September of 81. Sirius went a little pale and couldn't decide if he wanted to have a throw up or a cry about it, or maybe both. All these feelings were really getting tiresome and he wasn't at all sure what to do with them. He looked at Remus, frantic, a bit desperate, but then immediately felt badly about it.
It shouldn't have been on Remus to tell this story twice, to relive all of that horror yet another time. But Sirius -- well. He couldn't, not really. His details were secondhand, his resolve wasn't steady or there at all.
"Remus," he said, and there it was again. Unfair.
"Yes, the --it was your birthday? Bloody hell, Moony!" Now probably wasn't the time for chiding, but how dare Sirius not know? They'd touch more on that later, he was sure. "James," he went on, waving the thought away because he simply couldn't right now. "You -- you moved, yeah? To a house. And were laying low?" He paused, feeling selfish when he asked, but he had to know, he had to, and then maybe things would make more sense and they'd have something --well. Not better. It could never, ever be better. But they'd have more to tell James beyond a giant question mark. "Did you have a secret keeper?"