Chapter Text
In the chaos of a hundred students descending on the entrance hall at once, none of the professors shepherding them noticed they’d first acquired then lost an extra Hufflepuff. Tonks slipped behind a tapestry on the first floor and waited for the coast to clear. The chatter of excited kids blurred past her as she observed the adults, counting off professors as she saw them leave. Eventually, she spied the lumbering gait of Mad-Eye, barking out orders at a group of overly exuberant boys who’d caused a bottleneck in the traffic flow. Her jaw clenched watching the impostor - it was an impostor, of that she was certain. She'd been suspicious for a few weeks, but today had confirmed it.
She’d been in the school all morning, morphed into a form that was a composite of features borrowed from various girls she'd gone to school with, not wanting to look too much like anyone in particular in case it got her noticed. He hadn’t recognised her earlier, when she deliberately passed him in the corridor - that was her smoking gun. Mad-Eye could always tell. Something to do with the magical eye, she assumed, though he'd never given her a straight answer on it.
When the steady stream of Triwizard spectators had dwindled and finally ceased, she slipped from her hiding place and headed off towards the Defence Against the Dark Arts tower, forcing herself to walk in an aimless dawdle reminiscent of a teenager bunking off. She was lucky - she didn't encounter another soul on her way, not even a ghost. It seemed the entire school was eager to watch the first task, and who could blame them? If she hadn’t a more pressing issue to be getting on with, she’d be tempted to nip down to the stands and cheer on the Diggory boy herself.
The Defence classroom was mostly as she’d remembered it, the same basic set-up with the finer details shifting year on year with every new professor. Not-Moody had done a decent job with his cover; she recognised many of the diagrams on display from back when the real Mad-Eye taught in the Auror Academy program.
It hadn’t been a voluntary retirement from active duty for him, and he’d made it everyone else’s problem those first few months. They’d all been a bit scared of him, actually, but in the end her own short temper and inability to shut up had won out over her desire to impress the cantankerous war hero. She’d half expected to get chucked out of the class for snapping back at him; instead, she’d ended up gaining a grudging degree of his respect, and by the time she’d qualified she considered the mad old git to be a good friend as well as a mentor.
Tonks disabled the wards on the professor’s private office carefully before entering. Again, the set dressing checked out, Dark Detectors and Sneakoscopes and no obvious indicators of any kind of personal life. It might’ve given her pause if it wasn’t for the Foe Glass - her false reflection stared back at her from the mirrored surface, a wide-eyed teenage stranger. The papers littering the desk were all teaching related, giving her nothing to go on, but her eye caught on the massive, multi-compartment trunk on the other side of the room, and she wondered.
“Homenum Revelio”
Her heart raced as her spell revealed not only a human presence inside the trunk, but a second one in the classroom beyond the office door. He must have a detection spell on the security wards – it was what she would do. It was what the real Moody would do, too, though she was willing to bet he was unconscious at the bottom of that trunk.
She almost slid into cover behind the desk before realising it wouldn’t do her any good, not if the impostor had Mad-Eye’s real mad eye installed. Instead, she cast a silent Disillusionment Charm and positioned herself beside the door, wand aimed and ready to take whoever it was down.
—
Remus hadn’t spoken aloud to anyone in ten days when the world came knocking on his door again, a restrained but persistent rapping, startling in the silence.
A visitor at all was an alarming prospect: he’d warded the cottage extensively when he’d returned six months ago, a precaution Sirius had thought neurotic in the extreme. Sirius underestimated Peter, though, even now. They all had. He wouldn’t make that mistake again. The only people who’d shown up at his house at all since his return were from Magical Law Enforcement, poking around and asking questions about Sirius’s escape. There’d even been an Auror a couple of times, some sneering fellow named Savage who’d made a lot of Remus’s resignation coinciding with the escape of his old friend. It should've been a comfort, that the elite dark wizard catchers assigned to the Black case were reduced to clutching at such tenuous straws, but it was disconcerting to be under scrutiny, to watch their faces and wonder if they could see straight through to his tainted core. He’d been intensely relieved that so far these friendly visits hadn’t coincided with a full moon. After that night on the grounds of Hogwarts, the fear of being discovered had been ever present in his mind. Much safer to keep to himself, really.
He creaked the front door open cautiously, wand in his right hand concealed behind the doorframe, not sure whether to expect more Ministry harassment or something much worse. He was so startled to see Albus Dumbledore on his doorstep that he backed away. The headmaster’s grave expression softened with concern.
