Leaving the Waiting Room
Time stretched into something unrecognizable. Sirius couldn't judge whether he'd been on the bench forever or for just a few hours. Did those measures matter any more? People near him talked about their lives and loves, shared their blasted hopes and wasted opportunities. And still they sat. Newly dead people appeared. The occasional calls of "Next" would bring someone else up to the Stewards. It seemed to Sirius that he and Bode were no closer to the next stage of their journey. And Bode had died months ago. Maybe this waiting area was Purgatory?
A strong wind suddenly whipped through the room. Another ghostly being swept in, but this one was taller and fiercer than anything Sirius had yet witnessed. Its form glowed with a pale, angry blue. An involuntary shiver rippled across Sirius as he watched the spirit approach the Stewards. He pitied whatever soul this spirit was here to accompany. Surely they would not travel to a happy resting place.
The imposing spirit interrupted the Stewards' work. The three conversed briefly and then, as one, they turned. Sirius felt the touch of their other-worldly eyes crawl across his face. One of the Stewards spoke.
"Sirius Black, come forward."
Bode muttered as Sirius rose, "Good luck, mate."
No one else had been called by name. Sirius had the same feeling he used to get when a professor disciplined him. "Detention, Mr. Black!" As Sirius approached the desk the fierce spirit regarded him with a distinctly hostile expression. A Steward looked at him impassively and said, "You are a most unusual case. The first in many generations of men."
"The first what?" Sirius enquired blankly. But, the Steward didn't answer.
"Come!" Snapped the blue spirit.
"Where are we going?" Sirius asked.
"You will not understand until you arrive."
Sirius exploded with sudden exasperation and just a little fear. "For God's sake, just give me some answers! Give all these people some answers! We know we're dead! Just tell us what the hell happens now!"
The blue spirit looked at him with disdain. "You are impertinent."
And before Sirius could reply he was swept forward into a vortex that tumbled him through space and time until everything went black.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
The blind vertigo stopped. The sense of stillness, of orientation was a relief after that weightless spin through the void. How long had he been propelled through the dark? An hour? A year? How is time measured in the afterlife? And why did he keep thinking about things like this?
Gradually, Sirius became aware of other faint sensations. He knew his eyes were closed, yet he felt there was light surrounding him. He thought he heard the muffled stirrings of other people. A rustle of clothing. The quiet sounds of someone breathing. A sniff.
Relief like he had never known filled him to bursting. He had dreamt it! He had been stunned and hit the floor hard and his unconscious mind had taken off on some weird death fantasy. And, now he was reviving. In a moment he'd be ready to open his eyes. Remus would be there, wouldn't he? Sirius half expected to feel the familiar touch of the werewolf's hand on his face.
He moved slightly, and then froze. He sensed others near, but why did no one speak? Had he been captured and taken somewhere? His eyes opened the merest slit.
"He awakes," said a familiar, hostile voice.
And another voice responded. A voice he hated above all others, echoing through the years and awakening the nightmares of his youth. "About time, disgusting filth that he is!"
Sirius slowly opened his eyes and sat up. A wave of cold horror threatened to drown him. He was surrounded on three sides by a crowd of people, many of whose supercilious, self-satisfied faces had mocked him for years from the walls of that hateful house. Others he'd never seen before, but somehow he knew. He just knew who they were. His ancestors, the noble and most ancient, purer-than-thou, almost-fucking-royalty house of Black. And facing him directly were his parents. He recoiled at the inflamed hatred on their faces, feeling again the malevolence that had tried so hard to break him when he was alive.
He glanced at a flash of blue at the corner of his vision. The unfriendly spirit stood next to him, with a face like a mask. Flat, expressionless eyes stared at him and a chilly voice said, "You have arrived. Do you know what awaits you?"
"Hell?" Sirius replied.
Memorial
A plaque of a large dog running free under a starry sky reflected dully in the overcast summer light. The small group of people surrounding it in one of Hogwarts' gardens started to break apart, drifting back to the castle to share a meal before they all returned to their homes or their assignments. Some hesitated, looking back at the disconsolate teen standing motionless near the simple memorial. But Albus Dumbledore motioned for them to continue on their way.
Harry stared at the replica of Padfoot. Its eyes were all wrong. They were just eyes. They didn't have the look that always shouted to Harry, "It's me! Sirius! I'm still here inside this ridiculous canine!" No, Sirius wasn't in this dog. He wasn't anywhere.
Harry drew a shaky breath and walked towards the lake. He didn't really want to talk to anyone, not even Ron or Hermione or the twins. They'd all murmur their condolences again, and then start to think ahead. Planning what they needed to do today. Tomorrow. Returning to their lives from this brief interlude where they stopped to salute a fallen comrade. And Harry would return to the Dursleys, and sit in his room and try not to think at all. He had nowhere else to go and nothing to plan. And nothing to heal the aching wound where his heart used to be.
Not many of the words spoken by anyone today had penetrated the cloud of hurt surrounding him. Dumbledore had talked for a while about Sirius, and then others who felt the need said something. But, most of them didn't know him very well. It was stupid, wasn't it, for them to even open their mouths? Remus had made the most sense, Harry thought. When asked by Dumbledore if he wished to say anything, Remus had glanced rather sharply at the Headmaster, his expression a mixture of reproach and sorrow. Then he had simply said, "Sirius knows what he meant to me. What he still means to me. And that's what I will carry in my heart."
Harry had glanced at him, and for the first time, pity for someone else drowned his own grief. Remus looked awful. The lowering gray sky above them had more color than his skin. His normally gentle hazel eyes had been bright, not with tears, but with pain. Harry had wanted to reach out to him, just to touch his arm for a moment in a silent gesture of support and understanding. But, he let the moment pass.
When Dumbledore asked him if he wanted to add anything, there was suddenly so much to say. So much to tell these people about why Sirius was important and why his death was so painful and unfair. And how bleak, that they had only begun to truly know each other as people, rather than as the images in each other's minds of Godson and Godfather. But, all Harry could say was, "I just wish we had had more time."
And he heard Remus mutter, "Amen."
Now, he sat near the lake and stopped trying to choke back his tears. He tossed his glasses to the lawn and rested his face against his bent knees. He didn't cry long this time, which rather surprised him. Maybe he had no more tears left.
