—than I've ever given it credit for." He licked the tip of a finger and drew a line in the air. "Yet another hidden talent of Sirius Black, revealed." So much for modesty.

Now Remus did let out a small huff of laughter. "I hate to break this to you, but as a talent, it's dubious. And my advice would be, keep it hidden. In future—and I trust you'll make note of this, Padfoot?—I'd prefer to remain in ignorance of your, er, nocturnal emissions."

"Drag your mind out of the gutter, Lupin!" Sirius said reproachfully, a hand hovering over his heart. "You wound me. Grievously. I said cavorting with, not— And for your information," he continued with prim rectitude, "it wasn't nocturnal. Nearer to lunchtime, I'd say. And I had no opportunity to actually emit, because Buckbeak—"

Remus buried his face in his hands in silent protest.

"Er. Too much?" Sirius asked innocently.

"Mm." Remus ran a hand through his hair and started shaking his head at the floor. In admiration, no doubt. Sirius noticed that his exclamation points had wilted into half-hearted question marks.

"Well, thank you for sharing, Sirius," Remus finally said, looking up again and grinning. "Although how I shall manage to face Emmeline at our next meeting, I have no idea."

A token protest. They both knew that Remus was so poker-faced that he could have faced down, without turning a hair, the wrath of a McGonagall who had just discovered her office stuffed to the brim with catnip. As he had, in fact, done. Twice. The Marauders having unanimously decided that they would bookend their careers as Hogwarts troublemakers with the same prank.

The smile had faded from Remus's lips to be replaced by a more serious expression, and Sirius hastily took up his knife. He fiddled with it to avoid Remus's gaze. He had an idea what might be coming.

After a short hesitation, Remus remarked with careful casualness, "So. A morning nap? I take it you're still not sleeping well?"

Sirius considered a few answers, the most appealing being, "None of your damned interfering business." But it probably wasn't a good idea to argue his right to privacy after he'd poked his own nose so spectacularly into Moony's affairs just this morning. Which Remus had probably taken into account. The underhanded git.

Finally, Sirius replied, "So you intend to take that line with me, do you?"

"Yes."

Definitely a git. Tonks had that one right. Sirius sighed. "Oh. Well. Carry on, then."

But Remus didn't speak. Sirius continued to play with his knife, perhaps a trifle belligerently, spinning it round his thumb over and over with quick movements of his fingers until it was almost a blur of silver. It was a trick he'd performed to general acclaim at Hogwarts, most often with his wand but occasionally at meals with a knife. For a time everyone was having a go at it, without notable success, until that dozy prat Davy Gudgeon thought to try it with his Potions knife and almost severed a finger. Madam Pomfrey had put her foot down after that, which effectively quashed the craze.

Remus was accomplished at waiting, and he let the silence stretch out between the two of them until Sirius couldn't stand it. Until he knew Sirius wouldn't be able to stand it.

Get it over and done with, just like a visit to a Healer, Sirius told himself, and reluctantly he muttered, "No, I haven't been sleeping all that well, if you must know."

"Are you—?"

"Unlike you, I don't have the luxury of dipping my wick in—"

"Sirius."

Sirius shut his mouth and watched his knife spin, feeling the prickle of Remus's calm scrutiny on the top of his head.

"Are you having nightmares?" Remus prodded.

"From time to time." He stopped the stupid knife trick and looked up to find Remus watching him with an eyebrow skeptically raised.

"Alright, yeah, most nights," Sirius admitted grudgingly, tossing down the knife with a flick, so that it quivered point down in the mahogany table. "Been getting them ever since the Azkaban breakout a few month ago, seems like. Lately, they've all been about my cousin Narcissa and that puffed up Malfoy arsehole she married. Dunno why, when there are so many worse people to dream about. Voldemort, for instance. Although occasionally, my other dear cousin gets a starring role—my cousin Bellatrix, Moony, no need to glare at me like that—"

"I wasn't—"

"Nauseating bint. Reckon her fondest dream is to go down on Voldemort twice a day, or any of his pals for that matter." At these last words, Remus flushed, and Sirius thought with brief surprise that he'd embarrassed him. Getting old. The young Remus would never have been so prudish.

