To Come and Go
By EmptyWord

Disclaimer: Harry Potter is the property of J.K. Rowling, Bloomsbury Publishing, Scholastic Press, Allen & Unwin, Raincoast Books, and others I may have missed.
Author's Notes: Not to sound bitter or anything, but...HOW COULD ROWLING HAVE KILLED SIRIUS?? I just cannot believe it! Dear, dear Sirius, hasn't he suffered enough? I have never for the life of me ever considered him dying! I mean, he can't! I'm not sure why, but I'm simply certain that he just can't die! tears And I cannot begin to fathom why Rowling would do such a thing...

But enough of my rambling. I have decided to use Remus as an outlet, though he does not seem likely to break down as easily, which means he's a bit out of character here. In any case, I'm afraid this is not something new. There are probably a thousand fics out there mourning Sirius's death. But I certainly hope (as all authors do) that there might be something different and possibly unique in mine. I can only add: Enjoy!

The headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix may be found at number twelve, Grimmauld Place, London.

Remus Lupin focused on this address, carefully thinking of nothing else but repeating it in his mind. He waited as the ragged door materialized, followed by the stained windows and the rest of the dark, filthy house, and then proceeded up the crumbling stone steps. He tapped the peeling door with his wand and was gratified by the sound of locks unbolting themselves. When the door swung open, Remus quickly stepped inside, as though afraid he might lose his nerve to do so.

He knew it was foolish to come here again. Sirius's house was the last place Remus should be. Unfortunately for him, it had remained as the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix. For a month and a half now, he had managed to do work elsewhere and occupy himself helping the Order. Tonight, however, Albus Dumbledore had ordered a special meeting and Remus knew his attendance was required. He had avoided the house for as long as he could, and he could no longer run from his grief and his memories. He would have to face the truth, the horrible, heartrending, inevitable truth.

The house was dark. The only light came from the doorway behind him, but even that was fading, giving way to the cold and unwelcome night. Shivering slightly, Remus closed the door behind him, throwing the house into impenetrable darkness. Unnerved in spite of himself, he hastily waved his wand, sending light into the cracked, dirty lamps all along the hallway.

The hall flashed into existence. It was dark and gloomy, with revolting walls that one would rather keep away from. Above, a rusted contraption that might have once passed for a chandelier dangled dejectedly. The gas lamps lining the walls glowed dimly, struggling to cast its light past the grime. A tattered carpet ran the length of the hall, looking older and grayer than anything. Portraits hung on the walls, but Remus did not care to look at them. He knew they would be just as old and dirty as the rest of the house.

He took a step forward, and a cloud of dust emerged from the carpet around his foot. It rose slowly around him, tiny particles of the earth that symbolized age and ancient things. The dust fanned out and scattered into nonexistence, disappearing into the earth as it had come. Wasn't that the way of life? To come into existence was to one day go back into nonexistence. To come and go... It sounded so absurdly simple. But it wasn't... Life was so much more. In the space of that coming and going, so much happens that the going becomes painful.

Sirius...

Remus snapped his eyes shut, trying to block out the house and the memories he knew it would contain. But it wasn't the house that haunted him. The house had merely prodded at the pain he had hidden within him, the pain that now demanded to be released.

Sirius's face surfaced in his mind; it wasn't the shadowed, gaunt face of the escaped convict but the laughing, handsome face of the young man, eyes twinkling and alight with happiness. His heart went raw at such a sweet sight. Remus shook his head fiercely, desperately trying to shake the image out. He didn't need this pain, he didn't want this pain!

But images of Sirius continued to plague him. Sirius, the adorable, impetuous first-year, stood on the lawns of Hogwarts, grinning slyly. The picture changed: Devastatingly handsome fifth-year Sirius, his hair flopping endearingly over his forehead, leaned across a table in the Great Hall to whisper in James's ear. Next, Sirius stood beside James as his best man, beaming at all the people who had turned up for James's wedding...

Remus stumbled forward, oblivious to the dust billowing around him. His heart constricted with each new image.

...Then, it was Sirius as a cunning young man, offering readily to be the first to join the Order of the Phoenix.

He could feel the tears coming, hot and heavy, at the back of his eyes. They had known, the four of them-James, Sirius, Remus, and Peter-, that there was some danger in joining the Order. But they had been young and reckless, especially James and Sirius, and none of them ever believed that they could actually die.

How foolish they were. And the price they paid for that foolishness was tremendous. Peter betrayed them, Sirius landed in Azkaban, and James...poor, brave, valiant James died. The first tear slipped down his cheeks.

And then, fully understanding the danger, Remus and Sirius had joined the Order a second time. This time, it wasn't for youthful bravado or eagerness but to contribute all they could for peace and happiness. Remus knew it was risky business, fighting against Voldemort, especially now that James was dead, but he just hadn't been prepared. He wasn't ready to face the death of another Marauder. He couldn't believe it, dared not believe it. The second tear escaped.

And now, he was the last of the Marauders. James and Sirius were gone to another world, and Peter had gone to the other side. Only Remus was left, the lone wolf who wanders the forest, seeking mournfully for a way to uphold the legend of his pack.

"I cannot..." he choked out painfully. "I cannot... Why must you all have left me to face everything alone? I cannot continue...without you... James... Sirius..."

The tears streamed down his face, pale, wet shadows of sorrow. Remus opened his eyes at last, gazing miserably down the hallway through his tears.

