Notes: an idea I got while, er, folding laundry, if that has any relevance. Anyway, this just seemed the sort of thing Remus might do. Especially if he'd been in love with Sirius prior to the events that landed Sirius in Azkaban. Which he was, in this fic. If this bothers you, please make use of the back button. Otherwise, enjoy the fic.

Disclaimer: I claim ownership to none of this. Everything and everyone herein belong to JK Rowling. (Including Sirius, which is rather a shame, considering what's happened to him.)

Closure

It had been three years since Sirius Black had been convicted of the murder of thirteen people and sent to Azkaban prison. It was three years since Peter Pettigrew had died, three years since James and Lily Potter had died. Three years since Remus Lupin's life had fallen apart before his eyes.

It had also been three years in which Remus had been able to pull his life back into a semblance of order. He still had a flat, the same flat he'd been sharing with Sirius prior those three years, before Sirius had walked out one day without explanation and hadn't come back all week, and just after that it was Halloween and everything went wrong and Remus hadn't seen him since. Remus had cleaned out the flat, carefully packed all of Sirius's things and sent them off to Sirius's Gringotts vault. Remus had a job now too, one he'd been able to keep for the past year and a half, as a librarian at a comfortably small library in Oxford, where he knew all the patrons and was paid a reasonable amount and none of the Muggles bothered to wonder why he'd request a few days off every month. Remus even had a fair amount of friends – Muggles, mostly – who spent time with him on rainy afternoons and sometimes managed to convince him to act like a respectable twenty-four-year-old and go to parties with the kids at Oxford University. Just this morning, one of his friends, a cheerful lad called Henry, had told him the history professor was looking for an assistant and thought Remus might be right for the job.

So here Remus was, three years into his new mostly-Muggle life, sitting on a couch in his flat and considering taking up his friend's offer. Unfortunately, thinking was proving to be a rather difficult task, because Henry had come with the news just as Remus was in the middle of doing a spring-cleaning (or autumn cleaning, as it was October). Remus had just found a photo album when Henry came in, and now that the boy had left and Remus was trying to consider being assistant history professor, he noticed the plain-looking brown album he held in his hands. He opened it curiously.

The first picture was of four very happy-looking people in dress robes. A boy with messy black hair and glasses had his arm wrapped in familiar possession around a very pretty girl with red hair and sparkling green eyes. She was laughing and kept pretending to pull away from the boy, who would only tighten his grip and grin down at her until she stopped trying to get away, weak with laughter. Next to the boy was another, slightly taller, with black hair spilling into his handsome face. He was grinning, toasting the camera with an invisible glass. On the boy's other side was a shorter boy, with mousy hair and a pointed nose. He was smiling brilliantly at the other three in the photo, seemingly delighted to be sharing in their happiness.

Remus slammed the album closed. He remembered that picture. He had taken it himself, on the day he and the others had graduated Hogwarts. He knew what this photo album was now; at least fifty pictures he'd taken of them all, those four years after they'd finished school. James and Lily's wedding photos were in here somewhere.

There were probably quite a few pictures of Sirius.

Remus slowly opened the photo album again, and looked carefully at every single picture. Searching for – what? He wasn't sure. Some sign from all those photo-Siriuses that he was secretly a betrayer and a murder? Some sign that what everyone thought Sirius Black to be was really only a ploy? Remus couldn't find that in those pictures. He could only see a very handsome young man who was grinning delightedly because Remus was taking his picture.

Sighing, Remus put the album down. Old photos, shadow memories colored by his love for Sirius, weren't going to give him any answers. And he needed answers. If he was going to get on with this new life he was fashioning for himself, Remus was going to need closure for the old one. He certainly couldn't get closure from James or Lily or Peter.

So he would have to visit Sirius.

~*~

Remus shivered unhappily.

He'd had to visit the Ministry to get authorization for this, and had to fill out paperwork from two separate departments because of the added complication of his lycanthropy. Then he'd taken a Portkey north, and spent the last half hour in a boat in the North Sea speeded on by magic. The company on the boat had been no treat, either: a couple of Ministry officials who looked as though they would rather be locked in a room with an angry Horntail; a severe-looking man who looked vaguely familiar, and his wife, a frail woman who sat there clutching his arm and sobbing softly; and the warlock piloting the boat, who was bundled up in furs and looked rather uncomfortable with the whole arrangement.

When they reached the rocky island on which Azkaban sat, everyone edged reluctantly off the boat. More fur-bundled warlocks hurried down to the boat, looking displeased, and took charge of the company. The Ministry officials were led away along the edge of the rocky shore, their warlock guides telling them in low, urgent voices about the state of Azkaban that month. Another pair of warlocks turned with impatient politeness towards Remus and the couple.

"Who you visiting?" one of the warlocks asked shortly.

"Prisoner –" the severe-looking man checked a slip of paper " – number eight seventy-two."

"Barty Crouch Jr.," his wife added in a barely audible voice.

The warlock nodded curtly. "High-security, but it looks to be in order. Follow me." He led the couple away.

