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[The camera clicks on to a low-lit room. It's difficult to see anything, but there's something moving in the darkness--

--a face. A wolf's face turned to the side, its jaws bloody and eye narrowed, teeth stretched into sharp, curved fangs. It stares at the camera for a few seconds, sizing it up, before turning. But the other half of the face isn't a wolf; rather, it's a mangled, gory mess. A young face appears on the screen, meshed horribly with the wolf on the other side-- and it's Remus' face, but one could only tell that if one knew him well, as his face is horribly torn up. Torn skin and exposed muscles make up the majority of his face, while blood pours from scratches on his forehead. His teeth are exposed through a hole in his cheek, but that's barely visible, as dripping yellow fat mixing with crimson blood are constantly slipping down his cheek. It's a horrible sight, made all the worse by Remus' sudden low laugh.

--because it's the mask, of course, and he proves that by removing it after a few seconds.]

Enjoy the show?

[There's a noticeable edge in his voice and smile, something colder and crueler than before.]

I think I quite like this new development. It's certainly far more interesting than simply another Jump, don't you agree? And far less deadly-- which reminds me, there's new people here, aren't there? I do hope that's not your first inkling that things on here aren't quite so lovely as they seem; that would be a rather poor welcome.

[He glances down, considering the mask for a few more seconds, before glancing at the camera again.]

You know, I'm always surprised at how kind everyone is here. Aren't you? How welcoming they are to the supernatural creatures. The vampires and the werewolves, the poor castaway souls that have found sanctuary here-- but you know, I don't know if that's so wise. It works out for me, of course, but don't you ever wonder what might happen if one of us snapped?

[He grins fiercely.]

Think about it. Once a month, all that separates me from a potential meal-- that is to say, you (and please don't say that you could defend yourself from me, because I can promise you, you couldn't, not from me when I'm on the hunt)-- is a simple door and a dog. Just a few inches of steel, and I'm sure soon enough the werewolf will figure out how to get out of that.

As for the vampires-- well. I don't think it would be very hard for a vampire to snap, would it? At least with me, you only have to worry once a month. A terrifying once a month, to be certain, and I could most definitely hurt you if I was so inclined now-- but in the end, I have control over myself twenty-eight days of the month. A vampire, now-- well. He could snap at any moment. His cravings are a constant hunger. Imagine, if you would, starving. Having hunger claw at your stomach, making you dizzy, making you delirious-- and then being presented a delicious meal and being told you weren't allowed to have any. Imagine having to deal with that at every hour, every minute, every second of every day--

Really, it's a wonder the poor things haven't snapped by now, isn't it?

[He slips his hand up, his finger playing carelessly at his dogtooth.]

Of course, being a creature of darkness also has its benefits. Strength, hearing, sight, smell-- they all get better. You become something better than a human, something bigger and cleverer and far more interesting. I have to say, I'm a bit surprised no one has asked for the bite yet.

But then perhaps you're all frightened.

[He shrugs and glances down at the mask again. After a moment he slips it back on and turns so the wolf side is facing the Network.]

I suppose you should be.

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I'm still allowed to say thank you!

And I'm still allowed to take the mickey out of you for saying it.

[He grins at Remus, as he swipes the knife into the peanut butter jar and comes out with a huge dollop. This goes onto the plate as well--and then a second for good measure--and then with an air of great ceremony, he bears the plate hence.]

Here, sir.

Thank you.

[He takes the plate rather carefully and sets it next to him.]

And now yours? Come on, hurry up, I want to finish the chapter.

[In a scratchy falsetto, he mocks (gently!):] Hurry up, hurry up! Sandwiches don't make themselves, you know, especially not good ones--

[He returns to the refrigerator, and rummages around inside for a bit before emerging with an armload of cheeses and meats and condiments.]

I'll go as quickly as I can, without risking the sanctity of the sandwich.

Mmhmm.

[He takes one of his apple slices and carefully bites into it.]

What sort are you making, then?

Turkey ham bacon--s' got to be cold bacon, 'cos I'm not waiting for it to cook, I'm too bloody hungry--two cheeses, maybe three, mustard, more mustard, and a titchy little tomato.

[He rattles it all off cheerfully as he works.]

And you can only have a single bite, before you ask.

I don't know if I can get my mouth around it, to be honest. Do you really need all that?

'Course I do.

[He answers quite matter-of-factly, as he starts layering on cheese.]

And you're going to be very jealous of it when the time comes, no matter what you say now.

