At first, it had been simply glorious. The best thing that's happened to you in ages. Your best friend was back, and really back this time. Not in a prison, not on an island, but with you, in his old house. You and Sirius stay together as much as you can, always being found in the same room, a smile on both of your faces. Sometimes you reminisce happily about old times, sometimes you reminisce bitterly about old times. But it's not even one billionth as bad as it used to be, simply because you are not alone. The current calamities are an untouched subject. You don't want to bring up the ever-looming war, Lord Voldemort, the wretchedness that Harry has had to go through. . . You reckon Sirius feels the same way. You have both had enough grief in your lives to spend time dwelling on the threat of the indeterminable present.

He brings so many things you hadn't even realised you miss with his presence. The simple joy of hearing someone call you Moony again is enough to make you feel years younger.

It feels as if you're almost in a dream. You're with your best mate, in his childhood home, just like old times. Yet. . . it's a little peculiar. In those days, you had probably gone to Sirius's house maybe once. He had wanted to keep everyone away from it, and had avoided it himself whenever he could. Now, he is to remain in there until his name is somehow cleared.

* * * * * * *

One day you hear someone yelling, and you see him standing in front of his mother's open portrait. She is screaming at him as he is staring blankly into her eyes, standing there with his hands numbly by his sides. You watch him, speechless, as he just lets the insults run over him as if they're fresh water. You run over, trying to yank the curtains shut but it's not working, the screaming is still ringing through the air, and Sirius finally snaps out of whatever is running through his mind and jumps to help you. With the combination of both your efforts, the curtain closes. Now with a deafening silence Sirius looks at you, scratches his head, and walks away.

So everything is not quite the way it used to be (aside from the betrayal of someone you had considered a friend and the death of someone you had considered a brother, that is). He is not as he used to be, and you worry about him. It's after a conversation with Arthur Weasley that you see it. He talked about the time he had had to visit Azkaban, how it had taken him days to recover, even from a very short time on the island. It's the worst place on earth. . . He had shuddered while telling you, uneasy by the memory of the place. . . The place where Sirius had spent twelve years.

* * * * * * *

Twelve years. How he did it without going mad. . . It is after the conversation that you watch Sirius more carefully, that you pay close attention. You become aware of his hands. Those tremors, those ever present trembling fingers were not there before. You notice the way that if the window is open, if a whoosh of wind is heard, your old friend seizes up, closing his eyes, bracing himself against chills of a nonexistent Dementor. You take in the way that at loud noises, if someone yells in surprise, Sirius will cover his ears, blocking out his old inmates screams.

At times like this you seize his hand, and look him in the eye. You merely keep eye contact for a few moments, ensuring that everything is alright. That the madness is gone. He sighs and nods, squeezing your hand in a silent thanks. At times, he does this to you as well, when you're in a spectacular conversation with him and then you find you can't breathe because while everything seems right, everything is still utterly wrong. He grips your shoulder, a small smile on his face, saying, Looks like I'm not the only mad one, eh? He is simply there, and it is enough to keep you sane.

You find him staring at Harry a lot, and you know exactly what is going through his mind, exactly the complexities that even a glance of Harry brings all too well yourself. It is another subject that is not touched upon.

Yet with all these changes, he is still himself, which is something extraordinary in its own right. When you and Nymphadora laugh at something together, he kicks you under the table and winks. When you question him later, he says it's for hitting on his younger cousin, but then he tells you to go for it, even though you've never mentioned even the possibility of you and Nymphadora together in the first place.

He brings across the topic of helping you during transformations, just like they all had at school, but you quickly dismiss it. This time, they would not have a stag to keep you in check as well, and you don't dare to risk it, especially when you have Sirius back after so long.

One day, you're listening to the Wizarding Wireless. You come across the station Music for Muggles, and it's playing All You Need Is Love. You and Sirius instantly lock eyes. It's the song Lily had picked for her and James to dance to at their wedding. You smile sorrowfully at each other, keeping the song on, and when it ends Sirius says to you, in a wry, rueful sort of voice, Guess they needed a bit more than love in their case. You stare at him, and he avoids your eyes. I'm just saying that they would have benefitted a lot more with a knife to Wormtail's throat than any more bloody love.

He's getting angsty, you can tell, even more so then before. You find him pacing, continually tapping his fingers on some surface, his eyes darting around. He tells you he feels bored, he feels useless, that he wants to do something. You tell him that Dumbledore's keeping him in Grimmauld place for a good reason: So he doesn't get bloody killed. He scoffs at this, tells you he hasn't had any action in years and that he'd gladly take the risk. You glare at him, telling him that if he didn't take care of his life for his own good, then at least do it for yours.

* * * * * * *

You're numbly holding back Harry, telling him that he's gone. Your heart is no longer in your chest. It has either dropped to your stomach, or more likely, no longer in your body. You're staring at the veil, and you think of course.

Why would it be plausible that you and Sirius would be able to spend any content times together? Why would it be in anyway likely that you and your friends could possibly catch a break? Why would it be even imaginable that someone would for once let the load of misery off your back without heaping more on?

You can't believe the destruction, the wretchedness that people can create, can't believe the ugliness of the universe, the unfairness of the world, and you wonder why it seems as though you carry it on your shoulders. Your throat is dry, as well as your eyes, and you feel completely hollow, aside from the raw anguish that is threatening to engulf you. You didn't imagine that you could ever feel this suffering again after the death of Lily and James, that is was possible to be alive and feel this much sorrow. You want to murder Voldemort, to damn every single Death Eater that was responsible for the death of Sirius, the deaths of James and Lily. You want to tear apart Peter Pettigrew and Bellatrix Lestrange with your bare hands. And then you want to rip your heart out of your body, because you don't really think it can take much more of anything.

* * * * * * *

"C'mon Moony, it'll be fine."

"Are you bloody mental, Padfoot? We could be killed!"

"C'mon Remus, he's got a point. Nobody's going to get killed."

"Easy for you to say, Captain of the Quidditch Team."

"Well that means I'll be completely able to save you if anything goes wrong! Please Moony, even Pete's agreed."

"It'll be fine, Remus."

"Prongs is right, Moony. You're fine, it's Peter's flying ability we have to worry about."

"Hey!"

"No offense of course, Peter."

"Listen to Sirius for once, Remus. And have you forgotten who we are? The Marauders."

"And what's that got to do with it?"

"Well, it means we're bloody incredible so we're going to live forever."

"James has got it right, Remus, immortality at its finest."

"You're insane. I can't believe I'm agreeing to this. Let's go."

"Excellent! Everybody ready?"

"Yeah!"

"Always am."

"I suppose. . ."

"One, two, three!"

And the four boys jumped off the Astronomy Tower, plummeting down only to raise their broomsticks at the last moment, flying upwards, and whooping in joy as they soared across the starry sky.