"This is getting ridiculous, Draco!" Harry grumbled as he sat opposite Draco in the Slytherin common room. He rubbed his aching arms ruefully. "You're making us practice every night until our limbs hang loose, and now you want to charm the brooms, too?"
"Look, I need to win this match, all right?" Draco argued. "This is the first match I'm captaining, and I'll be damned if we don't flatten Gryffindor!"
"Oh, so it's the Malfoy pride that we're all sacrificing the use of our limbs in later life for, is that it?"
"Don't be so melodramatic, Potter," Draco snapped, looking irritated. "And yes, my integrity is at stake here, if we don't win this match I think I'll kill myself."
"And we can't have that, can we?" Harry remarked dryly. "Why would we ever want another captain who doesn't think that crippling his teammates is the way to go?" He caught Draco's murderous look, and grinned. "Relax, Draco, Gryffindor has never been that much of a threat. If there's anything you should look out for, it's Ravenclaw."
Draco shook his head. "You don't understand, do you? Beating Gryffindor means a whole lot more than beating Ravenclaw. It's the age-old rivalry between the two Houses, and I think I'll die of embarrassment if we don't win the match."
Harry gave him a sidelong look he'd never seen Draco half as worried about anything else before. "Look, it's not that big a deal, all right? Stop fretting."
Draco glared at Harry. "I'm not fretting," he snapped peevishly, as if that was an extremely girlish thing to do. "I'm just thinking, that's all."
"Oh, believe me, if that's 'thinking', your head would have combusted years ago."
Draco had become increasingly obsessive during practice sessions of late probably the only one who escaped unscathed from his criticism was Harry, because he was just a simply exceptional Seeker.
"Look," Harry continued. "Our team is good everyone knows that. We don't need to charm the brooms to win."
"Yes, we do." Draco's voice was muffled; he'd buried his face in his hands and was massaging his temples. "I need every assurance I can get that we'll definitely win this match."
Harry allowed himself a secret smile a lot of people would be surprised to see Draco like this. To the rest of the school, Draco Malfoy was a composed, poised student, a natural leader, calm in all situations. Well, it looked like a Quidditch match against Gryffindor wasn't one of them.
"Tomorrow night," Draco said abruptly, without looking up.
"What?" Harry cast a worried glance at Draco he could detect the steely note in his voice, and that usually meant trouble because there would be virtually no way of talking Draco out of it, whatever it was.
"The brooms. I know a charm that'll make our brooms move faster, with more precision and quicker reaction time." Draco looked up, and there was a fixed look of determination in his grey eyes.
"Faster?" Harry gave a sigh. "You've already got the latest Firebolt, Draco, the best there is in the market. I've got a Firebolt, too, the second-latest model at least. Any faster and we'll shoot straight to Mars on kick-off."
Draco looked agitated. "That's not the point. The point is that we'll have a considerable edge over Gryffindor if our brooms move faster and respond quicker. We can zip around and they'll spend most of their time chasing us."
"We already zip around and they already spend most of their time chasing us," Harry pointed out, remembering their last match against Gryffindor in the previous season; Slytherin had won 250-20. Of course, Harry had caught the Snitch. "We already win on talent, Draco, and that's more important than fast brooms, which we incidentally also have."
It was almost amusing, Harry realised, that he was sitting here trying to coax Draco Malfoy into being rational. Harry'd never quite thought himself fitting the role of the clear-minded, sensible one. On any other occasion, if Draco was being so stubborn and mulish about anything else, Harry would've just told him to shut up and go boil his head. But now Harry could empathise with Draco, in a way Quidditch meant a lot to both of them, and the responsibility of defending the Quidditch Cup for Slytherin was a weighty burden on Draco as Captain.
Draco shook his head. "I'm going to do it anyway," he said adamantly, and from the look in his eyes, Harry knew there was no talking him out of it.
"It's a stupid thing to do," Harry warned anyway. "If we get caught..."
"We won't get caught," Draco said confidently. "They already expect Firebolts to go fast, they won't notice that they're a bit faster than they should be." He raised his eyes to meet Harry's, issuing a silent challenge. "So are you with me, or do I have to go alone?"
Harry sighed. He really didn't want Draco to have to charm the brooms all by himself, and if Draco got caught... they couldn't afford their best Chaser to be banned from the game, or worse, have the entire Slytherin team disqualified for attempting to cheat.
"All right," he said, although he fixed Draco with a stern look. "But no sabotaging of the Gryffindor brooms, you hear?"
Draco looked slightly crestfallen. "That was next on the agenda, actually."
"No." Harry wasn't going to back down on this. "There's no way I'm going to let you do that, and that's final. Come on, Malfoy, don't you want to win in your own right? Don't you want the feeling of satisfaction that you're better than them without having to make their brooms explode?"
