Accidentally In Love 10, part 2

[lls_mutant]

***

The pub was a far cry from the Leaky Cauldron or the Dragon Rider. It was a mangy, grimy place with clouded glasses and cheap booze. Sirius huddled in a corner, a bottle of whiskey in front of him.

"You won't find answers at the bottom of the glass, lad," he heard Moody say, as the older Auror slid in across from him.

"Not looking for answers," Sirius said sulkily. "Trying to forget the questions. How did you find me, anyway?"

Moody signaled to the waiter for another glass, and then took the bottle from Sirius. "Tracking charm," he said casually. "You'll want to be much more careful about that. No telling who could follow you."

Sirius shrugged.

"It's been a rough week for you, hasn't it lad?"

Sirius looked up, startled. Sympathy from Moody was not something he was accustomed to. "I suppose," he admitted. "Alice…."

"She's fine," Moody said, waving his hand dismissively. "I'm more worried about you."

"The leg is fine," Sirius said. "They didn't just let me go from St. Mungo's; they all but kicked me out. I'll be back at work tomorrow."

"That's not what I'm worried about."

Sirius sighed heavily. "This isn't one of those 'let's sit down and discuss feelings' type things, is it?"

Moody pinned him with blue gimlet eyes and a scowl. "Have I ever been the type to discuss feelings, Black?"

"No," Sirius admitted.

"Good. Now that we've got that codswallop out of the way, you need to be more careful. Not just of watching for tracking charms and keeping your eyes open, although you could stand to do better at that. But getting attached. Getting emotional."

"I thought you said this wasn't about feelings."

"It's not. It's about not letting yourself have feelings. That's different."

"So different," Sirius said sarcastically.

Moody rubbed his chin. "You almost weren't accepted to the Aurors, you know."

Sirius stared at him. "No," he finally said. "I didn't know."

"Mmm. Your magic is first rate, no doubt, and you're one of the more intelligent applicants we've ever had. But this," Moody tapped the table, "is why. Too emotional. Too unstable."

Sirius drew a breath in with a hiss. "I am not unstable!'

"Unpredictable, then," Moody said, unperturbed. "Sometimes I still wonder if it wasn't a mistake, but this is war, and we need every man we've got. But it was a mistake to pair you with Lupin. Told Doge that."

"Piss off," Sirius said tiredly. "I'm handling it."

"That's just it, Black, you're not. But you'd better start."

"Look, one flashback-"

"You think I'm going to believe that?" Moody said, setting his glass down. "You think I didn't see your face today when you saw that Death Eater dead?"

"Because she was killed with an Unforgivable!"

"You've seen people killed by Unforgivables before."

"Not by Aurors."

"Yeah." Moody picked the glass back up, filled it, and downed the contents in one gulp. "Well," he said, pushing his chair away from the table. "You'd better get used to it."

***

They began planning the next morning, and the first step in their plans was to tour the Imperial Palace.

For months- no, years, truly- Remus and Regulus had hated each other. Sometimes outright, sometimes cordially, but the fact was Remus thought of Regulus as Sirius's snobbish, spoiled, selfish little brother and Regulus thought of Remus as the epitome of everything his line had stood against. They'd worked together, yes, but that was out of necessity, not out of desire.

Now, here they were in the Imperial Palace, thousands of miles from Hogwarts or London, and they'd finally found common ground.

"This is the Portrait Hall," Regulus whispered reverently when they entered. Both of them stared around at the paintings, the mammoth portrait of Nicholas I, the huge chandeliers, the gilded furniture. "It's nothing like what we've seen outside, is it?" Regulus murmured.

"It's nothing like I've ever seen before." Remus gravitated over to a table holding ornate antiques. "Look at these. These must be worth a fortune."

Regulus looked over his shoulder. "At least."

"You actually sound impressed. I thought your family was rich."

Regulus snorted. "There is a difference between rich and aristocracy," he said. "Despite what my parents would have us believe. We're the first, and perhaps figuratively the second, but nothing like what the Romanovs were." He turned and inhaled deeply. "The columns," was all he said.

Remus could see why he appreciated them: giant pillars of marble framing a row of ornate crystal chandeliers.

They both knew that no reliquary of Rasputin's would be on the paths or in the rooms marked out for tourists. But they wandered through every last room regardless, taking their time to dawdle over what fascinated them most.

"It astounds me, in a way, that a tsar would create something like the Mountain Room," Remus said that afternoon, when they stopped at a restaurant for a late lunch.

"Why?" Regulus asked around a mouthful of dried herring. "Tsars have children as well. Well, had."

Remus shrugged. "You just never think of people in history having lives, you know? They're names and dates and figures and deeds, but not really people."

