The kitchen darkens around them but neither man moves from his seat at the table. The shadows make Sirius' face look gaunter than ever, his eyes dark like a storm. Outside children are walking home with their parents, costumes bedraggled, bags and buckets full of sweets. None of them have stopped at Grimmauld Place, of course, but Remus wishes they had. A distraction would be welcome just now.
"Just say it," Sirius says. Even after all these years he knows Remus too well.
"You should have told me," Remus says. No, that's not quite right. "You should have trusted me." There, that's it.
"I will hate myself for the rest of my life for thinking it was you." That's true, too. And Sirius hates stronger than anyone else Remus has ever met.
"Your turn," he says, taking Sirius' hand as if that will make it hurt less.
"You didn't even come and see me in Azkaban. You didn't even question them."
"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Sirius."
And this is the point where Sirius walks away, drinks until he can sleep, wakes from the nightmares and pretends that this conversation never happened.
But he doesn't.
He keeps holding Remus' hand in the dark kitchen on the fourteenth anniversary of their best friend's death, and somewhere, Remus thinks, James Potter is smiling at them.