"Yeah," Sirius continued, dismissing the thought. "Completely cracked, Bella was, even before she met old Voldie. She'd be in St. Mungo's by now if she hadn't ended up in Azkaban first. The things I could tell you about that one."

His mind roved over what he knew of his cousin's teenage escapades. Some were family scuttlebutt; others, he'd actually witnessed. "Comes of all that inbreeding in the old families, you want my opinion. Sometimes I think I'd like to catch her even more than old Voldie." He waved his hand airily. "For besmirching the family name and whatnot. But it's probably a case of find one, find the other. Can't imagine Bella moving out of reach of the fucker's prick, if he even has one anymore. You s'pose he does?"

But the trouble with old friends is that they know all of your tricks. And this friend wasn't about to let himself be drawn off the subject, even for an enlightening discussion of the state of the Dark Lord's reproductive organs. Instead, Remus leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, and peered at Sirius through his fringe.

"The dreams, Sirius?" he prompted.

Well, it had been worth a shot.

Sirius licked lips that had suddenly gone dry. "Pointless to ask me that. They're nothing special. Nothing... prophetic. No visions like Harry's had. Just. Yeah. Nine nights out of ten, nonstop bloody nightmares."

He pulled his mouth into a humourless grin. "With the occasional inappropriate-but-impressively-realistic fantasy girl tossed in for... call it comic relief."

Slumping down on the settee, Sirius stared out the window at the plane trees. "I don't know, Moony. I want... Well, I want a lot of things, but... I'd enjoy a night of sleep without the inscrutable messages from my subconscious, you know? Sometimes I think I might actually be going mad."

"You won't do anything stupid, will you, Sirius?"

"Can't promise that, old thing. Madmen are so unpredictable."

After a pause, Remus suggested tentatively, "Have you considered a dreamless sleep potion?"

"Brilliant idea." Sirius gave a mirthless laugh. "You know how to brew one?"

"With my limited skills? No. Not unless I wanted to put you into an endless sleep. Which I don't. Normally. But there's always—"

Sirius shook his head. "Not on. Don't even suggest it."

"But he—"

"Remus." Sirius sat up straighter and quelled him with a severe look. "Asking Snivellus to do me a favour would be the nadir of my entire existence. An existence which, may I humbly point out, has not been completely devoid of low points already." He sank back against the settee. "No. No potions. Liquor, as they say, is quicker."

"But does it work?"

"Not noticeably, but there's always a first time. And it's fun trying."

"Hm. Well, if you should change your mind, Severus is stopping by at half six or thereabouts."

"Oh. Your Wolfsbane?"

Remus nodded.

"Left it a bit late, didn't he? Moon rises at 7:32 tonight."

"He wasn't able to get away earlier. He has his Second Years this afternoon, and then career consultations with his NEWT candidates."

"You certainly seem to be well up on his schedule. Why you insist on cosying up to the sneaking bastard when he hates you—"

"I'm not cosying up. But I do think he deserves some respect. He's not had an easy time of it, and the life of a double agent—"

"Oh, come off it, Remus. He publicly exposed you as a werewolf. That alone is reason enough to hate him. And as for the espionage, the oily little shit loves it. Revels in it." Sirius held out his hands like a picture frame and gazed at it in distaste. "Severus Snape: Master Spy. He's exactly the kind of pathetic, insinuating, double-dealer who's perfect for that kind of—"

"Drop it." Remus interrupted, his voice holding a slight full moon edge, as Peter had used to call it.

Sirius didn't want to drop it, but he could see that sharing a few home truths about Snivelly would have to be shelved for a more auspicious time. He relieved his feelings with a heavy sigh and a resolution to make Snape regret it the next time their paths crossed.

Remus offered him a tight smile, and they began to eat again.

After some minutes, Sirius leaned back to take a moment to digest. He looked at their plates and felt a momentary pang that he hadn't thought to provide more of the trappings of an actual meal. Bread might have been pleasant. Even a veg or two. Well, another time.

He lay his head against the back of the settee, contemplating the somewhat indistinct mouldings on the ceiling. Were there actually witches coupling with centaurs up there, as Reg had once told him, or was that yet another of his brother's endless adolescent fantasies?