"On the contrary," Regulus said, wiping his mouth with a paper napkin. "That's exactly what makes history interesting. It's that these people who did these great things had lives. They had wives that they fought with over money and children who they yelled at to go to bed and they had pets and they liked Quidditch or Gobstones or art or whatever, and they went to school. When you remember that history was real people, it becomes far more attainable and incidentally far more fascinating."

"I always fell asleep in History of Magic," Remus confessed.

"It was my favorite class," Regulus said. "I was going to do the N.E.W.T. level, but…" he shrugged, but Remus saw regret etched on his face.

"Why didn't you?"

Regulus stared at him for a long moment as if he were an idiot, and suddenly Remus remembered that Regulus had started Hogwarts when they'd been in their fourth year. He'd been in the service of the Death Eaters for two years, which meant….

"Oh."

Something hard and cold in Regulus's expression thawed slightly. He propped his chin on his hand. "I got twelve O.W.L.s," he said. "That’s even more than Sirius. I was a Prefect my fifth year, and I probably would have been a candidate for Head Boy. But my father told me I'd go further in Voldemort's service."

"And here you are."

"Here I am," Regulus agreed. The words hung thick in the air between them, until finally Regulus sighed. "A glorified delivery boy and petty thief," he sighed.

Remus felt like he was walking on a tightrope, not quite sure what the right thing to say next would be. He watched, mute, as the emotions flickered across Regulus's face, bringing the resemblance between him and Sirius to the forefront. Then suddenly, he snapped out of it and balled up his paper.

"We'll have to go back to the Palace tomorrow," he said. "We never did find anything related to Rasputin."

Remus almost smacked himself in the forehead. "I totally forgot. I was just enjoying it too much."

Regulus sighed. "So was I."

***

The flat that Damien Lupin now occupied was in a building run by a wizarding landlord. Sirius had been there before. The building itself was in good condition, but the flat was extremely austere. The Lupins had been on the lower end of the middle class to begin with, and most of their possessions had been destroyed in the attack on their home. Remus had helped his father get a couch, a table and chairs, two armchairs, a bed, and a chest of drawers from used furniture dealers. Damien had had little to no interest, and had not added much to the flat in the time since. A few necessities and two shelves of books, but not much else.

The one thing Damien had managed to save and display from his former home were photographs that Peter had found in the ruins. They were set on every available surface, some in their original frames, some in new, cheap frames. There was a ragged book on the table next to the armchair that Damien obviously favored, and a worn afghan that Sirius had seen James rescue puddled on the floor.

For all that it was the saddest flat Sirius felt he'd ever seen, Damien greeted him rather cheerfully, asking him to join him in the kitchen for dinner. The kitchen didn't reflect the austerity of the rest of the place. The pots and pans were new, and the shelves were well-stocked. Damien pulled down a few tins of soup and opened them, heating them with quick, efficient taps of his wand and making hot chocolate with a few more. "Have a seat," he offered, and Sirius sat at one of the kitchen chairs.

In the light of the kitchen, he could see the dark shadows under Damien's eyes as the older man served him, and a few new lines. He wondered if they'd been there for a while and he was just noticing them, or if he noticed them because he expected Damien to look different after the events of yesterday.

"Did you see the new model that BMW put out?" Damien was asking, a shiny Muggle motorbike magazine on the top of the neat pile of papers on the table. "I'm thinking of going to test drive one this weekend."

"I didn't know you were thinking of buying a bike."

"I'm not," Damien admitted. "And I certainly can't afford a new BMW. But I don't intend on telling them that."

Sirius laughed, but his laugh was half-hearted. Just yesterday Damien had killed a woman using a curse that by all rights should have landed him in Azkaban for life, and here he was eating soup and talking about test driving motorbikes.

Damien didn't seem to notice his pensiveness, however. He chatted amicably about the motorbike and cars, and about a Ferrari that he wanted to try out and a Mustang that he wanted to buy used and recondition. If Remus was here, Sirius knew he'd be pleased to see the old passions surging again, but tonight, Sirius couldn't stand it.

Couldn't stand it until they'd finished their soup and went into the living room, where Damien poured a glass of whiskey for them both as they settled into armchairs. Out of habit, Sirius picked up the frame nearest to him and studied it. It was a picture of Marilyn and a four-year-old Remus sitting on the couch in their pajamas, torn wrapping paper scattered around their feet. Marilyn had a cup of coffee and was smiling tiredly, and Remus was leaning against her shoulder and holding a stuffed bear with a ribbon around his neck. Sirius recognized it as the one he'd pulled from the wreckage.

"That's Peanutbutter," Damien said, glancing over at the picture. "Ask Remus about him sometime."