“Were you expecting trouble, Remus?”
Belatedly, he remembered he had his wand aimed and dropped his hand to his side.
“Sorry. No, not as such. You slipped through the Detection charm. It made me cautious.” His voice sounded raw and guttural to his ear, the words struggling to force themselves out. He grimaced, opening the door wider with a pang of self-consciousness about exposing the meagre four walls his life had shrunk down to. “Come in. Is everything alright?” A sick jolt of dread hit his gut as he realised what today’s date was. “The first task - has something happened to Harry?”
“Harry is fine,” Dumbledore assured him instantly as he entered, and the fear dimmed down to a faint unease. “He performed admirably today. You ought to have come along to see it. I sent you an invitation, as I recall.”
He tried not to visibly flinch from the headmaster’s gaze, aware that he hadn’t shaved in a few days, that his shirt was missing a button, the tea stain on his jumper. He must look half-wild. “Yes. I was otherwise occupied.” Dumbledore raised an eyebrow, but didn’t challenge the obvious lie aloud.
It was surreal to watch him walk into the living room, the vibrancy of his brocaded purple and silver robes standing out against the dingy magnolia walls he’d really been meaning to paint for the last few years. He was suddenly aware of the space in a way he hadn’t been earlier, the single armchair that had seen much better days, the threadbare rug and the mismatched bookcases. At least it was tidy: there wasn't much in it to make a mess with.
If Dumbledore noted the sparseness of the room, he didn’t comment, conjuring himself a chair. He sat down, surveying Remus over the top of his spectacles. “Alastor Moody has been exposed as an impostor today.”
“He - what?” He’d not seen Moody since the Order days, though they’d owled back and forth briefly for handover purposes this summer. It had been a comfort to know the job was going to someone as experienced and competent as the old Auror. “What do you mean an impostor?”
“Barty Crouch Junior attacked and abducted the real Alastor before the start of term, and has been using Polyjuice Potion to impersonate him ever since. An Auror he was friendly with became suspicious and uncovered the whole plot during today’s task. Alastor is in St Mungo’s - I’m told he has sustained no serious physical harm from his ordeal, but will need time to recover. And so I find myself in need of an interim replacement. I was hoping you might consider-”
“No.” It came out with a sharpness that surprised both of them. He hadn’t meant to rush out with it like that, and yet there was nothing he wanted less with every fibre of his being than for Dumbledore to finish his sentence.
“-that you might consider assisting a friend in his hour of need.” Dumbledore continued quietly, his piercing gaze moving from Remus pointedly towards the chair. “Will you hear what I have to say before making your decision?”
It took him back years to be manoeuvred so politely, aware of the gentle manipulation even as he complied. He sat, though not without affront at having been directed to do so in his own house, and tried not to look like a boy of eleven explaining why he was simply too dangerous to attend Hogwarts. “I’m sorry, Albus. I cannot imagine that anything you’re about to tell me will change my mind. The risk is too great. If anything had happened that night-”
“Something did happen. Pettigrew revealed himself to be alive and in league with Voldemort, and promptly ran off to seek out his old master. I have reason to believe he’s found him. They have returned to these shores together, and Crouch’s infiltration of the school was their key to Harry. It was he who tampered with the goblet and put the boy into the tournament.”
His body tensed as he digested this. “He’s definitely back? You-Kn - Voldemort?” It didn’t seem possible, couldn’t be - and yet again, the wound ripped open, the old mistake repeating itself despite his best efforts. Of course Peter had sought Voldemort out, if he’d thought there was a chance at being under his protection. Of course he’d managed it. If he’d been a wiser man, if he hadn’t let his regard for Harry get in the way, he’d have prevented this before it had the chance to happen.
“In a much-weakened state, yes. He will be entirely dependent on Pettigrew unless certain rituals can be performed. Crouch told us under veritaserum that they are in hiding and that he was to use Harry's participation in the Triwizard Tournament to bring him to them.”
“I thought Barty Crouch died in Azkaban?” The question of what exactly Peter had brought back with him was too disturbing for him to confront yet, so he voiced the least terrifying of the questions he had. A win for their side, having one of the Longbottom’s torturers die, that's probably what he had thought at the time. It felt more complicated to him now as he called to mind the vicious little twerp from his school days: so many of that generation were gone, from both sides and neither.
