Of course I want to see you. But it's not exactly safe to be caught with me, is it? It's all up to you. If you're sure... The old haunt. Tomorrow. Late.

— Padfoot

-moony-

The note is in my pocket, and I'm sitting on one of the less dilapidated pieces of furniture in the Shack, though it still creaks ominously under my weight. The whole place is in disrepair.

I worry my wand between my fingers, twirling it, senses keen in the darkness. Worried for Sirius. I'm not worried that he won't show up. I know he will, if he can. He's always been a little too foolhardy for his own good. But while the dementors have left Hogsmeade, there is still the chance that he might get caught. And so I worry, and I wait.

It's nearly midnight when the black dog slips into the room, all but invisible in the shadows. Tonight is dark enough; there is only a sliver of moon in the sky, and the stars are dimmed by the heavy, foggy air. He would be nearly unnoticeable roaming the streets of Hogsmeade, though he has to be especially careful now—Wormtail might find Voldemort any time and rejoin him, and then any Death Eater will know Sirius' Animagus form. Then if he's spotted prowling the streets it could be fatal.

"Sirius," I murmur quietly, and he stares at me for a moment before changing back into human form. He still looks an awful mess—and hollow, depressingly hollow after Azkaban. But he's still Sirius, and so he's still beautiful.

He strides over to me, wraps his arms around me, and says hoarsely, "I'm glad you came."

I smile into his mat of hair, all of it long and tangled after years in Azkaban and months on the run. He feels bone-thin—thinner than I am, and a werewolf's salary hardly pays for a healthy diet all the time. "Did you really think you needed to worry?"

He pulls back and smiles, but even through the light dancing in his eyes, making him look almost as I remember him I can still see the empty darkness Azkaban has put in him. "No. But if we get caught together..."

"Don't worry about that. Let's just get out of here. Somewhere safer." I walk to the window and peer outside, checking to make sure no one is about.

Sirius nods when I look back at him and says, "I want to go somewhere warmer." He shivers, and that hollow look in his eyes intensifies. I know he's remembering the dementors. He spent twelve years guarded by the creatures, and it's hard enough to endure a minute around one. I don't think there's enough chocolate in London to cure him of what the dementors have done to him.

"We'll stop at my house first," I tell him. "Stay there a night or so. Then we can head south."

"I'll take Buckbeak," he says. "You Apparate."

I shake my head at him, and feel a curious tightening in my chest. No. I don't want to separate. I've been apart from Sirius for long enough, thinking he betrayed his friends. Thirteen years is more than enough wasted time. "I'll ride with you." I smile and add, "I've wanted to ride a hippogriff since Hagrid brought his lot in." Besides, Sirius doesn't know where I live now.

He smiles, and I know he can see straight through my hippogriff excuse. "Well, come on, then. I'll take you to Buckbeak." He changes into Padfoot, looking up at me with liquid eyes that seem far less hollow than his human ones, and then leads me out of the Shrieking Shack.

-o-

Riding a hippogriff is decidedly less romantic than I was illusioned to think; it's an almost violent ride, with Buckbeak's flanks rising and falling to each beat of his wings, the wind whipping my hair about my face. Sirius is behind me, but his hair is long enough that it stings my cheeks as much as his in the grip of the wind; his arms are loose around my waist, and I keep feeling that he might fall off behind me, but apparently he is more accustomed to riding Buckbeak than I am.

I steer the hippogriff toward my house, and he takes command easily; he is most certainly intelligent. After an hour of flying, I can see my village in the distance, and I begin to direct Buckbeak toward it. My house is a small one on the outskirts, in a miserable state after being left abandoned for my year as a professor at Hogwarts, its yard overgrown and one of its windows broken. I steer Buckbeak to land in back, and as we circle lower, Sirius asks in my ear, "This is where you live?"

"It is," I reply loudly, so that my voice carries over the howling wind.

"It's smaller than I remember," he says uncertainly. I can hardly blame him. After twelve years in Azkaban, I would hardly trust parts of my memory.

"I've moved a few times since..." I trail off as we land, deciding not to bring up more painful memories. Sirius slides off Buckbeak's back, and I follow, feeling as if my legs will hardly support my weight after the long journey. "Well, it's getting even harder these days to be a werewolf and earn a living." I've had to move to continually smaller places. When James and Lily were alive, when Sirius was with us and everything was normal... or as normal as it could be, with Lord Voldemort gaining power... then, I could at least make a modest living. But since then, werewolves have become even more hated, and without friends as close and well-loved as James, Lily, and Sirius to vouch for me. But I've survived.