The remaining warlock looked expectantly at Remus.

"Sirius Black. Oh –" Remus hurriedly checked his own slip of paper. "Eight hundred twelve."

The warlock gave him a curious look. "We've never had any visitors for Black before." He squinted at the slip of paper. "Interesting. Right, this way."

So Remus followed his warlock guide up the rocky slope and into Azkaban prison. He followed his guide down echoing halls, past the lowest-security cells, where the inmates sat on their benches looking bored and vaguely uncomfortable and read newspapers with little interest, while only one dementor stood at each end of the corridor. Remus followed the warlock up a set of stairs, past medium-security wards and dementors that turned their cloaked heads with a bit of interest to watch Remus as he passed. Up yet more flights of stairs went Remus and his guide, until they seemed to be in the highest buttress of the stronghold, and the air was icy-cold.

Remus shivered again, involuntarily.

The warlock came to a sudden stop. "Here you are, sir. Your prisoner is just down the corridor, fourth on the left." He pointed helpfully, paused, and added quickly, "Please don't do anything to annoy the guards."

"Believe me, I won't," Remus said, and set off across the dark corridor, looming with dementors and as cold as death. It was rather fitting that Sirius was here. This had to be justice, to give a murderer a taste of death. Though, Remus admitted to himself as a nearby dementor took a rattling breath, he wouldn't have wished this on anyone. Cold, yes, but not such black despair. Someone farther down the ward gave a scream.

Remus was almost in front of Sirius's cell now. He could go back. He could pretend he hadn't gotten that idea this morning, that he needed to visit Sirius in order of have closure. He had seen Sirius's living arrangements now. Perhaps that was enough?

Perhaps he was being a coward about this.

He took a deep breath and stepped up to the bars. "Sirius?"

A shadow stirred in the corner of the cell. Tattered robes and too-thin limbs untangled themselves from the darkness of the cell, and a white face blinked bemusedly in the direction of Remus's voice. "What?" the figure asked hoarsely.

Remus's voice stuck in his throat. Sirius. But – but not Sirius. His cheeks were sunken, giving the impression that he hadn't had enough to eat in far too long. His usually gorgeous black hair was in an almost hopeless tangle spilling over his shoulders. And his eyes, light blue with a spark of laughter behind them – they were beginning to sink into his starved face, the spark of laughter snuffed.

No one should have to look like that.

"What?" Sirius said again. "Who is it?"

Throat unsticking, voice almost as hoarse as Sirius's, he whispered, "Remus."

The other man scrambled to his feet. "Remus?" he repeated disbelievingly, walked unsteadily towards the bars, stared wide-eyed. "Oh god. Remus." He reached out with a trembling hand. "You can't possibly be real."

Remus took an unconscious step backwards. "I assure you I am."

Sirius shook his head. "No. You wouldn't visit me." He was gazing at Remus as though he were something less substantial than the faintest of ghosts. "You're going to accuse me soon," Sirius added almost conversationally. "You're going to tell me it's all my fault, and that you knew all along. You're going to tell me that's why you spent so much time away from home, because you always knew I was going to betray all of you."

He could hardly breathe. "Those were Order missions, Sirius. I told you." Remus swallowed, suddenly confused. He remembered Sirius leaving the flat one day without a word, and not coming back. At the time he hadn't known why and had only been hurt. Afterwards, he had realized it was because Sirius was working for Voldemort, and was finalizing the plans to get James and Lily killed. Why then was Sirius going back to that old argument, accusing Remus of going off without a word? Remus had said then that it was for Dumbledore, was for the Order, and that he wasn't allowed to say any more. He'd thought Sirius had been angry because he wasn't getting the information Voldemort wanted.

"I told you," Remus repeated almost helplessly. "And I didn't know you were the spy. I didn't know you were the betrayer." Then, softly – "Why?"

"I didn't mean to," Sirius said tonelessly.

Remus forced back a laugh of disbelief. "Didn't mean to."

Sirius closed his eyes, his face a mask of pain. "Moony –"

Remus's gut twisted in hurt and longing. "Don't call me that."

"I'm sorry." A whisper, wrenchingly sincere. "Remus … I – There're so many ghosts here. Old memories." Sirius's half-sunken eyes opened again, locked gazes with Remus. "I need to know you're really here. Just – please –" His hand reached out again, thin and white, trembling through the bars towards Remus.

"Don't touch me," Remus said quietly but without any real venom. "I'm real enough, Sirius."

"I haven't seen anyone in – in so long."

"Three years."

Sirius's eyes slid shut again. "Yes. Three years too long." He frowned. "Why did you come here? It's not making either of us any happier." His eyes blinked open again; he regarded Remus with a look of almost innocent confusion. "Because no matter what we say it's not going to make anything different, is it?"

"No," Remus acknowledged. "It'll still be your fault, and I won't be able to forgive you."

Head now bowed, so that Remus could only see masses of black hair, Sirius whispered, "But why are you here, if nothing's going to change?"

