'When your day is long
And the night, the night is yours alone.
When you're sure you've had enough
Of this life, well hang on.'
"Everybody Hurts - R.E.M"
He stared into the bottom of the glass and sighed. There were no answers to be found there and never would be. The liquid only provided a temporary oblivion, and what he desired was a more permanent one. It was achievable...if he wanted it, he knew of ways to do it. The thought flickered through his mind again, tempting him about how easy it would be. No more pain, sorrow, anguish or guilt. No more feeling at all.
No! Some part of him was resistant to the invasive thoughts, and still wanted to live. The feeling of shame coursed through him. You can't consider it, the resistant part of him argued. All you've fought for, all they had fought and died for would be for nothing. You cannot give in! If you loved them, you must carry on for them. And he would win! You would be doing his job for him, making it that bit easier. You are alive...appreciate it. 'Where there is life, there is hope'. The other thoughts began to retreat. He could not help but find a smile forming upon his lips. A muggle saying, she had told him when she had first said it.
He rose from the chair, picking up the glass and bottle. He moved over to the sink, emptying the contents of both into it, then picking up a pan, pouring milk into it, hanging it on the hook above the fireplace and creating a fire in the hearth. 'The soothing balm for everything' she would say when drinking it. He hoped fervently that she would be down soon. She often was these days, and she was his soothing balm. He cursed himself for thinking it. 'You are old enough to be her father', he muttered to himself, but his thoughts about her were anything but fatherly, no matter how often he chastised himself.
He wished Remus was still here. He missed his friendship so much, they had been close, and he had always confided everything in him. Remus had always been able to advise him, would have known what to say about the dark suicidal thoughts he experienced, about the love and desire he felt for the lovely young woman upstairs. He longed to act on his feelings and tell her that he loved her. But this thought was countered by the stark reality that he was a world–weary man of forty and she was young enough to be his daughter. She would never think of him as he did her...what young woman would? His time for all that had passed, twelve years of it having been spent in Azkaban, he recalled bitterly.
But Remus was no longer here to advise to him...that bitch of a cousin of his had seen to that. Yet it would have been him gone from the world if it were not for Remus. That day at the Ministry of Magic when he and the other Order members had gone to rescue Harry and his friends. The killing curse Bellatrix fired from her wand had been intended for him. Remus had reacted, pushing him to safety and taking the full force of the deadly curse himself.
Sirius was only told what had happened the next day. He had hit his head after Remus had pushed him and been knocked unconscious. Harry had pursued Bellatrix and come face-to-face with Voldemort. Fortunately Dumbledore had intervened and Harry was strong enough to fight off Voldemort's possession of his body. He'd cried a river of tears at the news of Remus' death. The sorrow had equalled the sorrow of James and Lily's deaths. The guilt of Remus' death regularly ate at him...It should have been him. Remus' sacrifice had given him more precious time with Harry and he would be forever grateful to Remus for that.
Harry. Oh Harry, he thought, as a tear fell down his face. Two years had passed since Voldemort struck Harry from the world, and he'd regularly fantasised about closing his hands around Voldemort's neck and squeezing until the last breath left him. It would be small consolation for taking Harry and his friends from him, but it would be darkly satisfying. All that Harry been through and yet the boy had become a man before his eyes, still with a pure spirit and a courageous heart. He had been so like James, yet Lily's influence was also strong, and he'd loved him so much. Harry had been so close to destroying Voldemort, and his tenacity had amazed him. He never gave up, even until the end. If only all the Horcruxes had been found. It was not for want of effort, for Harry, Hermione and Ron had done their utmost to succeed under extreme circumstances.
The night of the Hogwarts battle still wounded his soul. Harry would not listen to the shouts of them all not to sacrifice himself. They all told him they would fight on alongside him, and he had tried to stop him, but Harry evaded him, and had gone into the Forbidden forest to face Voldemort alone, to spare the lives of those in the castle. He loved him for that...the courage and the concern he'd shown for others before himself.
The dawn of the following day broke the hearts of everyone inside Hogwarts, watching as Voldemort and his army walked into the courtyard. He had screamed in pain as he saw Hagrid carrying Harry's lifeless body. Arthur Weasley had held him back, for he would have run and thrown himself at Voldemort, and been dead before he'd even reached him. Arthur had prevented him. 'Harry would not want your death too,' he'd said as he'd wrapped his arms around him, holding him back. Kingsley had joined Arthur in restraining him.
The rest of that day and these two years were a hellish blur. There had been many more deaths that day. A few took up Voldemort's offer to join him, but most remained steadfast. Very few made it out alive once the battle began again, and he thought of those he had known that had gone. The Weasley's had been decimated...Arthur and Molly, Percy, Ron, Ginny and Fred; all had been lost. Only Charlie, Bill and George were left. Tonks, McGonagall; they had fallen too. Hermione Granger. The wonderful, brave and intelligent witch had been struck down. So many lives extinguished because of that evil bastard.
