-The Return of the King by JRR Tolkien

May 2, 1996

Sirius flattened his head against the icy rain, willing it to dissipate, wet wishing it would stay. Rain, after all, so thoroughly described his mood that it was almost comforting to feel that the world was mourning with him. At least one world was, anyway. It was a world he'd had enough of. It was the only world he'd ever known, and yet, he hated it. He hated it with such a passion that he purposely left it, but it wouldn't leave him.

The Muggle pavement he walked along was being slowly enveloped in new shoots of grass, and various wild flowers; a reminder of the summer months ahead. Newly bloomed trees stood around him, slimy from the rain, their moss-covered trunks looking like snakes. Snakes. Sirius felt a primal growl fester in his throat. Snakes reminded him of the downfall of one he loved. He shook the thought away before it had him by the throat, and looked up in time to see the small Muggle café sitting innocently by the street. It was a shame, really, how streets intersected even the most mockingly serene parks. That was one thing he missed from that other world. It's separation. It's isolation. And yet, it was so terrifyingly stifling in its intensity….

Sirius placed one cold, pale hand on the brass door knob, and shuddered. Azkaban, though he had been out for three years (and free for ten months), had not left him entirely alone. He still looked horribly deadened, and his eyes had no more spark than they did two years ago. He hadn't bothered with his hair much, either. He could always cut it with a spell, but he didn't, and he let it grow down his neck. Sirius wrenched the door open at that thought. At least it wasn't elbow-length and completely tangled, though it wasn't much better.

'Why bother' was the phrase that had carved out the last few months. At first, he had motivation. He had a quest. The quest was fulfilled, but it cost him too much. While he was away, the one he cared so much for vanished.

Once again, Sirius ended his unpleasant reverie (damn memories!), and stood before the newly cleaned glass counter, which covered newly baked shelves of Muggle-made pastries. This, and the fact that there was no one else in the café, told Sirius how early it must be. He groaned, ran a hand through his dripping, black hair, and waited for someone to help him. Tea and a scone. Simple enough. Coffee would jar him far too much, and he was never really accustomed to it, anyway. European Wizards don't usually go for Starbucks, even if the American ones do.

Finally, though Sirius really didn't care how long it took, a very tired looking woman wearing an already-smudged white apron came behind the counter. She gave Sirius a very startled look (Sirius huffed amusedly), and inconspicuously (or rather, obviously) stood next to the register. Sirius, though he knew he'd be the last person to rob a Muffle café at seven AM on a Saturday, huffed again at how easily could open that register. His wand, the only part of the world that he had and WANTED, was with him constantly. A habit that he had instilled upon himself since his quest began, and then ended. He had been given this wand (much against Ministry ruling, of course) before he was freed, and freed once the quest ended. Voldemort was dead (or was he? Sirius didn't really care), Pettigrew was one of the captured Death Eaters, and Veritaserum was administered. That was enough. Cornelius Fudge, no matter how high that permanent stick up his ass reached, could not ignore fact and evidence.

But he could ignore a fourteen-going-on-fifteen-year-old boy, or the lack-there-of. Funny.

Sirius snorted again, before he noticed how long he was taking.

"Breakfast tea," he paused, staring into the counter, the fluorescent lights forcing him to squint. "And a raspberry scone."

The woman, looking visibly relieved that Sirius wasn't about to murder her (though, Sirius thought again, he could if he wanted to), smiled and asked if that was all. Sirius nodded, and took out a few Muggle dollars. Muggle money wasn't that hard to manage, and (after exchanging a majority of his other world money) he had enough of it to last him a good while without a job. He reckoned he couldn't get a Muggle job even if he tried. What would he write on his resume, anyway? Attended Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. A Prefect the last three years. Trained Auror. Order of Merlin, Second Class (given to him after the quest). It was utterly a joke to write any of that.

Order of Merlin, Second Class. At the expense of losing a loved one. It didn't really matter to him. Dumbledore (and even, though it pained him to think of it, Snape) had lobbied for First Class, but Fudge, always guided by the stick up his ass, would not allow it.

"Bad history!" he had said.

Sirius, though it made him sick to think of it, had agreed with Fudge. He never protested outright, but he always silently agreed. Snape had received his First Class, but it seemed that the disappearance of someone who (though he would NEVER admit it, not even now) meant so much to him had jarred him as well.

Snapping back to reality in time to take his food to the smallest table in the far corner of the little café, Sirius sat down, not really intending to eat. He sat so that he could watch the Muggle street in front of the café. The road curved as it approached the park, heading into the heart of the city, Though it was a dreary Saturday morning, the activity was rather heavy. A bus went by, though both levels looked rather empty, and a car with a broken windscreen wiper sped by as well.

Sirius relented to the voice he didn't know was even talking to him, and sipped his tea. He let himself make a disgusted face, and realized that he hadn't put anything in it. But being too lazy (or was it too fed-up?) to care, Sirius let this offence slide, and he continued drinking, letting the scone go unnoticed.

Now a mother came into view. She had two young children with her. Both looked very excited as they stood next to the bus stop. Sirius felt himself pity the family; the bus had just gone by. The mother looked as though she had seen it, as her expression was extremely irritated, and she snapped at the little boy. Sirius got a chance to hear what she had to say, as a costumer opened the door, letting in the cold air.

"….enough of that, Harry!" the woman said.

Sirius' stomach lurched, and he felt his eyes burn. How much he had wanted to forget that name. He pushed the cup and saucer away, and rested his weary head in his hands. How much it hurt to remember, and yet he never wanted to forget. But forgetting seemed almost as painful as remembering, and both tore his emotions to thin strands. Nothing was fair anymore.

