A/N: Well, finally the last chapter. There is an epilogue that should be up very soon. It took me a very long time to finish this chapter, because I just wasn't happy with it. But I've decided enough is enough. I was probably just stalling so I didn't have to finish!
Lots of thanks to everybody who reviewed: Jennie, Padfootz-luvr, Domlando Blonaghan, Kurama-forever, Nicoley117, siriuslupinlover and Kendra-the hyper one.
Love, WoE
Reminiscence
Harry lowered the Extendable Ear and stared at the closed door. Next to him Ron muttered something under his breath, shaking his head.
"We should get out of here," Fred whispered, tucking his own Extendable Ear into his pocket. "They'll come out soon."
"Yeah," Harry nodded distractedly.
Hermione looked from one to the other. She'd steadily refused to listen in on Lupin and Niamh, but now her eyes filled with curiosity. All the boys' faces were stricken. She frowned when she heard George mutter the names Malfoy and Snape.
"Come on," Ron sighed.
They were too late. The door swung open and revealed a pale-looking Niamh. Startled she stood still in the doorway. Her cheerless eyes flicked from one tense face to the other and realisation appeared on her own. "Oh my God," she breathed aghast and stumbled backwards, slamming the door shut again.
They stood frozen, blinking at the door, which let through the sounds of agitated voices. Heavier footsteps came closer to the door, which opened once more. Lupin stepped outside and closed the door behind him. He looked livid. "Did it occur to any of you," he hissed, dangerously low, "that she might have a very good reason for not wanting her students to know what happened?"
The boys mumbled apologies, their eyes cast down. Hermione still looked from one to another, failing to understand what the fuss was all about.
Lupin turned to her. "And you, Hermione. I would have thought –"
She shook her head. "I didn't listen – I don't know what…"
"I see," Lupin said. After a moment he ordered, "Downstairs, all of you."
"Can I see Niamh?" Harry asked.
"I'm sure you'll understand that she'd like to be alone for a while."
Quietly they descended the stairs and walked into the kitchen, which was empty. Lupin readied himself for a lecture, but when he saw the lack of colour on his former students' faces he sighed. "Are you all right?"
Mute nods were his only answer.
"I'll put the kettle on." He flicked his wand at the stove, which began to heat up immediately when a kettle soared towards it and landed with a clang.
Lupin took a deep breath. "I am aware that this must come as a shock to you, since you were all sheltered carefully from the atrocities of the first war. You've only been told a few general things, but what you've just heard… That is how it was like. And Niamh…" His voice faltered for a moment, before he finished, "Though she was left with scars, she survived, as one of the very few. She was lucky."
Next to Harry, Ron mouthed 'lucky'.
They sat in silence for a while. When they all had a cup of tea in front of them, Harry sighed. "So this is why Sirius and Snape can't stand the sight of each other?"
Remus took a sip from his tea and shook his head. "That started in our first year. On the Hogwarts Express, to be precise. Sirius and James, both pure-bloods, already knew each other vaguely from social gatherings and within five minutes had found a common enemy in Severus."
"When did you meet them?" Ron asked.
"When Severus's hex sent them sprawling into my compartment. He already knew quite a few curses. I didn't become friends with them until some time after. I rather was alone, out of fear that someone might discover what I was."
"But you did become friends," Hermione said.
Remus smiled. "It's impossible to share a dorm with those two for very long without getting involved and so I became the fourth Marauder."
"What about Niamh?"
"She was sorted into Slytherin, just as expected, and became part of the group that almost all turned out Death Eaters. Sirius's and her family knew each other well, but of course everything changed the moment Sirius was sorted into Gryffindor."
"Must have been some great Christmas parties," George snorted.
"Indeed. Especially because Niamh was often part of the fights between Slytherins and Gryffindors."
"Just like Snape." Harry spat out his professor's name. "How can Dumbledore trust him, knowing what he's done? That he just let –"
"He has his reasons," Lupin interrupted him. "And knowing Dumbledore, they are good ones." He gave Harry a stern look. "Even though you know what happened now doesn't mean your behaviour towards professor Snape should be anything else but that of a student towards their teacher. What happened is between Niamh, Sirius, and Severus. Not you, no matter how much you care."
Harry couldn't believe what Lupin was telling him to do. He couldn't just pretend to not know what had happened. He wouldn't –
He stopped his internal rant when he remembered something. "Back in third year," he said heatedly, "did he know Sirius was innocent? When he tried to hand him over to the Dementors?"
