"Sirius is here at my invitation," Dumbledore insisted, glancing between them, "as
are you, Severus. I trust you both. It is time for you to put aside your old differences and
trust each other."
Both Sirius and Snape scoffed loudly at the exact same time.
"I will settle, in the short term," Dumbledore said, with a bite of impatience in his
voice, "for a lack of open hostility. You will shake hands. You are on the same side. Time
is short, and if the few who know the truth do not stand united, there is no hope for any
of us."
Very slowly—but still glaring at each other as though each wished the other nothing
but ill—Sirius and Snape moved toward each other and shook hands. With Dumbledore
looking the other way, Sirius mouthed "Fuck you." Snape snarled in reply. They let go of
each other's hands quickly.
"Sirius, I need you to set off at once. You are to alert Remus Lupin, Arabella Figg,
Mundungus Fletcher, the old crowd. Lie low at Lupin's for a while; I will contact you
there."
"But―" Harry began.
Sirius moved to Harry's side, cupping the boy's face in his hands and looking down
at him, summoning what he thought could be a fatherly expression—something perhaps
James would have done in a moment like this, or at least he hoped. "You'll see me very
soon, Harry. I promise you. But I must do what I can. You understand, don't you?"
"Yeah," Harry agreed, bobbing his head. "Yeah, of course I do."
Sirius grasped his hand briefly, turned his face toward Hermione and offered her a
kind and grateful smile before transforming again into Padfoot and disappearing through
the doors of the infirmary.
He had a mission, and Dumbledore could not have been clearer.
The Order of the Phoenix was regrouping.
One month. One whole, unbelievably wonderful, miraculous month since
Nymphadora Tonks had officially been his witch. One whole month since, after taking her
on a date to Florean's, Remus had anxiously mumbled out something about exclusivity—