The words were light, but now the mask had dropped and Sirius could see the grief etched on the man's face. Damien leaned forward and took the picture from Sirius, touching it gently. "That was Remus's fourth Christmas. It was the last one before he was bitten. The next Christmas was…" Damien shook his head and fell silent.

"She looks so young to me here," he said finally, touching the picture again. "It's funny. All those years we were married and I never really saw the changes in her. She complained about her thighs getting larger or gray in her hair, but I never really saw it. I only saw her."

Sirius nodded, and he suddenly realized that Remus now had threads of gray in his own hair. He'd noticed, yes. But it hadn't sunk in.

Damien put the picture down reverently, and toyed with the gold band he still wore. "I miss her, Sirius," he confessed, his voice cracking. "Every day, I miss her. I can't believe she's gone. Not always. Not forever."

"Um." Sirius desperately wanted to say something, but for once in his life was at a complete loss. Everything would be wrong. But Damien was still staring at his ring, lost in the past and in pain.

"I know it should be getting better, but it doesn't. Every day I wake up and I think she should be there beside me, and we're home, and any minute Remus will come in and bounce on our bed to wake us up and I should sleep while I can. And every time I reach for her she's not there, and then the reality that she never will be again comes crashing down on me. I could kill them for that."

"You did kill one for that," Sirius said softly.

Damien looked up, eyes blazing. Sirius certainly never considered himself a coward, but he hadn't felt this scared in Damien's presence in years. "You would, too," he said. "Tell me, if someone killed someone you loved- if someone killed Peter, or James, or… or Remus… tell me you wouldn't kill them."

Sirius opened his mouth to deny it. But the words stuck in his throat.

***

It took them a week and a half to plan a strategy, and even then, both Regulus and Remus knew it was a paper thin one. The whole escapade was preposterous. Artifacts that had belonged to Rasputin were not prominently on display in the former Romanov home, and both of them were pretty sure that the reliquary would be under some sort of protection by wizards.

There were anti-Apparation wards on the entire palace, which shocked neither of them. Portkeys were not effective either. And the place was guarded not only by Muggles, but also by wizards. However, they'd done this before.

They finally discovered a weakness. "Ventilation shafts," Remus muttered. "Why is it always ventilation shafts?"

"It's a chimney," Regulus said.

"Same thing, in function."

"I guess." Regulus pulled on black trous and a black shirt. "I know the cat burglar outfits we're wearing fall into that description, but ventilation shafts?"

"In cinema, anyway," Remus said.

"Wouldn't know. Never been. Are you ready?"

Remus picked up his wand. "I'm ready."

It was easy to get in. Too easy, Remus thought as he followed Regulus through the chimney. It dumped them in a room that wasn't on the tour path, empty and dusty and dark.

"Lumos" Regulus muttered, and a faint light illuminated the tip of his wand. Remus stayed close, reluctant to light his own for fear of attracting more attention.

They crept through the rooms, searching. They'd come to the conclusion that anything belonging to Rasputin would be in the bowels of the palace, so they made their way down to the cellars.

"How do we even know it's still here?" Remus whispered. "What's to say that no one else ever stole it? Or looted it? For all we know, a Muggle could have it."

"The Dark Lord did a Locator Charm on it," Regulus confessed.

There was something wrong with that, and as they entered yet another room of the cellar, Remus realized what it was. "With all the secrecy that the Soviet Union hides behind, how could he do a Locator Charm?"

"He's powerful," was the best explanation that Regulus offered. He pulled out a sketch of the cellars of the palace that he and Remus had constructed from information that they could find in a Soviet library. "Look. If we're right, we might have some luck in the next room."

"No," Remus said suddenly as they stopped and another door appeared. "This is it."

The room they entered was dark, with thick layers of dust and heavy cobwebs on the surfaces and in the corners. It was a study, with a carved desk piled high with old papers and walls lined with books. Regulus moaned as he saw them, pulling one down and opening it with reverent fingers.

"Don't even think about it," Remus said, not able to hide his grin.

"But these are… they're… I mean, look at them! They're all books of magic!"

"They're also probably books of Dark Magic," Remus reminded him.

Regulus gave him a withering glare. "In case you've forgotten, Lupin, we are on a mission for the Death Eaters."

Remus pursed his lips and looked around again.

There were scrolls, sealed with black wax and piled half-hazardly. There were old, dusty quills, and dried up pots of ink. There was a shelf of trinkets and artifacts: chalices, jeweled boxes, bowls and pieces of jewelry. There was a Pensieve that Remus itched to look in, and a cabinet that, when opened, revealed shelves of potions ingredients.

"I wonder where his wand is," Remus whispered to Regulus.

"They probably broke it," Regulus decided. "See anything that looks like the reliquary?"

"I'll check the desk drawers."

"I'll take the cabinet," Regulus said.