Lupin was silent for a while. "I don't know," he then said. "I don't know his motives. I don't think many Death Eaters knew Pettigrew was a spy, if any at all. There is a good chance that Severus really did believe that Sirius had betrayed his friends. That would lead him to the belief that Sirius had betrayed Niamh as well. 'Too stubborn to believe they were mistaken in him.' That's what he said about your parents. Maybe Niamh was on his mind as well."
Suddenly they heard the front door open. Lupin pushed his chair back, muttering something under his breath, and headed towards the sound. Before he was halfway, the door had slammed shut again. Harry and the others, who'd stayed behind in the kitchen, heard Lupin call, "Niamh?"
There was no answer.
A few moments later Lupin returned to the kitchen. "She's left," he said.
"But, but shouldn't we go after her?" Harry asked anxiously, rising from his chair. "She's in a right enough state to do something stupid!"
Lupin smiled weakly, his worry clearly visible. "She has already Disapparated. If she doesn't want to be found, you won't find her, trust me. We'll just have to wait."
And so they waited. Mrs Weasley returned from a visit to The Burrow and Arthur Weasley returned from work. Neither had seen Niamh. Dinner was spent in a hushed silence. Harry was all too aware of the worried glances exchanged between the adults after Lupin had explained to Mr and Mrs Weasley what had occurred that afternoon.
Mrs Weasley had just placed a plate ladled with trifle under Harry's nose when the doorbell rang. Mrs Weasley and Lupin hurried towards the door, welcomed by the howling of Mrs Black. After the screeching and screaming had subsided, footsteps headed towards the kitchen again and to Harry's relief his godmother marched through the door and sat herself at the table. She looked rather wan.
"Niamh, are you all right?" he asked.
"Of course," she answered briskly. "Perfectly fine." She looked at Mrs Weasley's dessert, avoiding Harry's eyes. "That looks heavenly, Molly. Do you mind if I help myself?"
For a brief moment Harry felt something of what Sirius must have felt at being shut out like that, before he realised it must have been a thousand times worse for his godfather.
After dinner they spent the evening in the drawing room. Every sentence which Harry started to ask what his godmother had done that afternoon were quickly cut off by Niamh's comments that everything was fine. It frustrated Harry to no end. He had no choice but to leave, however, when Mrs Weasley ushered everybody to their beds, leaving only Niamh and Lupin sitting by the fire. Right before the door closed behind him, Harry glanced over his shoulder. The utterly composed expression on Niamh's face vanished when Lupin leaned over to her and placed his hand on hers.
Then the door fell shut.
Harry stomped up the stairs, having every intention to push his godmother into letting him in. Gritting his teeth he decided he would not let her get away, not when he'd only just found her.
"I can't believe that they know," Niamh whispered with closed eyes. "I refuse to believe it."
"You can refuse all you want, but that won't make it go away. You'll have to face them," Remus replied sharply. "Harry in particular. He wants more answers."
"I can't give him any. The thought of him knowing, of all of them knowing, about that night… It makes me sick."
"Why?" Remus demanded.
"Why?" Niamh echoed incredulously. "They know about my – my shame. How I was held down and..." Her nostrils flared as she exhaled forcefully. "How I was completely powerless and weak, too weak to stop them. Merlin, Remus, telling you was hard enough, but them… Besides, they are children, they shouldn't know about things like this."
"They are not children. They're almost of age and they have seen more than we had at their age."
"I pray they'll never have to see the things I have," Niamh said bitterly. "No matter how old they are."
"They won't. And they won't see you as weak."
"How do you know that?"
"Because I don't see you as weak," Remus answered softly. "It's only in your mind."
"They'll see me differently. With pity," she spat out through clenched teeth. "I can't stand that."
"You can't run away again," Remus snapped. "You can't do that to Harry."
"As I've done to you," Niamh nodded, lifting her lashes to meet his eyes.
"I didn't sa – "
"But I have, I know that. I left you to face the wizarding world alone. I should never have done that."
"I don't blame you, Niamh, far from it. I haven't been in the limelight the past fifteen years either, now have I?"
Niamh chuckled. "I suppose not." She bit on her lip. "While we're still on the topic of facing things, where is that box?"
"Accio box!" Remus commanded, relieved. Immediately the item flew from a cabinet into his hands. He held it out to the woman opposite him, who took it with trembling hands.