Sirius lifted his head and stared at his wristwatch. It was eight-thirty. Sirius was relieved that it wasn't truly seven, although he could have been wallowing in painful memories for the last hour, and not even noticed. But he always noticed those memories. They were the worst kind. The ones you wanted to let go, and yet you wanted to keep them just the same.

A hand on his shoulder forced Sirius to tense. He looked up, startled, into the concerned face of an elderly man.

"Are you alright, sir?" asked the man.

Sirius mustered up enough will to smile, and hoped that he had done so successfully. He felt rather numb.

"I'm fine," Sirius felt himself wince at how harsh his voice had become. He rarely used it anymore.

This seemed enough for the man, because he sat at a table behind Sirius', and began nibbling on another variety of scone.

The scone. Sirius looked down at the innocent pastry, the raspberries nearly all concealed in the golden bread. He really wasn't very hungry, after all. He really hadn't eaten much at all over the past year. Of course, his cooking could be one reason why. Even magic can't help those who have no talent in cooking to begin with.

Sirius sighed, stood up from tiny the metal table, the empty cup and untouched scone forgotten, and ran headfirst into someone else. Someone very tall and lanky. Sirius backed away quickly, sputtering apologies, but when he saw who it was, he felt himself numbing again, though his jaw remained unhinged.

"Remus!" Sirius whispered loudly, as if he was trying to convince himself that this was real. Remus Lupin, who was still collecting himself from being walked into, smiled wearily, and adjusted his cloak.

A wide array of emotion flashed across Sirius' mind as he watched his friend. Sure, he saw Remus about twice a month (and sometimes when he wasn't really Remus at all), but every encounter was like seeing him for the first time.

Remus smiled again, but the smile was less jovial, and he seemed to notice that Sirius wasn't responding as warmly as he'd hoped.

"Hello, Sirius," Remus said.

"Remus," Sirius began again. "What are you…...? How did you……?"

Remus held up a hand, and then helped Sirius back into the metal chair he had just left.

"Before you finish asking me your questions, might I ask you one?" said Remus in his overly-calm Professor voice.

Sirius smiled weakly at the blatant attempt at lightening the mood, and nodded.

"Are you going to eat that, or might I have it?" Remus nodded his head in the direction of the scone.

Again, Sirius nodded dumbly, still too numb to form complete, comprehendible sentences.

Remus took the scone into his possession, the nodded for Sirius to continue babbling incoherently.

"What are you……?"

"A werewolf," Remus interjected, still looking highly amused.

Sirius knitted his eyebrows in bemused sort of way, and crossed his arms. "You know what I meant."

Ah, he could finally speak.

"What are you doing here?" Sirius said, leaning forward.

Remus, nibbling on the scone, raised an eyebrow at Sirius. "I didn't actually realize that you were here," he said.

"That's not what I asked," or was it? Sirius really wasn't sure what he was trying to make Remus tell him, but it wasn't exactly 'what are you doing here' as much as it was 'why do you feel the need to check up on me? I'm a grown man, damn it!'

"I know," Remus said. Sirius felt like he was some sort of open book. Unfortunately, it wasn't an open book in the restricted section. Too many people were able to read him. First, some old stranger, and now, his best friend.

Remus suddenly looked as though he'd sobered up. A look of seriousness came over him, and he set the pastry down, staring intently at Sirius. The gaze made Sirius uncomfortable, and he lifted his eyes to the woman and her two kids. That boy with the blond hair was named…Harry. It hurt just to think of it, so he had no choice but to return to the intent look of his ever-Professor-like friend.

"Sirius, I'm worried about you," Sirius groaned as Remus began what was sure to be a long speech on not succumbing to darkness. Or insanity.

"Don't tell me that you're doing well, because I can see that you clearly aren't. Look at you. You're thinner than I am, and I'm the one with lycanthropy!" Again, Sirius huffed as Remus carried on.

"Come to lecture me, eh Professor?" Sirius growled. Remus stared at him blankly. "Well don't, because I'm not in the mood," concluded Sirius. He had meant to say more, but his voice wavered. He didn't realize he was feeling so overwhelmed.

"You're never going to listen unless I have you cornered like this," Remus did have a point. The werewolf was always thinking in Professor-mode.

The silence that ensued bid Remus permission to carry on, so he did.

"Wallowing in the past is not going to help anyone, especially not you," he raised an eyebrow as if expect Sirius to retort, but when all Sirius did was move his gaze out of the window, Remus continued.

"You've got to try and let this go. Your behaviour is utterly unacceptable, Sirius. I am reminded of the last time you visited Ron and Hermione, for instance,"

Sirius crossed his arms and sighed heavily. He knew he wasn't going to enjoy this visit, but now he was completely sure of that.

"You completely broke down in front of them, the moment Ron showed you his room. Showed you Hedwig's cage, showed you the Firebolt. You sent Molly into hysterics, if I am to remember correctly," he bit into the scone thoughtfully, his eyes intently watching for Sirius' response to this unpleasant memory.

Yes, Sirius thought. That was the last time he'd seen either Ron or Hermione. It wasn't that he was too ashamed to show his face after succumbing to hysterics; it was that there was a part of…….Him…….that hung over the two teenagers like a thick smoke. His presence was always around them. They were the biggest reminders of all that Sirius had lost, and he didn't exactly like facing that kind of pain day in and day out. He would write to them occasionally, but the first time he did so, Ron sent Hedwig….A very unwise decision.