As Remus pawed through the desk, he had a glimmer of what Regulus was saying earlier. There wasn't really much interesting in the desk; there was parchment, more ink, bits of twine and blobs of wax. In fact, it looked like the contents of pretty much any desk anywhere in the world, Remus supposed. It did give the Mad Monk a certain humanity.

He was musing about that when Regulus hissed at him. "I've found it," he said, brandishing a large crystal topped with a tarnished bronze piece.

"Great. Let's get out of here."

"But the books-"

"No. Let's just get-"

There was no warning; only a flash of light and then a deep voice booming, "Put your wands on the floor and put your hands behind your head."

They both froze.

There was an exchange in Russian, harsh voices and clear anger. Regulus sucked in his breath, and nudged Remus. When Remus turned, he saw Regulus's eyes wide open, and suddenly knew what he wanted.

Because Regulus wanted him to see it, it was right there on the surface, easy to find and easy to interpret. It was the translation of two words of the conversation: Kill them.

They had to get out of here, and now.

The blast was deafening. It had come from Regulus's wand, bringing down rubble and dust. "Run!" Regulus shouted, and Remus took off for the door.

Two wizards blocked his path, dressed in red robes. One was smiling, and it was a smile Remus had seen long before, years and years ago in nightmares and in childish reality. The wizard raised his wand, and Remus dove aside just as the Avada Kedavra was fired. The green bolt of light hit the potions cabinet and the sound of breaking glass echoed.

In the Soviet Union, the Killing Curse wasn't an offense for those who kept the peace.

He heard a cry of pain from Regulus and breathed a quick thankful gasp: pain was better than death. Then his attention was diverted back to the two wizards closing in on him.

Transfiguration had always been his friend in these situations. It was a sure enough way of reducing your enemy without resorting to killing them. But as Remus fired a transfiguration spell at one of the wizards, he saw the spell deflect and suddenly a pedestal became a rabbit. Beside him he heard Regulus swear, and he knew whatever Regulus had tried hadn't worked, either.

Seven wizards around them at least. They were closing in, their wands trained on them both. Beside him, he heard Regulus breathe in deep, and he knew that both of them would do the same thing.

In times of stress, they say your life passes before your eyes. It wasn't his life, per se, not in a series of images and pictures. But Remus was suddenly, intensely aware of the smell of his mother's perfume, the feel of canvas under his knuckles, the pain of a full moon, the taste of wine, the tickle of a teddy bear's fur, James and Peter and Sirius and their laughter, the tang of blood and the scent of fear and everything swirling together as he raised his wand.

A section of the ceiling fell, burying two screaming Soviet wizards under the avalanche. Remus was nearly sick, but he held on.

And beside him, Regulus raised his wand as well, pointing it at another approaching wizard.

"Avada Kedavra."
***

"Peter," Sirius said, hands shoved in his coat pockets as he entered the Leaky Cauldron. The inn was largely deserted tonight; Sirius supposed many people weren't daring to venture out these days.

"Sirius," Peter said, smiling as he pushed a pint of dark ale over to Sirius's spot. Sirius noticed that his friend looked tired and drawn. "How are you?"

"Had better days," Sirius said. "What about you?"

"I could say the exact same," Peter sighed. "Did you hear what Dumbledore wants me to do?"

"No. What?"

Peter sighed. "I need to go to Dublin for a week. Dublin! Dumbledore has some people he wants me to make contact with. Recruiting and trying to convince them to join the Order."

"Sounds like a good job," Sirius said.

"I guess," Peter said, although his face was twisted in annoyance. Sirius suspected Peter had meant to complain about it, but changed his tune at Sirius's response. "I'm just not fond of being away from Tina for that long. I don't know how you and Remus do it."

"Do what?"

"Well, you travel so much. Sometimes it seems like you're gone on missions more often than you're home."

"I guess," Sirius said, tracing his finger down the condensation on his glass. "But Remus and I aren't you and Tina."

Peter looked up sharply. "And just what do you mean by that?"

"Oh, calm down Wormtail. I don't mean anything by it. But you and Tina are like Prongs and Lily, you know? Talking about marriage and kids and lifetimes and all that. Remus and I aren't."

"I thought you loved Remus," Peter said, his voice defensive.

Sirius rubbed his chin, trying to remember when he'd told Peter that. Then again, maybe he hadn't. Peter might be a bit thick at times, but he could be very observant when he wanted to be. "I do," he said, drawing out the syllables, "but love doesn't have to mean a lifetime."

"So after a few years…"

"Who knows? That's more the point. Maybe I will spend my life with Remus," he said, although the words sent an odd shiver down his spine that wasn't entirely comfortable, "and maybe I won't. That's the point."

Peter nodded. "Anyway," he said, retreating rapidly from the discussion of deep emotion, "don't you ever worry?"