Harry raised his head, hearing footsteps approach. Without his glasses he couldn't see clearly at all. He knew he should take defensive measures and grab his glasses and raise his wand, but he no longer cared. If a Death Eater had slipped into Hogwarts to kill him, then so be it.
"May I join you for a while?" The blurry figure revealed itself to be Remus Lupin.
"Sure," Harry said, making a show of leaning over for his glasses and using the movement to wipe the tears from his face.
"It's alright, Harry. You don't have to try to hide anything from me."
They sat without speaking for a long while, each in his own thoughts. Harry found it strangely comforting. Without really knowing why, a question rose to his lips. "How come you left the others to come out here?"
Remus shrugged. "I wanted to check on you. And I found I had nothing to say in there." He frowned slightly. "I'm having a hard enough time as it is to put my mourning aside and devote all my thoughts and energy to the Order's business. I'll do it, because it has to be done, but it's so very hard. And to hear people talking about reconnaissance and strategy and making contacts. Well, it seems pointless and trivial compared to.to Sirius' death."
"Yeah," Harry whispered. He looked at Remus and was startled to see a trail of tears slowly moving down his face. He looked so sad, so lost, that Harry felt his heart break all over again. "I'm sorry, Remus," he whispered.
Remus smiled slightly through his tears, and with a visible effort, pulled himself together, wiping his face dry with his hands. "You know what upsets me most, even more than the fact that Sirius died?"
Harry shook his head, wondering what could possibly be worse.
"The realization that Sirius spent so much of his life fighting his battles alone. From the time he was a kid, dealing with his family. We knew some of it, James and Peter and I, and James probably knew more than I did. But, I know Sirius only told us part of what he suffered in that house. And, then for twelve dreadful years he fought with all the power he had to keep himself sane in Azkaban. And, finally, this last year he battled to do what was expected of him, to be entombed in that house, when it was slowly killing him inside."
Remus blinked back more tears.
"Sirius wasn't anywhere near perfect, Harry. He had his flaws, yet in some ways, he really was an extraordinary man. But, life taught him early that the people to whom he was closest, the people who should have loved him the most, could not be trusted. The hardest and most damaging lesson he learned was that he was ultimately alone. He couldn't rely on anyone but himself. And that meant that he always had a hard time asking people for help when he really needed it. I knew he was laboring to deal with his life over the past year, but I didn't realize how deep the hurt went. Even when he tried to tell me, I didn't understand how bad it was. I should have done more for him. And, now it's too late."
Harry didn't know what to say. As he struggled to find something, anything to offer as comfort, Remus fixed him with a stern look.
"I see similarities between you and Sirius, Harry. The same sort of upbringing in a family that doesn't care about you. The same unwillingness or inability to go to others for help when a situation is much too big to handle on your own. The same sense of isolation, of being apart, even when you're with other people. Maybe you'll feel that it isn't my place to say this, but I'm saying it anyway. Please know that you can always come to me for help, no matter how trivial you think the problem is. I'm very fond of you, Harry, and I hate that you think you're all alone. I'm not your father and I'm not Sirius, but, whatever strength and wisdom and support I have is yours for the asking."
Their conversation lapsed, but the silence was soothing, in its own way. Harry hadn't wanted any adults near him, but, for some reason, Remus' presence was easy to take. Maybe because he and Sirius had been such close friends for so long. Or maybe because Remus, too, felt guilt over Sirius' death, that Harry didn't feel as if Remus had no right to be sad.
He found himself wanting, needing to share some of his thoughts. Haltingly, he started talking. "When I got back here.after it happened.I was in Dumbledore's office. And I was so angry. And I couldn't believe it, you know? I couldn't believe it when I saw it happen. It couldn't.It couldn't be true..." His voice cracked. Remus said nothing, but waited for Harry to continue. He gently gripped Harry's shoulder with one hand.
It was just what Sirius had done after the end of the TriWizard Tournament when he had sat in Dumbledore's office telling them about the graveyard. The memory stung. But, even though Harry teetered on the edge of once more bursting into tears, he forced himself to continue, his voice quavering with emotion.
"I turned and looked out the window and saw the Quidditch stadium. And I remembered seeing Padfoot up at the top of the stands, during a match, in the rain. Back before I knew who he was.And later, after I knew.about him. I thought he probably came to see whether I was as good as my Dad had been.but I never asked him.I never thought to ask.and.and now, I can't ask.I'll never." His voice breaking, Harry covered his face with his hands. Oh, yes, he had plenty of tears left. Wrenching sobs shook him and he was sure that this time he was going to fall apart completely. Right there next to the lake, he was crumbling into a million pieces. Except a pair of strong arms pulled him back and held him together and it was the only lifeline he had. And Harry thought he'd cry forever, leaning into Remus' shoulder, huddled in the sanctuary of Remus' arms.
But, he didn't. This wave of sorrow eventually subsided, as had all the others. Yet, when the storm of his emotion passed, Harry made no move to draw away. For the first time in his life, Harry felt truly sheltered by another human being. He regretted that it wasn't Sirius who sat with him. And that thought made him vaguely ashamed, as if somehow Remus' concern and affection weren't good enough.
Even so, Harry was content to stay still. And Remus was also content to hold him. How Remus wished he could cry like that; vent his grief in a voice loud enough to make the stars tremble in the firmament. So often his agony threatened to burst out in howls of pain, in oceans of tears. And each time he forced it back, grabbed it by the throat and squeezed until only a few stray tears escaped him.
Harry had summed it up quite neatly. 'I just wish we had had more time.' Remus knew exactly what he meant. So he started talking. He told Harry about his own reflections since the death. His fierce anger, which had only recently begun to abate. His heavy, aching sorrow that threatened to undo him, especially when something brought a sharp remembrance of Sirius. He talked about how he was starting to accept that Sirius was truly gone from his life, and how much that hurt. And, how he clung to whatever memories he had.
"Harry, it's the small things that mean the most. That hurt the most and that you most want to keep alive in your memory."
"Like what?" Harry said, his voice muffled against Remus' shirt.
Remus thought for a moment, seeking an example that was not drenched in sadness. "Like the Tea Face."
Harry sat up slowly, with just the shade of a smile. "The what?"