Sirius looks dimly relieved that his memory seems to be intact, and he nods, following as I head for the back door to unlock it.

-o-

"I know I look like I've come off the worse in a fight with a dragon," Sirius says when I suggest that he take a shower. We grin at each other, and I find myself surprised that he can use his familiar sense of humor after so long in Azkaban.

"All you need is a good washing up, some healthy eating, and maybe a haircut," I tell him anyway. In all honesty, I'm not sure how much that will help. He'll look more presentable, certainly, but a simple haircut won't get rid of those hollow eyes. This isn't like with the students at Hogwarts. A bit of chocolate would clear them of the worst of the dementors' effects. I'd taught Harry the Patronus charm since the dementors both seemed particularly drawn to him and affected him worse than the other students. But chocolate and a Patronus won't help Sirius, not even seeing Harry's, no matter how pleased he would be to see Harry's father in the shape of the boy's Patronus.

Sirius lifts his matted black hair, looking at it, and then grins at me with a hoarse, barking laugh. He doesn't say anything, but when his eyes flick to my hair, I understand. When we were younger, it used to mystify me how his hair would behave for him and look nice whatever he did to it. His expression is saying, Look at my hair now.

I don't think it's funny, really. But the tightening in my gut whenever I'm reminded about the dark sides of what has happened—about what has happened in general, since it's all bad up until Sirius turning out innocent... It's making me feel horrible. And I don't want to feel horrible right now. I have Sirius back, and Harry is safe for the moment. For now, that's enough.

"Let me cut your hair," I tell Sirius. "Then you can take a shower."

He looks faintly surprised by the request bordering on command, but he nods and lets me lead him to the bathroom. I could use my wand to cut his hair, but I don't want to. I want to use scissors. So I fetch them from the kitchen, feeling the urge to do things the Muggle way, and take them to where I have Sirius sitting on a stool in the derelict bathroom. I don't bother combing through his hair at first; I cut it all off roughly even at his shoulders before I rummage through the drawers underneath my sink and manage to find a comb. I begin dragging it through Sirius' hair, and he winces.

"Trying to rip my scalp off, Rems?" he asks teasingly.

I lean over him, looking at him half-sideways and half-upside-down, and give him a grin. "What's the matter, not tough anymore? Lost your edge?" It feels good to be exchanging playful taunts with Sirius again. It reminds me that I'm not all adult, reduced to graying hair, shabby clothes, mature wisdom, anxiety, and wolfsbane potion once a month. I'm still Moony of the Marauders—I at least have a part of that carefree teenager in me.

Well, maybe not carefree. But my school years were the best of my life, and even with the full moon every month, I could still be a child.

"I hope you aren't butchering my hair," he says playfully.

I smile and reply, "I couldn't make it much worse than it already was."

I work the worst of his tangles out of his hair, and now that it has been straightened out, the ends are jagged and uneven from where I just cut it. I take the scissors to it again, cutting it shorter, into roughly the haircut he wore in school. When I'm finished, it doesn't look as nice as I remember, but I'm not sure if that's because I'm a horrible barber or because it, like the rest of Sirius, looks far more lifeless than I ever remember.

Finally I set down the scissors with a small sigh, stepping on piles of dark, matted hair on the bathroom floor. "Best I can do, Padfoot. I'm afraid you'll fire me as your barber."

But Sirius smiles without bothering to look at what I've done, putting a hand on the back of my neck and pulling me down until our faces are level. He kisses me; it's gentle but filled with a repressed sort of longing, an "I miss you" that could never be expressed quite the same way in words. With my eyes closed, he seems like the Sirius from thirteen years ago, before our fight, before James and Lily's wedding. Before their deaths. Before everything. I kiss back, my heart beating powerfully in my chest, and I feel whole for the first time in years. In all the world there is nothing... nothing but this kiss.

-padfoot-

Remus breaks the kiss breathlessly, eyes fluttering open, and I see in them everything that was before the darkness—an escape from the dementors haunting the back of my mind, the memories, the guilt... Giving James and Lily to Peter and thus to Voldemort, losing Remus, never getting the chance to make up for some stupid fight I don't even remember the reason for—

"I'm sorry," I say abruptly, watching Remus with the painful memories twisting in my heart. I feel like if I only kiss him again, all the pain will go away, but I can't do that until I know that I'm forgiven.