Draco waved his hand dismissively. "I don't need all that crap, I just need to win. I need to win, and I need to flatten them by a huge margin."
"If you want me to come with you, we are not touching the Gryffindor brooms," Harry said flatly.
"Fine, fine," Draco finally conceded. "Whatever."
Harry looked at Draco, and crossed his arms over his chest. "Promise you won't sabotage Gryffindor's brooms." Draco returned a mutinous look, but Harry persisted. "Go on, say it, or I'm not coming with you tomorrow night."
"All right, all right," Draco raised both his palms in mock surrender. "I promise. There, you happy now?"
"You're just being extremely paranoid about this whole thing, Malfoy, you know that?" Harry shook his head as he got up, dusted off his robes and headed to their dungeon dormitory. He cast a backward glance at Draco, who had lapsed back into deep thought, probably already planning how they were going to sneak out and get the brooms charmed.
Harry smiled wryly, and wondered why he even made Draco swear not to hex the Gryffindor brooms since when did a promise from Draco Malfoy count for much, anyway?
* * *
It was still dark outside, the merest shades of the dawning day only beginning to diffuse across the inky night sky. There was stillness all around, save for the quiet chirping of crickets and the soft hooting of hunting owls, but instead of being eerie, the silence felt strangely comforting.
Lupin strolled along the edge of the Quidditch pitch, the grass rustling softly under his footsteps. It was a gift borne of his other nature, Lupin thought, his ability to walk the field without disturbing anything, not even a butterfly resting atop a curving blade of long grass.
He continued walking silently until he reached the boundary of the Forbidden Forest. There he picked a tree just outside of the Forest and sat down at the foot of it, leaning against the rough, knobbly bark of the trunk. It pricked his back, but he didn't mind. Lupin stretched out his legs, and sat there resting, thinking.
He liked the darkness. It wasn't a very enlightening quality, to have such an affinity for the darkness, but Lupin knew that was the truth. He wondered if it due to his being a werewolf living in the darkness was his second nature. He came alive in the darkness, and ironically, often it was in the blackness of night that he could best think things through clearly. The silence welcomed his thoughts and afforded him some clarity of mind.
He looked at the Forbidden Forest: he still remembered it vividly, every beaten path and running creek, even though it had been years since he last roved the Forest in the company of Padfoot, Wormtail and Prongs.
Remus closed his eyes. Dumbledore had already gone to speak with Crouch; that meant that Sirius would be released any time now, and very soon, he'd have the chance to speak with his old friend again. And deep down inside, Remus looked forward to it.
When dawn finally broke in brilliant streaks of golden daylight, Remus slowly got to his feet. It was quite a wonder how he wasn't stiff from staying in a fixed position for so long. Yet another gift derived from his alternate existence as a wolf, Lupin mused as he strolled along the fence, away from the Forbidden Forest. Movement stirred as the day arrived; birds woke to the freshness of morning and twittered cheerfully while crickets chirped in the bushes. As he made his way back to his office, Lupin met a group of Gryffindor Quidditch players, sleepy-eyed as they trudged toward the pitch for early morning practice in preparation for the match against Slytherin the following day; Lupin greeted them and wished them a good practice session before parting ways.
Lupin sensed the presence even as he neared his office; foreign, yet strangely familiar. His instincts came alive and he stiffened; very cautiously, he stretched out his hand and turned the doorknob. He pushed open the door and looked inside, his body tense with anticipation, his eyes darting around.
Curled up on the cushions was a large, black dog, its muzzle resting between its front paws, one of which was shackled with a thin silver band. It raised its head when Remus entered, but didn't react otherwise. It seemed to have sensed Remus coming as well; it stared back at Remus, its mournful black eyes unblinking.
Remus stood rooted to the spot. It only occurred to him several moments later to shut the door. He had expected Sirius's arrival, but even then, it felt surreal to seehim again like this, the dark, hulking presence that Remus had been so used to seeing running alongside him.
"Sirius?" he whispered, his voice hoarse. The name sounded familiar and strange; it was so often spoken of contemptuously, that Sirius Black, who betrayed his friends, who caused James's and Lily's death.
Remus swallowed hard, and tried again. "Padfoot?"
The dog let out a soft, weary growl. Remus blinked, and the next moment a grown man sat before him, hunched on the sofa where the dog once sat. A soft gasp escaped Remus' lips as he stared at him.
Sirius was very thin, to the point of being emaciated; his skin had an unhealthy, colorless tone. Sirius's hair was messy and unkempt, even more ruffled since he'd changed back from being a dog; limp black locks of hair framed his fragile face, making him look thinner than ever. But what jarred Remus the most was Sirius's eyes: they were deadened and hollow, completely devoid of the life and spirit of the Sirius he once knew.
