(Here it is. We get a little more of the outside world coming into this chapter. When Sirius left in Chapter 6, he was away for about a month, and during that time he was in the cave near Hogsmeade where Harry visits him in the Goblet of Fire. He's back now, of course, thank God, and Remus is feeling the love :) enjoy the chapter!)

Early December 1994. Siriusology, a ring at the doorbell, and a spy. Love eventuates. Several times.

Remus studies Sirius Black as an iconologist studies Da Vinci.

He's a Siriusologist, transfixed by the acuteness of the scythe-edge of Sirius's jawline, the sweeping skin-scape of his neck and the hard dunes of his collarbones, the dipping shadow-pool between them, in the penumbra and twilight of Sirius's bedroom.

Sirius is a deep sleeper. Like his dog alter-form, he has the ability to drop into a coma-esque slumber anywhere, at any point in the day. Remus remembers when he once fell asleep during a Quidditch match. It was a slow summer day in Fourth Year, and Ravenclaw had had the Quaffle for twenty minutes straight, and Remus looked up from the stands to see a Bludger hurtling towards Sirius's motionless form in the sky.

Remus remembers the days with Sirius in the hospital wing, the heavy bandages around his skull, graffitied by James. He lays a flat palm on Sirius's chest now, feeling his heartbeat, half for reassurance and half in wonder at its simple constancy.

The skin over Sirius's stomach stretches hot and dry, porous, paper thin, and Remus bumps a finger gently over the visibly white ribs and around to the small inky hollow of his navel, following the snail-trail of dusky hairs down his abdomen.

Sirius starts awake at the touch of Remus's fingers on him. Remus smiles at the dreams Sirius is blinking away.

''Morning, cabbage.' He yawns, stretching.

'More like afternoon.' Remus chuckles, tracing random patterns in the clearness by Sirius's jutting hip. 'Cabbage?'

'It's a commonly-used endearment in France,' Sirius sniffs, lazily scratching his chest, 'a country of culture and class that you, of course, would know nothing about.'

'Half-breed plebeian that I am,' Remus murmurs, catching the hand and pressing the tips of their fingers together, like the ribbed ceiling of a cathedral of flesh.

'Mm,' Sirius's eyes are closing again, his boneless relaxation warm against Remus, his hand drops to Remus's chest, absently thumbing his nipple. Remus inhales slowly through his teeth, abruptly turned on. 'Afternoon, is it?'

After all these years Sirius can still do this to him, can still get him going with a flick of his finger or just one lazy grin, and not seem to notice as Remus holds himself quiet, stifling his moan, always trying to win the fight over who kisses who first. 'Afternoon wood, then?' Sirius breathes into the electrified quiet, 'Afternoon glory?'

Then Sirius looks up at him, dirty little smile tweaking the corners of his lips, three-day stubble begging to scratch Remus's chin.

So this time, Remus loses.

And right in the middle of it all, the doorbell rings.

'Damnit all,' Sirius snarls from somewhere in the musky darkness of the bed. The heavy velvet curtains are closed, and at some point earlier in the day Remus's shaking hand had knocked the lamp off the bedside table.

Only one person ever rings the doorbell. And he never seems to bring good news.

'Good afternoon, Sirius,' Dumbledore smiles on the doorstep, eyes twinkling behind his spectacles, 'I apologise for getting you out of bed.'

Sirius scrubs his hand in his tangled hair and smiles sheepishly back. Behind Dumbledore, the miasma of translucent protective magic hovers like a heat haze.

'No probs, Dumbledore,' he says, 'won't you come in?'

Dumbledore sweeps graciously past him, and Sirius shut the door on the world that hunts him, and follows his old Headmaster down the hall. The old man always inspires nervousness in Sirius, which is within reason when you think of the years of pranks and lawbreaking that took place in Dumbledore's school, with Sirius Black always at the centre of the chaos.

But there's more to it than that. Dumbledore means memories, too many memories of fidgeting beside James in front of his desk, waiting for justice to fall. Even now, as he sits across from Dumbledore at the kitchen table, Sirius knows this can be nothing pleasant. Because Dumbledore doesn't just pop round for a cup of tea and a catch-up.