“He staged his death with the help of his father, who he then put under the Imperius Curse. His mother died in Azkaban in his place. Fudge has already indicated that, should I fail to appoint a replacement professor in a timely manner, he will provide one. I'd prefer not to allow that.”
There’d been a lot of faked deaths to go around, then. “Surely there are better options. The real Alastor Moody for one. Someone who can protect the students.”
“I suspect Alastor won't be keen to take the post after his ordeal. He may be able to take over, in time, if that’s what you would prefer. As to protection, I expect the Ministry to use this fiasco to foist an Auror onto us for the duration of the tournament.”
“A spy, you mean.” The tension between Fudge and Dumbledore wasn’t a secret.
“Yes. I will have to go along with it, but I'd rather not have whoever they send teaching.”
“Why would you ask me?”
The headmaster studied him for a few moments before answering. “Why shouldn’t I? You know how to do the job, and how to do it well. You have a vested interest in Harry’s safety. I can trust you.”
He felt his brow furrow. “You can’t trust me. I proved that last term. I believed that Sirius was a real danger, and yet I never once told you or anyone else for that matter that he was an Animagus. I lied by omission constantly, for months on end.”
“You did,” Dumbledore allowed. “Fortunately for us both, I suspect us to be aligned on the matter of Black as things stand. He needs to stay out of the country, preferably out of Europe altogether, if he is to keep that hard-won freedom of his. With Harry in the tournament and Pettigrew back beside Voldemort, he’ll want to return. Perhaps knowing a friend is there watching over Harry would curtail the temptation.”
Remus sighed, running a hand over his unshaven chin. It sounded like this request came with a lot of extra responsibility that he was spectacularly unsuited for. “I have no more control over what Sirius Black does than you do, and we both know it.”
For the first time tonight, there was a faint twinkle of amusement in the headmaster's eyes. “Do we? You underestimate yourself my boy, but then you always did.”
It seemed more like Dumbledore overestimated him, and to the constant detriment of everyone around them. If he allowed himself to be swayed he knew he’d regret it. Dangerous to even consider it. “Severus wants the job, you know that as well as I do. He might take it amiss that you chose not to ask him.”
“He likely will. It won’t change the terms of his Vow; he cannot reveal you to anyone. He’ll provide you with Wolfsbane for the duration of your tenure, as before.” He promised.
“I’m sure he will be delighted to hear it.”
It hadn’t escaped his notice that the headmaster was talking as though he’d agreed to return, which, he reminded himself, he emphatically had not. Potion or no potion, he wouldn't allow it, and the dangling of it in front of him was blatant. It must be obvious he couldn't afford it on his own just from looking at him.
“He won’t be a problem on that front.”
No, of course he wouldn’t. There was nobody in that castle who would be less eager to be confronted by the wolf. He’d have to avoid provoking him as much as possible nonetheless: he didn’t imagine Severus’s opinion of him had been warmed any by being coerced into taking an Unbreakable Vow.
“But how could you possibly trust me anywhere near that school?”
He could have killed them all. Severus, Sirius, the children. He'd woken up naked and bloodied in the forest, vomiting over and over from sheer blind terror as he staggered back through the grounds. Somewhere under his panic he was aware the blood he smelled was his own, but he’d had to have it confirmed. The relief of Dumbledore’s assurances that he'd not hurt anyone had been short-lived; he'd written his resignation as soon as his hands stopped shaking long enough to hold the quill, knowing without a doubt that it was the only thing he could do and still live with himself. He couldn't afford to look back.
“If nobody was allowed the opportunity to atone for their mistakes, none of us would ever do anything, Remus.” Dumbledore allowed his eyes to cast around the empty, cheerless room. “It won’t make you feel any better about it, you know. The deprivation.”
“And what might?” He heard himself ask, tight and strained.
“Doing the right thing.”
—
It started in many ways as a day like any other.
Tonks swept into the office at the usual time, with the usual takeaway from the usual coffee shop - a flat white with a double shot of espresso, a bacon roll she could pick at one-handed as she worked her way through the mornings’ paperwork - and ensconced herself at her cubicle. Savage fist-bumped her on his way to the water cooler, a jovial “nice work Tonks!” tossed out behind him, and despite her determination to play it cool today, it was satisfying to be acknowledged.