"The Tea Face. Sirius always got this disapproving expression on his face whenever he drank tea that I prepared. He always complained that I didn't steep the tea properly. "Let it steep for five minutes, Moony! Five, not four or six. How hard is that to understand? No wonder you were no bloody good at Potions." And that's what I would do. Steep for five minutes. But the tea was always a little too strong or a little too weak. I never in my life got it exactly right. And, the look on Sirius' face when he tasted unsatisfactory tea was completely different from the look for any other unsatisfactory food or beverage. So, one day I told him he could brew his own damned tea because I was sick of seeing him make the Tea Face at me. The name stuck."
They smiled at each other wistfully. It was good to have the memory. And it broke their hearts that that's all it was. But, it was easier to talk about Sirius after that.
After a bit of a lull in the conversation, Harry ventured into unknown territory. "Remus, did Sirius.was he ever...was there ever anyone special in his life?"
Remus didn't answer right away. The silence stretched and when Harry glanced quickly over at the older man he was disconcerted to see Remus looking speculatively at him. Caught staring, Remus shrugged. "I assume you're asking if Sirius was ever in love."
Harry nodded. Remus eyed him a moment more. Then his posture straightened, as if he'd come to some sort of decision.
"Yes, Harry. He loved someone very deeply, and was loved equally in return."
Harry was surprised. Sirius had never said anything. But, maybe this had happened long ago, a young, bright love that had broken on the rocks of Azkaban.
"Does that person know he's.dead?"
"Harry, that person is me."
It took several moments for the words to sink in. It was not at all what Harry had expected to hear. Harry had fuzzy thoughts about a woman from the past, from school, maybe. Remus had never entered his mind.
Remus watched the thought processes reflecting on Harry's face. He hoped Harry would be able to accept this and wouldn't go off on some homophobic rant against his godfather. If he dared to attack Sirius, Remus knew he'd have a lot of trouble containing his own raw emotions. Harry started to scowl, and Remus braced himself for the anger.
"Why didn't he tell me? Why does everything have to be kept in the dark?!" His voice started to rise. "Didn't either of you think this was important enough to tell me?"
Remus raised his hands in a placating gesture. Harry was angry about not knowing, but the essence of the message didn't seem to bother him. Well, they could deal with that.
"Harry, there were half a dozen times we were going to tell you over the last year. But.oh, I'm sorry, I know you'll hate this, but please let me explain our thinking. There was always something that interfered with things."
Harry drew breath to retort. Remus used his best no-nonsense professorial voice, "Let me finish, Harry."
The fuming teen subsided, still frowning.
"What you have to understand is that Sirius and I fell in love a long time ago. And we lost each other during that last war. To mistrust, to suspicion, to the stress of living during those times, never being sure that when one of us left in the morning, he'd live to come back home. And then your parents were killed and Sirius went to prison."
Remus paused, the bleak shadow of those long, empty years aging his face as Harry watched. "And, after twelve years of torture, he escaped, only to spend the next two years on the run. I knew I still loved him, but I didn't know how he felt. And, he still loved me, but he didn't know how I felt. We occasionally got some time together, but it was never enough to reestablish ourselves. We had both realized pretty quickly the love was still there, and that gave us something to build on, but, there was so much other baggage. Prison damaged him a great deal. And, my isolation within my own society hadn't done me any favors, either. We had to rediscover each other, and get used to the changes we found. We had to forgive each other for the things we had done wrong. And it was so hard to do, when we were so often apart."
Harry's anger vanished as quickly as it came. It was not only Remus' words, but his tone of voice and the pain reflected in his weary eyes. Even though he and Sirius had pulled something out of the wreckage of their blasted lives, Remus still bled from the hurt of it.
Remus continued. "The newer members of the Order didn't know about us. And the ones that did know, like Dumbledore and Moody, kept quiet about it. Even Sirius' family had never known. Once he left that house at sixteen, they washed their hands of him. And we were pretty discrete. Last summer, when we moved into Grimmauld Place, it was logical enough for us to share a room, since we were old friends. Nobody thought anything of it."
"Once you arrived, we tried to find a good time to tell you about us. But, you had that hearing hanging over your head and Molly was constantly criticizing, and every other sentence out of Snape's mouth was a dig at Sirius and that goddamned portrait just wouldn't shut the fuck up!" Remus stopped abruptly, reining in his sudden anger. "Sirius was so miserable there. Every horrible thing his family had ever done or said to him seemed to linger in the air. He felt trapped and useless. Sometimes his emotions were so raw and so hard for him to control that he felt it was better for everyone if he cut himself off from them. So he would spend days, not hours, but entire days, locked away with Buckbeak. He hated the way he felt and hated that he couldn't break free of it. And I still didn't understand the depths of the damage done to him."
Remus looked sadly into Harry's eyes. "He didn't want all of that hanging over us when we told you. Sirius wanted so much for you to see that we loved each other, that we had survived in spite of everything, even our own monumental mistakes. And he wanted to make sure you understood that even though he loved me, he didn't love you any less. Your place in his heart would always belong to you alone. He just didn't think he was capable of expressing those thoughts anymore."
Harry stared across the water. He had seen Sirius' volatile moodiness, but he hadn't really understood. How wounded must his godfather have been, to feel incapable of speaking of love? If they had only had more time.
Time. Once again, the lack of time had ruined everything. They had never had the time to speak of love, and love, perhaps feeling neglected, had played a part in Sirius' death.
"Harry, would you care to share what you're thinking?"
"I was just thinking that time is the enemy. And so is love."
"What do you mean?"
Harry turned to him, a horrible guilt in his eyes. "We never had time to talk about what was important. And, if I hadn't loved Sirius, then Voldemort wouldn't have been able to set all this up and Sirius wouldn't have gone to the Ministry and he'd still be alive!"
Remus shook his head. "You can't take all that blame on yourself, Harry. You can't live without loving other people and letting them love you. The actions of a lot of others affected what happened that night. Any one of dozens of things could have happened differently and Sirius would have lived. But, maybe Ron would have died. Or Hermione. Or you. You can only act on the information you have, and do the best you can under the circumstances. And understand that sometimes, in spite of our best efforts, we make mistakes and horrible things happen."
Harry shrugged and turned away. But, Remus wasn't going to allow Harry to sink back into self-blame quite so easily. "Listen to me, Harry. Maybe you can't let go of that feeling of guilt right now. That's okay. But, I'm going to keep making this argument. I've got a lot of experience because this is exactly what Sirius went through, blaming himself for your parents' deaths."
