August 1996
Mary Leighton eased her arthritic frame onto the little gardening stool she always out with her to the churchyard. She gazed thoughtfully at the patch of grass and the darkening stone and sighed, thinking of the time when she would join her husband in this corner of the graveyard. She knew she was being morbid, but she could feel her body slowly giving way, as cell by cell she seemed to disintegrate. It was a terrible thing, old age, and she found herself wondering whether it wasn't better to just go, quickly and unexpectedly, like her Bob had. She shook her head in annoyance with herself. Of course it wasn't. She'd had time that Bob hadn't had. She'd seen her grandchildren grow; she'd even seen the eldest get married. In fact, she would probably see her great-grandchildren; the first one was due in six months time. As she often did, she glanced at the grave of the young couple. They hadn't even been allowed to see their son grow up. The lad would be sixteen now, she thought. A new stone caught her eye. It wasn't a gravestone, but a plaque, set in the ground. Curiosity got her to her feet, and she made her way over to take a closer look.
Sirius Black , it said. Mary frowned. The name sounded vaguely familiar, but she couldn't for the life of her think where she'd heard it before. She read the rest of the inscription and pondered. They were odd words. The quotation was beautiful, but she wondered why the words "Ever Loyal" appeared on the stone. It made her think of the stone Bob had put up for his old Labrador in their garden, which read "Loyal Friend." Rain began to patter gently from the sky. Mary had always loved summer rain, but she turned away with regret and made her way indoors. Damp didn't agree with her anymore.
Remus strolled up to the graves, dressed in his Muggle finest (the sort of clothes most people saved for gardening). He studied the new plaque and managed a smile.
"I hope you don't mind, Padfoot. I know you hated things like that, but…" He shrugged. "It seemed the right thing to do."
He read the inscription again, mouthing the words. He'd chosen the quotation from a famous Muggle poet his grandmother had admired.
"Calm and Deep Peace, in this Wide Air."
He smiled softly again.
"I don't suppose anywhere where you are can be described as peaceful, Sirius," he muttered. "Especially if James is there. I pity you, Lily."
He raked his hand through his hair and was reminded as he did of a boy who used to do the same. Remus's gesture was one of self-comfort, however. He had no desire to appear windswept; he looked shabby enough these days. He wondered whether there was such thing as an afterlife. Twenty years ago, he would have laughed at himself. Ten years ago, he would have replied that there was such a thing as hell, and it was on earth, and he was living in it. Now, he didn't know, but the possibility was a comforting thought. He no longer desired death, as he had done in the dark years. Seeing Sirius torn out of life like that, when he did not want to die, even though his life was so miserable, had cured Remus of that morbid outlook for good. He knew, also, that he was needed. Harry needed him, now that he was the last one left. He and Harry had been the joint beneficiaries of Sirius's will. Remus frowned. The reading had only been a week ago. He now realised that for the first time in his life he was well-off. He looked down at his patched grey jumper and shrugged. He wasn't interested in clothes shopping.
"I hope you're happy, Padfoot. You were always trying to give me money."
With a jolt, he remembered an argument he'd had with Sirius over money many years before. Sirius had wanted to pay his share of something. He thought it might have been a present for Lily.
"But I want to pay for it," Sirius growled in exasperation. Remus, too, let out a frustrated sigh.
"And I don't want you to. I've got enough money to buy people Christmas presents, for pity's sake!"
Sirius tossed his hair out of his eyes.
"I know you do, Moony," he said in a gentler tone. "But you could use that money for something else."
"Like what?" Remus said.
"Like making yourself look presentable, for a start. Honestly, Moony, you look like you've robbed a House-Elf Second-Hand Shop."
Remus tried hard to look affronted and cast an eye over his offending garments.
"Just because my clothes aren't fashionable, Sirius," he said.
Sirius snorted.
"Believe me, unfashionable doesn't begin to cover the multitude of…"
"All right. This isn't about my dress sense."
"No. It's about your refusal to let me help…"
"It's about my refusal to accept charity."
Sirius looked genuinely hurt. "It's not charity!"
"I'm poor; you're rich. You want to give me money. It's called charity, Sirius."
"I'm your friend; you need help. I can help you."
"I don't need help."
"Yes, you do!"
Both of them had their jaws set and their eyes narrowed.
"You're so stubborn!" they said at the same time.
Sirius glared at Remus, and Remus glared back, until their expressions cracked, and they burst into laughter.
"You're useless to fight with, Padfoot," Remus grumbled.
"Ha!" Sirius crowed. "So you'll let me pay for it. Please?"
Remus rested his head in his hands in defeat.
"Okay, then."
"You know, I think it's utterly unnecessary that we have to go through this every single time."
Remus muttered something about self-dignity into the heel of his hand.
Sirius patted him on the back. "Tell you what, I'll leave you all my gold in my will. Then you'll have to accept my money."
Remus sat up. "I'd donate it to a cat sanctuary."
Sirius gaped. "You wouldn't dare!"
"What would you do? Haunt me?"
Remus had spent long years haunted by Sirius. He was still haunted, haunted by the memories of his friends, by the guilt that he had believed that Sirius could have been the spy, by the knowledge that it was his fault that Peter had been able to escape that night, allowing him to bring Voldemort back. Voldemort had lured Harry to the Department of Mysteries and had caused Sirius to die. Yet Remus could not allow guilt and grief to overcome him. It had threatened to, in the days and weeks following Sirius's death. But he knew he had to remain strong for Harry. He had someone now, who knew what he was going through. Remus had lost his last friend; Harry, the only parent he'd known. Harry needed Remus; Remus had experience with grief and loss. Harry had been too young to mourn his parents. Remus was the only one who could tell Harry what he desperately needed to know. Little things, like the fact that he had inherited his hatred of celery from Lily, or that James had never been much good at chess, either. It was only through Remus that Harry could come to know his parents.
Moreover, this time Remus was not alone. Even when Harry had been at the Dursleys' over the summer, Remus was constantly invited to the Weasleys' for meals, or to visit Andromeda, Tonks's mother, whom he had known a little through Sirius. Tonks was always good at cheering him up; in fact, he thought he might ask her to go clothes shopping with Harry and him. Even Order members he had not known well, like Hestia Jones and Emmeline Vance, made sure he was eating properly. In the days after Sirius's death, Remus had been bombarded with owls delivering banquets from Emmeline, Hestia and Molly Weasley. Harry, apparently, had fared the same. The two of them, bereft of family, had been adopted by the Order itself, it seemed.
Remus stared down at the graves of his lost family. It hurt, the death of Sirius having brought back afresh the pain of losing Lily and James. Remus felt like a part of himself was dead and buried there with them, and, in a sense, it was. Remus would never be fully whole again. And yet, he was, in essence, alive and had carved out a life and a future for himself. That future involved sadness, war and grief, he knew. But it also involved Harry and hope. He was not alone; there were people alive who cared for him, and who would not let him give up. He would not give up. He had to stand for Lily and James and Sirius, and make sure that Voldemort was not allowed to take over. He was ready to fight, and he was going to win.
Remus inhaled deeply. Calm and Deep Peace. If anyone deserved that, it was Sirius.
"I hope you're happy, Padfoot."
