1.

London is in denial. The events of October 31st and November 1st have not shaken it to its core. They've past by with barely a gasp or a sigh or an "Oh dear, it is such a pity." To many (in fact, to most), the unfolding of November from October is a cause for celebration. "The boy lived!" proclaims the Prophet above the fold. Academics from across the wizarding world write to weigh in with theories about just how or why this happened. The Minister of Magic proposes the creation of a new holiday to mark Voldemort's defeat.

James and Lily Potter, Peter Pettigrew, die not with a gasp or sigh then but with a deafening cheer.

2.

Remus wakes up every morning at 7 A.M. like it's been programmed into him to do so. Routine, he has read somewhere, is a good way of dealing with grief, so he lives like clockwork. After all, time hasn't stopped moving just because the most important parts of his family are either dead or on trial for murder, and he doesn't plan to either. There are things to do, rent to earn, and the Christmas season lurking just around the corner (although, admittedly, scraping together the spare cash for presents for his friends is no longer the problem it once was). He can't afford to lock himself in a room for a year and mourn.

Some of the blokes in the neighbourhood are getting together today for a pseudo-Christmas party which really means they plan to watch old tapes of football games and lament about how their wives are impossible to shop for and drink beer. There's a scrawled invitation, only half removed from its envelope, on the kitchen table. Remus had briefly thought about going (even though he doesn't have a wife and doesn't really like football) until he'd received the other letter with the official letterhead that read Whitesmith, Taylor & Associates, Solicitors and then he'd briefly thought about leaving the country.

But there are no planes leaving until later this afternoon, and he doesn't have the money for a ticket anyway, so he puts on a good tie and a good jacket and shaves the stubble off his face while pretending not to notice the fact that maybe he's forgotten to shave for the last week or two. "Poor dear," his mirror coos when he's finished, "you look terrible." He ignores this unsolicited comment, walks out into the hall, grabs his hat and overcoat, and heads for the door. As he's leaving, he checks his watch (three minutes to ten, right on time).

3.

Mark Whitesmith is standing outside his office door, smoking, when Remus arrives. He's a tall, wide man who looks like he could have been a star Beater in school forty years ago (which he was). When he spots Remus coming down the hall, he makes a sheepish face and switches his cigarette to the other hand so he can offer his right one for shaking. "I've been banished," he confesses after they've said their good mornings and how are yous. "He doesn't particularly like the idea of pleading guilty and seems to be getting less agreeable about it as time progresses. That's the way it's going to come out in the end, of course, but he seems to think you might be able to figure a way round it."

"Merlin only knows why," Remus says on a sigh.

"It's good of you to come," Whitesmith answers, ignoring Remus's aside. He lets his glasses slide down to the tip of his nose so he can peer over them. "I wouldn't have in your place."

"Yes," says Remus. "Well. I thought I might feel better if I saw him for myself."

"To get it all straight in you head," Whitesmith nods. "I understand." When he bobs his head, the white lily pinned to his robes shakes. It's a six point burst right over his heart, and Remus feels like his eyes keep drifting toward even though, on higher brain levels, he barely recognizes it's there. They used to mean something, back when a couple of Lily's school friends started wearing them, a few days after it happened. Now every wizard in London wears a lily – and the muggles are starting to as well – and the why and the what for have been lost entirely. Remus keeps his, wrapped in a handkerchief, in the back pocket of his trousers and never quite as forgotten as he'd like.

"I'll go in now, I suppose," he says cautiously, looking at the door.

"It's all warded up so he can't get out, but anyone else is free to go in," Whitesmith explains, attempting reassurance with a little looping gesture of his cigarette in the shape of a rune that Remus can't quite remember the name for. "There are a couple of Aurors on alert in case he tries anything, so just, you know, scream if you need help."

"Thank you," Remus says and goes to open the door.

4.

"It took you fucking long enough," says Sirius Black when Remus has shut the door behind himself and turned around. "A bloke might almost think you didn't care."

On the way over, Remus had practiced sentences, paragraphs, angry accusations but in the face of this sheer, arrogant normalcy, every single word bolts for the door, leaving him speechless.

Sirius still looks like Sirius, which shouldn't be surprising except that Remus has been hoping that he'd have sprouted horns or fangs or some other clear indicator of Evil that would demarcate this Sirius from the boy who was his friend at school. No such luck. He looks like perhaps he hasn't slept during his first (but in all likelihood, hardly his last) weeks of Azkaban, but his feet are propped up on Whitesmith's desk, crossed at the ankle next to a mug proclaiming "#1 Dad," and his arms are hooked behind his head in a way that is reminiscent of old early morning History classes proving without question that this Sirius is the boy he was friends with. There is nothing easily black and white about this whole situation, Remus realizes, and maybe there never was. Maybe there really was no way he could have known.

"What do you want?" he says at last and is surprised when the words come out easily instead of catching in his throat.