"I worry we might be killed, sure. Who doesn't these days?"

"But more than that?" Peter asked. "Don't you ever worry about… temptation?" He looked nervous, and suddenly Sirius realized what was bothering Peter.

"Don't worry, mate," he said, clapping Peter on the shoulder. "She's not going to find another bloke just because you're gone for a week. And if she does, especially after all this time, you're better off without her."

Peter made a face. "Easy for you to say." He fiddled with his napkin. "I found a letter in her drawer."

"A letter?"

"I didn't mean to look," Peter said, "but it was from Thomas Mortigan. You remember him, right? The Ravenclaw keeper?"

"Yeah. What did it say?"

"Nothing, really. I mean, it didn't seem like a love letter. But why didn't she tell me they were writing? What's she hiding?"

Sirius shook his head, squashing down a shaft of doubt as he thought of the letters in Remus's dresser drawer. "She's probably not hiding anything. There's all sorts of reasons people don't advertise their correspondence."

"Can't think of many," Peter said grumpily. "Only if they're hiding something they don't want you to see."

"Or if it's just not that important," Sirius said. Or if it's dangerous for your lover to know any more, I suspect, he added in his head. "Come on. Forget this, and let's play a game of darts."

Peter finished his beer. "You're on."

They stayed at the Leaky Cauldron until two in the morning, and when Peter left, he seemed much happier and more comfortable, and promised to bring Sirius back something from Dublin. Sirius watched him go before he Apparated home to the flat. The conversation about Tina had bothered him. Sirius knew Remus didn't trust Tina at all, and sometimes, he wondered if Moony didn't have a point. But on the other hand, Peter seemed so happy…. It was all too confusing, and he was glad that he and Remus didn't have to deal with that sort of shite.

But before he went to bed, he read the letters in the dresser drawer again.

***

They were running, Remus and Regulus, running through the streets of Leningrad. Remus stumbled over a curb, and Regulus reached down to grab his arm, pulling him roughly to his feet. Their breath came in harsh sobs.

They stumbled into a park, and Regulus was the one to collapse on a bench. Remus bent over, hands on his knees as he gasped for air.

"We have to keep going," he said.

"Five of them," Regulus said, and there was a sob in his voice. "We killed five of them."

"I know." Somewhere deep inside, Remus was screaming. "But they would have killed us. We know that, Regulus." But Remus was shaking.

He'd killed two, in fear for both his life and Regulus's. He had never killed before. Not as a werewolf, not in the alley the night he and Lily were attacked, and not that night in his home, when his mother died, although there it was merely a lack of opportunity. He'd killed- something he'd tried his entire life not to do. And yet, that wasn't something he could think about now.

"We've got to get out of here," he said, standing up and putting his hands on his head, still trying to catch his breath. The spring breeze was cold against his sweat soaked shirt. "Regulus, we've got bigger problems."

Regulus looked up. "What do you mean?"

"Didn't you notice anything odd about the way they accosted us?"

Regulus's brow furrowed in thought as he replayed the scene, and Remus could see the precise moment where it all clicked together. "They spoke English," he said, suddenly. "They didn't even try Russian."

"Exactly," Remus said. "They knew we were coming."

***

Their flight from the Soviet Union was something of nightmares. They couldn't risk returning to the inn for their belongings, and they were in a strange country where they didn't know the Apparation points or the Wizarding society. Their fear heightened the darkness and they could both hear their hearts pounding in their ears.

They stole broomsticks. Regulus made a weak joke about how after what they'd done, broomstick theft seemed like a small crime, but Remus was nearly sick again, thinking that he was uncomfortable taking charity from well-meaning friends, and here he was actually stealing. But there was no time for another solution, and no time for conscience. And, some part of Remus admitted, Regulus probably did have a point.

In the cold air above unfamiliar country, clarity began to return. Guilt churned in his gut, and as he looked at Regulus, flying beside him, he knew Regulus felt the same way. Remus wondered if this was the first time that Regulus had used the Killing Curse. From the miserable hunched shoulders and the bowed head, he suspected it was.

But then, Remus realized, it wasn't only guilt haunting Regulus. There were not many people in the world who knew where they were and what they were going to do, and Remus would bet money that Sirius hadn't been sending anonymous tips to Soviet guards about his whereabouts. Someone in the Death Eaters- perhaps even Voldemort himself- wanted him and Regulus dead.

It wasn't a terribly chilling thought to Remus. After all, if Voldemort ever truly suspected what he was, his life was forfeit anyway. But Remus had never even met the man, whereas Regulus had seen fit to swear service.

But guilt and loyalty were abstract things at the moment. The next question was how to get out of the country alive, and once they did, what happened next.