She became aware of the muted chatter around her as the day wore on, the looks she was receiving from colleagues who’d generally not give her the time of day: some admiring, some perplexed, one or two positively pissed off. She made herself ignore it all and kept working away, trying for a detached nonchalance that didn’t come naturally. She’d almost managed not to embarrass herself when Kingsley Shacklebolt of all people gave her a friendly nod as he walked by, but cocked it up at the last minute by knocking coffee all over her work robes and the parchment in front of her.
She hoped Kingsley hadn’t noticed: she’d been trying to get herself assigned to his Sirius Black taskforce since she got her foot in the door, to no avail. It wasn’t clear whether it was her rookie status or her ancestry that had kept her off the team, but either way, she’d been bitterly disappointed on that front. After pulling off something like yesterday though? Well, her odds had to have been improved, didn’t they?
Mad-Eye was still at St Mungo’s, confused and shaken from his ordeal but thankfully with no serious physical injury. He’d been threatening to sign himself out and go home before she’d left, and it had been a surprise that he’d listened when she insisted that was a terrible idea and he should at least let them observe him overnight. It wasn’t like him to defer to someone else’s concerns; it had made her more convinced she was right to insist.
It wasn’t until lunchtime that the paper plane memo zoomed over to her, hitting her quite rudely on the side of the head and crushing its nose in the process. Ignoring the side-glances from curious colleagues, she unfurled and read it.
Auror Tonks -
Meeting at 3pm, my office.
Head Auror Scrimgeour
She let out a quiet breath of a laugh, punched the air under her desk and pursed her lips against the shit-eating grin that threatened. A one-on-one meeting with Scrimgeour? This had to be it. They’d start putting her on proper cases, now she’d had her mettle tested. Maybe even the case. No more chasing up tramps about stolen cauldrons with the MLE officers, no more Borgin and Burke raids where the proprietors, suspiciously unruffled, had an acceptable explanation handy for any abnormality they turned up. No more cubicle grunt work with the endless boring reams of parchment to get through, day after day. It would finally be worth all the graft she’d put in for all those years. She’d arrived.
Scrimgeour’s office was on the mezzanine level above the main office, surveying its kingdom from on high. The walls facing the office were of frosted glass, giving a suggestion of mutual visibility while obscuring the goings-on inside from the eyes of curious junior Aurors. She’d never had cause to be in here before - when she knocked on the door and it opened for her automatically, she couldn’t help but look around.
“Auror Tonks. Please, have a seat.” Scrimgeour, glancing up from a file he was perusing, gestured to the black leather armchair in front of his desk. She perched on the edge stiffly, too nervous and eager to relax into it.
The room was at once less elaborate and more imposing than she would’ve guessed. Behind Scrimgeour’s fanatically neat desk was a massive corkboard displaying wanted posters, Prophet clippings, maps with pins and lines. The bookcases on either side held a combination of ancient tomes on defensive magic and an assortment of the modern dark detectors that were the tools of their trade, all lined up with an exacting precision. She didn’t dare test the theory but suspected that, if she ran a finger along the shelves, there wouldn’t be a scrap of dust to be found.
“Sir.” She nodded at him in acknowledgment, suddenly conscious of how imposing a figure Scrimgeour cut in his own, much grander chair. He wasn’t a small man but somehow sat here in his own domain, his presence loomed larger than it did downstairs. It had to be on purpose. It might not be obvious, to most, but she could tell this was someone who understood the language of the visual. The only personal item she could note was a single framed photo, angled so only the man sat at the desk could see the contents clearly - from where Tonks sat, she caught the fleeting impression of a family photograph, wholesomely posed for. Don’t worry, I’m a person too. It was all so deliberate in a way that said more about him than any Skeeter profile could, if you knew where to look.
“That was an impressive feat you pulled off last night. For a junior to take on a former Death Eater, entirely alone, no back-up or contingency… well, I shouldn’t be surprised that Moody’s students would emulate his style.” Scrimgeour observed her as he spoke, expression unreadable. The words should have been complimentary, but something in his tone belied that. She felt her nerves knot in her stomach but made herself meet his eye.
“Mad-Eye’s the best there is, sir. If I can be half the Auror he is, I’ll be happy with my career.” She replied carefully, concealing her fidgeting hands under the desk.
“Yes, he was the best. In a different, more dangerous time. The world has changed since Moody’s day: we’re not at war anymore, Tonks. There’s a reason he’s better suited to the training academy than front-line work. We don’t rush into situations with wands blazing, not without the appropriate clearance and backup.”