Harry said nothing, but Remus thought he detected a slight nod. He decided not to push any harder. Harry had a lot to think about. They said nothing more until they heard Tonks calling. "Oy, Harry! We've got a portkey to catch in five minutes!"
Remus and Harry started walking back to the castle. In a low voice Harry stated rather than asked, "You didn't give up on him, did you. Even if, maybe, he wasn't ready to let it go.the guilt."
"No, I didn't. He was worth fighting for, Harry. And so are you."
"Thanks, Remus."
They were soon among the departing friends and members of the Order. For some reason, the close proximity of all these people made Harry uncomfortable. He anxiously sought out Tonks and her portkey.
"I'll see you soon." Remus said quietly.
"Can I write to you?" Harry asked, a little surprised at himself. He was rewarded with the first genuine smile he'd seen on Remus' face in a very long time.
"I'd like that a lot, Harry."
Harry joined Tonks and Mad-Eye Moody and in a flash they disappeared. Remus' eyes lingered once more on the plaque of the running dog. A tap on his shoulder interrupted his thoughts.
It was Albus Dumbledore. "Remus, would you join me in my office? I have something to discuss with you."
"Of course, Albus," Remus replied. He couldn't help the coolness of his tone. He still laid a great deal of blame at Dumbledore's door, even though he knew he wasn't being entirely fair.
Albus said nothing more as they made their way through the school. Once they reached the office, Dumbledore indicated that Remus should take a seat. He did so and watched while the Headmaster walked over to the phoenix Fawkes and idly stroked the bird's fiery plumage.
Finally, Albus returned to the ornate chair behind the desk. His gaze rested on the only empty picture frame in the room, that of Phineas Nigellus. Remus sat quietly.
Albus smiled suddenly, and it was as if radiant sun shone broke through dark shadows. "You are a patient man, Remus Lupin."
The werewolf shrugged. "I assume you'll tell me whatever is on your mind in due course."
"Remus, a very rare event is taking place. Well, perhaps 'event' is the wrong word. But, I'm afraid I have no better way to describe it."
His bright blue eyes held concern and affection as they searched Remus' tired, worn face. And still Remus waited patiently.
"You are a scholar, Remus, as well as a teacher and a warrior. Does the phrase 'Cognatus Putus' mean anything to you?"
"No, I don't think so. Putus. That means unmixed or unstained, doesn't it? And cognatus refers to family or blood relations."
"Indeed. This is something that has its beginnings thousands years ago. Somewhere in the misty start of our kind, when magical folk separated from non-magic, clans or families formed themselves and began to build order out of chaos. They established government and laws and sought to provide a framework for a workable wizard society. They were the rulers. And somewhere, back in those days that are now shrouded in fog, they formed a pact with other powers; heavenly powers much greater than our own puny, human strength."
He sat silently for a moment, and then glanced at Phineas' empty frame. "I have great gaps of knowledge about this. Only the sketchiest of descriptions exist. But, my understanding is that, in return for providing just and beneficial leadership, for improving their world and the world of those dependent on them, for protecting and nurturing the weaker among them, the pureblood families have leave to petition the powers for one thing. That should the line of a pureblood family come to an end, the departed ancestors may request that the last son's life be given back to him, so that he can continue providing the just and fair leadership that is his duty and his gift."
Remus had to remind himself to breathe. His voice sounded stained to his own ears as he said slowly, "The last son of a pureblood family can be returned to life?"
Dumbledore's eyebrow quirked. "That is the gist of it. I'm sure there is more to it than that, but I'm afraid I haven't been able to find much on the particulars. Whatever else may be required, whatever procedure must be followed, is unknown to me."
Remus' iron control clamped down on his heart and soul. This simply couldn't be true. "Do you have any proof that this has ever happened? Isn't it more likely that the original translation and meaning of this have been lost down through the ages? Surely you don't believe that the dead can return!"
The old wizard smiled gently at Remus. "I understand your reluctance to hope. But, I've unearthed several medieval genealogies and found some interesting dates. Look at this."
Dumbledore gingerly opened a lumpy book, its cover encrusted with mold that looked potentially life-threatening. He slowly turned the crackling pages and pointed to a name in a family tree. "The Sevigny family, one of the oldest pureblood families in France. Here is the entry for Etienne Paillard de Sevigny. As you can see, he was the last of his line, born in 1187 and died in 1216. Then, he died again in 1256."
"That may simply be a mix-up of some sort. Maybe the first death date was written in incorrectly and the second date is the real year of death."
"Let us continue." Albus burrowed through several other books to point out four additional cases of double death dates for the last sons of pureblood families. When he was done, a haze of dust lingered in the air. Remus sneezed explosively. With a flick of his wand, Albus swirled the dust out the window. Remus sat in his chair and thumbed slowly through the books, releasing more dust and more sneezes. His heart sank again when he discovered several instances where family lines died out. He reluctantly pointed these out to Dumbledore.
"I have no explanation, Remus, other than to wonder if, in those cases, the answer to the ancestors' petition was "No" or if the ancestors, for some reason, chose not to request that life be returned to the last son."
"The evidence of the double death dates alone would not be enough to convince me, either. However, when Harry and I returned that night from the Department of Mysteries, Phineas Nigellus asked me very succinctly if his understanding was correct, that Sirius was dead. Then, he left. He has returned only once to tell me the souls of Blacks long dead would convene to discuss an ancient pact. When I asked him if he was referring to Cognatus Putus, Phineas was most annoyed to realize I had some idea of what it was."
Remus rose and paced slowly to the window and back. The thought that Sirius could come back to him tantalized him like a vision of water in the desert. But, he couldn't let his hope or his longing cloud his thinking. What if they were incorrect? What if Phineas was mistaken? Maybe he was getting as barmy as Mrs. Black. Then a horrible thought struck him and his heart plummeted to his feet. So much for not giving in to hope.
"Albus, if what you say is true, a family decides whether or not to invoke this pact. Sirius' family hated him! They could decide to let their line die, rather than let him live!"
"And that's one reason why I have said nothing of this to Harry. Would it be right to hold out hope for this sort of miracle, only to have it snatched away? There is a great deal I don't know about the workings of this pact. Finally, this is not something I would want Voldemort to discover. Harry's Occlumency skill is not yet good enough for him to be able to shroud his thoughts and knowledge from Voldemort's prying. I only hope that he works diligently on his lessons over the summer."
