Disclaimer: Anything you recognize belongs to J. K. Rowling. Tilia is mine.

Twenty: The Department of Mysteries

There were six people in the kitchen of Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place when Snape's doe Patronus settled in front of the fireplace, alerting them to the fact that six students, including Harry Potter, had entered the Forbidden Forest and had not returned, presumably because they were heading to the Department of Mysteries to rescue Sirius.

Tilia and Remus exchanged a glance that the present day Harry could not interpret, Sirius swore loudly, and Moody sent a reply to Snape, offering to take Kingsley, Tonks, and both Lupins to help the children. They all stood, securing their wands, and Harry was fairly sure that it was only a surprise to Sirius when Snape asked that "Black remain behind to inform Dumbledore of his godson's latest rash act."

Sirius swore again. "There is no way I'm staying here," he snarled.

"Someone has to tell Albus," Moody growled back.

"Tonks could do it as well as me," Sirius hissed.

"She's a trained Auror," Moody snapped over Tonks' protest.

"So was I once," Sirius shouted. "Or have you forgotten?"

"Sirius."

He looked at Remus. "Don't you start."

Remus began, in a quiet, reasonable voice, to remind Sirius that he was a wanted ex-convict who couldn't be caught in the Ministry of Magic, but Sirius cut him off. "It's easy for all of you to say 'sit' and 'stay,' isn't it? But they're going to hurt my godson, and they used me to do it! I won't just sit here and wait for Dumbledore, not while Harry's in trouble."

"Sirius, you're the reason Harry left. If you get hurt because he needed your help to help you—"

"Shut up, Tilia. You don't understand," he said.

"I rather think I do," she said, sharply.

"They're not using you."

"It doesn't matter right now. Someone has to stay," Kingsley said. "Dumbledore will be here soon."

Sirius glared at them all. "Kreacher!" he shouted suddenly. The rest of them jumped at the sound of the house-elf's appearance.

"Yes, master?" Kreacher said, bowing obnoxiously low.

"Wait for Dumbledore, and when he comes, tell him where we are and what's happening." He nodded defiantly at the others, daring them to protest.

"As master wishes," Kreacher grumbled, trailing into a string of offensive epithets that Sirius ignored for once. He looked at Moody, who glanced at Remus and Tilia, Sirius' family.

Remus sighed. "Come on, then, if you insist. We're wasting time."

All six of them left.

A few hours and an eternity later, Remus and Tilia Apparated home, dropping what clothes and cookware they had had at Grimmauld in the living room. The post-battle briefing was over, and there was no longer any reason for the Lupins to stay in the dark emptiness of headquarters. They got ready for bed in silence, mechanically following a routine that had been well-established for years. It wasn't until they were curled up under the covers that Tilia spoke in a toneless voice.

"There had to be just one more bad memory at that horrible place, didn't there?"

And then she began to sob.

Remus held her tightly, unable to say anything, and unable to cry himself. He hadn't cried since the night of November 2, 1981, when he had grieved for all his friends, Sirius included. As far as Remus saw it, their friendship had been on borrowed time for the past year. In some ways, it had been wonderful to have his friend back. In other ways…

Not for the first time, a rush of guilt swept through Remus when he thought that he wouldn't have to hear Mrs. Black screaming until the next meeting. He was glad to be in his own bed now that the battle was done, relieved that he wasn't looking forward to a day of listening to a man a lifetime away from him recount the battle blow by blow. He was grateful that he would no longer have to watch an old friend he hardly knew, and yet knew better than almost anyone, sink further into alternate fits of melancholia and rage.

That wasn't how it should have been, Remus thought. Sirius should have been out there fighting the whole time. But he hadn't been, and Remus shouldn't have let him go that night. He smiled wryly at the dark ceiling. The right decision was always so apparent after the choice had been made. Unfortunately, hindsight could only see what had happened, not what could have been, and Remus was plagued by the infernal "What if…?"

He sighed heavily.

Sniffing in an attempt to control her tears, Tilia looked up at Remus. "What are you thinking about?" she asked, her voice trembling with the effort of catching her breath.

He sighed again. "I was just wondering what would have happened if I hadn't let him come," he told her quietly.

"Oh," she said. "I don't see that you could have said anything else that wouldn't have been a grand waste of time. As soon as we'd left, he would have followed anyway." Though her tone was matter-of-fact, Remus could see that she still looked miserable.

"What else is bothering you?" he asked gently, knowing it was probably a stupid question.

She understood. "I just feel horrible," she whispered.

"Why?"

"Sirius has been as good as dead since he was sentenced to Azkaban. I can't help thinking that in the moment he died he was more alive than he had been in fourteen years. Isn't that awful?" She took a shaky breath, and buried her face against Remus' shoulder again.

"If it's any consolation, I was just thinking that I was glad that I didn't have to watch him sink any lower," Remus murmured.

For a long moment, he thought her only answer was to press herself closer to him. Then she sighed, and said, "I'm glad I'm not the only one who thought that." She swallowed, then continued shakily, "I was so sure we'd lost him the first time, and I know part of him never left Azkaban, but I'd hoped that he'd, you know, get better with time. He's the only family I had that—"

Remus placed a finger to her lips, stopping her before she could get worked up again. "Then let's remember him as he was. We promised we would last time."

"We promised a lot of things last time," Tilia said miserably. "That we'd remember, that we'd keep living, and take care of Harry, and not get hung up on wanting vengeance—"

"This time," Remus interrupted, "this time, Tilia, we'll keep them. We've got far too much to lose."

They were quiet for a long time, awake and watchful, keeping vigil for a dawn that Harry knew they would not see for another two years. The scene began to change.

The young man had watched the scene with curiosity at first, then with growing anger and shame. The shame, for his reactions that night, his accusations, when he really only had himself to blame, faded. His anger simmered, however, with the thought that on losing Sirius, Remus and Tilia could turn their worry so quickly to what they hadn't yet lost. Their lack of reaction, their relief bothered him. Hadn't Tilia and Remus lost far more than Harry had that night? Hadn't they?

But the rational part of Harry knew that the war had continued over the next weeks while he had ignored the world. There had been no time for them to grieve.

The Pensieve carried him on.