“I tried to bring it to my superior first. Dawlish didn’t want to hear it, said I’d spent too much time listening to the old guard and was going around the twist.” She hated how petulant she sounded, selling out her superior on his abject uselessness, but if the alternative was a reputation as a loose cannon, she’d make sure her side of the story got heard.
“I know. He told me as much yesterday, when I demanded to know why a member of his team had gone rogue.”
“I genuinely thought I didn’t have a choice sir. And I was right, wasn’t I? There was an impostor, Crouch had infiltrated Hogwarts. If I hadn’t acted, he’d still be there, plotting to get his master back to power.”
Scrimgeour allowed himself a brief frown. “You-Know-Who is long dead - the ravings of a madman don’t change that. Still, yes, you were right on this occasion. You cut short what would have proved to be extremely embarrassing for this government. Might’ve prevented a major international incident, what with the tournament. It wasn’t best practice, but the results speak for themselves. Don’t think it will go unnoticed.”
Now she was lost. “Am I being reprimanded here or praised? I don’t understand.”
“Neither. I called this meeting because we have a solo assignment for you. Fudge wanted to install his undersecretary as a replacement to see out the remaining school year. Dumbledore has blocked that, insists he’ll have the predecessor back teaching classes by the end of the week.”
“What’s that got to do with me? Sir.” She added the last part hurriedly, trying to soften her question, but the censorial look she received told her the insolence hadn’t been appreciated.
“I’m getting there. The Minister is unhappy with the running of the school. The haemorrhage of Defence professors, the Black debacle in the summer, this manipulation of the Triwizard rules to have an extra Hogwarts champion. I could go on. Dumbledore’s playing his own game, and the Ministry has no idea what the rules are. That’s where you come in. We need eyes and ears inside that school, and the school needs additional security for the tournament to prevent any more… embarrassing incidents.”
“I’m to be assigned to Hogwarts, for the rest of the school year?” She was blown away. She’d probably have to relocate - it’d make sense really, she wasn’t paying London rent to spend all her time up in Scotland. Upping and leaving on short notice was a peril of the job, or so she’d been told; she’d never had an assignment like this. Working alone and long term was the sort of thing they’d trust to a proven, capable Auror, not a largely untried junior. Last night must’ve changed things more than she’d thought.
“Yes. You will report back on the headmaster’s comings and goings, his associates, anything out of the ordinary, from now until the end of the tournament next summer. He’ll suspect your true purpose, of course, but he can’t be seen to refuse the support, not after it’s just been proven so easy for bad actors to get into the school. You won’t give him any confirmation of his suspicion. For someone with your unique skillset, that should be easy enough.”
And then it hit her, the sinking sensation in her stomach. This assignment was neither reward nor punishment. The perfect spy, that’s what they’d said at recruitment, barely glancing at the exam results she’d worked so damn hard for. Maybe that was what it would always come down to. It didn’t matter how good she was at the rest of it, how dedicated, how handy in a fight. They’d see her like the wand, never the hand holding it, and the work that went into it dismissed.
Really, she shouldn’t have been surprised - she’d spent the better part of a year waiting for something like this, ever since she qualified. Now it was here, she couldn’t very well shy away from it. She’d just have to find a way to turn it to her advantage, use this assignment to prove once and for all that she had more to offer here than a changing face.
She nodded again, determined to make the best of it. “Understood. When do I start?”
—
Dumbledore's visit had given Remus a lot to consider. He'd agreed to give a final answer in two days’ time, despite his conviction that it would remain a firm no. It was all well and good for Albus to insist on giving him time to think, but it wouldn't change his mind. He'd hold to his resolve.
He spent the next day sifting through his paltry belongings, sorting things into piles. He hadn't fully unpacked, he discovered, the Grindylow tanks still filled with rolls of parchment, course texts, the ephemera of a stable career he'd dared to hope for, for a time. Foolish. He'd need to get around to it. He hadn't opened the briefcase with its peeling lettering, a gag gift from James when he’d been stressed about the OWLs. James had been good at that amongst friends, generous, able to make fun of a person in a way where they were in on the joke. It had felt significant last year, to bring it back onto the train with him, a talisman from a more hopeful time. Eyeing it now, stuffed at the back of the wardrobe, it was a joke again. He left it where it was.