The survivors, himself included, now spent their lives in hiding. The few remaining members of the Order still continued to fight and try all they could to bring down Voldemort. New members had joined, but they were outnumbered by Voldemort's forces. Once the news of Harry's death broke out, most of the wizarding world had capitulated to Voldemort's reign of terror. Harry had been the beacon of hope for them and once he was gone, most believed the fight was over and they surrendered to the inevitable.
He'd seen her occasionally in the years of her protection by the Order, and from their first meeting had felt an unexpected flicker of attraction towards her. Those eyes of hers were striking and her smile had caused what felt like a bolt of electricity to shoot through him. He'd chastised himself for having those thoughts for a girl so much younger than him, and redirected his thoughts to more appropriate ones. When he'd been told why the Order were protecting her, he was horrified. The idea of any young woman being bound to Voldemort and giving him a child was revolting, and he'd felt extremely sympathetic that this threat hung over her. He'd never been directly involved in her protection, for his time and energies had been focused on Harry and the battle to defeat Voldemort.
After Harry's death the remains of the Order had gathered to re-group and plan where they went next. When the Order discussed her continued protection, he'd volunteered himself. At the time he'd based his decision upon a wish to protect another young life from Voldemort. He believed he had failed to protect Harry and saw this as an opportunity to make up for that. He was deep in grief for Harry and felt that keeping busy and having responsibility for someone would keep him from going under.
Almost two years on and he was continuing to succeed at his task of keeping her safe. However he had failed miserably at refraining from lusting over her, desiring her, falling in love with her.
You cannot help it, said the part of him that whooped with joy every time she was near. Eyes that when you looked into them, created the sensation you felt as you sank into a hot bath and felt the water soothe your aching muscles. Thick, glossy hair that you ached to touch, smell, to bury your face in, to have trailing down your naked body! Soft, full lips you wanted to brush your thumb over and taste with your own. A delicate heart–shaped face supported by an elegant neck that he ached to touch, to kiss, to nuzzle his nose against. A slender, delicate body he longed to explore and wrap his own body around. He shuddered with desire at the thought of her, then mentally checked himself. Forget it man! He also felt ashamed that it sounded like his interest in her was merely physical.
She was intelligent and had a maturity that belied her youth. They could talk about anything and everything, both serious and silly. She was fiery and passionate, had a wicked sense of humour and he had laughed almost as much in the past few months as he had as a teenager. They shared a similar taste in music, it was a passion of hers and he loved to watch her when she danced and lost herself in the music. She was kind, caring, warm and just plain wonderful. Her smile! Every time she smiled, he felt that the atmosphere around her lit up too, and a light lit up inside him and warmed him through. She was a light in the darkness for him. He sighed with both delight and sadness...nothing would come of these feelings for her. Why keep tormenting yourself?
He started slightly as he heard the door to the kitchen being opened, and turned round to see her enter the room.
'Morning Sirius', she said with a small smile, which he returned. 'Here we are again Rose! Looks like we'll both be watching the dawn break again this morning.' She walked up to the table and settled herself down on a chair, lifting her legs on the seat and hugging her knees against her chest. He noted the dark circles under her eyes and the shadows that crossed their depths.
'Bad dreams again?' He asked her softly. She looked up at him and sighed. 'Yes. I didn't cast the "dreamless" spell before I went to sleep, and he invaded my dreams again!' she finished angrily. Sirius' heart ached for her. Damn the bastard, he thought. 'Was it the same one as before?' he asked. 'Yes, I'm afraid it was.' She said, resting her chin on her knees and staring into space. She had never gone into any detail about the dreams she had. And as much as he wanted to know, he felt it best he didn't. He did not think he would contain himself if he knew how the sick, evil bastard tormented her in sleep. It would only upset her more and torture him. He sensed she wanted to keep this torment to herself, so he did not ask her.
'Would mademoiselle care to partake of a hot chocolate with me? The milk is warming through as we speak.' She smiled at him, 'Why monsieur, you read my mind. I accept your kind offer most graciously.' He laughed. 'And how would mademoiselle like her hot chocolate? Plain and simple, or with a little je ne sai quoi?' She laughed again. 'You know how I like it monsieur, Marshmallows and chocolate sprinkles si vous plait.' He chuckled and replied, 'As you wish mademoiselle. But you are sweet enough already!' He cringed inwardly the moment he'd said it. She smiled and the colour rose in her cheeks. Idiot, he said to himself as he looked away. She was probably thinking how cheesy it was and how embarrassing to have an old dog like him making remarks like that to her. 'Sirius,' she said, 'would you like to go up and sit on the roof when our drinks are ready? We could watch the sunrise together.'