The glint of metal that braceleted Sirius' bony wrist caught Remus's attention. Remus looked at it curiously, and Sirius noticed his inquisitive glance.
"It's a Restraining Band." His voice was scratchy, as if he'd just recovered from losing it, which wasn't far from the truth Azkaban took away a person's voice in a very different way. Sirius looked calmly at him, and then continued in a detached tone, "It makes sure that if I escape, I don't get very far not in one piece, at least. The furthest-flung body part has been known to reach a distance of up to a mile."
Remus looked at him, shocked. "Dumbledore made you wear that?"
"Courtesy of Azkaban, but Dumbledore holds the Activator," Sirius answered. "That's the only reason I allowed them to put it on me without scratching them bloody." He glanced down at the band encircling his wrist. "It's not the most flattering accessory, I must say."
Sirius's calmness was unnerving; Lupin took a tentative step forward. It was hard to explain Sirius looked so different, yet being with him, it felt... the same.
Sirius gave him a tired look, and then sighed. "You can take a step or two closer, Moony, I don't have a wand to blast you into oblivion with."
Lupin's eyes narrowed. "Don't make jokes like that."
Sirius looked pointedly at Lupin.
"Fine," he said. "Since we're talking seriously, why don't you tell me what I'm doing here outside Azkaban in the first place?"
Lupin blinked. "Dumbledore didn't tell you?"
Sirius shook his head. "He said that it'd be better if you told me personally." He eyed Lupin questioningly, but said nothing more.
Lupin groaned inwardly. How did Dumbledore expect him to explain everything, everything to Sirius, all by himself? There was still so much they hadn't talked about, between them Lupin drew a deep breath. He looked at Sirius, who was sitting on the sofa, waiting; and if Remus looked hard enough, he could see the hollows of pain etched into Sirius's worn face, the ghostly scars of his life no, existence in Azkaban.
And for the countless hours he'd spent thinking about this meeting with Sirius, Lupin had never gone so far as to think about what he would actually do when they were finally in the same room together again. Whether to tell or to ask, to answer or to listen. There were just too many things you couldn't just take out one thing without everything else coming crashing down along with it.
Across from Lupin, Sirius sat rigidly on the sofa. His bbody was unaccustomed to the cushioned seat, far too used to the hard cold floor back in his cell in Azkaban.
Even miles away from there, I still can't stop thinking about it, Sirius reflected grimly. This is how it kills you it never lets you forget.
His release had come as an abrupt surprise; late last night, while he was lying sleepless on the damp, cold floor with nothing but the darkness for company, a Ministry officer had approached his cell with two Dementors in tow. For a fleeting, panicked moment, Sirius had deliriously wondered if they were going to give him the Dementor's Kiss.
The Ministry wizard had informed him about his temporary release, "pending further investigations." Reconsidering my case fifteen years after I was sentenced? Sirius had thought disgustedly. Efficient judicial system they're running out there.
He'd slowly risen to his feet; his limbs felt deadened like the rest of his body. In Azkaban, feeling physical pain had become as common as breathing air which was probably why a lot of the prisoners stopped doing both within their first year of incarceration. He had been led from his cell flanked by two Dementors; he'd shivered, feeling the waves of icy hopelessness emanating from them, the unbearable cold gnawing at his bones. The Ministry wizard had looked worse for wear, too he talked in a high-pitched voice and seemed scared to death by either Sirius or the Dementors, or both. He hurriedly handed Sirius a Portkey, and then hastily Disapparated.
The Portkey had taken Sirius straight to a vaguely familiar room: Bartemius Crouch's office. Crouch was there, and Sirius had felt a jolt of surprise when his eyes focused on the other person in the room Albus Dumbledore.
Crouch had looked mutinous throughout their brief meeting; he ordered for two Restraining Bands to be placed on Sirius, but Dumbledore had staunchly refused. ("Detonating one Band is enough to reduce the person wearing it and a ten-foot radius around him to ashes I think you've sufficiently proved your point, Crouch.") They'd initially attached the Retraining Band around Sirius's neck like a grotesque necklace, but Dumbledore had insisted it be taken off and placed around his wrist instead. ("Your purpose is to restrain him, Crouch, not to humiliate him.")
He'd been brought to Hogwarts at the crack of dawn. Sirius had secretly been amused to learn that Remus was a teacher at Hogwarts thinking of all the pranks they'd pulled together back at school, it was a marvel that Remus could take on a position of responsibility now. Dumbledore had suggested he wait for Remus to return to his office, and Sirius changed into the form of a dog and sat on the sofa, awaiting Remus's return.
Now Lupin stared at Sirius, sitting stiffly on his sofa.
Finally he blurted out, "Peter's alive, Sirius."
Sirius nodded calmly. "I know."