Niamh fidgeted with the lid for a few moments, before she put it aside. The four photos she'd already seen lay on top and she took them out. The wedding picture, James and Sirius at Hogwarts, a portrait of herself, and the photograph of her and Sirius dancing.
There were so much more pictures, so much more memories. Many of them were of the Marauders at Hogwarts. Near the lake, in their dorm, at the Gryffindor table, making horrendous faces at the camera. A twelve-year-old Remus with pink hair and a glowering expression. James with singed eyebrows, beaming, holding a pack of Exploding Snap cards in his hands and Sirius behind him, bent over laughing.
A picture of James on his knees in front of Lily, in what looked like a Halloween costume of a knight. Lily's face matched the colour of her hair as she glared down at the boy at her feet. They looked about fourteen.
Remus in the library with ink on his nose, Sirius near Hagrid's hut with his hands behind his back and a glint in his eyes that said little good about his intentions, James and Lily sitting next to each other in the Great Hall – obviously seventh year – while talking quietly, Remus throwing a book at Sirius in the common room.
There were two cinema tickets in the box. They'd been crumpled up and smoothened out again. Niamh mumbled the name of the London cinema. "Days of Heaven. On my eighteenth birthday. We were still in Hogwarts. I haven't been to a cimena in fifteen years."
She came across a picture of Sirius and Regulus and felt tears sting her eyes. It wasn't a typical wizarding family portrait, even though both boys were formally dressed. It must have been taken before Hogwarts. Sirius looked very young and Regulus could not have been older than eight. Sirius stood behind his younger brother with his arms on his shoulders, leaning his chin on his brother's black hair. Brown and grey eyes smiled into the camera, an identical grin forming on their lips.
"He never talked about him," Niamh murmured. She could see Bellatrix and Narcissa in the background of the photograph, but she understood why Sirius had kept it anyway. The bond between the two boys spoke clearly through the picture. The love of two brothers before it was torn apart by different beliefs, different Houses, and different allies.
Remus took the photograph from her hand. "To me neither." He sighed. "And now they're both gone."
Niamh's face twisted in pain. "So much hurt has been caused. Sometimes it feels as if everybody has scars. As if nobody's whole."
"That's why we fight, don't we?" Remus replied. "To stop further hurt, further damage."
"To save the world?" Niamh added sarcastically. "Really, Remus, still the idealist?"
"Niamh…"
"Sorry. I suppose the years have added a little bitterness," she apologised, averting her eyes. Suddenly she froze, her gaze fixed on the box.
"What? What is it?"
Slowly Niamh's hand picked up another photograph. She looked at it for a moment before she turned her wrist to show it to Remus. "It's the only photo with him in it."
"Wormtail."
The picture was nothing special, but all four Marauders were in it, sitting and lying under a tree, completely relaxed and with only half an eye on the camera.
"A reminder?" Niamh asked.
"He didn't need a reminder."
"Then why keep it?"
"A memory?" Remus suggested. "Of things gone. Like his brother."
"Am I a memory too, Remus?" Her voice was hollow.
He shook his head decidedly. "You are not a memory. And certainly not to Sirius. You were reality to him, every single day."
"He was right, you know," she whispered. "All those years ago. It was my fault. I knew something was off, I just knew it, but I didn't listen. Merlin, Dumbledore warned me, Sirius begged me, but I thought I knew better. I said to myself I shouldn't overreact. So I went and I delivered myself in Voldemort's hands."
"You two are unbelievable," Remus stated, shaking his head. "Half a year ago I sat here, listening to Sirius telling me the exact same thing. How it was his fault, that he should've listened to Dumbledore and to you, that he should have been more careful and not so rash. Is it some pure-blood character trait that I don't know of, making yourself as miserable as you can?" he huffed.
"He still blamed himself?" she asked, ignoring his outburst.
"He blamed himself for everything," Remus answered. "For you, for James and Lily, for not seeing Peter for what he was."
"I suppose we're all to blame for that."
"Can you truly blame someone for trusting his friends?"
Niamh pressed her lips together when her eyes filled with tears. "I don't blame Sirius. I didn't blame him back then – that fight was just – I wasn't in my right mind – we should have talked about it, but I couldn't. I walked away."
She shifted through the items in the box with her index finger in an attempt to regain control over herself. Quickly she rubbed her other hand over her eyes and ran a hand through her hair. "Oh Merlin," she suddenly breathed.
"What?"
"There's a letter in here," she said. "F – for me."
