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"You did what?"
Sirius sighs. It's too early for this, too early to do anything except sleep and maybe snog a little. "It's nothing, honestly, can we just—"
"You did what?" Remus is up on one elbow now, eyes open and intent on their target.
"Enchanted a motorbike."
"I thought that's what you said, but I'm sure I'm going deaf. Say it louder."
"I enchanted a motorbike," Sirius repeats in a slight shout.
"You would never do something that stupid."
"Prongs did it too," Sirius says quickly, and knows as soon as the words leave his mouth that it's a mistake.
Remus rolls his eyes. "Oh, well if Prongs did it, then it's all fine, because he's such a shining example of maturity, isn't he?"
"It was just a bit of fun!" There's no way in hell that Sirius is telling Remus the real reason they enchanted the bike. He'll never be allowed to set foot outside again. "You do remember how to have fun, don't you?"
"I remember perfectly well. In fact, I quite enjoy having fun when it doesn't involve muggles—policemen, no less!—and when it can't get you in trouble with the Ministry of Magic."
"This can't—"
"Misuse of Muggle Artifacts, Sirius."
"Oh." Sirius smoothes the comforter over himself to buy time. "Well, no one knows about it."
"And I'm supposed to be grateful for that, hmm?"
"You'd bloody well better be, unless you'd rather they carted me off to Azkaban."
"They don't send you to Azkaban for flying motorbikes, idiot. That's for flying cars. Flying people." Remus grins the way Sirius loves, the way he always does when he's tired of being upset. "I don't suppose you feel like telling me why?"
"Why what?"
"Why you ever wanted to make a motorbike fly in the first place."
Sirius chews on his bottom lip, hoping it looks playful rather than guilty. "Like I said, it was just for fun. You can do loads of things when you've got a flying vehicle."
"Why not just use a broomstick?"
"Well, then I wouldn't have my attractive punk aesthetic, and you'd leave me for someone else." Sirius traces a slow line down Remus's forearm. "And if you must know, it's very helpful to look like a muggle sometimes."
"What, for Order stuff?"
Damn. "I guess, sort of." It's time to change the subject, but to what? "We should take a holiday."
Remus laughs, removing Sirius's hand from his arm and lacing their fingers together. "A holiday? We've only just graduated."
"That was months ago."
"We can't take time off now. There's too much to be done."
"There's always something. It'll still be here when we get back. And we don't have to go for long—"
"Where would we go?"
In Remus's eyes, Sirius can see the real question: where would we be safe? And not just as vaguely suspicious rebel fighters, but as a perverted werewolf and his equally perverted leather-clad boyfriend. "There's always muggle cities," he manages after a moment. "They're supposed to be a bit more accepting, right?"
"Some of them." Remus flops over onto his back, still keeping their hands together. "Or we could try America. I've always wanted to see New York City."
"That old den of sinners? You'd fit right in."
Remus sighs. "Well, it's too bad we really haven't got the time."
"Says who?"
"Says Dumbledore. A bunch of Death Eaters have been popping up all over London lately."
"Yeah, but we don't live in London."
"I know you go there practically every day," Remus tells him. "I talk to James all the time."
"How's he doing? I haven't seen him in days."
Remus shrugs. "He's all right. Apparently he got into a little trouble with Moody last week."
"James, getting in trouble? I'm shocked."
"Don't laugh, he could have died." Remus frowns. "Dolohov and Mulciber and—someone else, I don't remember, they were chasing him all over."
So it was them under the masks. Sirius remembers the satisfying crunch as they slammed into the police car, the sound of their spells shooting after him on the bike. "It was probably Macnair. They're always together."
"Mm." Remus rests his head on Sirius's shoulder. "I suspect the only reason Lily hasn't chewed him out for that is because she's too busy risking her own life."
Sirius brushes his free hand through Remus's hair, just beneath his chin. "Everyone's risking their lives. This is—"
"A war, I know. Still. I think I'd die if they were chasing you."
"You wouldn't die, surely."
There must be something off in his voice, because Remus's whole body stiffens. There's a long pause before he says, "They were chasing you, weren't they?"
He's never been very good at lying to Remus. "Yes."
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"Because you always worry. I'm fine."
"Someday you won't be," Remus replies with conviction. "I worry more when you keep secrets."
Sirius rolls his eyes where Remus can't see. "I don't see why you want to know about everything. Doesn't it just make things worse? You've got enough on your plate; if you're always fretting about me, too, you're bound to go mad."
