Sirius:

Even if you were listening, never mind if you were fast asleep, you could barely hear them when they moved. They'd walk throughout the hallway with just a whisper, but you didn't need to see them to know they were there. They suck up emotions like a sponge, purging everyone of memories and feeling and until all that would be left was a cold emptiness. And then, then they would take that too.

You don't dream there, and even if you did it would not be pleasant. All too many a person would try to cling to a thought or a memory. They'd hide it so deep inside themselves in a desperate attempt to keep it, that they became trapped alongside with it. That's when they would scream-- not even knowing they were doing so. Not even hearing their own cries.

If you dreamt, you'd only let them take that as well.

Death came far too often. It was an anticipation for everyone. The Dementors would flock, already eager for the death rattle, ready to completely steal a person's essence, however little left there was. Their focus gave the other prisoners a reprieve, albeit just for a moment, and for the dying, they could finally escape the walls. A welcome event-- even at such high a cost.

So I stayed still and silent, hoping to be looked over, hoping to be hidden. It didn't work. But still I try.

Remus:

We try not to talk about that night-- not the murder or the even the time with Peter's return. Voldemort's back, and we're just waiting to get a chance to prevent another murder like James and Lily's or another betrayal.

We both feel as if we failed. Our strength was not enough as friendships were torn asunder, wrongs never able to be made right. The guilt still exists, just like the grief.

But dwelling on it helps no one, which is why we keep our silence.

Sirius:

I don't want to talk to him. I keep telling myself we're far too different, although I should be able to tell him anything. He'd let me tell him anything, but the things I want to say are the things I want no one to know.

He's had enough pain in a lifetime that he doesn't need to share mine. Not that I would let him.

Neither of us speak of that night, we don't even talk about the time in between. If we ever do mention the past, we reminiscent about school mischief and revel in the innocence we once had. I've never asked his fortune during the years in between and he's never asked my horror.

We have our moments, and it will have to be enough.

Remus:

I don't feel our relationship is enough. We've been friends-- off and on-- for so long that it seems as if it would be so much more. We keep our shame and betrayal hidden deep inside ourselves, having been sufficiently chagrined by the truth.

I've never asked why he didn't trust me, and he's never asked if I believe the worst of him. But deep down, we both know the other knows the truth.

He's given me my privacy all throughout school, never asking more than I was willing to share about the transformations. I give him the same courtesy by never asking about Azkaban.

He'd seen me at my worst those nights and even though he saw, he kept from commenting. I do the same each time when he speaks of that place. I don't talk about how the light goes out and his blue eyes become deadened and he seems to look beyond everything but still sees nothing.

We're strong enough to survive it, but far too scared to move on.

Sirius:

As much as it disgusts me, the preparations for defense are a welcome distraction. It gives me something to focus on as well as a way to feel useful. Whether it's revenge or retribution or something that just needs to be done, I'm not sure. But I'm more than willing to take up the call.

I wonder how Remus feels to be fighting again, as well all slink back to the shadows we have hid in many times before. The names stay the same, and all the players are here, but their alliances are shaky and uncertain-- on both sides.

Rare quiet times, when I'm alone, I wonder whose names will grace the causality list and whose will be marked down on the list of martyrs this time around-- if my name will be on it once again.

Remus:

As the days pass and the plans mature, I watch as his attitude shifts. He's devoted and diligent. He's obsessed. The level of concentration is eerie to behold.

Never was he a slouch in school, but his attention span had never allowed him the patience to achieve such a marvel of spells and triumphs. But now his concentration is at its sharpest and his focus is immaculately clear.

He's determination is just the same. He's willing to do anything... and because of that... I fear for him.

Sirius:

Dumbledore needs a sacrifice. For the greater good, of course.

We're fighting, but we do so blindly. We need information from the other side. Snape is poised to take that role, but first he needs Voldemort's trust.

Snape is more important than us. It kills me to see him in such a delicate position-- especially when I don't trust him. He's our best shot, but it needs a sacrifice, an elaborate high-risk staging to make no qualms about Snape's loyalty. Albus needs someone to walk into the lion's den and quite possibly never return, especially if Dumbledore has misjudged Snape. It all comes down to Snape's character, and I hate the man. It's still our best shot, but a person would be crazy to do it.

So of course, I volunteered.

Remus:

I wake to an empty bed. The sheets have cooled and there's no note on the mantle. I toddle around the room until I realize everything his is gone. I sit quiet on the bed and wonder where he's gotten himself off to.