I think I'd only be jealous if it was an egg sandwich, actually.

What, just eggs? Nothing else?

And some cheese too, I suppose! But yes, mostly.

Says the man who only wants apples and peanut butter. Are you sure you don't want a sandwich, that's an awfully specific sandwich request.

Well, if you wouldn't mind . . .

[He sighs--but jokingly--and goes over to the fridge again.]

Ham or anything else?

Just cheese and eggs, thank you.

Right. And toast.

[It's not so unfamiliar an order; he's known Remus for ages now, so he knows generally how he takes his egg sandwiches. Scrambled, butter, toasted bread, melted cheese. He slops egg and milk right into the man and stirs them around.]

And tea? Shall we do this properly?

I'll make it. Although I don't think it's proper tea until we're back safe in England once more.

[--and that makes his stomach drop a little, because when was the last time he thought of home? Not home as an abstraction, describing England or Hogwarts to Raven-- but home as in when are we going back? And he hates that he hasn't thought of it, just as he hates the way his stomach twists awfully with homesickness and loneliness all at once.]

[He knows Remus. He knows him well, better than anyone else here, certainly--possibly better than anyone at home. Even James, to an extent. They know Remus differently, and Sirius, so in tune to what makes everyone happy, to what distracts them and what depresses them--

He doesn't say anything at first. He stirs the eggs around in the pan for a few moments, the sizzle filling the silence of the kitchen. And then, eventually:]

We'll get back.

[He stares down at the kettle. It's stupid and girlish how hot his eyes have suddenly gotten, the way his mouth is trembling-- and he has to bite his tongue before he can answer, because he doesn't want to be that person.]

Do you really think so?

[He turns, meeting Sirius' eyes.]

I mean, truly, Sirius. Do you truly think we're going home? Because-- because I don't know anymore.

[It's really easy to slip into a sense of normalcy, especially with Remus around. Even if they're aboard a mad old spaceship, traveling to God only knows where--well, they're together aboard the mad old spaceship, and two Marauders are better than one.

But there's still James, whose absence Sirius feels more sharply than he'd ever say, even to Remus. And Peter--but Sirius doesn't know what to do with Peter, because Peter--

He's not forgotten the other Remus--the older Remus, tired and worn in a way he can't imagine Remus being (tired, yes, his face the colour of old parchment and his scars standing out very red--but always back after a few days). He can't forget about him. He can put him out of mind, but he always comes back, and Sirius knows, he's got to tell Remus, but every time he starts to he thinks that perhaps Edgeworth is right; perhaps they're all from different worlds, even Remus and Sirius, especially older Remus and Sirius--

But isn't that just cowardice? And if they go back home, what will they go back to? And all of this comes to him as he stands in the kitchen and looks at Remus for a long, quiet moment, studying his face, a face he knows nearly as well as he knows his own.]

We have to. [It comes out roughly; he swallows and tries again.] We have to. We can't-- We came here, didn't we? So there's a way to get back.

I just-- sometimes I think that maybe we won't, that-- that maybe we're stuck here-- and god, I like the people here, but Sirius, I want to go home. I miss home, I miss Pete and James and Hogwarts and all of it-- and I know it's crap at home, I know the war is on and I know it'll get worse, but Merlin, Sirius, I don't care, it's still home.

We aren't!

[He shoves the pan away from himself, his hand going to shove through his hair.]

We're-- We're not, we can't be. If we got here in the first place, there's a way to get back--you'll see. And there's a hundred people on here, and all of them want to get home--so that's nearly everyone working on the same problem. Bloody good odds.

We're going home, Remus. And it's going-- It's going to be all right.

[There's a thousand things he could say, wants to say, ranging from argumentative to depressed to pathetic. But all of them would lead to someplace he doesn't want to go, somewhere that would only depress him, and so Remus merely glances down.

After a good few seconds, he says quietly:]

Yeah?

[Firmly, he holds his stare on Remus. Even if he looks away, he won't get away from it. His hand is very tight on the fork, but he doesn't loosen his grip.]

Yeah.

[A beat, and he adds:]

We have to. Things go on for us, don't they? I remember you in the summer before seventh year. You didn't go missing. So we get back, somehow, and things just-- go on.

[Time isn't linear, he might suggest, but he doesn't. Instead he stares back at Sirius, at his hard unrelenting belief in the fact they'll get back, and tries to believe it himself.]

I-- I suppose I just hope it's soon, then.

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