Hours later, just before the sun broke over the horizon, they landed. "I've got to stop," Regulus admitted, his teeth chattering. "I'm freezing."

Remus nodded, rubbing his own arms for warmth. "Where do you think we are?" he asked. He looked around.

They'd landed in a meadow of sorts; a desolate wasteland- or at least, it looked it in the gray light of a cold pre-dawn. Regulus breathed on his hands, looking around. "I have no idea," he finally confessed. "Maybe Lithuania. But it's going to take us days to get out of the Soviet Union if we keep taking brooms."

"How about Portkeys?" Remus asked. "We really just need to get out of the country and home."

"We can take a train home," Regulus mused. "You still have your papers on you, right?"

"Right. But they'll be looking for us?"

"No." Regulus shook his head. "Not outside the country, I don't think."

"I hate to remind you, but we killed five wizards. We're wanted criminals."

Regulus shook his head impatiently. "It will drop. The Soviet Ministry has enough problems without searching for us. Once we're outside the country- or at least out from behind the Iron Curtain- we'll be fine."

"If you say so," Remus said doubtfully. "So how do we get out of the country, and how do we get home from there?"

"The second is easy. The first…" Regulus scratched his chin. "The Soviet Union is a big country. I can't imagine the anti-Apparation spells take up the entire border."

"Or we could not Apparate. Sneak out the Muggle way."

Regulus dug through his pockets, and finally pulled out a map. "I did bring this," he said. "Just in case. Dolohov gave it to me. I think we can trust it."

"If you say so," Remus said.

"It's not like we have much of a choice. But he did defect from the Soviet Union." Remus nodded and peered at the map. "He told me he left here." Regulus jabbed at a section of the border. "There's no wizarding guards right here, or at least, there weren't when he left. Probably because it's so heavily guarded by the Muggles. However, anti-Apparation spells are extremely heavy there, as are a few others. We can't just walk through, of that I'm sure. I'm guessing it will be like in the Imperial Palace; we won't know what they've put there until we get there."

"Great." But it was the best plan they had.

It took them a full day to reach the border; a full day of harrowed silences and constantly glancing over their shoulders, ready and waiting for the entire Red Army to come after them. A full day of no food and minimal water, because they only had what they'd carried into the Palace, and they couldn't risk stopping anywhere. All day Remus imagined everything that could go wrong- and there were so many scenarios- that the day and the countryside seemed interminable.

Finally, they landed in a dense forest. There were watch towers, and from here Remus could see the small forms of Muggle guards keeping a lookout. Regulus landed beside him, breathing heavily. Remus could see that his shoulders were shaking. However, his face was set in harsh lines, firm with resolve.

"I've been thinking about it," Regulus said. "We know there's an anti-Apparition spell in effect. We could try a Portkey, but I suspect that that's no good, either. It would be too easy."

Remus nodded. "So any ideas?"

"You're good at Transfiguration," Regulus said, and Remus nearly fell over with shock at the casual way Regulus paid him a compliment. "We could do human Transfiguration."

"Regulus-"

"No, hear me out. This should work. The kind of charms they'd lay on the border to prevent people from flying out would be the kind that would cause broomsticks to fail, right? Braking charms and the lot? Any sort of barrier would be too hard to keep up over the entire border. Plus, Muggles would notice with birds falling dead and their airplanes, right?"

"I guess," Remus said doubtfully.

"So, you Transfigure me into something that can fly, like a pegasus or a hippogriff. I'll carry you over the border, high enough that the Muggle guards won't see us.

"I could do that. But what if there's some sort of anti-Transfiguration work, you turn back into a human, and we both fall to a gruesome death from seven hundred feet in the air?"

Regulus shrugged. "Then Voldemort gets his wish, doesn't he? Both you and I are dead."

***

"Black."

It was late, and the office was nearly deserted. Sirius looked up to see Doge standing over his desk, a case file in hand. "Yes, sir?"

Doge fiddled with the edge of the folder- a gesture of uncertainty that Sirius had never seen him make before. "I debated for a long time about giving you this," he said. "Especially in the light of your recent… problems."

Sirius debated it, and then decided he really didn't feel like dealing with the consequences of hexing your boss. "Give me what?" he asked tiredly.

"This is not a case for you to be working on," Doge continued. "In fact, I want the file back on my desk in the morning. You are not to be involved in any way. I'm having Kinns and Longbottom handle this one."

"All right," Sirius said, suspecting he should be filling with dread. But nothing flooded him- he felt dead inside. "What is it?"

Doge dropped the file on his desk. "Just so you know. If it was me, I'd want to know. I'll leave you alone."

Sirius watched him retreat, and then opened the file. With a jolt equivalent to a lightning strike, he saw Regulus's face, name, and details. And under the suspected activities was the attack on the Lupins.