Time stretched into something unrecognizable. Sirius couldn't judge whether he'd been on the bench forever or for just a few hours. Did those measures matter any more? People near him talked about their lives and loves, shared their blasted hopes and wasted opportunities. And still they sat. Newly dead people appeared. The occasional calls of "Next" would bring someone else up to the Stewards. It seemed to Sirius that he and Bode were no closer to the next stage of their journey. And Bode had died months ago. Maybe this waiting area was Purgatory?
A strong wind suddenly whipped through the room. Another ghostly being swept in, but this one was taller and fiercer than anything Sirius had yet witnessed. Its form glowed with a pale, angry blue. An involuntary shiver rippled across Sirius as he watched the spirit approach the Stewards. He pitied whatever soul this spirit was here to accompany. Surely they would not travel to a happy resting place.
The imposing spirit interrupted the Stewards' work. The three conversed briefly and then, as one, they turned. Sirius felt the touch of their other-worldly eyes crawl across his face. One of the Stewards spoke.
"Sirius Black, come forward."
Bode muttered as Sirius rose, "Good luck, mate."
No one else had been called by name. Sirius had the same feeling he used to get when a professor disciplined him. "Detention, Mr. Black!" As Sirius approached the desk the fierce spirit regarded him with a distinctly hostile expression. A Steward looked at him impassively and said, "You are a most unusual case. The first in many generations of men."
"The first what?" Sirius enquired blankly. But, the Steward didn't answer.
"Come!" Snapped the blue spirit.
"Where are we going?" Sirius asked.
"You will not understand until you arrive."
Sirius exploded with sudden exasperation and just a little fear. "For God's sake, just give me some answers! Give all these people some answers! We know we're dead! Just tell us what the hell happens now!"
The blue spirit looked at him with disdain. "You are impertinent."
And before Sirius could reply he was swept forward into a vortex that tumbled him through space and time until everything went black.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
The blind vertigo stopped. The sense of stillness, of orientation was a relief after that weightless spin through the void. How long had he been propelled through the dark? An hour? A year? How is time measured in the afterlife? And why did he keep thinking about things like this?
Gradually, Sirius became aware of other faint sensations. He knew his eyes were closed, yet he felt there was light surrounding him. He thought he heard the muffled stirrings of other people. A rustle of clothing. The quiet sounds of someone breathing. A sniff.
Relief like he had never known filled him to bursting. He had dreamt it! He had been stunned and hit the floor hard and his unconscious mind had taken off on some weird death fantasy. And, now he was reviving. In a moment he'd be ready to open his eyes. Remus would be there, wouldn't he? Sirius half expected to feel the familiar touch of the werewolf's hand on his face.
He moved slightly, and then froze. He sensed others near, but why did no one speak? Had he been captured and taken somewhere? His eyes opened the merest slit.
"He awakes," said a familiar, hostile voice.
And another voice responded. A voice he hated above all others, echoing through the years and awakening the nightmares of his youth. "About time, disgusting filth that he is!"
Sirius slowly opened his eyes and sat up. A wave of cold horror threatened to drown him. He was surrounded on three sides by a crowd of people, many of whose supercilious, self-satisfied faces had mocked him for years from the walls of that hateful house. Others he'd never seen before, but somehow he knew. He just knew who they were. His ancestors, the noble and most ancient, purer-than-thou, almost-fucking-royalty house of Black. And facing him directly were his parents. He recoiled at the inflamed hatred on their faces, feeling again the malevolence that had tried so hard to break him when he was alive.
He glanced at a flash of blue at the corner of his vision. The unfriendly spirit stood next to him, with a face like a mask. Flat, expressionless eyes stared at him and a chilly voice said, "You have arrived. Do you know what awaits you?"
"Hell?" Sirius replied.
Memorial
A plaque of a large dog running free under a starry sky reflected dully in the overcast summer light. The small group of people surrounding it in one of Hogwarts' gardens started to break apart, drifting back to the castle to share a meal before they all returned to their homes or their assignments. Some hesitated, looking back at the disconsolate teen standing motionless near the simple memorial. But Albus Dumbledore motioned for them to continue on their way.
Harry stared at the replica of Padfoot. Its eyes were all wrong. They were just eyes. They didn't have the look that always shouted to Harry, "It's me! Sirius! I'm still here inside this ridiculous canine!" No, Sirius wasn't in this dog. He wasn't anywhere.
Harry drew a shaky breath and walked towards the lake. He didn't really want to talk to anyone, not even Ron or Hermione or the twins. They'd all murmur their condolences again, and then start to think ahead. Planning what they needed to do today. Tomorrow. Returning to their lives from this brief interlude where they stopped to salute a fallen comrade. And Harry would return to the Dursleys, and sit in his room and try not to think at all. He had nowhere else to go and nothing to plan. And nothing to heal the aching wound where his heart used to be.
Not many of the words spoken by anyone today had penetrated the cloud of hurt surrounding him. Dumbledore had talked for a while about Sirius, and then others who felt the need said something. But, most of them didn't know him very well. It was stupid, wasn't it, for them to even open their mouths? Remus had made the most sense, Harry thought. When asked by Dumbledore if he wished to say anything, Remus had glanced rather sharply at the Headmaster, his expression a mixture of reproach and sorrow. Then he had simply said, "Sirius knows what he meant to me. What he still means to me. And that's what I will carry in my heart."
Harry had glanced at him, and for the first time, pity for someone else drowned his own grief. Remus looked awful. The lowering gray sky above them had more color than his skin. His normally gentle hazel eyes had been bright, not with tears, but with pain. Harry had wanted to reach out to him, just to touch his arm for a moment in a silent gesture of support and understanding. But, he let the moment pass.
When Dumbledore asked him if he wanted to add anything, there was suddenly so much to say. So much to tell these people about why Sirius was important and why his death was so painful and unfair. And how bleak, that they had only begun to truly know each other as people, rather than as the images in each other's minds of Godson and Godfather. But, all Harry could say was, "I just wish we had had more time."
And he heard Remus mutter, "Amen."
Now, he sat near the lake and stopped trying to choke back his tears. He tossed his glasses to the lawn and rested his face against his bent knees. He didn't cry long this time, which rather surprised him. Maybe he had no more tears left.
