Chapter Eight: Whose Part Was to be Gladness

Chapter Eight: Whose Part Was to be Gladness

"And as its going often at love's breaking,

About days when we were saved together."

-Anna Akhmatova, And As Its Going

As Dumbledore and Moody fill Shacklebolt in on the details of Pettigrew's betrayal, Phineas takes advantage of their distraction to beckon Remus Lupin over. He doesn't distrust anyone in the room, but habit dictates that he keep his cards as close to the vest as possible, and Sirius' location is his ace in the hole. He hadn't even intended to tell Lupin, but the intense, desperate look on the boy's face had been unmistakable. Phineas might not approve of his reasons, but the fact remains that Lupin would die before betraying Sirius, and that is a valuable enough commodity that he cannot afford to be fastidious.

"Sirius is in Cologne," he says softly, as soon as Lupin is close enough that they won't be overheard. "Go to the cathedral there, and I'll send him to fetch you."

Lupin nods, eyes grave. He doesn't say anything, for which Phineas is profoundly grateful. He's already had a full dose of Albus Dumbledore this morning: the last thing he needs is now is a fool Gryffindor asking stupid questions.

There is always time for biscuits, Phineas. It wouldn't have been quite as irritating if he hadn't suspected that he was being very gently wound up. Phineas will never cease to wonder that Dumbledore was not placed in Slytherin.

He waits impatiently as Lupin makes his goodbyes and gets his last instructions from Dumbledore; contact instructions mainly, to which Phineas listens with half an ear.

Moody glowers at him, and although Phineas half-expects some sort of threat from the man; some crudity along the lines of 'watch after Lupin or I'll set your frame on fire', Moody seems to feel that a visual remonstrance is sufficient. Phineas, who has always felt that an unspoken threat is generally more effective, nods once at him before stepping into the gray space between Hogwarts and Cologne.

Sirius is not in the library when Phineas arrives. He experiences a brief moment of apprehension as he moves from frame to frame through the shadowed house, ignoring the disgruntled mutterings of the portraits he disturbs on the way. His relief at finding the lad coming out of the master bath freshly showered and shaved vents itself in sarcasm.

"I see you haven't blown yourself up yet," he says. "It's rather fortunate, seeing as your cousin got herself Kissed last night."

"Bellatrix?" Sirius asks. There is something terribly bright in his eyes.

"Who else?" Phineas asks dryly. "How did the rest of your spell go?"

The near-eagerness in Sirius' eyes flashes into anger.

"I don't want to talk about it," he grinds out, and stalks off down the hall.

Phineas keeps pace with him through the frames lining the wall, the flames flaring and dying in the braziers as they pass. When he'd been alive, the sconces had burned with pale fire at all hours of the day and night.

"That bad?" he asks dryly. "Perhaps it's a good thing I got you some help, then."

Sirius comes to a dead stop, and turns to face Phineas. The total absence of emotion on his face is something he can only have learned at Walburga's hands.

"What are you talking about?" he asks.

"This isn't the only place my portrait hangs," Phineas points out. He refrains from mentioning that Sirius really ought to have figured this out already, but from Sirius' darkening expression, he doesn't need to. "In addition to the Black ancestral properties, I also have access to the Ministry – and to Hogwarts. Albus Dumbledore has known you were innocent since your first night here."

Phineas could almost resent the profound relief that suddenly floods Sirius' eyes. He has never understood the all-encompassing trust that Dumbledore's students have always had in the man's ability to fix anything, particularly after it has been proven so often recently that he can't. Still, the fact remains that Sirius looks as though half the world has come off of his shoulders in the past three seconds.

"Thank you," Sirius says. Phineas scowls.

"Don't thank me. Dumbledore's moving mountains for you. He called in Alastor Moody and talked him around. Moody recruited that werewolf of yours, and the pair of them got themselves spotted by young Shacklebolt, who instead of turning them in is also determined to prove you innocent." Phineas shakes his head in half-feigned amazement. "You've got friends, boy. Good friends. Since you're most likely the first Black in about two centuries to have done so, I suggest that you be grateful for them. Lupin is waiting for you at the cathedral as we speak."

"Here?"

"It wouldn't do much good if he were anywhere else," Phineas says. He hadn't been expecting the sudden anger that kindles in Sirius' face; the cold rage that, from a Black, is far more dangerous than any amount of shouting.

"What in Nimue's name were you thinking?" he demands, his voice low and hard with fury. "I didn't want Remus within a hundred miles of me! He's a werewolf. They won't stop to ask questions if they find him in my company! He'll get the Dementor's Kiss as quickly as I will, and bloody Crouch will brag about it afterwards! Remus was supposed to survive."

"With any luck," Phineas says sharply, "you'll both survive. And don't be so melodramatic. It's unbecoming."

Sirius blinks at him, then deflates almost visibly. Phineas congratulates himself on his undiminished ability to take the wind out of a bout of adolescent nonsense in ten seconds flat.

"Now," he says, "you can either stand here arguing with me or you can go and fetch your werewolf, at which point you might stand a chance of catching Pettigrew. I realize that you've been planning on going out in a blaze of anguished glory and that Lupin's presence might put a damper on those plans. Nevertheless, you might consider the fact that it's cold outside, and that Lupin, from his expression, is more than likely to wait for you until he's frozen solid. It's entirely up to you."

***

In the end Sirius goes as Padfoot, transforming as soon as he's finished Apparating. Oris Abeus would work well enough if he trusted himself to speak, which he does not. Or if he weren't terrified of what Moony will say to him, which he is. Padfoot doesn't have to bother with nonsense like speech, which means that Sirius is free to say everything that he knows he'll never find the words for. Forgiveness, apology – all of it is easier while canine, most likely because he can't open his mouth and cock things up further.