***

Human Transfiguration was difficult, but it was something Remus had worked at until he could accomplish it perfectly. The truth was that he'd always been a bit jealous of the others' Animagus powers (even if they had gained them for him), and had felt a little inadequate as well. It had come in handy, both in struggles with Death Eaters and… at other times. (James had never quite forgiven him for that time seventh year when Remus had turned him into a wombat, and it had been worth every second of the month's detention he'd served.) But human Transfiguration still carried its risks, and Remus always had that flash of nerves right before he did the spell. He felt the shaft of fear down his spine as he spoke the words, and then Regulus was gone and a winged horse was standing in front of him, pawing at the ground.

The pegasus was black, with a clipped mane and deep, dark wings. There was an elegance to him that Remus found almost laughable, just given what a shaggy mutt Sirius made when he transformed. They stared at each other, and the eyes that met Remus's were startled, but still reflected the human intelligence and haughty pride that characterized Regulus.

Remus hesitated for a moment, and then the pegasus nudged him with his nose, tossing his head back in an indication to mount. He reached out and touched the black mane hesitantly, and then clambered up. The pegasus reared back, and with a powerful leap they were airborne.

Remus had ridden brooms before, many times. He'd always loved the freedom of flight and the wind rushing through his hair. He'd ridden Sirius's motorcycle, and loved that even more, especially with his arms around Sirius's waist and the scent of leather in his nostrils. He'd even once ridden a hippogriff, during a Care of Magical Creatures lesson. But nothing in his life had been like this.

The pegasus's flanks were strong and warm beneath his legs, and the motion of the wings rippled the muscles beneath him. He clung to the neck as he leaned forward, soft, hot hair beneath his hands and cheek. They were soaring, the trees dwindling to tiny toys beneath them, and then Remus saw the watchtowers pass below him. Nothing happened. Regulus didn't turn back into a human, they didn't hit a wall of death rays or static… they just flew over the border.

He'd expected they'd land immediately, but the pegasus continued to fly, dipping and soaring through the sky. Several of the maneuvers sent Remus's stomach plummeting through his mouth and made him clutch at the neck for dear life, but when the pegasus looked back, Regulus's eyes were amused.

Finally they landed, and Remus slid off, his legs shaking and his heart in his throat, adrenaline coursing through him. He took a deep breath and pulled out his wand, and then Regulus was standing in front of him again, laughing and exuberant.

"That was great!" Regulus said, nearly bouncing where he stood. "I mean, that was bloody brilliant, flying like that! Wings!" Remus laughed, although he was feeling rather shaken himself between the two Transfigurations, the flight, and the escape. "If I thought I could do it, I would have flown us all the way back to England!" Regulus exclaimed. "As it is, when we get to the ocean, let's do it again. Turn me into a pegasus again and I'll fly you all the way home!"

"But until then, let's find a train station," Remus said, but without any heat. In the moonlight and in the aftermath, Regulus's face had softened. His eyes were bright and he was smiling with pure joy, something Remus had never seen from him. And for once, he looked like the seventeen year old boy he was. "We really do need to get home. And there's a lot to figure out."

"I know. But, oh! If I could fly like that again…. You know, my mother once wanted to attempt the Animagus transformation. If I could turn into something with wings on demand…"

"You don't pick the animal you turn into," Remus reminded him.

"I know," Regulus said. "But imagine you could." He kept up a steady stream of monologue as Remus performed a Locator Charm to find the nearest train station and then began spelling a Portkey. He was still talking when they were seated in a comfortable compartment and Remus drifted off to sleep, the sound of Regulus's happiness in his ears.

It was still dark when he woke. Regulus had turned on the light in their compartment, and was now curled in a corner, staring out the window at the darkness.

"Is everything all right?" he asked Regulus. Regulus nodded mutely, and Remus rubbed his eyes. "No one's after us?"

"They'd have caught us by now if we were," Regulus said. "We weren't that subtle." His hand drifted to his side to caress the book he'd been reading. Automatically, Remus glanced at the title, and his eyes widened in shock as he saw the Cyrillic letters.

"That's one of the books from Rasputin's library!" he said.

"Yes. One Rasputin wrote himself."

"Regulus! I said-"

"I know what you said. Shut up."

Remus was certainly used to hearing far worse from Regulus, but after their time in the Soviet Union and especially their escape, the harsh tone stung. He looked at the book again, but he couldn't tell anything about it, except that it seemed like it would be full of Dark Magic. Regulus went back to staring out the window, his face troubled. He was lost in thought already.

Remus looked at the book again, and wished Peter was here to help him figure out if the bad feeling he got was just nerves or an actual premonition.

***

Sirius walked for miles, leaving the bike at the Ministry. The spring night was chilly, with a light rain falling, but he was oblivious. Regulus was a suspected Death Eater.

