Bis vivit qui bene vivit (He Lives Twice Who Lives Well)

AUTHOR: Seana_S
RATING: NC-17 
WARNINGS: Angst, sex, violence (very slight). 
PAIRING: Sirius/Remus, (very, very implicit Harry/Severus preslash, which you can ignore if you want)
BETAS: Many, many thanks to my lovely beta, irish_lily, who did a fantastic job. 

"One of Lupin's greatest flaws is that he refuses to contend with his negative emotions, rather bottles them up inside.   I do not see why I must be forced to recompense the result of his failings."

"Because you can, I know you can, and because you are a good person."

Harry Potter had matured almost exponentially in the period between his godfather's death and his return to school on the first of September.   After a few futile days of trying to pass the buck of blame to Snape, he had forced himself to accept that Sirius' death was entirely his own fault.   He had caused his godfather to die.   Not in the accidental and basically blameless way he had played a role in the death of Cedric Diggory, but almost as he had caused his parents' to die.   Drawing the eye of Voldemort and the Death Eaters to those he loved...in the instance of his parents, it had been because of the prophecy, and so not entirely his fault.   This, however, was exclusively his fault.   He had come to understand his responsibilities - the role he must, as dictated by fate, to play in Voldemort's fall, the need to keep safe those around him, the need to fulfil his potential.   Over the summer he had studied every book he owned with unparalleled hunger, learning hexes and curses, offensive and defensive tactics.   He had written to Dumbledore and begged him to persuade Snape to recommence Harry's lessons in Occlumency, and that summer saw Snape visiting Privet Drive twice a week to instil in him an understanding of the difficult magical technique.   He had persuaded Hermione to send him all the books she could from Grimmauld Place, where she was again spending the summer with the Weasleys.   Some of the books bordered on Dark Magic, but he read them too.   And within the darkest pages he found a spell.

"How fickle you are, Potter...   only a few months ago you blamed me for killing your godfather.   Now you believe I am good.   Such a good man, in fact, that I will risk my sanity to bring a man I hated back from the dead."

"Yes.   That's what I believe."

"Even after I ignored you when you thought Black was captured, thus leaving you to lead him straight to the Dark Lord?"

"You didn't ignore me. I thought you did, when I told you about him in Umbridge's office, but now I know the truth.   You looked for him and found he was still at Grimmauld Place.   You just didn't find me in time to tell me that.   But you tried to."

"It doesn't matter.   You are asking me to risk my sanity, and the only motivation you can give is that I should wish to help Lupin, a depressed, grief-stricken werewolf who almost killed me."

Lupin's summer had not been as productive as Harry's.   Sirius' death had forced Harry to pull himself together.   Quite frankly, it had forced him to pull his head out of his arse and grow up.   But Lupin had withdrawn from everyone and everything, becoming more and more sickly.   The first time Ron had seen Lupin he had described him as looking so ill 'one good hex would finish him off'.   He had made clear in his letters to Harry over the summer that Lupin then was nothing compared to Lupin now.   All the Order except Harry was staying at Grimmauld Place, but no one saw Lupin apart from the half hour it took him to report after a mission.   The rest of his time was spent in Sirius' room, slowly wasting away.   Apart from his solitude, Lupin hid the change to his nature incredibly well.   He ate normally, replied normally when spoken to, and worked as hard as ever.   Yet his grief seemed to almost be killing him, so palpable it filled the air of Grimmauld Place.   The fierceness of his grief made sense when Fred and George's Extendable Ears discovered the truth when listening in on a conversation between Moody and Molly.   Molly's extremely conservative nature had made her force the two men to hide it from the children, but Lupin and Sirius had been lovers.

"Like you, he is a good man."   Lupin was now Harry's only true link to his parents, and he would not lose the man to his grief.   Of course, that was not the only factor.   The spell he had found would bring Sirius back.   He could remedy the wrong he had caused.

"Sit.   Tell me what you have discovered.   I can see I will not be rid of you until I have heard your absurd premise."

"I found this spell. Bis vivit qui bene vivit...   'He Lives Twice Who Lives Well'.   If performed before the Veil, the spell enables the caster to present a case directly to those who dwell beyond it and request the return of someone who has died before their time, by falling or being pushed through the Veil.   All they need is to honestly state that the dead person has offspring and a spouse living, worthwhile magical knowledge to pass on to others, and that there is a war ongoing in which he must fight to save the magical world.   The number of witches and wizards in the world has always been small; this spell was created to ensure we could survive and protect ourselves."

"Black has no offspring."

"He has me.   Once my parents died I became his to raise.   Therefore, until I turn eighteen I am in all but blood his child."

"If your flimsy interpretations of the clauses of the spell do not hold true to the intended clauses, you and I will both lose our minds to the veil.   We will be left no more than the shell of one kissed by a Dementor."

"When I found this spell, it made my magic sing.   I could feel it, whatever it is that gives me my magic, guaranteeing that I had found the spell I needed to save Sirius, guaranteeing my interpretation holds true."