"Macnair, Sirius!" Remus sits upright suddenly, the comforter slipping down to show his thin chest striped with scars. "That's what'll drive me mad. He's the worst, behind that Lestrange woman. Imagine if he caught you."
Sirius feels cold with the sudden empty space beside him. "If they caught me I'd fight them." The words sound as false as they are. "You know this is life now. It's the way things are."
"I don't accept that," Remus snaps.
"How can you not? You work as much as I do."
"I send owls. I run errands." Remus punches a fist into the blankets. "I'm never in danger. You don't have to be, either."
"What would I do? I can't sit around. I need to go out and move."
"So do I. But I'm stuck doing odd jobs that no one else wants. D'you have any idea how pointless that is? How useless I—?"
That cuts at Sirius like the draft of chilly air where the blanket is lifted away. "You're not useless."
"I might as well be, for all the good I'm doing." Remus holds up a hand to stop his reply. "The way I see it, we have three options. Either you stop doing things that put you in danger, or you tell me when you do."
"What's the third option?"
"I can go out and do the same missions as you do."
"Moony…"
"Don't 'Moony' me!" Remus retorts, crossing his arms as if to hide the scars both inside and out. "I can't stand living like this, so something's got to change! Tell me, what's wrong with me going on missions?"
"You could get hurt!"
"You just said it wasn't dangerous."
Sirius presses his fingers into his temples. "Dammit, Remus, that's not what I mean."
"Do you mean it's dangerous because I'm going to face the unrestrained anti-werewolf prejudice of the wizarding world? Because I think I've got a handle on that by now."
"But—" Sirius stops, unable to articulate a response.
"I don't know what your problem is," Remus tells him, and he no longer sounds frustrated, but angry. "Everyone's out being helpful. James and Lily hardly even got a honeymoon. You don't know how it feels just waiting around, barely being able to do anything, not knowing if the next person at the door will be you coming home or James telling me that you're dead."
For just a moment, Sirius can't help imagining James delivering that message. The scene is shadowy in his mind, but painful enough that he winces. Still—"You don't know what it's like out there."
"Enlighten me."
He doesn't want to, mostly because he can't stand the face he knows Remus will make. But the one he's making now, as if he's five seconds away from walking out of the room, is worse. "It's…" Merlin, how is he supposed to say it? "They fixed up the Werewolf Registry. Apparently, business is booming."
"I see." Remus's expression is carefully neutral.
"And the Werewolf Capture Unit," Sirius adds heavily. "Part of Voldemort's plan. Nobody's really objecting to it, though."
"I expect not," Remus says with a shrug and a twist of his mouth. "It doesn't matter. I don't care."
"You should," Sirius insists. "It's not like anything you've ever faced before."
"And how would you know what I've faced?" Remus demands, a new savagery in his voice.
Sirius blinks, his mouth hanging slightly open. A memory returns unbidden—the day he confronted Remus in second year, at the behest of James and Peter, and how scared Remus looked. Ashamed, even, because he somehow thought it was his fault. Sirius didn't know what he was getting into then, but he's learned a bit by now, watching his closest friend struggle along beside him. He isn't called Padfoot for nothing, after all.
"I'm sorry," Remus says quickly, looking almost as if he wants to reach out, but apparently deciding against it. "I didn't mean—I know. I know that you know."
Sirius, too, wants to reach out, to fold Remus to his chest, to keep him there. He just nods. "You can't go out."
Remus makes a frustrated noise. "I'll do as I please."
"I know. I didn't mean that." Sirius bites his lip. "Just that if you do, you won't like it. They're taking people off the streets, and nobody knows where they go." That last part's not strictly true, he reflects, but he'd rather not say what they've discovered. "If you leave and don't come back…"
"Then it'll be my own fault." Remus pushes the comforter off and reaches for his pants. "I won't waste away in here." He pulls them on with sharp movements, turning away.
Sirius watches him with a pit in his stomach. He hates this war. He hates what it's doing to them, how he doesn't know where they'll end up. "Remus?"
"What?" Remus doesn't pause, having found his trousers.
"Nothing." What can he say? He's a selfish idiot, but when he thinks about something happening to Remus, there's a funny little twist in his heart. He can't help it.
"I'll make breakfast," Remus says, walking out. It would be normal if he weren't going so quickly. "Do you want eggs?"
Sirius is far from hungry. "Sure." Alone in the bedroom, with March morning winds rattling the windowpanes, he buries his face in the pillows.