It shouldn't bug him like this. He hadn't spoken to Regulus since his own sixth year, since he'd run away from home. He hadn't even thought much about the little twerp. But now that face was the only thing he could see in his mind.

He started in the general direction of the Potters, until he heard the clock chime three. Three in the morning- he'd had no idea it was that late. If James lived alone, Sirius would have gone there anyway, but with Lily in her seventh month of pregnancy… he wasn't that cruel, or that masochistic. He sighed and turned, continuing his lonely trek.

He didn't snap out of it again until he found himself in front of his own door, key in hand and rain water running down the collar of his jacket to freeze his neck. He opened the door to a dark and empty flat, and entered tiredly.

He knew he should sleep- he had to be back at the Ministry in a matter of hours. But instead he found himself wandering the flat again, until he finally opened the drawer with the letters Remus was keeping from his Death Eater correspondent. And now he recognized the handwriting.

I am trying to save one single soul! Remus had told him, and Sirius had responded that it wasn't important. He'd had no idea….

Letters in his lap, Sirius sank down on the couch and wept.

***

It took them two days to get home, and when they did arrive at the ocean, Regulus appeared to have forgotten his desire to fly. He was the surly and haughty Death Eater again, constantly reading the book he'd stolen from Rasputin's library and muttering to himself. Remus was relieved to part ways, even as he had the desolate feeling he'd made no real progress.

It was two in the morning when Remus arrived home, and the lights were off in the flat. He crept in quietly, aware of the late hour and the likelihood that Sirius desperately needed sleep. He fumbled out of his shoes and cloak and padded to the bedroom.

As he'd guessed, Sirius was asleep, curled on his side and hugging a pillow to him in a posture that went straight to Remus's heart. He desperately wanted to remove that pillow and slip into his spot under Sirius's arm, but he was hungry and filthy and those needed to be taken care of first. He leaned over and tenderly kissed Sirius's temple, brushing aside the black hair. Sirius sighed in his sleep, but didn't wake.

Remus made his way to the kitchen and put together a quick sandwich, wolfing it down without hardly tasting it. The weight of food in his stomach was uncomfortable; he regretted eating quite so quickly. He sat at the kitchen table for a moment, sifting through the papers that Sirius had left there. There were headlines of death and destruction and disappearances… he pushed them away.

The uncomfortable sensation in his stomach began to subside, and he made his way to the bathroom and shucked off his robes, climbing into the shower and just standing under the warm spray, palms and face tilted up.

The rustle of the curtain and cold air at his back were the only warnings he had before a pair of arms wrapped around his waist and a face nuzzled into the crook between shoulder and neck. Sirius was pressed against him, hard and already lubricated. Remus chuckled deep in his throat and dropped his hands to cover Sirius's, and Sirius needed no other encouragement before he was pushing into Remus, pinning him against the cold tile of the wall and breathing harshly.

It hurt. There'd been no preparation and over two weeks away from each other, and even if Regulus wasn't a homophobic bastard Remus wouldn't have been sleeping with him anyway. It hurt, but pain faded to something that was tolerable and mingled with intense pleasure, and Sirius was against him and around him and in him again, and the feeling of that reduced Remus to a quivering mess against the wall.

"Miss me?" he gasped when Sirius slumped against him, forehead against his shoulder and sated but still close.

"Don't leave again," Sirius whispered, and the tone of his voice was ragged. "Please."

Remus fumbled for his hand and squeezed it.

They didn't speak again until they were warm in bed, Sirius's head resting against Remus's shoulder, his arm heavily around Remus's waist. "Are you all right?" Remus asked.

Sirius was silent for a long while. Then, "Regulus?" he whispered.

Remus stiffened. "I don't know what you're talking about, Sirius," he said.

"You do."

Remus closed his eyes, unable to deny it. "Don't ask me about it, Sirius. If you value my life or his, please don't ask me."

"Why didn't you tell me?" Sirius finally asked.

"I couldn't. It's that dangerous, Sirius. Please. Trust me."

He heard Sirius's breath in his ear, ragged and slow. "All right," Sirius finally said. "I'll trust you, Remus."

Comments

ail

[rissabby.livejournal.com]

This has taken me hours to read. Because, first I had to go back and read chapters 8 and 9 to get the flow of the story back and then you mentioned Alphard Black and I went and re-read Mentors (and it's sooo good). Then, you've mentioned Alex Summers, so I may end up going even furthur back because the Alex/Alex library routine was one of my favorite funny stories ever. And all of your writing is good, and all of my time well spent. Thanks for coming back to this story

Re: ail

[lls-mutant.livejournal.com]

Thanks- I'm glad you've enjoyed it! I am determined to finish this one!