forever

Nothing lasts forever.

Mountains will be eroded and crumble into dust. Stone will be worn away. Streams, rivers, lakes will run dry. Oceans will evaporate effortlessly. Plants will shrivel into brown stubs of what they were.

These lives that men lead are made up of many different things. People ask one another, "What's the point? What's the purpose? What's the reason for fighting?"

There are no big reasons.

"But," you argue, "what of light versus dark? Good versus evil?"

Can you define good? Can you define evil?

History is written by the victor, no matter how strong or unfair or horrible they are. What we see as evil is not one someone else sees as evil. Our good may be, to them, the highest taboo.

Good and evil are elusive things indeed.

No. We do not fight for the big reasons.

We fight for the small ones.

"Look! Look-look-look!"

"I'm looking James, I'm looking." I'm watching James leap around hysterically, pointing at his tiny son.

"He's laughing, Remus! He's laughing for the first time!"

Finally, I cannot keep myself from laughing, watching a grown man jump around like a grasshopper. Beside me, Lily is trembling so hard with suppressed laughter that I know that all the images she records with that Muggle "video-camera" will be shaky, but they will still be.

Sirius is laughing now too, barking, jumping up from his seat beside his godson to join his best friend in his joyous dance.

Harry, I write in the large scrapbook, laughed for the first time today.

No reason is too small, and there is no excuse not to fight for that reason.

I have fought to see the smile of a loved one. I have fought to avenge people who have died, fought in the hope of somehow alleviating my sorrow and anguish at losing all of my friends in one fell swoop.

I have sometimes collapsed, wondering, through the haze of pain and tears and memories tinged with longing, why I fought. Where was the point in all of this chaos? Was there even one to begin with?

And then I saw him as he smiled at me, and it was his mother's smile all over again.

And I knew.

"Professor..."

"Yes, Harry?"

"What...what were my parents like? My mum and dad?"

"..."

"You...you don't have to answer if it's...if it's too hard for you. I mean, I understand - "

"Too hard for me? Harry, Harry, Harry. So selfless...you are exactly like your mother in that aspect. I see her in your eyes, in your smile. You have the same way of writing. You bite your lip, just as she did, when you are concentrating. And your father...You fly like your father. When you stand, your shoulders have the same slouch. You wear the same indignant expression he had."

"...Really?"

"You laugh like them, Harry."

"...I wish I could have heard them."

"You did."

Sometimes I can barely get through the day.

Sometimes, I will lie awake at night and dream of the stars.

Sometimes, I cannot breathe.

But life goes on.

There was no funeral for Sirius, no body to lay to rest, no tomb to be filled. Instead, I lay awake that night and I cried. The tears were made of memories and laughter.

I remember so much, far too much. I can see you smiling, hear you laughing, feel your presence, but you aren't here anymore.

Where did you go?

Why did you leave me all alone?

"Life isn't fair."

Nothing is fair. Losing Sirius wasn't fair. Losing James and Lily wasn't fair. Losing Dumbledore wasn't fair. My "furry little problem" isn't fair. The orphaned state of Harry isn't fair.

But we go on all the same.

Life doesn't have to be fair. The world doesn't have to be a just place. If life was fair, we would not struggle. If life was fair, we would not suffer. If life was fair, we would lack happiness.

Without sorrow, there cannot be joy. Without shadow, there cannot be light. Without death, there cannot be life.

Who are we to say which of those choices are turly evil?

I laughed during Dumbledore's funeral.

My image of the old man was so strong in my head - his "few words" (Nitwit, blubber, oddment, tweak), his twinkling blue eyes, his chamber pots and crooked nose and half-moon spectacles - that I had to laugh. He would not want this senseless mourning. He would want us to use our hands and minds and hearts, to put ourselves forward selflessly.

And so I would.

There is no easy way to say goodbye.

Sometimes it's better when you can't say it at all.

I never said goodbye to Harry, to the Weasleys, to the Tonks'.

I never said goodbye to my son.

But then, I really didn't need to.

I'll always be here with them.

I will stand beside them forever.

A/N Just a random piece of trash I splurged out this afternoon. Forgive me.