merry_smutmas authors have been annouced. I wrote an insanely long Sirius/Remus, James/Remus story that ate my soul. I'll have to split the story up into three or four parts (it's actually in seven chapters, but I'll try and cram it into as few posts as possible). Now, finally, I can publicly thank alissomora for her lovely beta help and encouragement, and I can, finally, publicly snog r_becca for all of her help: the ims, the plot help, the squeeing, the beta, and the encouragement. This fic would not have been written if it hadn't been for you two. *snogs*

Title:Who’s Got Trouble?
Rating: NC-17

Pairing(s): Remus/Sirius, Remus/James
Summary: A former lover walks back into Sirius’s life, with unforeseen consequences.
Warning: AU, five points if you can figure out where it breaks from canon.
Author's Notes: First of all, if you haven’t seen the film Casablanca, you will be spoiled for any future viewings when you read this. Secondly, if you haven’t seen Casablanca, I must insist that you add it to your Netflix queue immediately. I promise it will be worth it. Thirdly, this has been done many, many times, I’m sure, both in and out of fandom, but I hope you’ll allow me the indulgence and give this story line yet another chance. Last, many thanks to my betas, for the handholding and other various heroic acts. Any remaining mistakes are mine.





Who’s Got Trouble?


I

On the lonely expanse of land known as Diagon Alley a pair of masked men armed with wands and fatal curses chased after a tall, skinny boy. He had an illegal wand, taken from the body of a fallen Death Eater, and although he wore the robes of a pureblood, he gave off an air of desperation usually reserved for those of mixed descent. His face was smooth - he couldn’t have been more than eighteen - and his eyes were piercingly green.

“Move,” he yelled, dodging the crowds out for a cautious stroll, all browsing second hand shops and taking in the false air of freedom. He ploughed directly into a freckled boy and girl near his age with matching bright heads of hair, knocking the boy to the ground. “Sorry,” the runner called frantically over his shoulder. He continued on without pause.

“Out of the way! Out of the way!” The two men, whose masks were purely tradition at this point, paid little heed to the crowds as they closed in on their prey. He was nearing the end of the alley now.

The young girl watched with the air of someone who had seen this far too many times. The running boy would be caught and brought to whatever justice the Death Eaters saw fit. There was nothing to be done about it. She shook her head and looked down at her brother.

“That was a bit rude, don’t you think?” he said with a scowl as he slowly righted himself. “Why do people still imagine they can get away with things here?”

“I dunno.” She shrugged and began briskly dusting the dirt from his robes.

“Stop that. It’s fine.” He squirmed away. “You’re as bad a mum was.”

He regretted his choice of words immediately, watching her turn sad eyes away from him. “God, I’m sorry,” he said, his face wrinkling into a frown as he reached to take her hand. “That was stupid of me. I shouldn’t have – you know I didn’t -.” He cut himself off. “C’mon, let’s go.” He tugged on her hand, tiny compared to his own. “ I’m told anything can be bought around here, even your freedom. And you shouldn’t have to see that.” He nodded towards the nosy crowd that had begun to amass in the alley.

“I won’t leave without you, Ron,” declared his sister, her chin set stubbornly.

“Okay, then,” said Ron, knowing better than to argue about it now. “Let’s go buy our freedom.” He led her away from the chaos of the street with one worried look thrown over his shoulder.

The boy with the shockingly green eyes was making one last desperate attempt to escape. His gaze darted right to left, and his wand was held at the ready in his trembling hand. He didn’t have a chance, trapped as he was, back against the wall. He was hit directly with a stunning spell and his slight body flopped in a heap on the ground. The wand fell from his grasp and rolled away from his prone form. Ron shook his head. Attempting to fight from the inside always got you killed. He and his sister disappeared inside a dark doorway.

At a restaurant across the street, a middle-aged couple sat at a small table. They had donned their Sunday best, pointy hats and frayed dress robes, in from the coast to procure herbs and potions for the small apothecary they managed. Before beginning the trek home, they stopped for a cuppa at a long ago favored meeting place. The window they peered through was smoky and old paint declaring the establishment Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor peeled from the glass.