The thick parchment envelope had slightly curled edges and had yellowed somewhat. Niamh's name was written on the front in Sirius's handwriting. The typical large loops and uneven shapes of the letters were telling. Sirius's writing had always looked as if he didn't have the patience to sit down and write neatly.
Niamh's voice was shaky. "I think, Remus, I am going to need a large bottle of Firewhisky."
London, May 13, 1996
My dear Niamh,
I don't know if you'll ever read this letter. I tried to find you after I escaped, even though Remus told me he had tried it for years himself while I was in Azkaban. I guess you don't want to be found. I hope you're doing okay.
If you do read this letter, that means I'm dead. Hopefully a good death. If you read this letter, it means I never found you.
It's strange, writing this, since I still hope to find you someday. It feels like giving in to something I don't want to happen. But, should you read this, it means I wasn't able to find you. Though it's not something I want to think about, it is a possibility and there are so many things I want to say to you, I just can't risk it. Seems odd, right? Me not wanting to risk something. But we left so many things unspoken and it's time they were said.
I love you. I still do; I don't think it'll ever change. Those years in Azkaban, knowing that I was innocent is what kept me sane, but it was you who drove me to the edge. I'm not sure how much you know about Dementors, but they suck the happy memories away and leave you with the worst experiences in your life. For years, all I could see was James and Lily's burning house and you that night I was caught.
I could not remember our good times. That time we almost burned down my kitchen, trying to cook dinner for Remus and the others. The times I took you to the cinema. (I wonder if you have ever learned how to pronounce it.) The times you called me an arrogant git and I told you that you loved me. Your face when you saw that flying motorbike I made with Gideon. Our wedding. Our wedding night. One thing I remember vividly again is the night we spent in your house after I took you to the cinema. In seventh year. I was watching you sleep. I was the first time I realised you were more to me than just a fling. Merlin, you looked beautiful.
It came back to me while I was on the run with Buckbeak, a hippogriff. I can almost see your eyebrow raise when you read that. It's a long story, Harry will tell you about it.
I'm still on the run, or in hiding to be precise. Those pricks in the Ministry don't acknowledge that Voldemort is back, so my name can't be cleared. It doesn't really matter if it never happens, that I will always be seen as someone who murdered thirteen people with one curse. I don't care. Not much anyway. Remus and Harry know I'm innocent. The only thing I still want is for you to know I'm innocent.
I know Remus is the one who came to tell you what happened at Halloween. Or what everybody thought had happened. The thought that you believed I had betrayed you, it still rips me apart. I don't blame you, don't get me wrong, you couldn't have believed anything else. Peter had staged it well. But, Merlin, I just want you to know that I would never do anything to hurt you. I can't even begin to imagine what it must have felt like for you. I'm sorry. I wish I could say it to you in person. I'm sorry. If I hadn't acted so rash, stopped for a moment to think and informed Dumbledore before I went after Peter, things would've been different. James and I thought we had it all covered. Voldemort would come after me. Nobody would suspect Peter of being the Secret Keeper. Dumbledore was worried. We knew there was a spy and most people suspected me or Remus. To my absolute shame I must admit I was not sure of Remus myself. You know how it was; that distrust, suspicion. It was affecting everybody.
James, of course, had no doubts about me. I believe he partially wanted to make me Secret Keeper so he could prove I was not a traitor. And I made him choose Peter.
For twelve years I had to live with that in prison. Knowing that he was the one that sold you, James, and Lily to Voldemort. He'll get what he deserves. I hope I'll be the one to give it to him, but Harry has a right as well.
As for the others, Rosier is dead, Malfoy is in Azkaban, and Snape… Yeah, Snape. He has joined the Order. Apparently he has redeemed himself. Bollocks, if you ask me, but as Remus likes to put it: it comes down to whether you trust Dumbledore. I trust Dumbledore, I do, but even the greatest minds can be fooled.
Snape and I have a score to settle, and that score will be settled, but for the Order's sake I'll let it go for a while. He's giving Harry a hard time though. Probably because he looks like James. It's scary sometimes. He even has James's habit of chewing on his lip and frowning like a nutcase when he's thinking. And he's inherited his father's talent for Quidditch. He's grown into a fine kid, Niamh. I'm sure you'll love him. He's everything I imagined him to be.