'Er… tea?' Sirius offers anyway, knowing the old wizard's predilection for manners.

'Yes, please.' Dumbledore looks cheerfully around the gloomy kitchen, humming what sounds suspiciously like 'A Cauldron Full of Hot Strong Love'. Sirius starts the kettle.

'Remus'll be down in a minute.' He says, and Dumbledore nods genially.

Sirius waves his wand. Three mugs fly out of the cupboard and onto the counter, and with another flick, teabags rise from the jar by the kettle and drop into each mug.

Just as Sirius begins to wonder where he is, Remus walks in, evidently having combed his hair.

'Afternoon, Professor.' He greets Dumbledore, who stands up to shake his hand.

'Really, Remus,' Dumbledore chuckles, 'twenty years since you were a student, and you are still unable to address your old Headmaster with any less than formal term.'

'Old habits, Sir,' Remus smiles ruefully, pulling out a chair.

'Quite, quite,' Dumbledore beams, 'and are you both well? I understand the cellar of Number 12 suits your needs perfectly, Remus.'

'Yes, Sir, it does,' Remus answers, and Sirius turns to the kettle as it boils, wondering irritably when Dumbledore will get on with it. He has no idea of the wonderful situation that he interrupted when he rang the doorbell. Then again, maybe he does. It might explain all the twinkling that Remus calls 'knowledgeable' and Sirius calls 'suggestive'.

Sirius pauses with the milk in his impatient hands.

'Sorry, Dumbledore, I can't remember.'

'Milk and two sugars, thankyou Sirius.' Dumbledore looks at him benevolently, in the way that Sirius supposes God might survey His creation.

When the tea is on the table and Sirius is sat down, and Dumbledore's thirst for pleasantries has apparently been sated, Remus asks him,

'Is this merely a friendly visit, Professor? Do you need me for something?'

Sirius drums his fingers on the table sourly, jiggling his foot. He notices the 'me' that Moony uses, and hates it. Moony lays his hand soothingly on Sirius's leg under the table.

Dumbledore surveys Remus sadly over his spectacles.

'Yes, Remus, I'm sorry. The time has come to talk of grave matters.'

'Skip the theatrics, Dumbledore,' Sirius says irritably. Remus gives him A Look.

'Please be patient with me, Sirius,' Dumbledore says gently, 'this will be difficult enough for all of us. Indulge an old man his 'theatrics'.

Sirius quiets, feeling Moony tense beside him, as Dumbledore begins to speak.

'As you are aware, Voldemort's most loyal Death Eaters are on the move once again. We believe they may have already located their master.' Neither Remus nor Sirius flinches at the hated name.

''We' being…?'

'Ah, yes. I have begun the arduous process of reinstating the old Order.'

Sirius blinks. Moony gasps softly.

'The Order of the Phoenix?' Sirius feels a grin spreading over his face, 'We're going to fight him?'

'That is partly the reason for my visit,' Dumbledore smiles gravely, 'to ask you both to rejoin.'

'Excellent!' Sirius grins broadly, tipping his chair back on two legs in satisfaction.

'Of course.' Remus says. Sirius looks at him. His face is not joyful, but full of a burning determination. This close to full moon, his eyes are more gold than brown.

'Thankyou.' Dumbledore says softly. 'Now, although Voldemort's present condition is not clear to me, it is certain that he has a physical form, however weak. My guess is, astutely, I think, that his servant's first priority will be to restore him to full power.'

'The servant,' Remus whispers.

'Wormtail.' Dumbledore confirms, a trace of cold fury in his soft voice.

Sirius hisses through his teeth. Anger bubbles up inside him like the hot slow rise of a potion when you add the last ingredient. Moony is clenching Sirius's hand under the table with the wolf's strength, and Sirius feels his knucklebones grind, anathema to the howling dog inside him.

Peter Pettigrew. Traitor. Murderer.