"I –" Remus hesitated. "I don't know. Closure."

Sirius laughed, a short barking laugh with no mirth in it. "Closure? What, since you can't talk to the rest of them you're here to double-check that the boy you were in love with is dead too? Is that it?"

Remus winced. This came far too close to the truth. "It would seem so."

Sirius looked back up. "I'm not as different as you think."

"I wasn't in love with a murderer," Remus said simply.

The pain returned to Sirius's face. "I know." He sighed. "You do mean it, don't you? No matter what happens you won't be able to forgive me."

"No, I don't think so," Remus agreed.

Sirius just looked at him, eyes too big in a face that even after three years in a living hell still held some of its old handsomeness. "I still love you."

Remus stiffened. "No you don't."

"Yes," Sirius insisted. "The first memories to go – the happiest things in my life – I can't remember half the things we must have done, as kids. Hell, at this point I'm not sure if I've ever kissed you. But I do know I love you."

"Stop," Remus said hoarsely, though he wasn't entirely sure why he was saying it. He'd been half-hoping to hear those words, because, as terrifying as it was, he couldn't bring himself to hate Sirius.

"I do remember one thing," Sirius pressed on. "I remember you saying that you loved me so much that even if I killed everyone else in the world you'd still love me." He looked away. "I believed you. But I don't think I do now. Go on; I've only caused a few people's deaths, that isn't the world. Still love me?"

"No," Remus whispered.

Liar.

Sirius nodded slowly, resignedly. "Yes. Well – for what it's worth, I still love you, and I'm so sorry about Lily and James." He turned away.

Sorry?

It was as though he hadn't talked with Sirius at all. Things made far less sense than before he'd started talking, and it didn't feel like closure at all. "People go mad here," Remus found himself saying. "Sometimes within weeks. Certainly less than a year. How is it that you can have a rational conversation with me?"

Sirius turned slowly back towards him. "I was never given a trial," he said quietly. "You've got the newspapers to tell you I blew up Peter and all those Muggles. Were you there, Remus? Did you see me do it? Do you know I killed them?"

Remus wasn't entirely sure if Sirius was trying to prove that he really was off his rocker, or was saying something far more impossible than that. Of course he'd done it. He'd said that himself moments before. I've only caused a few people's deaths. "James and Lily," Remus said in a steely voice.

The pain came back across Sirius's face like a veil. "Fine. Please go away, Moony."

That horrible agonizing feeling again, at hearing his old nickname. "Remus," Remus snarled.

This time Sirius only looked at him, and said again, evenly, "Moony."

"Stop that," Remus said, and cursed silently, for he hadn't been able to hide the faintest of tremors in his voice.

Sirius regarded him for a moment. "Do you hate me?"

Silence.

"No," Remus said slowly. "I hate what you've done. But I've spent too much of my life in love with you to really hate you. I pity you, now."

Sirius grinned faintly. It looked very out of place in this cold prison, on the face of this half-starved man who lived in the midst of despair. "I suppose that'll have to be enough." He regarded Remus, the half-hearted grin fading completely. "Before you go – I need to know that this really happened. That I really did talk to you. So – so if you say you can at least pity me, let me just touch your hand, convince myself you're solid –"

Wordlessly Remus held out a hand.

Hand shaking almost uncontrollably, Sirius reached through the bars and twined his fingers around Remus's. His hands were icy cold. "Oh," Sirius breathed. "Warm."

"Cold," Remus countered with a smile that froze on his face. He was bantering with the man who had killed all his friends. Azkaban did make people go mad.

Of course, Sirius had always had that effect on him. What made Remus think now would be any different?

Sirius hung on to his hand, looked him carefully in the eye. "Thank you."

Remus swallowed. "You're welcome."

"You can forget me now, if you want to," Sirius added softly. "You don't have to remember that I've told you this. If I were you, I'd probably try to forget right quick. But I still really, really love you. Even when I've been here another ten years and I've forgotten who you are." His icy fingers squeezed Remus's and let go. "Just so you know. You can go now."

Remus nodded slowly. "I … won't forget. Goodbye."

He turned away, leaving Sirius standing there at the bars, and made his way back to the bundled-up warlock who was his guide. As they descended from the fortress's top level, made their way down staircases through the steadily warming air, Remus's hand where Sirius's fingers had been remained icy cold. He doubted the touch would leave even if he kept the hand under hot water for the rest of his life.

He wondered vaguely why this didn't seem to bother him.

They reached Azkaban's front gates. Remus thanked his guide quietly and went down to the dock, waiting for the bad-tempered warlock to return with his boat (the timetable said it would come in ten minutes). He turned around and looked back up at Azkaban prison. Turret upon gray stone turret stretched up into the steely sky. In the tallest tower, the smallest of windows looked out on the rocky shore. And in one of the windows, a far-away white pinprick of a face peered down. It was probably only imagination or the strangest of hopes that made Remus think it might be Sirius.

"I love you," Remus whispered, so softly he could barely hear it himself.

And that was closure enough.