Disclaimer: Nope.
Hello everyone. I am so incredibly sorry for not updating in a few weeks.
Two weeks ago, I had a truly terrible week. RL got a bit too much for me and therefore my muse died. When I was able to get it back again, it was slow. I had to work on this chapter in fits and starts, but today, when I finally finished it, the end of it just flowed. I am really sorry for the delay but am very glad I am back up on my feet. I hope the quality of this chapter makes up for it.
I'm really glad you like the nuanced approach to Dumbledore, and thank you for your compliments about the last chapter between him and Minerva. Yes, I am definitely going to write the conversation between him and Harry, and the one between him and Aberforth as well. I hope you think well of what I will do with those conversations.
I'm also glad you liked Dumbledore's ready acceptance of his fate. It always struck me that he would be the type of person who would not fear it at all, considering how he acted in canon.
Anyway, I really hope you guys enjoy this chapter.
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Sirius sighed, sitting back on the couch as he sipped at his cup of tea. At this moment, he was sorely tempted to drink Firewhiskey, but he viciously beat those feelings back. There was so much weighing on his mind, and he wished for something to take it all away.
Harry was in the basement kitchen, having an Occlumency lesson with Emmeline Vance. She had agreed to take over from Moody, as she, too, knew the art of Occlumency. Two days ago, which had been Monday, Harry had revealed the information about his scar link, which she hadn't known before. Since Harry would be trusting her to look into his head, he felt she had to know. He knew she would take it extremely seriously.
And then, he had told her the news about his own status as a Horcrux. Emmeline's expression had been very closed-off as he had explained, not letting a flicker of emotion show. Harry and Sirius knew, however, that this didn't mean she felt nothing. It was plain to see that she cared for Harry in her own way. She vowed to do whatever she could to help him, and Harry was exceedingly grateful.
Then, the Order had received the news about Dumbledore. Sirius had felt a million emotions spiral over him at hearing about it. Harry's expression had been so open and vulnerable at that moment, and he couldn't hide what he was feeling. When McGonagall told Harry that Dumbledore had asked for him, it hadn't taken much for the boy to agree. Therefore, he and Sirius were going to Hogwarts tomorrow.
Sirius didn't really know how to feel. Part of him wanted to object - he did not want Harry and Dumbledore in the same room. The old man had hurt his godson so badly - the last thing he wanted was them interacting.
But he was dying, and he knew Harry needed closure. And he knew that Harry was a far more forgiving person than he ever could be. Plus, the boy wouldn't feel right if he didn't see the man whom he had once trusted implicitly.
And there was also the fact that as many times as he'd seen death, Harry had never been able to say goodbye to those he had seen it happen to. He'd said goodbye to Cedric, but it was only his body he had really said goodbye to - the soul that had inhabited it was gone. This was the one death that would not be violent and horrific, and Harry would get the chance to say all that he needed to. Sirius might be his guardian, but he needed to let Harry make his own decision. And it was obvious what Harry would want to do.
As he had lain in bed on Monday night, Sirius felt like he was drowning in all the emotions that were hitting him. Was it a coincidence that Albus had developed magical exhaustion so soon after their confrontation? He'd never forget the look on his old mentor's face as Sirius delivered the final blow, asking him if he would have killed Harry himself. He'd seemed to collapse under the weight of all his mistakes, and it was the first time Sirius had ever seen Albus completely come undone like that. Sirius had used his words as weapons, and they had wounded Albus more than he'd ever expected.
Was it his fault that the man was now in his last days? Or had it been the loss of one of his oldest, dearest friends that had done it? Sirius realized that Albus did feel immense guilt for what had happened to Alastor Moody during the year he had been locked in his magical trunk, even though he'd lost all the memories of that entire school year. Had it been his death that had pushed Albus over the edge?
Or was it a combination of all those factors, including the horrific ordeal the old man had been put through by those wicked Mind Healers? Whatever had contributed to Albus's illness, Sirius could only speculate. The thing of it was, though - and Sirius despised even thinking about it - if part of it had been because of his words, Sirius didn't feel guilty. And what kind of person did that make him?
But whenever he thought of Harry and all that he had endured, he felt justified in his lack of guilt. It was similar to the thoughts he had of Pettigrew. He knew he and James had not treated him well - they had teased him and made fun of him, laughing at him rather than with him. Still, when he saw James and Lily's lifeless bodies behind his eyelids, he felt as though Peter had deserved everything he and James had done. And he knew this was backwards thinking, but in those moments he could hardly bring himself to care.