"This is Dark magic."

"I know.   Anything which brings back the dead is classified by the Ministry as 'Dark'.   But at the same time, this magic is done out of love and out of a need to protect the Wizarding world.   I don't think it is so Dark."

"Potter, do not try to fool yourself.   You were right to begin with.   Anything which brings back the dead is Dark magic.   Your justifications are worthless; this is Dark, just as forcing upon someone a love potion out of your own love for them is Dark magic.   Only this is even worse, because it goes beyond the grave.   Our magic gives us the power to alter the world from its set course, to interfere with fate.   That does not mean we should use that power."

"Our magic enables us to change the world for the good, and we should do that!   Sirius lost 12 years in Azkaban; he deserves to get that time back.   Remus is a good person; he does not deserve to... die of a broken heart like this, or to lose his lover twice in their twenty years together!"

"Many people have lost lovers, Potter.   Our purpose as wizards is not to go around playing fairy godmother and reversing those deaths --"

"No, and anyway for the most part we can't, but in this case we can!   All the clauses of the spell are fulfilled! So we should, because this is the good and right thing to do!"

"Dark magic is addictive, Potter.   It gives the caster an adrenaline rush, a high, which is as addictive as any drug."

"You've overcome it.   You gave up Dark Magic and returned to the Light."

"And I nearly lost my mind in doing so."

"Do you doubt that I have just as much self-control as you?   Do you think I will find myself unable to resist the high and become another dark wizard?"

"I know you well enough to know you are tempted by the forbidden, that your curiosity knows no bounds."

"And you know that I am driven only by what I see to be right, to be good.   Whatever I do, it is always because I know it is the only right thing to do."

"And if we are arrested for our part in this?"

"We won't be.   The Ministry knows nothing of Sirius' death, so will know nothing of his return to life."

"And what of the reaction of the rest of the Order?   They will not react lightly to their hero using Dark magic."

"We won't tell them.   All they need to know is that we got him back, nothing more."

"They will be angry."

"So be it."

"Alright Potter.   So be it."

"You'll do it?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"It does not matter.   Come, Potter.   If we go now we can catch Shacklebolt before he leaves work.   He can get us to the Veil.   I doubt anyone will miss us during the Sorting or the feast."

Snape's office had a floo, and with the Ministry presence of Umbridge removed from the school, the floo was open.   In less than five minutes, Harry found himself with Snape before the Veil which had taken his godfather from him.   He could hear the whispers, as he had the time before, and wished he could make out the words.   He wondered what the dead had to say to the living, whether they were apologising to those they had wronged, or calling their love to those they had cherished.   He wondered if Sirius' was one of those voices, and what he was saying; apologies to Snape for the trick he had pulled that had made them enemies for life or words of love and comfort to Remus, who even now was probably grieving in Sirius' old room.

Silently, Snape and Harry knelt before the archway, and began the preparations for the spell.   Snape produced two knives, because the spell required a small amount of blood to prove the honourable intent and honesty of the caster.   Each man placed his blade against the wrist of his right, wand-using arm, whilst grasping his wand in that hand.   Then they began the spell.

The spell itself was only difficult because of the magical power needed to force it beyond the border of the archway and into the place beyond the veil.   Once that was managed, the argument would be heard and accepted, because it responded to something all wizards felt keenly; the need to defend themselves, their magic, and their world.   Harry was an extremely powerful wizard, and Snape's experiences with Dark Magic had taught him how to bind their magic so that it would be easily powerful enough to reach through the veil and let their plea be heard.   The two men chanted in unison their justification for their case, then said the words to seal the spell:

"It was not his time,

He has children to raise,

His beloved to provide for,

Knowledge to impart,

Wars to fight,

Leadership that

Will save Our World.

Give him back,

To realize his responsibilities,

Let him fulfil his duties,

It was not his time.

Bis vivit qui bene vivit."  

All was still; even the whispers ceased.   But then, a light burst from the veil so strong it blinded the men, like looking through a telescope right at the sun.   Harry tried to keep his eyes open, to see if Sirius was emerging from the veil, but the light was so bright it blinded him to everything before him.   Maybe that was the point, he acknowledged, because the living should not be allowed to see what lies beyond the grave.   And then he didn't care, because there, standing between him and Snape, was his godfather.

"Sirius!"   Harry jumped up and embraced him, heady and overwhelmed by joy.

"Harry... Harry..." Sirius hugged him back hard, but then pulled away and asked desperately, "How long was I gone?   How's Remus, is he all right?"

Harry was reminded of the main reason for his actions, and shook his head. "No, he's not.   He needs you."

"I've got to get to him. Where is he?"

"Come, Black, Potter.   We will go to Shacklebolt's office; he has left it open for us.   We can floo from there."   Harry was astonished that Snape controlled himself enough not to mock his reunion with his godfather, or their desperate desire to hurry along the reunion of Sirius and Lupin.   He beamed at his teacher in gratitude, astounded that a man he had once hated had helped him achieve the deepest and most desperate desire of his heart.   Snape sneered, but there was a spark of life in his cold black eyes, and that small response just made Harry's grin all the wider.