“What was that all about, do you suppose?” the man asked his wife in his clipped accent.

“That,” said a younger man with arresting grey eyes, a head of dark hair, and dapper black robes, appearing at their side with a flourish, “was a foolish young man’s attempt to overthrow the Death Eaters’ rule.”

The couple looked up in surprise. The newcomer joined their table and leaned in conspiratorially.

“If what I’m told is correct,” he continued, “he killed a few Death Eaters and stole a precious object belonging to the Dark Lord himself. Foolish, but I suppose desperation does that to some. And he got farther than most.”

“Yes,” agreed the older man, watching as the Death Eaters in their masks picked up the boy’s body and began hauling him away. “Foolish.”

“What will happen to him now?” asked the woman. The gathered crowd began to disperse and go about their business.

“Who knows,” answered their new friend. “I’m surprised they didn’t kill him outright. Perhaps they have plans for him. This is a dangerous place, you know. You two ought to be careful.”

“We will,” swore the woman. She smiled at the kind stranger. “Thank you.”

“It’s not a problem, I assure you.” Grey eyes crinkled and their owner stood to walk away. “Always have to be on your guard, even here in Diagon Alley.”

*

Three streets away, a woman with perfectly coiffed hair and the green robes of a commander stepped outside. A girly black bow held her hair off her face, and her eyes bugged out. She was surrounded by a handful of elite men and women, all wearing the serious expressions of those with purpose. They were met by a stout, jolly looking man with too many chins and a round belly, sporting an impressive number of highly polished medals on his immaculate robes.

“Miss Umbridge,” greeted the man with a smile. “As always, it is a pleasure.”

“Slughorn,” Umbridge acknowledged with a nod, offering her hand. “I trust you have good news for me.”

“Young Potter was taken into custody over an hour ago,” answered Slughorn, bending low over his belly.

“And the object?” asked Umbridge.

“It was… not on him, Madame, though we have reason to believe he gave it to Black. Given the gravity of the situation, we have put twice the number of men on it.”

Dolores Umbridge paused and Horace Slughorn waited expectantly beside her. “Black?” she whispered. “Interesting. So the rumors are true. He has turned.”

“I’m not certain. From what we know of him, he rarely does anything that doesn’t garner him his fair share of galleons.”

“I suspect another arrest will be made soon, then?”

“Yes. As a matter of fact, we know where he’ll be tonight.”

“Do we?”

“At his brother’s. Everyone goes to Sirius’s.”

Umbridge nodded, a gleam in her small eye. She began walking, beckoning for Slughorn to follow. “Then that is where we will go, as well.”

*

Despite the moneyed patronage that often frequented the bar, there was always a stale overlay of despair lingering around the crowd. Yellowing maps papered the walls. Gathered at the many tables littered throughout the rooms, groups with forced smiles and hunched shoulders sat with heads pressed close together. The clanging of ice in glasses and the rattle of coins mixed with their sharp laughter. The cheerful tinkling piano did little to cover the whispers. Smoke from cigarettes mingled with the air of desperation. The room was drenched with the smell of jasmine and whiskey and fear.

A tall man with a cap of graying dark hair and three days’ worth of stubble stood behind the bar, wiping it down with a dirty rag. He dropped the rag onto the counter and fished inside his pocket, producing a crushed cigarette pack that he tapped against the bar. He had about him the sort of confidence that came with age and money and blood, and the sort of casual despair that came with years of self-imposed loneliness. A hand came into view and nicked a lighter off the bar-top. The flame flared, illuminating two sets of grey eyes.

“You really should quit. Those things will kill you.”

“I can think of a few things that will kill you, you know,” the barkeep said, breathing in the first calming tug of smoke. He exhaled. “Your employer, for one.”

Regulus bared his teeth in a grim smile. “There’s hardly anything I can do about that now,” he said, settling lightly on a barstool.