Harry raised his head, hearing footsteps approach. Without his glasses he couldn't see clearly at all. He knew he should take defensive measures and grab his glasses and raise his wand, but he no longer cared. If a Death Eater had slipped into Hogwarts to kill him, then so be it.
"May I join you for a while?" The blurry figure revealed itself to be Remus Lupin.
"Sure," Harry said, making a show of leaning over for his glasses and using the movement to wipe the tears from his face.
"It's alright, Harry. You don't have to try to hide anything from me."
They sat without speaking for a long while, each in his own thoughts. Harry found it strangely comforting. Without really knowing why, a question rose to his lips. "How come you left the others to come out here?"
Remus shrugged. "I wanted to check on you. And I found I had nothing to say in there." He frowned slightly. "I'm having a hard enough time as it is to put my mourning aside and devote all my thoughts and energy to the Order's business. I'll do it, because it has to be done, but it's so very hard. And to hear people talking about reconnaissance and strategy and making contacts. Well, it seems pointless and trivial compared to.to Sirius' death."
"Yeah," Harry whispered. He looked at Remus and was startled to see a trail of tears slowly moving down his face. He looked so sad, so lost, that Harry felt his heart break all over again. "I'm sorry, Remus," he whispered.
Remus smiled slightly through his tears, and with a visible effort, pulled himself together, wiping his face dry with his hands. "You know what upsets me most, even more than the fact that Sirius died?"
Harry shook his head, wondering what could possibly be worse.
"The realization that Sirius spent so much of his life fighting his battles alone. From the time he was a kid, dealing with his family. We knew some of it, James and Peter and I, and James probably knew more than I did. But, I know Sirius only told us part of what he suffered in that house. And, then for twelve dreadful years he fought with all the power he had to keep himself sane in Azkaban. And, finally, this last year he battled to do what was expected of him, to be entombed in that house, when it was slowly killing him inside."
Remus blinked back more tears.
"Sirius wasn't anywhere near perfect, Harry. He had his flaws, yet in some ways, he really was an extraordinary man. But, life taught him early that the people to whom he was closest, the people who should have loved him the most, could not be trusted. The hardest and most damaging lesson he learned was that he was ultimately alone. He couldn't rely on anyone but himself. And that meant that he always had a hard time asking people for help when he really needed it. I knew he was laboring to deal with his life over the past year, but I didn't realize how deep the hurt went. Even when he tried to tell me, I didn't understand how bad it was. I should have done more for him. And, now it's too late."
Harry didn't know what to say. As he struggled to find something, anything to offer as comfort, Remus fixed him with a stern look.
"I see similarities between you and Sirius, Harry. The same sort of upbringing in a family that doesn't care about you. The same unwillingness or inability to go to others for help when a situation is much too big to handle on your own. The same sense of isolation, of being apart, even when you're with other people. Maybe you'll feel that it isn't my place to say this, but I'm saying it anyway. Please know that you can always come to me for help, no matter how trivial you think the problem is. I'm very fond of you, Harry, and I hate that you think you're all alone. I'm not your father and I'm not Sirius, but, whatever strength and wisdom and support I have is yours for the asking."
Their conversation lapsed, but the silence was soothing, in its own way. Harry hadn't wanted any adults near him, but, for some reason, Remus' presence was easy to take. Maybe because he and Sirius had been such close friends for so long. Or maybe because Remus, too, felt guilt over Sirius' death, that Harry didn't feel as if Remus had no right to be sad.
He found himself wanting, needing to share some of his thoughts. Haltingly, he started talking. "When I got back here.after it happened.I was in Dumbledore's office. And I was so angry. And I couldn't believe it, you know? I couldn't believe it when I saw it happen. It couldn't.It couldn't be true..." His voice cracked. Remus said nothing, but waited for Harry to continue. He gently gripped Harry's shoulder with one hand.
It was just what Sirius had done after the end of the TriWizard Tournament when he had sat in Dumbledore's office telling them about the graveyard. The memory stung. But, even though Harry teetered on the edge of once more bursting into tears, he forced himself to continue, his voice quavering with emotion.
"I turned and looked out the window and saw the Quidditch stadium. And I remembered seeing Padfoot up at the top of the stands, during a match, in the rain. Back before I knew who he was.And later, after I knew.about him. I thought he probably came to see whether I was as good as my Dad had been.but I never asked him.I never thought to ask.and.and now, I can't ask.I'll never." His voice breaking, Harry covered his face with his hands. Oh, yes, he had plenty of tears left. Wrenching sobs shook him and he was sure that this time he was going to fall apart completely. Right there next to the lake, he was crumbling into a million pieces. Except a pair of strong arms pulled him back and held him together and it was the only lifeline he had. And Harry thought he'd cry forever, leaning into Remus' shoulder, huddled in the sanctuary of Remus' arms.
But, he didn't. This wave of sorrow eventually subsided, as had all the others. Yet, when the storm of his emotion passed, Harry made no move to draw away. For the first time in his life, Harry felt truly sheltered by another human being. He regretted that it wasn't Sirius who sat with him. And that thought made him vaguely ashamed, as if somehow Remus' concern and affection weren't good enough.
Even so, Harry was content to stay still. And Remus was also content to hold him. How Remus wished he could cry like that; vent his grief in a voice loud enough to make the stars tremble in the firmament. So often his agony threatened to burst out in howls of pain, in oceans of tears. And each time he forced it back, grabbed it by the throat and squeezed until only a few stray tears escaped him.
Harry had summed it up quite neatly. 'I just wish we had had more time.' Remus knew exactly what he meant. So he started talking. He told Harry about his own reflections since the death. His fierce anger, which had only recently begun to abate. His heavy, aching sorrow that threatened to undo him, especially when something brought a sharp remembrance of Sirius. He talked about how he was starting to accept that Sirius was truly gone from his life, and how much that hurt. And, how he clung to whatever memories he had.
"Harry, it's the small things that mean the most. That hurt the most and that you most want to keep alive in your memory."
"Like what?" Harry said, his voice muffled against Remus' shirt.
Remus thought for a moment, seeking an example that was not drenched in sadness. "Like the Tea Face."
Harry sat up slowly, with just the shade of a smile. "The what?"