'Harry's in danger,' Sirius growls, 'should I go north again?' He feels the blood in his ears, jittering, the need for immediate action.

'No,' Dumbledore says firmly, 'you disobeyed my order not to leave the last time Harry was in danger. If I am honest with you, Sirius, there is nothing you can do for the boy by hiding in a cave near Hogsmeade.'

'We have to fight it!' Sirius exclaims, 'I can keep my eyes open, watch what goes on up there…'

'Not nearly as well as I can,' Dumbledore sips his tea, 'you are aware that Harry has been chosen as Hogwarts Champion in the Triwizard Tournament?'

Sirius nods sharply.

'Someone put Harry's name in that Goblet. That person is not his friend. That person would see him harmed, and that person is within Hogwarts this very moment. I have placed certain protective spells around Harry already, but the first task approaches rapidly, and I have enough to concentrate on without moving a Fidelius Charm. You will stay, Sirius.'

Sirius leans back in his chair. He reaches for his tea, but stops when the cup rattles against the saucer.

'What can I do?' Remus says, a hardness in his voice that Sirius has not heard for years.

'I need you to infiltrate those of your… kin, who still live in the shadows.' Dumbledore says tactfully, but Remus interrupts him.

'Please,' he says in a strangled voice, 'don't call them that. You know what they are, Dumbledore, and they are not my kin.'

Dumbledore pauses, and inclines his head.

'As you wish, Remus.' He looks down at his wrinkled hands around his mug, 'I need you to go to the werewolves, join them, and live their life. I need you to be a spy. This is not a demand. I ask it of you, and you may give your answer freely.' Here Dumbledore looks up at Remus with those piercing blue eyes, 'But you know, as well as I, that you are the only one who can accomplish this task. Will you do it?'

No.

Remus is staring at the table. Sirius stands up, his chair shrieking against the tiles, and clears his empty mug from the table, not wanting either of them to see the shaking in his hands, the desperation in his eyes and irregular breaths.

Don't leave me, Moony.

He senses Dumbledore's ice-blue gaze on the back of his head, and tries futilely to shield his mind, knowing the old man to be an excellent Occlumens.

'Sirius,' Dumbledore says quietly, and Sirius knows it's too late to hide his thoughts. 'Sirius, you must understand why this is necessary.'

'Please,' Sirius turns, 'please don't send him.'

'Pads, I have to go.' Moony looks at him with love and regret, 'you said it yourself, we have to fight, and if I'm the only one who can-'

'No.' Sirius hisses, gripping the edge of the counter, 'Remus, please.'

'You don't have to stay here alone,' Moony touches Sirius's white-knuckled hand, and looks at Dumbledore for back-up, 'you could go and stay with Tonks, with Mad-Eye-'

'I'm afraid,' Dumbledore says grievously, 'that the risk of Sirius's discovery would be too great if he hid anywhere else. The Fidelius Charm resides with myself, Remus, and you, Sirius, and the magic in place offers the greatest protection possible to this house, but if you were to move, more Secret Keepers would have to be made, and the further the Fidelius Charm is stretched, the less powerfully it can hide you. For the sake of the Order and many of your friends, I cannot allow you to leave until your name is cleared.'

Sirius understands. He loathes this fact, his maturity, and pushes it away, but he does understand, and he forgives, too.

'I just…' He begins, voice breaking, and slumps into his chair, 'I can't bear this place, alone. It's everything I…'

'I know,' Dumbledore reaches across the table and clasps Sirius's hand, 'this house represents all of your suffering and misery, and it is a cruel thing I ask of you. I promise to visit regularly, with updates, when Remus is away, and Remus will be here when I can spare him, which will, I believe, be quite often. He will join the wolves each full moon and for at least two weeks every month, but the story I have devised for him allows him the other two away from the clan.' Dumbledore shakes Sirius's hand between both of his, and Sirius looks up at him. 'You are not alone, Sirius.'

Remus slips his arm around Sirius's waist and presses his forehead to Sirius's temple. Eventually, Sirius sighs, and nods.