I can't help but wonder if we would have had any children and what they would have looked like. Saoirse. Freedom. I've never forgotten what you told me, that day at Harry's crib. That name has stayed with me in Azkaban. Ironic, I know. Can you miss someone who doesn't exist? We never had the chance to make our own Freedom, but she would have been a lot like you; I just know it. She would have been a young woman by now. She'd be as beautiful as you are. And probably just as stubborn.
I know it's me who made you leave. I couldn't deal with it anymore than you could. It was good that you left. We needed some time to breathe, away from each other. If you had stayed, we would have just kept blaming ourselves and each other and ruined everything we had together.
It would have worked, had it not been for Peter.
I hate not knowing what happened to you after you disappeared. I wonder if you're alright, if you're happy. Maybe you've even found someone to love. A good man, I hope. Someone who's worthy of you. If not, and Remus is still around, you should hook up with him. You two can spend the rest of your days reading books.
Though I try to tell him to go for Nymphadora, Andromeda's daughter. He protests, of course, being all gentlemanly and indignant when I pry. Look at what I'm reduced to, being stuck in this hellhole. A gossiping old woman. You know I swore never to set foot in this house again, but it's the safest place for Headquarters you can imagine. There are bad memories everywhere. I can't escape them. I can't even breathe. Never mind, that's not important right now.
About Remus, I know he's attracted to my cousin. She is a Black, after all. We just have that kind of magnetism. Yes, yes, arrogant prat, I can hear you say it. Remus is all courteous towards her, very boring. He should just grab her, drag her to an empty room, and have his way with her, but every time I suggest that, he gets that shocked look in his eyes and mutters that 'she's just a child and related to me.' Tonks is many things, but a child she is not. Though she is family of mine. Probably won't work anyway now that Charlie is back from Romania. Blacks have a thing for redheads.
I'm rambling, I know. I just read what I've written and if you understand half of it, I salute you. But I'm not rewriting it. It was hard enough the first time; I don't think I can write it down again. Just thinking about you guts me. Niamh, don't be surprised if you cause Harry a shock. I haven't told him about you. I know I probably should – you're his godmother – but I don't even know where to begin. I don't know if you're still alive, where you are, if you even remember me. Of course you remember me, I'm the man you think betrayed you. What I mean is that I don't know if I'll ever see you again and I don't want to tell Harry all the god-awful things that happened when he'll probably never meet you. Talking to Remus about it is hard enough, let alone tell my godson that I am responsible for the torture of my own wife.
I just want you to know that I've always loved you. Nothing has changed that. I could never hurt you; you have to believe that. Remember me how I was. And what we had. It was real. None of it was a lie. You must believe that. I remember it all now. Your eyes, your laugh, your smell, your skin. The dreams and hope we shared. I still feel you next to me. I'll never let that go again. I'll die before they send me back to Azkaban. Our marriage may be over, but for me it doesn't stop there. I'll never let go of you. God, I wish I could see your face one more time. That would be enough. I know you're doing okay; you've always been strong. I hope we'll meet again, but if we don't, I wish you all the happiness in the world. Happy birthday. I miss you. Goodbye.
Yours, always
Sirius
Niamh stared at the letter for a long time, until Remus returned with the requested Firewhisky. "Are you alright?" he inquired hesitantly.
"I don't know," she answered slowly. She smoothened a crease in the parchment. "He wrote this letter a month or so before he died. It's very strange. Almost – almost a message from the grave."
Remus felt the hairs on his arms rise. "Do you mind me asking what he wrote?"
"That he misses me, that he's sorry, that he loves me – oh, Merlin." She pressed her hand against her mouth, stifling sudden sobs. "I don't know, I don't know," she gasped.
"What don't you know?"
"He says he loves me, but I don't know. I don't know if I love him!" she hiccoughed.
"Niamh," Remus said soothingly while pouring a glass of Firewhisky for her and handing it to her. "The story you told Harry and the others these few days spoke clearly. It told me that you do. I watched your eyes light up whenever you talked about him."
"I don't know," she persisted, tilting her head back and letting the Firewhisky glide down her throat. She coughed slightly and held out her glass for a refill. "Did you know I was an aunt?"
Remus raised an eyebrow, but didn't question the abrupt change of subject and filled her glass instead. "Deirdre has children?"
"Yes, two. Aidan Zabini, twelve, and Graínne, seven." Just like that, Niamh's tone had switched from confused and upset to business-like and distant. It occurred to Remus that his old friend had probably never fully given up Occlumency.
"Is he at Hogwarts?" he asked.