"The Tea Face. Sirius always got this disapproving expression on his face whenever he drank tea that I prepared. He always complained that I didn't steep the tea properly. "Let it steep for five minutes, Moony! Five, not four or six. How hard is that to understand? No wonder you were no bloody good at Potions." And that's what I would do. Steep for five minutes. But the tea was always a little too strong or a little too weak. I never in my life got it exactly right. And, the look on Sirius' face when he tasted unsatisfactory tea was completely different from the look for any other unsatisfactory food or beverage. So, one day I told him he could brew his own damned tea because I was sick of seeing him make the Tea Face at me. The name stuck."
They smiled at each other wistfully. It was good to have the memory. And it broke their hearts that that's all it was. But, it was easier to talk about Sirius after that.
After a bit of a lull in the conversation, Harry ventured into unknown territory. "Remus, did Sirius.was he ever...was there ever anyone special in his life?"
Remus didn't answer right away. The silence stretched and when Harry glanced quickly over at the older man he was disconcerted to see Remus looking speculatively at him. Caught staring, Remus shrugged. "I assume you're asking if Sirius was ever in love."
Harry nodded. Remus eyed him a moment more. Then his posture straightened, as if he'd come to some sort of decision.
"Yes, Harry. He loved someone very deeply, and was loved equally in return."
Harry was surprised. Sirius had never said anything. But, maybe this had happened long ago, a young, bright love that had broken on the rocks of Azkaban.
"Does that person know he's.dead?"
"Harry, that person is me."
It took several moments for the words to sink in. It was not at all what Harry had expected to hear. Harry had fuzzy thoughts about a woman from the past, from school, maybe. Remus had never entered his mind.
Remus watched the thought processes reflecting on Harry's face. He hoped Harry would be able to accept this and wouldn't go off on some homophobic rant against his godfather. If he dared to attack Sirius, Remus knew he'd have a lot of trouble containing his own raw emotions. Harry started to scowl, and Remus braced himself for the anger.
"Why didn't he tell me? Why does everything have to be kept in the dark?!" His voice started to rise. "Didn't either of you think this was important enough to tell me?"
Remus raised his hands in a placating gesture. Harry was angry about not knowing, but the essence of the message didn't seem to bother him. Well, they could deal with that.
"Harry, there were half a dozen times we were going to tell you over the last year. But.oh, I'm sorry, I know you'll hate this, but please let me explain our thinking. There was always something that interfered with things."
Harry drew breath to retort. Remus used his best no-nonsense professorial voice, "Let me finish, Harry."
The fuming teen subsided, still frowning.
"What you have to understand is that Sirius and I fell in love a long time ago. And we lost each other during that last war. To mistrust, to suspicion, to the stress of living during those times, never being sure that when one of us left in the morning, he'd live to come back home. And then your parents were killed and Sirius went to prison."
Remus paused, the bleak shadow of those long, empty years aging his face as Harry watched. "And, after twelve years of torture, he escaped, only to spend the next two years on the run. I knew I still loved him, but I didn't know how he felt. And, he still loved me, but he didn't know how I felt. We occasionally got some time together, but it was never enough to reestablish ourselves. We had both realized pretty quickly the love was still there, and that gave us something to build on, but, there was so much other baggage. Prison damaged him a great deal. And, my isolation within my own society hadn't done me any favors, either. We had to rediscover each other, and get used to the changes we found. We had to forgive each other for the things we had done wrong. And it was so hard to do, when we were so often apart."
Harry's anger vanished as quickly as it came. It was not only Remus' words, but his tone of voice and the pain reflected in his weary eyes. Even though he and Sirius had pulled something out of the wreckage of their blasted lives, Remus still bled from the hurt of it.
Remus continued. "The newer members of the Order didn't know about us. And the ones that did know, like Dumbledore and Moody, kept quiet about it. Even Sirius' family had never known. Once he left that house at sixteen, they washed their hands of him. And we were pretty discrete. Last summer, when we moved into Grimmauld Place, it was logical enough for us to share a room, since we were old friends. Nobody thought anything of it."
"Once you arrived, we tried to find a good time to tell you about us. But, you had that hearing hanging over your head and Molly was constantly criticizing, and every other sentence out of Snape's mouth was a dig at Sirius and that goddamned portrait just wouldn't shut the fuck up!" Remus stopped abruptly, reining in his sudden anger. "Sirius was so miserable there. Every horrible thing his family had ever done or said to him seemed to linger in the air. He felt trapped and useless. Sometimes his emotions were so raw and so hard for him to control that he felt it was better for everyone if he cut himself off from them. So he would spend days, not hours, but entire days, locked away with Buckbeak. He hated the way he felt and hated that he couldn't break free of it. And I still didn't understand the depths of the damage done to him."
Remus looked sadly into Harry's eyes. "He didn't want all of that hanging over us when we told you. Sirius wanted so much for you to see that we loved each other, that we had survived in spite of everything, even our own monumental mistakes. And he wanted to make sure you understood that even though he loved me, he didn't love you any less. Your place in his heart would always belong to you alone. He just didn't think he was capable of expressing those thoughts anymore."
Harry stared across the water. He had seen Sirius' volatile moodiness, but he hadn't really understood. How wounded must his godfather have been, to feel incapable of speaking of love? If they had only had more time.
Time. Once again, the lack of time had ruined everything. They had never had the time to speak of love, and love, perhaps feeling neglected, had played a part in Sirius' death.
"Harry, would you care to share what you're thinking?"
"I was just thinking that time is the enemy. And so is love."
"What do you mean?"
Harry turned to him, a horrible guilt in his eyes. "We never had time to talk about what was important. And, if I hadn't loved Sirius, then Voldemort wouldn't have been able to set all this up and Sirius wouldn't have gone to the Ministry and he'd still be alive!"
Remus shook his head. "You can't take all that blame on yourself, Harry. You can't live without loving other people and letting them love you. The actions of a lot of others affected what happened that night. Any one of dozens of things could have happened differently and Sirius would have lived. But, maybe Ron would have died. Or Hermione. Or you. You can only act on the information you have, and do the best you can under the circumstances. And understand that sometimes, in spite of our best efforts, we make mistakes and horrible things happen."
Harry shrugged and turned away. But, Remus wasn't going to allow Harry to sink back into self-blame quite so easily. "Listen to me, Harry. Maybe you can't let go of that feeling of guilt right now. That's okay. But, I'm going to keep making this argument. I've got a lot of experience because this is exactly what Sirius went through, blaming himself for your parents' deaths."