"Then why didn't you say something?" Lupin exploded, giving Sirius a wild look of disbelief. "Why didn't you tell us you didn't kill him? Why did you just let them"
Sirius gave a resigned shrug. "You wouldn't have believed me. Pettigrew's sliced finger, his bloodstained robes, the streetful of dead Muggles, chaos everywhere... there was no way you would've believed me, Remus, not even you."
"You never gave me a chance, did you?" Lupin said bitterly.
"Put it this way I could do with one less friend calling me a liar or a traitor." Sirius gave a thin smile, and Remus saw it didn't reach his eyes. "Helped me remember you better, too."
"James and Lily, then? Who's responsible?" Lupin asked tightly.
A pained expression flickered across Sirius's haggard features; he sighed, and his quiet voice echoed in the silent room.
"I would never have sold them out, Remus," he said with a shake of his head. "I was the one who persuaded James to change to Peter as their Secret-Keeper at the last moment I thought it would be the perfect decoy, the best" Sirius' voice cracked and he drew a breath.
"But I was wrong. Peter was the spy all along. He betrayed James and Lily to Voldemort. I managed to find him afterward, and confronted him. He cut off his own finger, blew the street apart with his wand behind his back, then disappeared into the sewers as a rat. He's been alive, all this while, in hiding." He paused. "I knew no one would believe me, so I gave up, turned myself in."
And Lupin believed him. He didn't know why, but he just did. It wasn't rational at all it was the heart speaking louder than the mind, something that Remus rarely allowed. And suddenly it seemed like the most natural thing in the world, the same way he'd trusted Sirius when they were younger and Sirius had said, "Hop off the tower; you won't crash." And he trusted Sirius then, and he had jumped, and he hadn't crashed. (Sirius had been trying out an Invisible Netting Spell; they'd both got detention for "recklessly endangering their lives," but Remus had known that if Sirius had asked him to, there really wasn't any danger at all.)
And nothing had changed since then.
Lupin shook his head. "You should never give up on the truth, Sirius," he said softly.
Sirius sighed. "I gave that up along with a lot of other things, Remus."
They both sat in silence, but this time it was comfortable, like they'd finally reached an understanding.
"How's Harry?" Sirius suddenly asked, raising his sunken eyes to look at Remus. His voice was hoarser. "Is he here in Hogwarts?"
"Yes, he's in Hogwarts he's started his sixth year." Remus hesitated he didn't want to tell Sirius that Harry had been put in Slytherin. The deadened look in Sirius's eyes was still too stark, and Remus had a feeling knowing his godson was a Slytherin wasn't going to fill them with more life.
So all he did was force a smile and say, "Harry's fine, Sirius. I think Dumbledore will let you talk to him if you want to."
"And if he wants to," Sirius added morosely. "Don't think he'll be falling over himself to meet the godfather who supposedly killed his parents."
Looking at Sirius' glum expression, Remus thought of cheering him up by telling him how good Harry was at Quidditch; then he remembered that Harry was the Slytherin Seeker and decided against it.
Sirius leaned back, his frail frame resting against the broad sofa. He looked exhausted, although from a weariness that couldn't be attributed to physical fatigue.
"I thought about Harry a lot, while I was Azkaban," Sirius said. "I know Voldemort didn't kill him, that he went to live with Lily's Muggle folks after James and Lily died." Off Remus's raised eyebrow, he explained, "I met Hagrid outside the house, he was taking little Harry away."
"Not so 'little' now," Remus pointed out, with a small smile.
Sirius didn't return the smile; he continued talking slowly, as if speaking right from his soul. "There weren't many things for me to hold on to in Azkaban, and I often thought about Harry how he was growing up, whether he was looking more and more like James, although I'd say he definitely has Lily's eyes."
It pained Remus to hear Sirius talk about the way he suffered in Azkaban and it hurt to see the deadened expression in Sirius's eyes, which used to glint mischievously ever so often. Sirius was right. He hadn't escaped unscathed from Azkaban; there was a little part of his soul that was given to the Dementors, lost forever.
Remus saw an shiver go through Sirius's gaunt body, and he quickly shrugged off his outer robes and put it around Sirius's thin shoulders. "Here, put it on. It's quite cold in here."
"No, Remus," Sirius said, almost bitterly, and touched his hand to his own chest, over his heart. "It's cold in here."
Remus stared hopelessly at Sirius; and he felt so useless, sitting so near his friend yet being unable to do anything about his pain, a pain that Remus knew he coud never even begin to understand.
"I'm sorry, Sirius," Remus fought to keep his voice from choking with emotion, but he couldn't help it.
Sirius looked at him. "Sorry about what, Remus?"
Lupin felt Sirius' gaze upon him and tried to find the right words; but they wouldn't be found and he gave up, just shook his head helplessly.
"Everything." He bit on his lip. "I'm so sorry, Padfoot."
Sirius gave Remus a rueful smile. "So am I."