Quiet

The silence terrifies you.

The house is so quiet – there is too much space in your empty brain, too much room for thoughts. You aren't interested in thinking, now.

Years and years in that hellhole have left you in a strange place – at least somewhere different, you think. Somewhere that you hadn't expected.

The rooms are too big, the house is too drafty, the memories are too much, and it is too quiet.

You feel lost. It's a strange feeling, to miss the expectation of being tortured on a daily basis. You don't miss it exactly, but it was at least something. Something to make you feel, to make you remember.

Now, there's just emptiness, a coldness that doesn't seem to go away.

You remember your goal, why you escaped and how you got to be where you are. You're quite sure it's not safe to be in your old house; it's the first place they will look for you.

But you needed to come home.

You know you're lying to yourself when you pretend this house brings you comfort.

Your true home was with James Potter, your brother in all but blood, and he is dead. Because of you.

You sink back into a chair, quickly, quickly pushing those thoughts away. Not now. Not here. You're too scared already.

You try and reconcile yourself to the silence when you hear the noise. It sounds like a knock on the door, and then you hear it slowly, slowly creak open.

You do the only thing you can think of; you hide. You cower in a dark corner in the childhood home that you've nearly forgotten, trembling and afraid. You've felt weaker before, but this comes pretty close.

It's too quiet.

You hear heavy footsteps cross the floor, and you want desperately to suck in a deep breath, but you can't. There's too much at stake, too much that could go wrong. There's too much fear.

You recognize the voice before you register the words. "Sirius?" The man breathes, stepping through the doorway and looking around curiously. You aren't sure whether or not he's spotted you.

It's Remus. Remus. Good old Moony. How had he known you were here? Is he going to turn you in? Does he hate you?

The man exits the room in silence, and you can't help but release the breath you're holding, a little more loudly than you had intended. In the next room, Remus has obviously heard you. You hear a whispered "Lumos" and you cower back further, hiding your face in the crook of your arm. You're ashamed of how badly you're shaking.

The whisper comes again. "Sirius?" You can see the light next to you now, and you slowly, slowly move your face to look at the man. He's crouched down next to you, his face ridden with concern.

You stare up at him for a long moment, seeing pain and worry in his eyes; you know there's pain and fear in yours. You're soscared – you want to run, you want to flee, get away and never look back –

"M–Moony," you whisper brokenly, staring up at him with dark eyes. Your voice is unrecognizably gravelly, and you realize that these are the first words you have spoken in years and years. "It's too quiet."

The man stares down at you for a long moment before sighing deeply.

"I know, Sirius," he says sadly. "I know."

The next thing you know, you're sitting at the kitchen table, doodling in the dust that has gathered over the years. Remus is across from you, staring at you with curious eyes. You're still trembling.

You finally break the silence. "R-Remus," you say bitterly, wishing your voice didn't sound so much like death, "I – I didn't–"

Remus dips his head and interrupts you. "You're innocent." It is a statement, not a question.

You nod your head erratically, frantically, begging him to believe you. "Please, Remus." The desperation in your voice is obvious.

He stares at you for a long moment before ducking his head once more. "I believe you, Sirius."

The next thing you know, you're hugging him and you're both sobbing your eyes out in the most un-masculine way possible. Lily. James.

Harry.

It's still too quiet. The silence is still there, beckoning you and making you tremble. It still exists in the back of your mind, the one that is firmly trying to repress years and years of mental trauma.

You're still a broken, broken man. But you have a purpose, and that makes all the difference. The silence still terrifies you, but what will happen if you don't make it through is even more frightening.

Maybe, one day, you will be enough, have enough, once more.

I'll make it alright, Harry.