(Late summer, Pont du Lac Inn, Pont du Lac)

Albus Dumbledore put his feet up on the comfortable hassock which accompanied the equally comfortable overstuffed armchair, thought fleeting thoughts of acquiring them in some creative and illegal way when he checked out, and contemplated the pleasingly warm fire. He had a good meal inside him, a fine local wine beside him, and the pleasantly deserted sitting room of the Pont du Lac Inn all to himself.

Yes. He was very comfortable.

Mmhmm. Albus Dumbledore was a comfortable satisfied, contented wizard.

There were many things in life from which he took pleasure. Good friends, a comfortable chair, a warm fire, a good meal, a robust butterbeer - though Broceliande Red was not a wine to be discounted, and a good joke. Well, a joke. It didn't have to be good.

But one of his greatest pleasures was a job well done.

Gazing into the fire, he smiled. Ah, yes. A job well done, and for good, close friends, at that. He stretched out, then settled back even further in the oh, so comfortable armchair. A great deal of satisfaction, he reflected, sipping his wine, could be taken from this last 'job'. Project "Reunite Sirius and Remus" and its collateral project "Teach Them To Communicate".

Fifteen years of misery because of a lack of communication!

Perhaps he should institute a class in 'Interpersonal Communications' at Hogwart. He'd have to run it by Minerva when he got back. If he could catch them when they were young...

Of course, Sirius and Remus were still quite young, still in wizarding young adulthood, despite all they'd lived through. When they'd lived as long as he had they might even look back at this time with laughter...

Laughter. He smiled again, fondly.

Laughter had been the first thing he'd heard when he reached the farm in the early evening. Recognizing that particular lilt, he'd concealed himself in the bushes.

He'd merely wished to confirm the guess he'd made when he heard the laughter, of course. Nothing else.

Lovers deserved a little privacy, even from their matchmaker.

Ahhh. The laughter had come from Remus, a golden tenor of a laugh, with an intimate undertone, the kind kept solely for one's beloved.

Remus had been standing in the backyard of the cottage, near the kitchen garden, dressed in shapeless old clothes which did nothing for his slight frame - a brown flannel work smock and baggy pants of the type worn by the local villagers since time inmemorial. In his hands he'd held a recently emptied water bucket. His hair, silvered by the moonlight , and his face,mischievous and loving at the same time, caused him to look all of twelve years old.

The object of his amusement had been sitting in a newly made puddle of, thankfully, clean water. His clothes had been soaked, his long black hair streaming water into his face as he glowered at the object of his discomfort. The down-turned mouth had trembled for a moment, then twitched. Then the water-logged body had suddenly surged up from the puddle and lunged toward his attacker, the tables suddenly turned.

Remus had turned and fled, throwing the empty bucket back toward Sirius in a futile attempt to slow his pursuit. He'd headed for the forest, but without any true panic or speed to his flight. Sirius had caught him quickly, grabbing him from behind and tumbling him to the ground, but cradling the falling body so that Remus was unharmed. Laughter had rung out again, young and carefree, from both of them, a note of joy and triumph in both voices. Remus had turned in Sirius' arms, wrapping one arm around Sirius' waist, pulling Sirius' lower body closer to his own, and used the hand of his other arm to press his lover's head down for a kiss.

The laughter had abruptly stopped at this point. The two bodies had melted together and...

...and Dumbledore had decided he'd leave them to it and stay the night at the village Inn. He'd visit them the next day. Around noon time. Just in case.

In the meantime, he'd sit in this very comfortable armchair, in front of his very pleasant fire, and sip his very fine wine while contemplating his very well done job.

His 'Perfect Match'.