And truthfully, the part of him, the dark part that reveled in hurting people, that used words like they were knives, felt vindicated when he thought of Dumbledore. It was a part of him he very rarely acknowledged, but a part of him he had reflected upon so much more since Harry had become his sole responsibility. It was a part of him he desperately wanted to be rid of, and he had vowed Harry would never see. It was the part of him that had thoughtlessly used Remus as a weapon against Snape. It was the part of him that had used vicious spells against Death Eaters, not thinking about the consequences. It was the part of him that knew exactly what buttons to push that would hurt the most, because he observed people and knew where their sore spots were. It was the part of him that acted first and thought later, when the damage was done and he couldn't take it back.
But Harry knew that Sirius was struggling, even without him saying anything, and once again, it was Harry who brought him light. He, too, was struggling with his emotions towards Dumbledore, and preparing himself for that meeting with him. That bravery that Sirius knew so well was rearing its head as Harry was once again ready to face something extremely difficult. Sirius couldn't be prouder of the boy if he tried.
The Order was also having mixed reactions to Dumbledore's illness, and thankfully, Sturgis was continuing to hold his evening gatherings. Sirius had initially thought that Sturgis wouldn't want to meet with them on Monday due to finding out about Dumbledore, but he'd been wrong. This was a very different situation from suddenly losing Mad-Eye Moody. Everyone's feelings, including Sturgis's, on Dumbledore were very complicated.
In fact, Sturgis had seemed to blaze even more brightly during the last few evening gatherings. Sirius reflected that Sturgis was the kind of person who, at first, needed that moment to process an enormous loss when it happened, but when he was ready to see people again, he threw himself into it headfirst, needing that distraction, that stability of seeing familiar faces. Saturday, Monday, and yesterday's evening gatherings had been over three hours long - it was almost as though Sturgis was making up for missing it on Friday - which was the day of the battle and Alastor's death - although there was absolutely nothing to make up for. Sirius also thought that he needed the Order right now as much as they needed him. It wasn't an exaggeration to say that there was love in the community they had created. Every smile, every embrace, every kind word they exchanged with one another only made them stronger.
They had spent the last two nights speaking about Dumbledore and their complicated feelings about him. Several of the members had agreed to go to Hogwarts to see him, and were currently arranging times to go. When they weren't discussing Dumbledore, they were continuing to reminisce over Alastor Moody.
And when they didn't want to discuss either of those things, they worked out in the exercise room, or laughed with Sturgis as he used his normal brand of humor to get them all through the tough times. Honestly, Sirius felt so incredibly close to this group of people. It was so different to how it had been at the end of the First War, when people had lost their trust in one another, when the Order was fractured and they could barely look at one another without a glare. And once it had been established that it was one of the Marauders that was the traitor, things for Sirius had fallen apart completely. There couldn't have been a more stark contrast between then and now - Sturgis knew how to lead the Order, and do it in a way where they could all remain together and trust each other.
Sirius sighed again as he sipped his tea, closing his eyes as the warmth of it filled his body. He smiled as a sudden image of Remus filtered through his mind. He and the other Marauders used to tease Remus endlessly over his tea consumption. "I reckon your body's entirely made of the stuff," James had laughed. "Merlin, Moony, how do you sleep at night with all the tea you drink?"
"Leave some of it for us, mate," Sirius had smirked. "You're the least selfish out of all of us. You don't want to lose that title, do you?"
Remus had only smirked back as he purposely took another sip of his tea. Sirius had felt his heart lighten at the blissful expression on Remus's face. He cherished every moment his friend looked contented, because his terrible condition took so much out of him. Remus always said that tea soothed the soul, and Sirius could literally see what he meant just by the look on his face.
Now, all these years later, Sirius reckoned he drank just as much tea as Remus did. He might be a terrible cook, but he could at least prepare tea correctly. He'd prepared it just before Emmeline arrived to tutor Harry. He could, of course, ask Kreacher to do it, and a petty part of him wanted to. But ever since he'd found out about what happened to Regulus and the part Kreacher had played in the entire affair, his heart had marginally softened towards him. He still disliked the elf immensely - he could never forget how he had been treated by him - but he found that the loathing had decreased in intensity.
Suddenly, his fireplace roared to life. He put his tea down and bolted to his feet, instantly alert. When someone showed up in his Floo with no advanced notice, his heart always raced.
He was surprised to see Tonks's head sitting in his Floo. When Sirius had seen her for the first time in over a decade, he had been shocked by how much she had grown. She was no longer the little girl Sirius had taken out for ice cream in Diagon Alley, the little girl who thought up crazy games to play with him. Sirius's heart had ached at the pure innocence that had radiated from her then, although he always had the feeling she knew way more than she let on. She'd make offhand comments about the war sometimes, eluding to things that had been in the Daily Prophet. He knew Andromeda and Ted had tried to keep the war as far away from her as they could, but Dora was sneaky - she always had been.