"Yes, in Slytherin. Asked me if I was related to his mother once."
"What did you say?"
"I said no. The boy doesn't need to know. Or at least, he doesn't need to hear from me."
"And… what about Rosier's child? With Sophie Westley?"
"There is no Rosier at Hogwarts. Only Blaise, Amelia's son. Bryce, his brother, never married."
"What could have happened to the child?" Remus wondered.
"There is, however, a Phoebe Westley in fifth year," she continued.
"Is she…?"
"She looks like a female Evan. A lot like her aunt Amelia actually."
"Merlin," Remus mumbled. "I think I'll join you." With that he poured a glass of Firewhisky for himself. "And you teach her?"
Finally, there was a small crack in Niamh's regained composure. She cast her eyes down for a moment. "It's not easy, but I said she looks like Evan. I did not say she is like him. She's a Ravenclaw, Remus, she's different. More proof you don't have to follow in your parents' footsteps." Her voice was urgent now, as if she wanted to convince him of this.
Remus smiled. "Like you and Sirius."
"Like us."
He looked shrewdly at her over the rim of his whisky glass. "That's where you went this afternoon, didn't you? You went to find Sophie."
"I didn't set out to. I just…" She shrugged. "I had to clear my head and wandered around London for a while. I thought about going to see Deirdre, but… All of a sudden it hit me that mine was not the only life Evan tore up. It took me fifteen years to realise that, can you imagine? So I went to Diagon Alley, asked around, and Apparated to Cornwall."
"How did she react to you?" he asked.
"I gave her the scare of her life. Oh, Remus, she's changed. She was always such a bright, bubbly, innocent girl," Niamh sighed. "Even after she married Evan. But what I found was a reclusive, distant woman with more lines in her face than I have, for Merlin's sake. Life hasn't been easy for her."
"I'm surprised she let her daughter go to Hogwarts. Didn't you say she was home-schooled herself?"
"She was. She didn't tell me, but I got the impression Dumbledore convinced her to send Phoebe to Hogwarts."
"And she was sorted into Ravenclaw," Remus added. "I suppose that's a comfort to Sophie."
"I reckon it is," Niamh nodded. She gave him a lopsided grin. "Dumbledore has a way of knowing things."
They were silent for a while.
Remus emptied his glass. "I'm glad you came back, Niamh, I am."
A teasing smile graced her lips. "I've missed you too, but for the life of me, I don't understand why you would miss me. You've always had your hands full with Sirius and me – and with James and Lily."
He snorted. "Yes, I had. First James loves a girl that can't stand the sight of him for six years. When that's solved, Sirius decides a Slytherin girl is just what he needs. I don't know how I survived."
"You poor thing," she drawled, grinning.
Remus did not miss the fact that despite her teasing, her eyes did not smile when her mouth did. He wondered if perhaps he was the only one who was glad she was back.
Niamh peered with heavy-lidded eyes at the bottle of Firewhisky. There was only a finger length of liquid left in the bottle. The rest seemed to be sloshing in her head. She stretched her legs in front of her and leaned her head backwards. A while ago she had slid down the sofa on the ground, leaning her back against the velvet, old piece of furniture.
Remus had joined her not long after and together they had gone through the photographs one more time, regaling old stories and pranks with the bottle of liquor between them.
Niamh felt pleasantly numb, unable to think about the things that haunted her mind. She knew she would regret in the morning, but she couldn't care less about it now.
"He really wrote that?" Remus asked disbelievingly. "Wanker."
"Never known for his subtlety, was he?" Niamh chuckled faintly. She took a large swig from the bottle, not sparing a second glance at her glass. "I suppose he's got a point. We would be content reading books for the rest of our lives."
Remus glanced sideways at her. "You're not serious, are you?"
She smiled at the opening for a pun he left her. "Is the idea that horrible to you? Thanks, Rem."
"No, of course not. You're a very attractive witch," he hastened to say. "It's just – I would – but – never mind, give me that bottle." He snatched it from her hand and poured the liquid down his throat.
"What would the kids say?" Niamh grinned. "Two of their professors getting trashed."
"While contemplating a dead man's matchmaking," he added darkly.
They sat in silence, passing the quickly emptying bottle between them. Finally Remus placed the drained bottle on the floor with a clunk.
"Remus…"
"Yes?"
"Would you…?"
"Oh, what the hell!" Remus turned towards her, cupped her face between her hands, and found her mouth.