Harry said nothing, but Remus thought he detected a slight nod. He decided not to push any harder. Harry had a lot to think about. They said nothing more until they heard Tonks calling. "Oy, Harry! We've got a portkey to catch in five minutes!"
Remus and Harry started walking back to the castle. In a low voice Harry stated rather than asked, "You didn't give up on him, did you. Even if, maybe, he wasn't ready to let it go.the guilt."
"No, I didn't. He was worth fighting for, Harry. And so are you."
"Thanks, Remus."
They were soon among the departing friends and members of the Order. For some reason, the close proximity of all these people made Harry uncomfortable. He anxiously sought out Tonks and her portkey.
"I'll see you soon." Remus said quietly.
"Can I write to you?" Harry asked, a little surprised at himself. He was rewarded with the first genuine smile he'd seen on Remus' face in a very long time.
"I'd like that a lot, Harry."
Harry joined Tonks and Mad-Eye Moody and in a flash they disappeared. Remus' eyes lingered once more on the plaque of the running dog. A tap on his shoulder interrupted his thoughts.
It was Albus Dumbledore. "Remus, would you join me in my office? I have something to discuss with you."
"Of course, Albus," Remus replied. He couldn't help the coolness of his tone. He still laid a great deal of blame at Dumbledore's door, even though he knew he wasn't being entirely fair.
Albus said nothing more as they made their way through the school. Once they reached the office, Dumbledore indicated that Remus should take a seat. He did so and watched while the Headmaster walked over to the phoenix Fawkes and idly stroked the bird's fiery plumage.
Finally, Albus returned to the ornate chair behind the desk. His gaze rested on the only empty picture frame in the room, that of Phineas Nigellus. Remus sat quietly.
Albus smiled suddenly, and it was as if radiant sun shone broke through dark shadows. "You are a patient man, Remus Lupin."
The werewolf shrugged. "I assume you'll tell me whatever is on your mind in due course."
"Remus, a very rare event is taking place. Well, perhaps 'event' is the wrong word. But, I'm afraid I have no better way to describe it."
His bright blue eyes held concern and affection as they searched Remus' tired, worn face. And still Remus waited patiently.
"You are a scholar, Remus, as well as a teacher and a warrior. Does the phrase 'Cognatus Putus' mean anything to you?"
"No, I don't think so. Putus. That means unmixed or unstained, doesn't it? And cognatus refers to family or blood relations."
"Indeed. This is something that has its beginnings thousands years ago. Somewhere in the misty start of our kind, when magical folk separated from non-magic, clans or families formed themselves and began to build order out of chaos. They established government and laws and sought to provide a framework for a workable wizard society. They were the rulers. And somewhere, back in those days that are now shrouded in fog, they formed a pact with other powers; heavenly powers much greater than our own puny, human strength."
He sat silently for a moment, and then glanced at Phineas' empty frame. "I have great gaps of knowledge about this. Only the sketchiest of descriptions exist. But, my understanding is that, in return for providing just and beneficial leadership, for improving their world and the world of those dependent on them, for protecting and nurturing the weaker among them, the pureblood families have leave to petition the powers for one thing. That should the line of a pureblood family come to an end, the departed ancestors may request that the last son's life be given back to him, so that he can continue providing the just and fair leadership that is his duty and his gift."
Remus had to remind himself to breathe. His voice sounded stained to his own ears as he said slowly, "The last son of a pureblood family can be returned to life?"
Dumbledore's eyebrow quirked. "That is the gist of it. I'm sure there is more to it than that, but I'm afraid I haven't been able to find much on the particulars. Whatever else may be required, whatever procedure must be followed, is unknown to me."
Remus' iron control clamped down on his heart and soul. This simply couldn't be true. "Do you have any proof that this has ever happened? Isn't it more likely that the original translation and meaning of this have been lost down through the ages? Surely you don't believe that the dead can return!"
The old wizard smiled gently at Remus. "I understand your reluctance to hope. But, I've unearthed several medieval genealogies and found some interesting dates. Look at this."
Dumbledore gingerly opened a lumpy book, its cover encrusted with mold that looked potentially life-threatening. He slowly turned the crackling pages and pointed to a name in a family tree. "The Sevigny family, one of the oldest pureblood families in France. Here is the entry for Etienne Paillard de Sevigny. As you can see, he was the last of his line, born in 1187 and died in 1216. Then, he died again in 1256."
"That may simply be a mix-up of some sort. Maybe the first death date was written in incorrectly and the second date is the real year of death."
"Let us continue." Albus burrowed through several other books to point out four additional cases of double death dates for the last sons of pureblood families. When he was done, a haze of dust lingered in the air. Remus sneezed explosively. With a flick of his wand, Albus swirled the dust out the window. Remus sat in his chair and thumbed slowly through the books, releasing more dust and more sneezes. His heart sank again when he discovered several instances where family lines died out. He reluctantly pointed these out to Dumbledore.
"I have no explanation, Remus, other than to wonder if, in those cases, the answer to the ancestors' petition was "No" or if the ancestors, for some reason, chose not to request that life be returned to the last son."
"The evidence of the double death dates alone would not be enough to convince me, either. However, when Harry and I returned that night from the Department of Mysteries, Phineas Nigellus asked me very succinctly if his understanding was correct, that Sirius was dead. Then, he left. He has returned only once to tell me the souls of Blacks long dead would convene to discuss an ancient pact. When I asked him if he was referring to Cognatus Putus, Phineas was most annoyed to realize I had some idea of what it was."
Remus rose and paced slowly to the window and back. The thought that Sirius could come back to him tantalized him like a vision of water in the desert. But, he couldn't let his hope or his longing cloud his thinking. What if they were incorrect? What if Phineas was mistaken? Maybe he was getting as barmy as Mrs. Black. Then a horrible thought struck him and his heart plummeted to his feet. So much for not giving in to hope.
"Albus, if what you say is true, a family decides whether or not to invoke this pact. Sirius' family hated him! They could decide to let their line die, rather than let him live!"
"And that's one reason why I have said nothing of this to Harry. Would it be right to hold out hope for this sort of miracle, only to have it snatched away? There is a great deal I don't know about the workings of this pact. Finally, this is not something I would want Voldemort to discover. Harry's Occlumency skill is not yet good enough for him to be able to shroud his thoughts and knowledge from Voldemort's prying. I only hope that he works diligently on his lessons over the summer."