The return to Shacklebolt's office was silent as Harry clung to his godfather's hand, desperate to reassure himself that the spell truly had worked.   It was hard to force himself to let go so they could floo into Sirius' house, to where Remus was, but he did.   Sirius went first, throwing himself into the flames and tumbling out at the other end.

Sirius ran through the house, following his instinct, which was leading him to the kitchen.   The room was full, and the gasps as he was seen were numerous and intense, but he saw nothing but his lover.   Remus sat at the table, looking at him, eyes huge and feverishly bright, mouth open and failing to shape the name that was trying to force itself out from his heart.  

"Remus, Remus," Sirius gasped, pressing burning kisses against Remus' frozen face, breathing in the scent of his lover's hair, feeling the smouldering embers of his lust and love burst into flames as he was reunited with his beloved.   He continued to shape Remus' name as he discovered once more the taste and heat of his mouth, pressing desperate blistering kisses to the chapped, delicious lips.

"Oh, Remus, my Remus..."

"It's you, it's really you..."   Remus finally said, as he thawed from his daze.   "I couldn't believe it, but it is. It's really you."

"Yes, it's me, Remus, I'm here.   I came back to you.   They brought me back for you, Harry and Snape...   I'm here, it's me."

"You're here, you're back."

"Yes, yes, I'm back, Remus, say my name...Remus, say my name."

But Remus had held the name so close to his heart for too long, protecting it in a cocoon of aching, painful, desperate and futile love.   He had been unable to say it ever since Sirius died; it was too raw, and now the name was too dear to him for his tongue to form it.   All he could manage was the murmur, "You're here, you're here."

Remus pressed his starving hands against his lover's body, feeling sharp hipbones and harsh ribs and a pounding, healthy, wonderful heartbeat.   In a moment, he had pulled Sirius' shirt from his body, and then he laid his head against the other man's chest, listening to the reassuring song of his heart.   He placed a hot kiss over that place on Sirius' chest.   When he pulled his head up to look into Sirius' eyes, he realised they were both crying.   "I needed you, so much, I'm so glad you're home," Remus whispered as he bent to kiss one of the tears streaming down Sirius' cheeks.   He tasted the salt of Sirius on his tongue and gave a heartbreaking, sad smile.   Then he placed his lips unmoving against his lovers' and delighted in the feel of breath, warm and steady against his flesh.   Soft and rhythmic, it was not so much a kiss as a curative for the depression of the last few months, not passionate or lustful but pure reassurance and comfort.  

Like Sirius had done, Remus buried his face in his lover's hair to bathe himself in the scent which had tortured him on their pillows, the scent which had been the only thing to keep him sane.   He had found himself craving the aroma which hung around their bedroom and on Sirius' clothes.   He had been addicted to it for the feelings it brought, but it had brought an ever-greater crash when Remus woke every the morning thinking his Sirius had returned, only to find himself wrapped around one of Sirius' robes.

He could feel Sirius' warm skin against his neck and chin and fingertips, and he was desperate for more.   The dead were not so warm, so strong, so real.   He pulled off his own shirt and pressed once more against his lover.   Bare chest against bare chest they looked into each other's eyes and delighted in the bittersweet press of their bodies.   Remus realised they were both hard, even though this moment was really not about sex.

The need to be close was too much now, and with desperate, rough efficiency Remus stripped them both, pressing hard kisses onto Sirius' mouth.   He needed to claim, needed to reassure himself Sirius was his, needed to comfort them both after so much pain.   He hardly realised he had pushed Sirius onto the table and started to prepare him with urgent fingers and the olive oil intended to be used for cooking.  

It did not take much to prepare Sirius, and he could almost convince himself now that the last three months had never taken place, but rather that it was the same day as the Battle of the Department of Mysteries, that Sirius was still quite loose, having come home safe only a few hours after they had made love that morning.   He had tried not to think of that morning for so long, because it was too much to remember how only three hours before Sirius' death he had rocked them both to a giggling, happy climax, so joyous because they believed they were finally truly together after so many years.

His eyes met Sirius' and held as he pushed himself gently into his lover.   When fully sheathed, he did not move, instead he delighted in being reunited with his Dogstar.   Now, finally, he was able to reassure himself that Sirius was returned to him.   "Sirius.   My love, Sirius..."

Sirius just grinned, and said, "It's all right now.   Just get on and fuck me nice and hard, Moony, my dear."

And at last he could smile.   "Don't worry; I don't need any encouragement at all for that."

It was a good thing the rest of the Order had long since fled to another room...Outside the kitchen, not quite oblivious to events within, Harry's arms were wrapped tightly around Snape, his joyful, tear-streaked face pressed into the soft wool of the older man's robes.   "Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!"

"Enough, Potter."

Harry looked up, his face glowing.   "Why did you do it?"

"Because... because you are a remarkable man, Potter, when you set your mind to something."