Transformed, he can smell Moony before he can see him clearly. For a few seconds canine instincts take over, and he runs gladly towards him, towards pack/alpha/safety, even forgetting himself enough to let out a welcoming bark. Moony looks up sharply, and the gesture is enough to shock Sirius back into human sensibilities; to remind him that he can neither give nor expect a dog's easy forgiveness, however much he might want to.

He comes to a stop a few feet from Remus and cannot make himself look the man in the eyes. Sirius hangs his head, his shoulders hunched in the classic posture of canine guilt and misery. He is a much better liar when in human form.

"Pads?" Remus asks, an odd hesitancy in his voice, given that he knows Sirius' Animagus form as well as he does Sirius' own. Better, even, as Padfoot has always been able to ask for physical affection, which is something that Sirius has not entirely trusted himself to ask for from Remus since the summer after their third year at Hogwarts for fear of betraying himself.

Padfoot's tail waves involuntarily at the sound of Remus' voice, but he still cannot make himself meet Remus' eyes. Three months of polite, icy silence have apparently formed a wall that not even he can break through. Suppressing the whine in his throat, he turns and slinks back to the alley into which he'd Apparated earlier. He looks over his shoulder once. When he sees that Remus is following him, he does not look again.

***

Sirius has to shift back to human form to Disapparate, and Remus can't quite hold back a gasp of dismay at his appearance. Without Padfoot's fur as camoflauge, the stress of the past week is written plain on Sirius' face. He's visibly thinner than he was two weeks ago, and Remus knows he hasn't been sleeping, because he's ghostly pale beneath the last remnants of his summer tan. There are deep circles beneath his eyes that give them a bruised look and remind Remus of the newsprint smudges on his china. He has never seen Sirius look so brittle before, not even during their first three weeks at Hogwarts.

"Pads," he says again, then wants to bite his tongue in chagrin at the combination of worry and longing he'd heard in his own voice.

"You'll have to come Side-Along," Sirius says with a smile that doesn't go anywhere near his eyes, "and I'll have to take down part of the wards before we go inside." The hand he holds out to Remus is trembling slightly.

Sirius Apparates as soon as their hands meet and breaks the grip almost before the whirl of the spell has subsided. He seems to have acquired a fondness for back alleys, Remus notes. The one they are currently standing in is bordered on one side by a row house and on the other by a blank brick wall.

Sirius reaches out a hand and presses one of the bricks. When he pulls it back, Remus notices a smear of blood on his palm. Still, Sirius has his eyes closed and is murmuring an incantation under his breath, Remus says nothing. He knows enough about Sirius' family to know that whatever wards Sirius is currently working with are deadly dangerous. Distracting him now could prove fatal to both of them.

He waits while Sirius takes down the wards, while he spells the door open, and during the entire walk along the long, dimly-lit hallway.

When Sirius opens the door to a bedroom without a word, Remus has had enough. There are three long months between them, months during which Sirius has been excruciatingly polite and Remus has said next to nothing. Now they know that neither of them is the traitor, and this is beyond ridiculous.

"It's good to see you, Sirius," he says calmly. "You look like shit. Have you been living off of dog food again?"

Sirius blinks and meets his eyes for the first time. Remus presses the advantage while he still has it. An off-balance Sirius is a rarity, and not something to waste.

"Oh, well," he says, still using the even tones that he knows have secretly driven Sirius insane since fourth year, "I suppose it's better than if you'd been eating rats. They're not sanitary." He gives Sirius a considering look. "You haven't been eating rats, have you Pads? You look a little pale--"

"I haven't been eating much of anything," Sirius snaps. Remus watches the warning signs creep over Sirius' face: the lowered brows, the changed line of his jaw as he sets his teeth in preparation for a fight. The cold, dangerous look in his eyes is starting to warm into anger, and Remus decides to push a little further. If he can get Sirius to cross the line into shouting, furious rage, it will be all right.

"I think we should deal with that first, then," Remus says, with what he believes to be a credible impression of Dumbledore's most irritating calm. "I'm fairly hungry myself. What would you like? I've gotten fairly good at conjuring lately."

"I'm not hungry," Sirius says through gritted teeth.

Remus debates the wisdom of pointing out how childish that sounds, then decides against it. It won't do any good for both of them to start shouting, and they will if he goes that route.

"Tea?" he offers. That does the trick.

"I don't want any bloody tea!" Sirius roars. He slams the bedroom door closed. The long hallway suddenly feels much more claustrophobic. "I want to know what you think you're playing at! It's not going to take the Aurors long to figure out where you've gone! Who's going to take care of Harry after the Dementors have Kissed us both?! You were supposed to live, you bastard! You were supposed to survive!"

"Harry's with Lily's sister," Remus snaps, forgetting for an instant that he'd intended to keep his temper. "The Ministry would put him in an orphanage before they let a werewolf have him! Don't tell me that blast of Peter's injured your brain – I won't believe it."

Sirius flushes angrily and opens his mouth to respond, but Remus cuts him off.

"What was I supposed to do, Sirius? While you went off and got yourself killed avenging James, what was I supposed to do? Spend the rest of my life alone, hating your memory and mourning Peter's?!"

"I was trying to protect you!"

"What gives you the right to make that decision for me?"

"Because it's my fault! It's my fucking fault!" Sirius is breathing in great, shuddering gasps, his eyes gleaming with fury and with unshed tears. "I killed James, all right? I killed James. I couldn't – not you, too. Not you."

***

Author's Notes: As always, my thanks to my brilliant betas. Title borrowed from In Warsaw by Czeslaw Milosz. Feedback makes me very, very happy.