Dumbledore pats his hand, and stands.

'Thankyou for the tea, but I must be going.'

'Yes.' Remus gets up to see Dumbledore out. Sirius remains where he is.

'I will send you more details when I have them, Remus,' Dumbledore says, wrapping his silver travelling cloak around his shoulders. 'Your first mission will not be for a few weeks yet. I expect you will have Christmas with Sirius.'

And at the kitchen door Dumbledore turns back, 'Sirius?'

Sirius looks up at him, conveying his forgiveness for this theft of Remus through his eyes.

The old wizard gazes at Sirius with love and pride and compassion in his smile, and something else in his eyes that Sirius can't place.

'It's going to be alright.' Dumbledore says gently, 'you'll see.'

Remus kisses Sirius as though the world will end tomorrow, tonight.

'I have but an hour of love, of worldly matter and direction to spend with thee.'

Sirius pauses and pulls back, a slight smile visible under his façade of abject disbelief and irritation.

'Do you mind, Lupin? He says crossly, breath warm on Remus's face, 'some of us can appreciate the miracle of sex without your quoting Hamlet at every bloody turn.'

Remus slips a finger up the back of Sirius's slick neck, legs wrapped tight around his hips.

'To be or not to be, that is the question.' He sighs, and then meets Sirius's gaze, shaking his head. Their noses brush together. 'That's Hamlet, you Philistine. Did you learn anything in Muggle Studies?'

'You know perfectly well that I had better things to do,' Sirius smiles fully, gazing away over Remus's head in happy remembrance, 'tipping ice cubes down your shirt. Making girls skirts fly up.'

'You still managed to get an 'Outstanding'.'

'Pure genius,' Sirius pushes his nose against Remus's, dark eyes bright, 'or maybe it was all the Muggle television I watched? Hmm… Nah,' their lips graze as he whispers, 'pure, unadulterated genius.' And he licks Remus's nose.

Remus attacks him.

Sirius makes deep, pleased noises in his chest as Remus growls, rips Sirius's arms away from his back and pins them above his head, running his sharp teeth along the skin above Sirius's collarbone. Giddily, Remus tries a move he once saw in a sex scene of a Muggle film.

It works.

After, when Sirius is panting against the headboard, his hands on Remus like his nails will have to be extracted, they move together, slower, immersed in the sensation of eachother's skin.

'Shhh…shh…' Remus breathes into the space above Sirius' ear.

He isn't sure why he does it. After months of this, years in fact, Remus is still uncertain of himself, feels like a teenager, all flaws and delicate hypersensitivity and elbows and knees that don't fit into the jigsaw that is sex.

But they manage. Spectacularly, in fact.

'Sirius?

'Yes, Moony.'

'You know I have to leave.' Remus's eyes are this incredible golden-brown that melts Sirius's insides. His chin is sharp on Sirius's chest as he talks.

'Yes, Moony.' Sirius sighs out, not about to let the imagined future spoil The Moment, which is fine enough as it is. Who needs the future?

'Pads?'

'Moooony,' Sirius hums.

'What will we do for Christmas?' Remus wonders, shifting his head to rest more comfortably against Sirius's chest. His wild hair tickles Sirius's chin, and his fingers slip, dreamlike, over the blue veins in his wrist, separate pulses fluttering abstractly.

Sirius breathes in the peace and the scent of Remus's hair.

'I don't know,' he rolls his eyes, knowing Remus will sense him do it, and feels Remus smile against him, 'play charades and get drunk on mulled wine, like everyone else, I suppose.'

'Mm,' Remus mms.

'Just, not too drunk, eh Moons,' Sirius grins, and grabs Moony suddenly and tickles him in the ribs, and is utterly unprepared for the consequences.

Which turn out to be not so bad, after all.

(Yayy! Sex and happiness! Lol, thanks for reading. The next chapter will be Christmas :) authors need encouragement, and a couple of words in a review to tell me what you thought are always welcome! My undying gratitude to everyone who has this on alert because they love it, IT LOVES YOU BACK. Love from Emit)