Remus glanced up at the ceiling as if to share whatever fascination it held and then lay his fork and knife down on his half filled plate.

"I really must thank you again, Padfoot. This meal, it's—" An uncertain smile flitted across his face, as if he had trouble taking in the idea that Sirius had cooked for him. "I'm touched."

"Should hope so, you lucky sod."

"And curious. However did you manage to get hold of—"

"Went down on bended knee to Molly—my honest word, literally on bended knee—with galleons in hand and pleading moste piteously."

"I must thank her as well, then. It was kind of her to buy them for you."

Sirius waved his hand dismissively. "She does the marketing for the Order. 'S nothing for her to pop in at one more shop."

He shifted nearer to Remus and nudged him with an elbow, none too gently. "And she didn't buy them for me. Oh, no, no. She agreed only after I let slip that they were for 'dear Remus'."

Sirius snorted and went on, "Got to hand it to you, mate. Don't know how you manage it, but that Man of Mystery thing you have going always did get the birds eating out of your hand. Couldn't pull off that kind of shite, myself."

Remus was working on his steak again and murmured somewhat indistinctly, "And yet somehow, against all odds, a few misguided birds have been known to peck at your meagre offerings."

"What, meagre? Me? I like that."

"You might. But girls don't." Remus smirked. "At least, so I understand."

"Gah." Sirius waved away Remus's pathetic attempts to cast aspersions on his manhood. "Well, Molly is definitely not part of the Sirius Black fan club, I can tell you that much. Did you notice her watching me like a hawk at Christmas? Wouldn't leave me alone in the same room with that little witch of hers, nor with Hermione either. Thinks of me as some sort of pervert, I expect."

"Oh, come now, Sirius. I don't think—"

"Well, I do. And meanwhile there you are—a god-damned slavering werewolf, I mean to say!—and I walk into the drawing room, full of the festive spirit, planning to hang a few baubles on the tree, only to find a veritable bevy—

"Two is hardly a bevy—"

"—a fucking bevy, clustering round you like bees on honey, saying—" Here Sirius lifted his voice into a breathy falsetto. "Oooh, pleeease Professor Lupin, I wonder if you could possibly you help me revise for Defence over the hols?"

"Your overactive imagination is going to get you into trouble one—"

Sirius moved even closer and, batting his eyelashes aggressively, cooed, "Oh, thank you, Professor. You're so much better than Umbridge." His voice returned to a grumble as he continued, "And then there's Molly, bestowing her matronly blessings over the entire lurid scene. Scandalous is what I call— Oof." This last as Remus shoved him unceremoniously back to his side of the settee.

"I won't deny that I am a better teacher than that bloody Umbridge cow," Remus returned, his mild voice at odds with the vitriol of his words. "And if it sets your mind at ease, I rather think that Ginny and Hermione are after somewhat younger quarry than me, Sirius."

"But the point remains—" Sirius stopped and regarded Remus suspiciously. "What do you mean, after somewhat— Is there something you know that I don't?"

"Please. Don't make me dignify that with an answer," Remus replied loftily. "In any case—"

"It's that saintly prefect act of yours, is what it is."

"And I here I thought I was a man of mystery."

"Both. Either. Got a million acts. You're devious that way."

Remus choked down a laugh. "In any case, Molly has a perfect right to be protective. I'm sure she doesn't judge you personally."

Sirius obscurely felt that Remus had got the better him in this conversation, but he couldn't work out just how it had happened. He could generally fit in ten words to every one of Remus's. This is what came of feeding the man some meat. Without it, Sirius would have had him cowering under the table by now instead of snarkily answering back.

But as Remus was in about as fine a fettle as one could hope for at this point, Sirius decided to ease the subject further away from his nightmares and towards a topic that was stubbornly still on his mind. Subtly, of course.

"And as we're speaking of girls, I—"

"Oh, great. Here it comes," said Remus, sotto voce.

"Here what comes?"

"You want to talk abut Tonks, right?"

"Well..."

"Go on, then. We may as get it over and done with."

"Listen, I don't want to—"

"'S alright. I decided after our... erm, conversation this morning, that I'd best let you get it all off your chest. You've been dying to for months, I know. So, have at it."