Sirius pulled another long drag from his cigarette. He said nothing, but studied his younger brother across the wooden bar: the drawn and narrow face; the deep, bruising circles under his eyes. A body jostled him. Sirius looked sharply to his left.

“Sorry, boss,” said the young girl beside him. She jiggled a tall tumbler full of ice. “I need the whiskey in front of you.”

“Here you go, Pansy.” Sirius handed the half-empty bottle over, watching as the amber liquid filled the glass. When Pansy returned the bottle, Sirius flipped it over, filling up a glass before him three fingers high before pushing the tumbler across the bar.

“No,” he said quietly, facing his brother. “I don’t suppose there is.”

“Give me one of those, would you?” Regulus said, nodding towards the pack on the bar before taking a long drink of whiskey.

Tossing it over, Sirius asked, “You nervous?”

Regulus took a drag of his cigarette, coughed loudly, and shook his head. “Course not. This is a great song.” He nodded over to the piano in the center of the bar. “Muggles really know how to write ‘em, don’t they?” He paused. “Have a drink with me.”

Sirius shook his head. “You know I don’t drink with customers.”

Snorting, Regulus crushed out his cigarette.

Sirius eyed it. “Kind of a waste,” he commented.

“I’m not a customer, brother. I don’t pay for your booze. Though I could. People in from the country are so easy, can’t even do a proper sticking charm. I nabbed a wallet from an old couple in Fortescue’s this afternoon. C’mon,” he said with a cocky grin, “you can break your rules for me. Pour yourself a glass of something strong.”

“No, I can’t.”

“Very well.” Regulus raised his glass in a mock toast and downed its contents.

“More?” Sirius asked, reaching for the bottle again.

Regulus shook his head. “In a minute.” He leaned in across the bar. “First, there’s something I need you to do for me.” He turned his head, first left, then right, watching the other customers closely. He lowered his voice. “Something I need you to keep for me.”

“I’m done doing you favors, Regulus.” Sirius resumed methodically cleaning the bar.

“This isn’t for me, brother. It’s for an old friend of yours.”

Sirius’ hand stopped briefly. “I don’t have any friends,” he issued matter-of-factly, moving the rag across the bar again. “I have customers, employees, people I dislike immensely, and I have a brother.”

“An old friend, Sirius. It could mean the difference between his living or his dying.”

Intrigued despite himself, Sirius asked, “Who?”

The song came to its refrain, and the noisy crowd began to shout, “Knock on wood!” joyously along with the piano player. Sirius barely made out the name Regulus uttered.

Without pause, he stated, “Whether that man lives or dies is hardly a concern of mine.” He stabbed his cigarette into the ashtray. “Is that all, then?”

Regulus eyed him for a few moments. “Please, Sirius,” he pleaded eventually, his eyes going dark. “It’s not safe to keep it on me, but you – in this place – you can keep it safe. I need to keep it somewhere safe. It’s for a few days, a week at the most. I’ll be back to get it soon.”

Sirius met his brother’s eyes. “What is it?”

The front door opened, intermingling the fresh air of the emptying street with the gay strains of the piano for a moment before shutting, cutting the bar off from the outside once again.

“I’ll have that other drink, now, if you don’t mind,” Regulus said without taking his eyes from Sirius’s face.

After filling the tumbler once again, Sirius shot a look towards the entrance. A child-sized woman had walked in only moments before. She slithered her way directly to the back room with a significant glance towards the bar.

“How much do I owe for that?” Regulus was already reaching into his robes.

“A knut should cover it, I think.”

“Here you go.” He passed something much heavier than a knut into Sirius’ hand. “Thanks for the drink. Now, if you don’t mind, I’ll go try my luck at the tables.”

Sirius narrowed his eyes, head nodding in the direction of the back room. “Do you really think that’s wise? Maybe you shouldn’t press your luck. Head home.”

Regulus bared his teeth once more. “No need to worry about me anymore, big brother.” He tossed his drink back and stood. “I’ll be around.”

“Around,” echoed Sirius.