"Sirius," he whispered. "Sirius... How could you have died? You were the one who we all trusted death would never conquer. Indeed, you always laughed in the face of it, believing it impossible." Grief filled his voice so that his words could barely be heard. "Why did you give in then? If you were so invincible, my friend, why did you allow yourself to be overtaken by something you always scorned?"

His eyes caught onto one of the portraits hanging from the walls. It depicted an old, ragged woman, with long dry hair framing a wrinkled and hag-like face. Drool trickled down her chin as she snored silently. Mrs. Black.

"You never deserved it, Sirius," continued Remus, his heart breaking. "Life treated you so unfairly. Your parents were so despicable toward you, and your family disowned you. You were imprisoned for twelve years for a crime you did not convict, and for the rest of your life, you were constantly running and hiding from the Ministry of Magic. And you never deserved any of it! You never deserved to die... Oh Sirius, how could you go?"

For all his life, Sirius had lived in valor and honor. Despite his situations and circumstances, he remained fearless and cunning. Though often playful and mischievous, Sirius always had a clear view of the line between right and wrong, and he struggled to abide by that line. Born to another family, Sirius might have become a well-known, worshipped hero. But life was so very cruel and treated him so unfairly.

"I hope you are happier now," whispered Remus. With the back of his hand, he wiped the tears away, determined not to lose control again and grieve over his lost friend. He had shed enough tears. He had lamented enough.

Behind him, there was a sudden footstep. Remus whirled around, wand up and desperate, horrified that he had let himself be taken by surprise. For while he had lost himself to his grief, he had also let down his guard.

A tall, old wizard stood before the closed door. His long silver beard and equally long hair swept around him, enhancing the blueness of the sparkling robe he wore. His eyes were deep and wise behind the half-moon spectacles perched on a long nose. He was old-there was no doubting that-, but age did not appear to disturb his wisdom or strength. In fact, a strange, ghostly glow seemed to surround him, casting the rest of the hall and its lamps into insignificance.

The wand lowered. "Albus!" Remus exclaimed with a breath of released agitation and distress. He could not keep the shaky smile from appearing.

Albus Dumbledore walked forward, studying Remus with kind eyes. "What troubles you so, Remus?" His words were as light as the hand that came to rest on Remus's shoulder.

What troubles me? Remus wondered to himself. What else could trouble me?

"Could it be, you have yet to face the death of Sirius Black?"

No... Remus thought, his eyes closing of their own volition. It was so much worse to hear someone else speaking those words. They seemed to carry so much more weight when Dumbledore spoke them.

The Headmaster of Hogwarts continued to watch Remus with his unwavering eyes. Now, suddenly, those eyes seemed to carry an unimaginable amount of sorrow. The lines in his face deepened and he looked very, very old. Old and tired and sad. "If I could cry," Dumbledore said softly, "I would cry...with you. But my old, withered body has dried up and there are no tears left."

Remus opened his eyes with a start. He gazed at Dumbledore for a few moments. "I have cried," he admitted finally. "But I could not help it. It is so overwhelming. I cannot understand, I cannot begin to comprehend the reason for his...his death. Why, Albus? Why must it have been he who suffered such a dreadful end?" He peered anxiously into Dumbledore's eyes, hoping for an answer there.

Dumbledore looked back at him, but his eyes contained no answers. "And neither may I understand. Truly, he was the last one to deserve this. But it seems that fate has other plans."

"Why?" Remus cried out. "Why does fate then plan so viciously? The injustice of it!"

"Indeed, fate is unfair, but not just to Sirius, Remus. There are many others who are unjustly taken from this world and into the next."

But Remus was not in the mood to be thinking charitably. For once in his life, he did not care for "many others"; he cared only that Sirius had suffered wrongly at the hands of fate.

"We cannot hope to control our lives. Neither can we hope to control fate. We can only do as much as we can to try to save others from unnecessary suffering. That is the purpose of the Order of the Phoenix, Remus. We are not fighting against fate. We do not have the power to do that. We are fighting against the Dark Lord and doing what we can to save those that can be saved."

"It is so hard to accept his death, Albus," said the other quietly, his head bowed.

Dumbledore's eyes were suddenly covered with a thin sheen that glittered like...like tears? "But imagine how he is now. Sirius must be happy now. After a hard life, he is now given the chance to rest and be happy. And if he can be happy, then I for one will gladly accept the fact that he has gone on."

Remus smiled slightly and looked up at Dumbledore again. With great astonishment, he said, "You are crying!"

A smiled bathed the old wizard's face, and he still looked old, but it seemed as if he now had all the youthful energy given to young men. Dumbledore's blue eyes twinkled behind that mist of tears. "So I am. Perhaps I am not as dry and withered as I thought!"

Laughter flowed from Remus. He looked at the portrait of old Mrs. Black again. I hope you are kinder to him in death than you were while he lived...

"Come then," said Dumbledore. "You are here early, which is fortunate for me. I need some help setting our meeting."

The two proceeded to the end of the hallway and then down the stairs that led to the basement kitchen. Dust enveloped them both, floating up from the carpet to the air and gradually settling back into the carpet, completing its own cycle of life.

Fin

Well, there you have it, the finished product. It's all right, I suppose. tentatively But does anyone else think that it seemed to drag on? No? Thank you!

Keep in mind, reviews are wonderful treats for authors, and I would love it if you could just drop in a comment or two. (Even if it's just to say that you DID think it was a bit prolonged)

Thanks for reading!