Time passes with no word, the owls all come back with the same empty response. I know, without being told, that something is very wrong. Without hesitation, I set out to find him. My cloak billows behind me as I stride through the hallway, not willing to stop until I'm with him again.

Sirius:

It didn't take too much preparation. The plan, as Dumbledore wrote it, was amazingly simple. After last time, Voldemort had to have doubts about Snape and there was no way to deny them without leaving even the faintest trace of doubt, hence the simplicity of it all. We wouldn't deny it.

Dumbledore had already given Snape secrets to bring—gifts of good will, if you please. I'd be the thorn in Snape's side, intent on tracking him down as a traitor—- to kill him if I could. I'll admit, it wouldn't be so much acting on my part as it would be wishful thinking.

So there existed the plan and the backup plan in one. If Snape did turn, I'd do what I had to. Faith and trust were the overriding factors for success. Dumbledore hoped we wouldn’t get carried away.

He near thought it a mistake to let me go. Snape wouldn't know who was coming after him—- just that someone was. It was likely that Snape would think I tracked him down and acted on my own accord. Dumbledore said he didn't think Snape would put such an action past me. I had to agree.

So I relented to that concern and clarified that Snape would put on more of a convincing show in hating me, considering the mutual levels of disdain and disgust we have. Not to mention that I had the advantage of being an Animagus and could easily make an escape. Even that wasn't a fact Snape was likely to tip.

I just had to track him down, while everyone held their collective breath.

Remus:

Sirius was never an easy person to pin down. All too often James, Lily, Peter, and I would find him in the oddest of places. He'd consult with house elves before Quidditch matches, hide every flavor beans in the Prefect's bathroom—- in Hufflepuff!, and often sit in on Advanced Transfiguration when he was supposed to be in Potions.

He wasn't likely to be in the usual places (I'd checked anyway) but rather from the lack of everything he owned, seemed to have a set destination. However, I had no inclination of where that might be. I sent post to the usual group and it came as no surprise that Dumbledore wanted to see me. Immediately.

Something had been planned, and once again, they had decided that I didn't deserve to know. The question was: would they tell me this time?

Sirius:

Dumbledore could have given me a clue on their whereabouts instead of letting me muck around the slums getting my robes dirty. I wandered through the countryside investigating their old haunts. I had a vague idea where to start. I shouldn't even have even bothered looking because they were already watching for me.

As soon as I drew near to a Death Eater's hideaway they made themselves known. The Dark Mark shot high into the air, and I held my wand at the ready. I managed to disarm one but then the entire lot set upon me. I was thrown from my feet, landing against a huge oak behind me. Before I passed out, I had to wonder, if my ambush was part of our plan.

Remus:

I wasn't part of the plan. That much I knew. I drummed my fingers atop Dumbledore's desk, the only sign that I'm impatient. Even without the tell tale, he'd know. He always did, especially when we were all children in school. He comes in, unsurprised that I'm sitting in his room without being announced, and sighs heavily.

It's the same sigh that always prompted my guilt at not divulging my secrets. Of our group, you could usually get the most information from Peter. Not that he ever meant it, but he'd usually slip up. I was the one that would get uncomfortable at a hard teacher's glare and usually deny everything pitifully while their eyes bore into me. James was the stalwart one, he only told when we got over our heads. And Sirius... he was the stubborn one, keeping secrets forever. He never wanted to admit when he was over his head.

I'm not sure if I admire his courage or criticize his foolishness. It's a trait inherently his, and one I thought he would have grown out of by now. Characteristics like that lead him to the most intriguing places and unusual situations, for better or worse. And this time, it is for worse.

The more Dumbledore explains, the more livid I get, until he finially finishes his account. I sit, waiting, waiting for him to suggest (which, coming from him, would mean order) that I don't go. I wait for him to tell me to sit and wait, that it's a crucial event, that it needs to be done. I wait for words of reassurance, and instead I get, "Perhaps it was a mistake to let him go."

Sirius:

So it wasn't my best idea. It wasn't a bad idea per se, but hindsight makes it so. Hindsight would criticize me for storming into the proverbial front door. Hindsight wouldn't have let me trudge off with a threadbare plan. Hindsight would have got it right. Hindsight's a know all bitch like that.

I'm not exactly sure where I am, the darkness ebbs around everything. I have yet to see anyone, and I have yet to decide whether that is a good thing or bad.

The voices drift towards me as if I were in a dream. Each lingers for a moment. The short spanse is enough to trigger my memory, but far too quick to place a name.