II


His body itched. It had been a long time since he’d sat uncomfortable in his own skin. It was a new sensation, or rather an old sensation he had forgot about long ago, like the regret of past actions. Or dreading the full moon. It was no doubt being back in this place, this place that seemed to suck the life and the hope from everyone who walked its path.

His feet slowed. Where he needed to be was a scant hundred meters away. The rickety sign that used to declare it ‘The Leaky Cauldron’ swung above its entrance no longer; instead Muggle neon lights, garish and ostentatious, brightly shined another name. He sneered, old feelings of inadequacy and burning hate rushing through him. Maybe this had been a bad decision after all.

He looked to his left and saw an unfamiliar face reflecting back at him in a deserted shop’s window. Black eyes and black hair, pale skin, slight body, but entirely too old and far too frightened. It seemed everything had changed since his last trip to Diagon Alley, himself included.

He continued on until he recognized the owner of the bar, sitting at a lone table outside, looking older than his forty years should have afforded him, lost in thought. Resisting the urge to pull his wand, and taking advantage of the opportunity to slip in quietly without Black’s notice, Severus glided up to the door. The person he needed to contact was rumored to want nothing to do with Black now. If luck permitted (not that he fooled himself thinking that it would) he wouldn’t have to deal with Black at all.

Without a glance behind him, he moved inside and took a spot in the corner to wait.

*

A spotlight was fixed to Gringotts.

Though Diagon Alley was flouted a neutral safe haven for all of wizardkind, most who frequented the area knew differently. It was no matter that Death Eaters couldn’t arrest just anyone on sight, there were always charges waiting for those they considered criminals, trumped up or otherwise, that landed each and every one of them in jail. What used to be the shining and proud Gringotts bank, with its deep and twisting underground caverns, was the perfect prison to lock away enemies. The lucky ones were eventually killed. An unfortunate few were taken to Hogwarts.

Sirius shut his eyes as the spotlight swept across the deserted stretch of street before his bar. The irony didn’t escape him: that what was once the safest place in Britain was now the Dark Lord’s strongest fortress. He tapped a cigarette onto the table before him, impatiently lighting it before slipping the pack back into his pocket and inhaling a shaky jerk of smoke.

“Needed a moment alone, I imagine.”

He exhaled and turned at the voice. His former professor, looking well fed and very well rested stood smiling down at him in the light of the flashy neon sign above his bar. Sirius gestured to the seat in front of him. “I find I rarely get what I need.”

Horace Slughorn settled himself heavily into the seat, crossing his hands over his ample belly. “So cynical,” he commented. “In one so young. It’s very sad.”

Sirius gave a wry smile, exhaling loudly. “I can see it’s eating you up inside, old man.”

Slughorn gave a hearty laugh, completely uninsulted. “It’s too good an evening for that sort of thing. There’s going to be an arrest tonight,” he fairly sang. “A big one. I’m sure you heard about the men who were killed earlier last week?” When Sirius nodded he continued, “We’ve already rounded up one culprit this afternoon, and the other will be brought to justice soon enough.”

Sirius eyed him for a moment. “Dolores Umbridge came to London, all the way from Scotland, and she’s decided to grace my bar with her presence,” he noted, putting two and two together.

Slughorn gave a wide, conspiratorial sort of smile, and leaned in over the table. “Ah, yes. Well, you see, Sirius Black, the person whose name resides on the warrant is in your bar.”

“Is that so?”

Slughorn eyed him closely. “Do you have any problem with us arresting one of your patrons?”

With a shrug of his shoulders, Sirius exhaled his last puff of smoke. “I shouldn’t imagine so,” he said. “What you and your government do is hardly any concern of mine, just as long as the drinks keep flowing.”

“The man in question is someone you’re rather close to,” Slughorn informed him, his moustache twitching. “I shouldn’t think you’d be so glib about the affair if you knew his name.”

Sirius met his eyes. “I put myself on the line for no one,” he told Slughorn. “You should know that by now.”