"With that gracious invitation, how can I resist? Wish I'd known you felt this way. Wouldn't have wasted my precious time beating about the bush for the past half hour."

"To help you get the ball rolling, let me start by saying, honourable, I have no idea, I have no idea, it's complicated, and I have no idea."

"What the f—"

"The answers to your questions," answered Remus, insufferably smug. He tilted his head slightly sideways and, in what Sirius recognised as a pitifully inept imitation of his own voice, drawled, "What are your intentions towards my cousin? Why in the name of Nimuë did she take up with a pillock like you in the first place? How serious is she about you? How serious are you about her? And how long do you expect this fiasco to last, given that you can't seem to stop acting like a pillock?

"Clever," Sirius muttered, as he mentally pieced together the answers and questions.

"I thank you." Remus inclined his head graciously.

"And ruddy tripe. Oh, yes, Lupin, you're very good at saying nothing cleverly. Have I mentioned that before?"

"Once or twice."

"But I do commend your honourable intentions towards my cousin, outdated though the concept may be in this modern age. As I'm sure Tonks would agree. Still, speaking in loco parentis, I'm extremely relieved to hear that you have no plans afoot to impregnate her and leave her weeping at the altar."

Remus inclined his head in thanks once again.

"Now," Sirius went on, warming to the subject. "As to your feelings for Tonks being complicated. We both know that 'complicated' is Remus-speak for 'I have no idea,' which seems to have become your mantra. In a nutshell, I'd say you don't know your arse from your elbow."

"Pithy." Remus observed dryly. "Original."

"I leave that sort of thing to you. Wasn't what I wanted to know, anyway. You seem to think I take an interest in your affairs, which I assure you is far from the case. The fact of you and Tonks intrudes into my consciousness only very rarely."

"Which is as it should be, as it's no concern of yours."

"Agreed," Sirius replied, at which Remus lifted an eyebrow in surprise.

Sirius picked at a loose thread on one of the settee's tapestried cushions. Feeling unaccountably hesitant, he coiled the green thread around his finger. "And in all honesty, I am sorry about this morning." He glanced up to stave off the inevitable protest. "I was out of line. Too much time on my hands, you know? What you do with Tonks, what you don't do, it's between the two of you. Not my business. It's just that she's—"

"Your cousin. First. Once removed." Remus smiled. "See, I listen." And as if to prove the point, Remus clasped his hands on his knee and waited attentively for Sirius to speak.

Sirius pulled at his thread, part of a woven serpent's tongue, but it wouldn't come loose. "Right. Well. What I wanted to ask is, does she, does Tonks— I dunno. Does she remind you of anyone?"

"I don't understand."

"Not Lily? Or, say, Dorcas or Maureen? Alice? Because Tonks has... she has that same sort of cheerful, um, energy. Not sure what to call it. But... Have you noticed? That way of sailing through life as if she were indestructible. It's how I was—hell, how we all were, even you—back then. Before..." Sirius trailed off, and then finished lamely, "Before."

Remus stared at him, his expression blank.

"Huh. Right." Sirius cleared his throat. "Thing is, I don't want to see her hurt, Moony. Because I don't want her to lose that way she has of... for purely selfish reasons—no surprise there, eh?" He laughed shortly. "I— I have to see it, to remind me of what it was like. What I was like. I need to see it, Moony."

Sirius dropped his bit of snaky thread, shook his head, and smiled ruefully. "I'm full of shit, I know. And not explaining this very well. But... Wouldn't it be something to go through your entire life like that? And never lose it, the way we did? Have that kind of unswerving sense of... what? Optimism? Purpose? Certainty?"

Still Remus said nothing. His mouth was slightly parted as he continued to stare at Sirius.

"So." Sirius licked his lips. "Couldn't you, um, try to open up to her a little bit? The way she wants you to, to make her happy? How hard can it— I mean... she already knows your worst secret. Remus?"

Remus, his eyes now fixed on a point beyond his clasped hands, gave a barely perceptible nod.

"And..." Sirius wondered if he could push it this far. But in for a knut. "Sorry, but... I can't help asking. Is it the same for you as it is for me? Is that why you fancy her? Because of that... positive energy? Not that she doesn't have other very obvious attractions, but... I just wondered if it... if it, sort of, rubs off on you when you're with her?"