"For what?" Remus asks softly, squatting in front of me so that he has to look up at me a little as I sit on the stool where he cut my hair.

"For... for whatever the fight was about. I don't even remember. I've regretted it every day... that, and making Wormtail Secret Keeper... Every day in Azkaban. Both. Round and round. Always." Remus looks at me as if I'm half mad; I feel half mad. "I never meant it, I never do, and I'm sorry."

Remus puts a hand against my cheek and whispers, "That's all gone, now. It doesn't matter. Just... take a shower, get cleaned up, and... that's all, for now. Don't worry about anything else."

I can't bear to be apart from him right now. I stand up, pull him to his feet, and wrap my arms around him. He still smells like chocolate, like I remember, but stronger now. I smile against his neck as I remember the cure for an encounter with a dementor. You're my cure, Remus. I look up, pull my head back to look him in the face, and tell him, "Only if you come with me."

He smiles and steps away from me, clearing my hair from the bathroom floor with a sweep of his wand. He moves to the shower and plays with the tap, turning the water on; it rattles through the pipes for a moment, and when it first begins to spray out of the showerhead, it's spastic and tinged brownish yellow. It takes a few minutes for it to begin flowing steadily and turn clear; I step up beside Remus as he taps the showerhead with his wand, mumbling something under his breath, probably to warm the water.

When he turns back to me, I grab him, pulling him into another kiss. I trail kisses down the side of his neck as I'm pulling on his robes, and then over his shoulders once I've bared them. He pulls on my robes, as well, yanking the tattered gray things off, his lips tickling against my ear. I taste him... my chocolate, my cure, my Remus, who I've missed so much—

He steers me under the water, and the warmth spilling down my back, over my hair and shoulders, everywhere touching bare skin, feels wonderful. The cold, dark memories of Azkaban are carried away, stolen on the backs of steaming water droplets trailing down skin, all the way to the drain and gone forevermore.

-o-

We go south, somewhere tropical—exactly where doesn't matter. Everything's hot and suggestive and alive, here in this place where the dementors could never survive. Colors, everywhere. No black, except me—black hair, black name, but Remus doesn't mind, so it doesn't matter.

For a week there's nothing but an adult, in-love sort of innocence. No darkness to worry about—it's all far away. Remus buys everything with money from my Gringotts account. We don't need much, just a place to stay and food to eat. That's all that matters, except each other.

And we talk. About Harry, and how like his father he is—Remus tells me all about him. But we never stay on the subject too long, or it will lead into the dark places. Dying and betrayal and Azkaban.

But it can't last forever, of course. We have to think of other things, important things—the letters to and from Harry, careful to give away nothing that could turn dangerous if the letter's intercepted. I can't even tell him Remus is with me. I don't want to get Moony in trouble, and if someone intercepts our letter to Harry, they will know exactly who to look for to find me. Remus would be 'aiding the enemy'. I smile bitterly at the thought. The Ministry, it seems, wouldn't know the enemy if it bit them in the arse these days.

Remus stirs beside me, and I turn to him, my smile turning soft. He looks awful; the full moon is near. The nightmares he had for a time in school are gone, but he still doesn't sleep well, and the coming change always affects his eating. I brush his hair off his forehead, noting again the silver there. He is older. Sometimes I can hardly believe twelve years have passed with me locked away in Azkaban.

Remus' eyes open, and he looks over at me, smiling. "Morning," he greets me as he shifts under the covers, putting a warm hand on my chest.

I lean forward, kissing him, and then murmur, "I love you."

"I love you, too," he replies softly.

I rest my head on his chest, tracing lazy circles on his bare ribs for a while until I notice the gooseflesh rising over his skin. I smile to myself and kiss his chest, inhaling the deep scent of chocolate. I look up at him, and he's watching me with his smile, the one that's so familiar and comforting. "The dementors couldn't touch you," I tell him softly, idly. Nothing so dark could affect someone like Remus. He's their antithesis. He's the cure.

He raises an eyebrow at me and asks, "Why's that?"

I simply smile and kiss his chest again, then move up to his lips, running the tip of my thumb gently over his closed eyelids. After a moment, I pull up and ask him, "Did you know you smell like chocolate?"

He doesn't answer, just pulls me down for another kiss.