Niamh kissed back. For a moment only their breathing could be heard in the room. Then they both drew back.
"Bugger."
"Damn it."
They leaned against the sofa again.
"Well, at least we tried," Niamh shrugged. "Sorry."
"Me too," Remus sighed.
"Should have known it was a bad idea to listen to Sirius. You should try that kiss on Tonks though. I bet it'll work."
"Summon another bottle, will you? Your wand is closer," Remus replied dryly.
Very late that night Niamh lay in her bed, staring at the moth-eaten canopy while the room around her was reeling. It felt as if her bed was spinning slowly in circles, adrift at sea. A sea of alcohol, she thought, groaning aloud.
Her whisky-induced state brought no more comfort. Talking about her past had stirred memories better off forgotten. They tugged at her from all sides like demanding hands.
It was nearly morning when she slipped into a slight slumber.
Harry knocked on his godmother's bedroom door.
"Enter," a slightly hoarse voice called. Harry stepped inside.
Niamh was standing in front of the window, her arms folded around herself.
"Niamh? Are you all right?"
"Oh, sure," she quickly nodded, her back still turned on him. "I'm fine."
Harry saw her cringe at her own words. She sighed and turned around. "No, I'm not fine." Niamh's eyes were red and underlined with black shadows, her face blotched. "I know I owe you an apology about yesterday, but I never wanted you to find out about all that. I'd never told anybody."
"Why not?" Harry asked.
"Why not?" she repeated incredulously. "Harry, it's not exactly something you discuss over dinner, is it?"
Harry chewed on his lip, deciding he wanted his answers now. "So...after you left for France, you never spoke to Sirius again?"
She shook her head. "Save for some letters."
"Do you still love him?"
"Harry," she sighed, leaning against the window sill. Her arms were still wrapped tightly around herself. "I've hated him for fifteen years. I've hated everything about the wizarding world for fifteen years. But most of all him. I believed he led two of my best friends to their deaths and killed a third. I lived in uncertainty, everything pointing in the direction of him turning me over to Voldemort. His own wife. Every moment from Christmas in seventh year to Halloween in 1981 had become a lie."
"That's not what I asked," Harry replied stubbornly.
"No, it's not," she admitted. "Do I still love him? I don't know. When I returned to England I had gathered every grain of hatred, vengefulness, and anger I still had, determined to finish it all once and for all. I flew up to Hogsmeade and visited Hogwarts. I like to believe I had Dumbledore surprised, but I doubt it." She chuckled. "And then he told me the truth. That I had hated a man for seeking revenge for the deaths of his friends and the torture of his wife. That I had hated a man who escaped only to protect his godson. That I had hated a man who never gave up, not on anything nor anyone. You ask me what I feel. It's guilt, Harry. A soul-consuming guilt. I don't know what else there is left – it doesn't matter anymore. He's gone. I'll never have the chance to find out."
"You shouldn't blame yourself," Harry said.
His godmother smiled wryly. "I've already had this conversation quite a few times."
"Well, you shouldn't."
"Oh, Harry, I wish it were that easy."
"Aren't you glad you know it wasn't all a lie?" Harry asked.
"Yes, I am… relieved." She turned back to the window, staring at a tree being battered by the icy wind. She looked desolate.
Harry found he didn't know what to say. He took a few steps, moving to stand beside her near the window. When he glanced to his left, he noticed he had to look down. His godmother only reached to his chin. She really was smaller than she appeared.
"I dream of him, you know," she told him softly after a long silence. Her voice held a pained longing. "So vividly, so detailed, so bright… that it makes me wonder if he perhaps is reality and my life a dream.
"I've always dreamt of him. For fifteen years. I'd go back to when all was still well and made sense, when I was still sure he loved me. I'd relive those days every night. And every morning I woke up, hating him even more."
She sighed. "But now, when I dream of him, I meet him again. We cross fifteen years of pain and loneliness. And every time I wake I hope I do not wake at all, but go to sleep, so that my dreams are reality and my life only a dream.
"But they never are. They never are."
A/N: Yes, there had to be a little Tonks/Remus in there, even though I started this story way before HBP was published and I hooked Tonks up with Charlie. I'm a canon-freak, I can't help it. And grrr, last week I found out they changed the ages and years the Marauders were at Hogwarts. So now a year is 'missing' in my story. I hate that!
On to the actual final chapter: the epilogue. (Which, I promise, will be up a whole lot sooner than this chappie was!)