Remus seemed to turn inward, lost for a moment in his own thoughts. He took his time before replying, "Sirius, I... I can't deny that I've taken... more than passing notice of those qualities in Tonks."

A faint wrinkle had appeared between Remus's eyebrows. As if reciting from a list, he went on slowly, "Impatient, optimistic, naive, joyful, inexperienced, idealistic, rash, confident, insubordinate, fearless... And, well, I could go on." He ducked his head self-consciously. "And on. The strengths and pitfalls of youth, Padfoot. Nothing more, nothing less. No need to elevate their significance. We've only lost them because we aren't young anymore. How could we be, with what we've seen? And far from being reasons for me to become involved with Tonks, they're the strongest argument I can think of why I should never have touched her in the first place."

Sirius paused in tribute to what was probably the longest speech Remus had made to him in a year. Then he said simply, "Point taken. But not an answer to my question, mate."

"Which you already know is yes. Yes. It is why I fancy her, as far as there can be a single reason for—" Remus swallowed. "For being attracted to another person. And sometimes it does rub off, a little, when I'm lucky." He looked Sirius straight in the eye with a impassive expression that somehow suggested unhappiness more clearly than anything else he could have done. "You're not the only one who can be selfish."

Sirius took note of the stiff set of Remus's shoulders and knew there would be no more revelations. It was time to shift into a less serious vein, to overlay something on top of their last words, minimising their import. That's what you did with Remus, if you didn't want him to scarper. He wondered if Tonks had learnt that yet.

He sucked at his teeth, thinking, and then spoke. "Well. Now that we've taken care of what you see in Tonks, satisfy my unhealthy curiosity. What on earth made her take up with someone as boring you in the first place?"

Remus visibly perked up at the thought of being boring. "As I said, I've no idea." His mouth twitched.

"Ah. The mantra again."

"True, though. It's never come up."

"Why am I not surprised to hear that," said Sirius under his breath.

"You don't think I'm fool enough to ask her? She might suddenly realise that it was all a big mistake." Remus's lips twitched again, apparently at the reassuring notion that there had been a big mistake. Daft was the only word for him.

"Oh, yeah. She completely strikes me as the kind of woman who'll dump you for an up-and-coming junior Ministry type as soon as one's on offer," Sirius observed dutifully, to buck Remus up even more. "But for now, why you?"

"I— At a guess, I'd say she's looking for nothing more than, well, company."

"Is that what they're calling it these days?"

Remus ignored this feeble sally. "She likes me well enough, and I'm here, conveniently on the spot as it were. You can imagine how hard it would be for her to find time for an outside relationship, with her shifts for the Order on top of Auror duties. Especially as she needs to keep so much of what she does a secret. The Order stick together. You remember that. How it was during the first war."

"Yeah. Except for Moody and Dumbledore, all of us back then were young and shagging like bunnies. So, you're just a convenience, are you?"

"I try my best."

"Bet you do, you jammy bastard," Sirius laughed. "So, you two really aren't serious about each other, then?"

"I—" Remus bit his lips in thought. "She doesn't need that. Not with me. You must know what could happen to her career if it became known that she was associating with one of my kind. Especially with the current tenor of Ministry thought— and I use the term 'thought' lightly," he added bitterly.

It didn't escape Sirius that again Remus hadn't exactly answered the question. But he let it slide.

"Oh. Is that why you wouldn't go with her to that dinner thing—"

"Of course."

"Huh. Didn't think of that."

"Obviously."

"You more sound like Snape every day. Comes of spending so much time in bad company."

"Whose, yours?"

"Ha ha." Sirius shifted in his seat. "You know, in some ways I'm surprised we're even having this conversation. You're getting on in years, my friend. By now you should be shacked up with some chubby witch with half a dozen screaming sprogs scampering underfoot. James always said you'd be the next one to get married. He even tried to get Lily to throw you her bouquet."

"Sirius," Remus began, "as much as I appreciate your concern—"

"Would that be about as much as a case of dragon pox?"

"—I have no wish to—"

"—discuss why you aren't married yet?"