An owl came after dinner - he hadn't any pellets for the poor creature, who was tired and affronted by the lashing of wind and rain on its tropical feathers. A bowl of water and a digestive biscuit crumbled in his hand was all he could offer, that and a dry kitchen to shelter in until it was ready for the long journey home. He stroked its feathers idly with his left hand and tapped his wand against the blank letter the owl had carried, murmuring “I solemnly swear that I am up to no good”.
The ink bled outwards across the parchment, Sirius's looping, lazily elegant handwriting revealed to him, the usual uneven blotches of ink where he'd pressed too hard with the quill. Some things never changed.
Lupin-
11pm your time, usual spot. I’m sure you'll be able to clear your bursting social calendar. Need a word vis-à-vis current events.
Watch out for the bird, he nips.
PS - Beaky sends his love.
The postscript was added beside a talon score in the corner of the page. He let out an exhale that was made of part exasperation, part warmth, and conjured a flame to burn the parchment. Caution, wherever he could manage. It wasn't wise of Sirius to use names - if he left it lying around, Auror Savage and his cronies could come across it, were they to come back. He didn't know how likely that was, but once the fear occurred, he'd gotten into the habit of taking precautions.
He spent the remainder of the day debating how much he would confide around Dumbledore's request. He knew Sirius would urge him to go ahead with it and he wasn't sure the encouragement was something he should invite. Still, when his old friend's head popped up in the fireplace that night and asked what he knew, he found himself sharing it all.
“Right, you're going to do it of course. When do you leave?” Sirius’s head pressed further out of the fire as he leaned in, surveying. He looked different somehow tonight, healthier. He'd cut his hair and shaved since they’d last spoken, closer to how he'd looked before. Freedom agreed with him.
Remus hesitated before answering. “I haven't agreed to go back. He told me to consider it for a day or two and get in touch.”
“So send him a note with that nippy little owl tonight and start packing before they bring in some Ministry sock puppet. What's the problem? Snivellus took the unbreakable, didn't he?”
“Severus took the vow, yes. You’re thirty-five years old for goodness’ sake, try to act it,” he rebuked. “I can handle Snape, but the place is crawling with magical law enforcement because of the tournament, even more so now they have uncovered the impostor. I was extremely lucky in June. To return to the school now would be tempting fate.”
“I'm not being funny Lupin, but keeping you in the lycanthropic closet isn't my primary concern here,” he said it mildly, though with a degree of exasperation. “They’re not going to stop coming after Harry. We could’ve prevented this if we’d killed that rat bastard this summer.”
“That had occurred to me.” He let out a deep sigh. Sharing the burden of that guilt was comforting in a morose sort of way. “I thought Crouch’s admitting to working with him might exonerate you. Dumbledore thinks it unlikely – his statements are being touted as the ravings of a lunatic.”
Sirius brushed this blow off with an ease that surprised him. “All the more reason to go back to Hogwarts. Look, there's an opportunity here. You can protect Harry. Capture the rat when he rears his ugly head, clear my name, maybe even stop Voldemort rising again. You have to.”
Remus was getting rather tired of being told what he had to do. He wasn't sixteen anymore. “Oh and that's all, is it? I don't suppose you will be much help with any of it, wherever you are.” He waved a hand dismissively.
Sirius's eyes hardened, and he regretted it instantly. “You were the one who insisted I stay away. Don't throw it in my face now.”
He winced his apology. “I know. That wasn't fair of me. Staying abroad is the wisest course of action. Where are you now?”
“I’m not in the UK, but you know I never agreed to stay away forever.”
It alarmed him that he hadn’t answered the question. “Don't be stupid. Stay as far away as you can - I mean it. If you are caught-”
“Well let's hope I’m not caught then. You know I'm right - you have to go back. At least try and enjoy being useful, so one of us can.” Sirius took a significant look around his sparse living room, taking in the threadbare curtains and rug, the stiff armchair in lieu of a sofa, his shrunken down life. “Please, Remus.”
He sighed, rubbed at his temples, and supposed it was time to stop kidding himself. “…I think I’d decided I was probably doing it before I told you anything. But only under the provision you stay away. You're more useful to Harry from a distance than dead or locked up.”
Sirius’s eyes were cold granite against the warm orange and green flames behind him. Remus didn't flinch.
Eventually, he nodded. “Fine, but you’ll keep me in the loop. You know, you're more useful to everyone when you remember you're a human the other twenty-eight nights. Keep it up.”