Sirius rolls his eyes, smiles a little, and tosses his head. It's a look he and James used to share back in school when Remus was being particularly stubborn about not getting involved in their latest prank. "That Moony," Remus always assumed they were saying to each other, "he just doesn't get it."

"If you haven't noticed," Sirius says, "I'm sort of on trial for murder here."

This time, the words do stick. "I've noticed," Remus says.

5.

Sirius spends the next twenty minutes expounding on how much he loathes Whitesmith. The man, he says, is clearly an idiot. And a rotten lawyer. And Sirius is developing some serious reservations about his #1 Dad status as well. Remus listens to this, leaning against the wall farthest from Sirius, with his eyes closed, which isn't anywhere near as laid-back as it sounds. The longer Sirius talks (about how much of a sham his trial is going to be, about how much he hates Azkaban but how glad he is that Bella will be rotting in there for the rest of her life), the more Remus wants to hit him and while he usually prefers to avoid violence, this plan is becoming more and more appealing all the time.

Sirius thinks he's innocent (or, at the very least, he's pretending to think he's innocent), which astounded Remus for the first few minutes of Sirius's soliloquy but is quickly losing its shock value. Sirius thinks he's innocent and more importantly, he hasn't even entertained the idea that Remus might think the opposite. It's that more than anything else that's making Remus want to punch him, which is perhaps unfair to the memory of Lily, James, and Peter but true nonetheless.

"It's ridiculous," Sirius is saying when Remus starts tuning back in. "They're just trying to rush me through as quickly as they can, so they can pack me off to Azkaban and forget that the whole thing ever happened. They're wasting time with me, here, when they should be out finding actual Deatheaters. Did you know Whitesmith actually expects me to plead guilty? What a pillock."

"Hm," says Remus for lack of anything else to say. He has yet to point out to Sirius that he would be just as happy to pack him off to Azkaban and forget as well. Sirius has laid siege to this conversation and hasn't shown any sign of stopping or allowing an opening. If (and it's an if that makes Remus's head spin from nostalgic vertigo) James were here, he wouldn't put up with this. He'd have grabbed Sirius by the collar as soon as he saw him and yelled and yelled until someone dragged him out of the room. He wouldn't have been concerned about being civil with a murderer, which just confirms Remus's theory that he isn't at all suited to be the one who gets left behind.

"So," says Sirius, lifting his feet of the desk finally and sitting forward in his chair. "What are we going to do about this, hm Moony?"

(One little word – it might as well be an Unforgivable.)

Remus doesn't quite cringe. He'd like to have cringed – after all, being here with Sirius, given the enormity of the betrayal that has taken place, should make him feel profoundly ill. But he doesn't cringe. In the end, he's just too tired of all of this to make the effort, and all he can do is pass a hand in front of his eyes and snap, "Don't call me that."

6.

The change that passes across Sirius's face is phenomenal. He deflates, first, which hollows out his cheeks and shows that maybe, maybe, Azkaban is taking more of a toll than Remus originally assumed. It's an unnerving expression if only because Remus has never seen Sirius look so entirely defeated before, and he feels a vindictive surge of satisfaction at having been the cause. Then, anger boils up, a much more recognizable Sirius, and he surges to his feet.

"You don't believe me," he says, incredulously. "You think I did it."

"How can I not," Remus shoots back. His hands are curling into fists at his sides; his chest feels tight like his ribs are pressing in on his heart and stomach. Sirius comes storming across the room to stand in front of him. He's nearly shaking, and he's got one hand twisted in his trouser leg to, Remus thinks, stop him from knocking Remus's head against the wall (at best).

"You should just know," Sirius growls. His eyes are dark and narrowed, and they don't waver over Remus's face like guilty peoples' do in books. They look right back into Remus's and in the end, it's Remus who looks away first.

"It wouldn't be the first time you betrayed one of us," he says carefully.

If anything, this makes Sirius look angrier. Although, now it's angry-frustrated rather than angry-betrayed. He looks down, so that they're both staring at Remus's hands and not at each other. "I thought we were past that," he says.

"So did I."

7.

The last few years of their friendship saw so many arguments that now, when faced with yet another one, there isn't much left to say. Remus could always bring up the obvious, the "James and Peter and Lily – how could you, Sirius?" which has so far gone unsaid, but he wonders if this would result in anything but more denials from Sirius.

Whitesmith's office is not particularly large, and it's made all the smaller by the scholarly mess of legal briefs and filing cabinets. And even in these confined quarters, they're using up maybe an eighth of the space, crammed into the far left corner, still recovering from the latest flare of confrontation.

It's odd, but even with his back shoved up against the wall and Sirius (who he'd like to think he loathes) standing well within his personal space, for the first time in years Remus feels like there's enough space for him to be in a room with Sirius Black. He doesn't quite know how to explain this. He's spent the weeks since Peter's death learning how to be alone again (something he hasn't had to worry about since first year), except now he's not, and it's taking a conscious effort to remind himself that this must be either a spell or a ploy because Sirius is a murderer. No matter what he says.