Remus shrugged self-deprecatingly. "Not many witches would care to marry someone with my affliction."

"Have you never come close in all this time?"

Remus shook his head. "Not even remotely. I've tended to... It's been simpler to gravitate towards short-term liaisons with non-magical women."

Sirius groped his way through the euphemisms. "You picked up Muggle birds for the odd poke?"

"Er."

"I remember this subject coming up last summer. Didn't realise then that it was exclusively Muggles. It must have been a job explaining away those scars, though, or did you tell them the truth?" Sirius snickered.

"Right, and have myself carted off to Bedlam or wherever it is they keep their lunatics. No, I'd just be—"

"Mental health facilities."

"Eh?"

"Where they keep their loonies. Had it from a receptionist at St. Mungo's once."

"Honestly?" asked Remus, distracted by this enchanting example of Muggle double-speak.

"Would I lie? But you were saying?" Sirius prompted.

"Oh. Er," Grimmauld Place's resident connoisseur of verbal indirection pulled himself back to the topic at hand with an effort. "Well, I'd just be reticent about the scars and—"

"Now that's a shock."

"—generally let them speculate instead. Saves the trouble of thinking up something plausible, and women can be entertainingly inventive."

"Don't I know it." Sirius paused for a moment in happy contemplation of feminine imagination. "How did they explain them away, then?"

"Oh... sky diving accident, shark attack, motorbike smash up, rock climbing fall, war wounds... I'm a rather manly man, it seems."

"And here I've been saying that for years, and where has it got me?" Sirius asked rhetorically, giving Remus a flirtatious wink which was not returned. "Tell me, is it any different pulling Muggle totty? Or does the old tried and true method still work? You know, looking all prefecty and absentminded, and plucking at the lint on your jumper."

"Haven't you extracted enough secrets from me for one day, Sirius?"

"Yes, I suppose I have. Unless you want to explain to me why I found you swotting away at your books this afternoon instead of lazing in bed where good little werewolves ought to be."

Remus blinked at the abrupt change in topic, but replied evenly, "I don't laze. I cogitate. As a matter of fact, you missed Albus."

"Not fucking likely."

"I should have said, he stopped by this morning while you were otherwise engaged."

"Hmph," replied Sirius, less than thrilled by this rare news of their mighty leader. "The interfering old gasbag decided to honour us with a flying visit, did he? Still not saying where he's keeping himself these days?"

"I have the impression he's very busy, on the move, not keeping to one place for long. He wanted to see me, as it happens."

"It better have been urgent, for him to set you to heavy research today of all days—"

"Not research," began Remus.

"Then what do you call all this?" asked Sirius, sweeping his arm to encompass the literary chaos that Remus had engendered that morning.

"It seems I'll be travelling," Remus didn't look particularly happy at the announcement. "He didn't ask me to do any research, but I thought I'd try to prepare—"

"Well, he didn't pick the best time to drag you out of bed and send you packing for the far corners of the Earth, did he? Seeing as you'll be slightly tied up tonight lolling out your tongue and beating your tail on the hearthrug."

"I leave tomorrow. And it isn't for the far corners of the Earth. Switzerland, in fact."

"He knows you won't be in any shape to Apparate tomorrow," argued Sirius, feeling more incensed than he knew he ought. But Dumbledore's highhandedness had a way of getting under his skin.

"No, but I'm to take a train to Germany first. There's someone Albus wants me to speak with in Munich. I can sleep on the way." Remus clearly wasn't overjoyed at the idea of this assignment, whatever it was. That stoic face was a dead giveaway.

"Why can't he send me instead? I could put on a glamour. And no one's looking for me in Germany, anyway."

"Give it a rest," Remus replied wearily. "They're looking for you from Albania to Zaire. And aside from that, it's a... a werewolf thing."

"Ah. That must thrill you to no end. Good old Dumbles. Kind, twinkling, and always prepared to bend all available personnel to his will. For the greater good, of course, whatever he decides that is. If he wasn't so protective of Harry, I'd—" Sirius broke off and looked sharply at Remus. "Why aren't you leaping to his defence? When even Snape gets a good word from you?"

Remus lifted his shoulders. "I know how you feel. Albus and I haven't always seen eye to eye on things in the past."