Slughorn nodded. “Neutral, yes, that’s what they all say. Sirius Black is as neutral as they come.” His eyes narrowed. “But you didn’t used to be, young man. Don’t forget, I had you in my classes. I know what house you were sorted into, and I remember the crowd you palled around with. You say you’re neutral now, of course, but I remember when you weren’t.”

Sirius gave his shoulders another shrug. “Things change, professor. You of all people should know that.”

“’The more things change, the more they stay the same’ has always been a good philosophy to live by, I’ve found.” He paused for a moment, contemplating Sirius as the spotlight made another round. “Tell me,” he continued, “do you know the name of the young man arrested today? I imagine you’d find it quite interesting.”

“Well, then, out with it.”

“His name was Harry. Harry Potter, actually. You have something of a connection to him, if I remember correctly.”

Sirius stiffened slightly in his chair and struggled to keep his face neutral.

“I see by your eyes that you didn’t know,” Slughorn commented. “No bother. There was nothing you could have done prevent it – not that you would have of course, your being neutral and all.”

“Harry…” began Sirius.

“Was dragged away by Death Eaters this afternoon. And is no doubt on his way to Hogwarts, or dead. His father will be in your bar tonight. It’s been a long time since his feet have touched British soil. I trust you’ll make certain he and Miss Umbridge have a chance to meet.”

“On what grounds are you planning to arrest Potter?”

“Oh, he’s not the person we plan to arrest. Umbridge merely wants a word with him. Impressive record, James Potter,” he noted with a sly smile.

“Yes,” agreed Sirius, “I imagine it is.”

“Not that you would know anything about it, of course.”

“Not anymore.” Sirius scraped his chair back from the table, prepared to stand. “If Slughorn wants to meet with Potter, it’s no concern of mine.”

“No, but then, Potter’s not the only one Umbridge wants a word with. Another old friend of yours comes with him, a werewolf, I believe. Remus Lupin.”

Sirius stood abruptly. “I’m sure you’ve been missed, Mr. Slughorn,” he said loudly, gesturing to the door. “Don’t let me keep you from your associates any longer.”

“You’re quite right,” Slughorn agreed, rising. “We’ll be making our arrest soon. It would behoove you to cooperate in any way you can. There will be no way for you to help the man now.” He sauntered over the door. Sirius watched him tug it open with his heart high in his throat. A blast of smoke and conversation rolled out into the street. “As soon as James Potter and Remus Lupin arrive, I expect to be informed,” Slughorn said over the noise. “And if you know what’s good for you, Sirius, you’ll then stay out of this matter altogether.” He disappeared inside.

Reaching for another cigarette, Sirius sank down into his chair. Remus Lupin and James Potter. Sirius could hardly begin to imagine. How long had it been, since he’d seen either of the men he would have willingly given up his life or freedom for, once upon a time? Nearly two decades, and tonight they would be in his bar. Perhaps, he decided, sucking in a deep lungful of nicotine, tonight be a good night to turn in early.


*

His luck, as it was, appeared to be running out. For a while, it looked as if he was going to triple the galleons he’d taken off that lovely couple in Fortescue's. Now, with only a few knuts left, he didn’t imagine there was any point in not gambling it all away. He took a swig from his whiskey. He didn’t have to pay for the booze, at least.

“Put it all on black three,” he ordered, shoving his last few coins towards a black circle on the table. “And don’t forget to give that wheel a mighty spin.”

The man with the – no pun intended, really, thought Regulus – poker face spun the roulette wheel. “Black three,” he called out, pushing Regulus’s winnings his way.

“Would you look at that? Maybe I am lucky after all.”

“Mr. Black,” said a weedy voice behind him. “We’d like a minute of your time, please.”
Regulus glanced over his shoulder to see three armed men behind him, all wearing official robes, all wearing official expressions.

Well, this can’t be good, he thought. Dolores Umbridge eyed him carefully from a table in the center of room, a small wicked smile playing on her wide face, while Horace Slughorn bent down to whisper in her ear. A quick glance around showed that two more Death Eaters stood by the back door. His heart thump thumped loudly in his ears. No one guarded the double doors leading to main room of the bar.

