When I was in Egypt my old boss asked me if I'd come back. Said they needed me, that I was the only one for jobs like this. And I thought about it. I thought about the desert and the big open sky and the smell of cold crypt air that shoots right through you like raw magic, and the thrill of breaking a curse a hundred times older than you are.

Then I thought of Ron and Charlie and the twins and Gin and Mum and Dad and even Percy -- sod it, I do love the git.

And then I thought of Remus.

And I knew I couldn't stay in Egypt. I can go back, but I can't live there again. I'm thirty fucking years old and I don't want to move around anymore. I want to be near the people I love.

And I realised, stuck in that godforsaken cursed hole, that I do love him. I don't know how it came to this, but somewhere along the line, I... fell in love. Goddamit.

Sirius.

He was dead. I was bloody well devastated when it happened. And now I'm sitting here hating myself for wishing things were back the way they were, that he was gone again. It's not right.

None of this is right.