"Oh? Care to elaborate?"

"No."

"Right. Of course." Sirius couldn't quite keep the reproachful tone out of his voice. "So... leaving tomorrow. He knows you're worth your weight in piss the day after the moon. Can't it wait?"

"He thinks not, and I agree. I'm to meet with the leader of a lycanthrope colony in Switzerland. The sooner after the moon I can get there, the more smoothly any negotiations should go. During the two weeks of the waning moon, the... werewolves are at their least aggressive."

"Least aggressive? I've known you for years, and I haven't noticed that you're particularly docile after the moon. No less ornery than usual, it seems to me."

"You'll have to take my word for it. And the Munich contact may also turn out to be an important ally. It seems he's under some obligation to Dumbledore—"

"Is there anyone who isn't?" Sirius interjected rhetorically.

"—and has agreed to talk with me first, offer some background information on the Swiss group. Albus believes Voldemort may try to contact the them, as he did in the last war. And since our top priority is to find substantive proof that Voldemort has returned, a witness whose veracity the Ministry would accept—"

"If he thinks they'd accept the word of some werewolf bloke—"

"It seems unlikely, I agree," and again Remus's voice was tinged with bitterness, "But Albus thinks it's worth a chance. Besides, there's the opportunity to, erm, get them on side for us. Although from what I've read, they're far more likely to stay neutral than to throw themselves into the fray on either side."

"How very Swiss."

"Quite."

"Well, Tonks'll miss you. 'Course, that'll make your homecoming all the sweeter." He fluttered his hand across his chest romantically, and Remus gave him a token scowl.

"I think, Sirius, that while I'm gone, you should spend some time with Tonks. Get to know her better. She is your relation, after all. It might do you good, take your mind off this place."

"I don't need anyone 'doing me good'."

"I meant, it'll do her good to be around you. Missing me as she no doubt will."

"Oh, well, when you put it like that. Hmmm. How shall I entertain a beautiful young woman?" Sirius mused aloud. "Can't very well ask her to play Gobstones..."

"You could, if that interests you," Remus replied dubiously.

"Of course it doesn't. Does anyone over the age of twelve still play Gobstones?"

"Well, there was the Gobstones Club at Hogwarts..."

"Yeah, yeah. There are always a few nutjobs who get off on picking the goop out of each other's eyebrows, but—"

"Do something else then. You were the one who brought up Gobstones. Show her your family tapestry. I'm sure she'd enjoy seeing Andromeda's scorch mark."

"Not so sure of that. If Andy had married differently, you know, it's not much of a stretch to think that Tonks would have been hitched up to me or Reg by now. That's the way my family works: Keep marrying the money back into the main branch."

"No, you should tell her. That would amuse her."

"Well, we'll see. How long will I need to mind your girlfriend?"

Remus eyes narrowed, and Sirius had the notion it was at the term girlfriend. "Oh, please, Moony. Everyone in the Order knows you're shagging each other stupid—"

Remus interposed, "Don't, Sirius. I don't want— it's important to leave her space for a denial, if it ever becomes necessary."

"Why would she—"

"If you ever gave a moment's notice to anything outside your own concerns, to some of the laws being passed recently, you'd know that she runs a grave risk in associating with someone like me." Remus interrupted impatiently.

Stung, Sirius shot back, "If you mean a stubborn, irritating—"

"You know exactly what I mean. If any questions were ever raised at the Ministry, she should be free to—"

"What does Tonks think about—"

"We haven't discussed it, and don't bother to make one of your snide remarks," Remus said heatedly. He took a slightly shaky breath, and went on in a calmer voice. "She's little more than an impetuous... child in some ways. Try to understand this, Sirius. If I said anything to suggest this to her, it would be like... like a red flag to a bull. She'd charge in wanting to prove that it made no difference, without a thought to the permanent harm it could do to her. What the two of us have isn't worth that risk."

"I think you're doing her a disservice in thinking that way, Moony. But I said I won't get involved, and I won't. Relax." Remus appeared slightly mollified, so Sirius went on. "Can't we just... forget it? Let's get back to my question. How long will you be gone?"

"A week, I'd say. Possibly two. But I'll definitely be heading back when the moon begins to wax."