“Of course,” Regulus said, giving what he hoped was an innocent sort of smile. “Won’t you just let me convert my chips, please?” He turned towards the table and accepted his money with a nod, slipping it into the magicked-pocket in his robes, and pulling out his wand.

And ran, legs pumping, arms flailing, for the double doors. He shouted a spell behind him, not stopping to see if it connected. If he could just get through –

He burst through the doors, aiming another stunner over his shoulder. He could hear screams, behind him, in front of him, and shouts now that the crowded bar was all that stood between him and Diagon Alley’s blood stained and “neutral” streets.

He darted for the door, just as Sirius stepped in from outside. “Sirius!” he yelled. “Do something.”

Impassive grey eyes stared out of his brother’s familiar face. Something like recognition and defeat dawned in them. “What would you have me do, Regulus?” Sirius asked. His face was devoid of emotion, his lips pressed in a thin line. “You brought this on yourself, you know.”

Regulus clutched at his brother’s robes desperately. “You could hide me,” he squeaked, “or hold them off. Anything to give me a chance.” He looked desperately at the door; he just needed to get there. The shouts behind him grew louder.

“You know they’ll find you, Regulus,” Sirius said quietly. “I couldn’t help even if I wanted to.”

“I’m your brother! Think of something!”

Sirius took Regulus by his wrists and removed his hands from his robes. “I told you I’m not doing you any more favors,” he said, his eyes showing no regret.

The doors behind him blasted open. Regulus looked around for one last quick escape, but there was nowhere to go.

“Whatever you do.” He lurched up and whispered in Sirius’s ear, desperate to believe some of the old Sirius still existed behind those eyes. “Keep the locket safe. Please, Sirius.”

His saw his brother’s imperceptible nod just as the stunning spell hit him. Then it all went black.

*

He could scarcely believe the scene that had played out before his eyes. Sirius Black was many, many things, he knew: cruel, arrogant and self-righteous, to name a few. It should have come as no surprise that he carried no loyalty in his heart for blood relations, though there was a time when Severus would have labeled the once-upon-a-time Gryffindor loyal to a fault.

He tried to shrink into the shadowy corner, as Black looked out across the bar. “Sorry about the interruption, everyone,” Black called out loudly. “There’s no need to be concerned. Feel free to go about your merry making.” He gestured to the bar. “A round on the house should do it, I think.” Black gave the room an easy smile that didn’t quite meet his eyes and made his way to the staircase in the opposite corner. Severus let out a breath of relief. The last thing he needed was to see recognition blossom in his former schoolmate’s eyes.

The patrons began to take their seats again. Severus listened half-heartedly to the conversations around him. A couple at the bar were discussing the Weird Sisters – who Severus had decided was a band he would never regret not hearing – as they waved cigarettes around wildly.

Two men seated at the table directly in front of him contemplated a chessboard before them as if their very lives depended upon it, sipping cognac and letting cigars burn down to the nub in glass ashtrays.

To his left, another group sat, producing laughter that was too sharp to be anything but forced merriment, all of them consuming too much liquor and discussing next week’s plans with too much excitement.

He eyed the room with distaste. Maps lined the walls, in what felt like a vain attempt to make the guests feel that they were anywhere but here. The whole bar was an exercise of excess and forgetfulness, and quite frankly, it disgusted him. He sneered at the lot of them, having their fun, in their utterly pathetic lives, feigning obliviousness to the war that raged on around them. Human nature, he decided, was not an impressive thing.

The front door opened again. Severus lifted his chin just in time to see James Potter and Remus Lupin step inside, both wearing horribly inappropriate white robes. The years had not exactly been kind to either of them, though he begrudgingly admitted they looked dashing enough. An air of serenity hung about them; it clashed with the palpable desperation in the room. They were entirely out of place.

Severus straightened his shoulders. He watched them, biding his time.

Everyone seemed to be here to forget about the war, but he was here to see it to its end.

Chapters 3 and 4