Sirius takes a step back at last, and Remus realizes he's been holding his breath when he inhales and finds that the smell of the room has changed. It's sharp now, hitting the back of his throat more than his nose and tasting (more than smelling) like rust and sweat and something sickly sweet that Remus can't place. It's the smell of Azkaban, he supposes, clinging to Sirius's clothes and hair and skin. Sirius must be smelling it too because the next thing he says is choked and desperate.

"I'm going to go mad if I have to go back there, Remus. You have to trust me."

8.

And for a moment, Remus does. Not for logical reasons, not because he's been convinced, simply because he wants to (needs to) be able to. He allows himself a second of weakness to imagine what it would be like if he lied for Sirius. Yes, they would still be alone, but they'd be alone together so maybe it wouldn't be so bad. And they could take Harry and leave London and make something of their own out of this wreckage. Remus wants this (needs it) almost more than he can stand. That way lies a life, and all it would cost him are the last shreds of his self-respect. (But that's too high, still too damn high.)

"This is too big to go on trust alone," Remus says, and he watches passively as Sirius stumbles back to his abandoned chair and swallows hard, Adam's apple scraping along the skin of throat. It's clear that he never thought Remus would refuse to help or even to believe. Giving up has never come easily to Sirius Black, and he does not accept it with grace now. But it's easier to watch than Remus would've thought, and he doesn't break or take it all back like he has sometimes imagined he would. Finally Sirius looks up, unclenches his hands, and relaxes his jaw.

"That's it then," he says. "If I can't convince you I'm innocent..." He lets the sentence hang there and tugs his hands through his hair once, twice. It falls back flat and unwashed and matted underneath. Sirius laughs sharply. "I thought you were the one feeding everything to Voldemort, you know?"

"I know," says Remus who never even suspected.

"That was... that was stupid. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have–" he cuts off, clears his throat, and changes track. "It was Peter, ok? He was secret-keeper. Believe me or don't, I don't care...but promise me you'll watch out for Harry for me."

"I promise."

Sirius nods and then in a sudden burst, he gets up, walks across the room, and sticks out his hand. In all the time they've known each other, Remus has never seen Sirius near tears, and he isn't even sure if that's what he's seeing now, but Sirius's eyes are bright, and his breaths come in deep, stuttering implosions. "We've had a good run," he says and tries to smile which only makes his eyes look old, "but I guess this is goodbye."

Remus swallows the idiotic urge to say "Stay in touch" or "I'll write" and instead settles on gripping Sirius's hand hard and whispering, "Bye."

They stay like that for a while. Sirius's hand is warm and dry against Remus's skin, and Remus wonders if this will change over the next few years – if Azkaban will change how Sirius's skin feels, how his voice sounds – before he realizes he'll never have a chance to find out. He lets go of Sirius's hand and on an impulse, reaches into his back pocket for the lily wrapped in its handkerchief. He holds it out for Sirius to take and says, "Here. So you don't forget," not quite knowing if he means it as a gift or a curse.

Sirius takes it and partially unwraps the handkerchief until he finds the first white petal. He stares at the flower and swallows roughly again. Then he nods, grimly rewraps it, and tucks into his own trouser pocket without a sound. They look at each other for another too long moment until Remus decides that if he doesn't leave now, he might never leave at all. He turns, gets his fingers all the way around the doorknob before he feels Sirius's hand on his shoulder, turning him around and pulling their mouths together.

9.

It's an angry frightened open mouth kiss. Sirius's teeth graze Remus's lips, his tongue. Remus's fingers mark Sirius's back through his thin prisoner's shirt as he tries to find a way to say all the things his voice wouldn't let him say. When he presses his fingers against Sirius's cheekbones so hard that they turn a pale yellow at the tips, he's saying I can't save you. I'm sorry, I'm sorry. When Sirius runs his hand around Remus's waist to the small of his back and presses them together until there's no air left between them, he's saying I'm going to miss you, old friend.

When they break, Sirius presses his forehead against Remus's cheek, and Remus feels him smile. He says, "See you later, Moony."

Remus says, "Goodbye."

10.

Remus misses his usual 10 P.M. bedtime that night, instead he sits on the steps of the fire escape outside his apartment window, nursing a beer and watching London until the sun begins to rise. When the sun is clearly a sphere and not just a blurred line on the horizon, he looks at his watch which tells him that it's fifteen minutes after six (and time to be getting ready for work), gets up, and slides back through the open window. The city air that follows him in is cold and smells of rust and damp earth and something familiarly sweet that sticks in his nostrils and makes his eyes water. He locates his garbage can and throws the empty beer bottle into it with enough force to make a satisfying crash when it hits the bottom.

"Fuck routine," he says.