"The aggressive thing, eh? Urge to pee on the carpet, gnaw on bones, hump the furniture, et cetera?"

Remus's still-nettled expression gave way in a small huff of laughter, and he said, "I think Padfoot would enjoy the first ones. I'm more the et cetera type."

"If you say so, but really I don't get it. I've never seen you particularly aggressive before the moon. Grumpy, yes. Tired, yes. Uglier than usual, absolutely. But not aggressive."

Remus flushed and picked up his plate to finish the last of his meat. Looking down into his plate, he said quietly, "Aggression can manifest itself in ways not obvious to the casual observer, Sirius. And unfortunately it comes with a tendency to target the weakest or most vulnerable." He looked up. "Which means that it's not the best time to negotiate with a... a werewolf, especially if you are one."

"I believe it if you say so," Sirius said dubiously, and then brightened at a new thought. "Say! As you're leaving tomorrow, this is our valedictory meal. That calls for a drink, eh? And I happen to know—"

Sirius pulled out his wand and Summoned two glasses from the kitchen, which landed on the table in front of them with a faint clink.

"Sirius—"

"Accio, Bill's ale."

A large, corked bottle emerged from a dark recess in one of the corner bookshelves.

"I don't—"

"It's alright. Dung let on where it was. Told me I was welcome to it, lots more where that came from. Belgian, I think he said. Gets it off one of the goblins Bill works with. Apparently they knock the stuff back at an amazing rate."

"Not for me, Sirius," Remus interposed, pouring water from his wand into one of the glasses. "But thank you."

"Oh. Yeah. That's right. D'you want to tell me why you stopped—"

"No."

"Or at least when—"

"No."

"Right. Well." Always worth a try. He lifted his own glass to Remus. "Cheers, mate."

And they drank.

---

Sirius pushed his empty plate away, wiped his mouth on his napkin, and threw it down. "Aaaah. That was good. Lavish compliments to the chef, eh?"

Remus nodded and kept chewing.

"Possibly, I will offer a genteel eructation," Sirius went on ruminatively. "Merely, you understand, as a mark of my appreciation. It does carry the slight risk that Mother will bound out of her portrait and curse me to Hades and back for manners. Big on manners the mater was, though you'd not guess it to meet her now."

Sirius finished the last of the ale in his glass as Remus eyed him suspiciously. The room felt suddenly too quiet for Sirius. The house felt too quiet. Life itself was altogether too quiet.

"Oh, what the hell," he said, and let out a loud, satisfying belch, which was followed immediately by the even greater satisfaction of seeing Remus look faintly scandalised.

In his most atrocious French accent, Sirius asked innocently, "Monsieur Moony, he ees eaten up weez ze envy, n'est-ce pas? He weeshes to know ze secret of zis prodeegious weend?

"Uh. No, actually," Remus smirked. "But he was wondering how Monsieur Padfoot ever managed to attract one girlfriend, much less the, er, scores that he claims."

Sirius held up his hand for silence to an imaginary audience. "Oh, ho!" he crowed. "Do my ears deceive me? Can it be that we have finally arrived at the momentous, uh, moment when Remus J. Lupin is asking, nay, begging, to sit humbly at my feet while I impart my methods for attracting members of the fair sex?"

Remus rolled his eyes. "In your dreams."

"Surprising as it may be, I generally prefer my dreams sans Remus. Try to bear up under the disappointment. I realise you wouldn't want to miss out on the tantalising parade of exotic females—the name Emmeline Vance springs to mind—"

"Wanker."

"Mm. Already established, I think."

Remus lips parted at this rejoinder, an echo of his own words from that morning. He let out a chuckle, which seemed to surprise him. He seemed to struggle with himself for a moment, and then gave in, throwing his head back and collapsing into laughter against the back of the settee. Sirius looked at him affectionately and took a swig of ale out of the bottle. See what a Fitch & Sons' steak could do?

(to be continued in chapter 6)

---

Author's note: Dozens of Youtube videos demonstrate Sirius's little knife trick, the thumbaround. And possibly I should acknowledge my partial use of the Dorothy Parker aphorism "Candy is dandy, but liquor is quicker."

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