When he'd first seen her again at his trial, she'd turned into a beautiful young woman. She still had that playful demeanor she'd always exuded, but there was a solemnity about her face as well when she looked at him. She seemed so right in the position of Auror, but at the same time, Sirius's heart had broken. She could get hurt or worse in this war, and Sirius still felt the fierce need to protect her, just like he had when she was little. She was yet another person he felt guilty about for leaving for a decade. Yet, she had forgiven him instantly, welcoming him back into her life with open arms.
As Sirius gazed at her now, there was none of the playfulness that normally defined her. She was completely serious. "What's going on? What's wrong?" Sirius asked quickly.
There was a moment before Tonks spoke. When she did, her words caught Sirius completely off-guard. "Is now a good time for my mum to come and see you?" she asked quietly.
Sirius felt a jolt throughout his entire body. Andromeda. Andromeda was finally, after so long, ready to see him. Hadn't he just been thinking of her the other day? Hadn't he been longing to see her, to talk to her, once again?
He couldn't answer quickly enough. "Yes ... yes," he said, his heart racing. "Send her over."
Since Dora was still living with her parents, Sirius wouldn't need to do anything extra for Andromeda to come through the Floo network. He was relieved for it, because at that moment he wanted nothing more than to see her face again. "She's ... she's ready to talk?" he asked, cursing himself for the naked vulnerability he knew was contained in his voice.
Tonks only smiled softly. "She is," she murmured quietly. "I convinced her."
Sirius wasn't at all surprised. Dora had a way of bringing things out of Andromeda that no one else could - not even Sirius. Not even Ted. "Thank you," he said softly.
Dora smiled again. "Good luck," she said as she disappeared from the fireplace. Moments later, he heard it roar to life again as a well-loved figure from his past tumbled out.
The years had been kind to Andromeda Tonks. She looked as straight-backed, proud, and poised as she ever had, and there was no denying her beauty. She and her sister, Bellatrix, looked very much alike, but the contrast between their personalities couldn't be more stark. Andromeda had kindness in her eyes, and she had laugh lines around her mouth due to the happiness she had found with Ted and Dora. Obviously, Sirius hadn't seen Bellatrix for years, although he had heard her mad, crazed voice constantly during his time in Azkaban. He'd never forget how she screamed for her Dark Lord, how her faith in him was absolute. She was convinced he would return and come for her, and her cackling laughter had always sent chills down his spine, yet the anger in his heart burned whenever she spoke. Sometimes, Sirius couldn't help but wonder what she looked like now - she was, no doubt, gaunt and skinny, just like he had been when he'd first escaped the prison, and the madness in her eyes would be more pronounced than ever.
But Andromeda wasn't Bellatrix, no matter how alike they looked. As Sirius got his first look at her in over a decade, a barrage of memories rushed over him. He remembered how they whispered in each other's ears during those awful, "parties" the Blacks used to throw, when everyone "important" in pureblood society showed up. The snobby pureblood families would try and one-up each other by deciding who would host the blasted thing. Sirius had decided that "party" was certainly not the word he would use to describe each occasion.
True, there was food and drink, and yes, there was dancing. But it was proper, and snooty, and so bloody formal that it made Sirius's skin crawl. There was no fun or merriment, no joy. It was all about who was better than who, and there was plenty of talk of how disgusting Mudbloods were and how filthy Muggles were. It was all about shaking slimy hands and kissing the arses of those most influential. It was all about respectability and propriety, hoity-toity pomp and circumstance, and all that rot. In other words, every single bit of it was bullshit.
The only fun Sirius had gotten out of it was exchanging a secret grin with Andromeda as they attempted to be the perfect little purebloods. Andromeda was much better at it than Sirius who, the morning after every single one of those "parties", got reprimanded over his "disgraceful behavior". Andromeda was much better at keeping her feelings a secret than Sirius was.
"I wish you wouldn't get yourself in trouble every time," she had once told him quietly. "You know I feel the same way you do about these occasions, but it's not worth the constant punishments you receive afterwards."
"Yes, it is," Sirius had disagreed vehemently. "It's always worth it, Andie."
"Don't call me that," Andromeda had scowled, but her eyes twinkled in such a way that let Sirius know that she was only pretending to be annoyed with him.
After that particular conversation, Sirius always made it a point to corner her and whisper "Andie" in her ear, chuckling at her reaction. "You're the only one I let get away with that," she had told him. "Not even Narcissa is allowed."
"I'm honored," Sirius had laughed. "Thank you, My Lady," he'd added, bowing to her in the way the snooty purebloods in his family always did. But his was purposely exaggerated, causing Andromeda to roll her eyes, her face adopting a look of disdain that only made him laugh.
Now, all these years later, Sirius had the sudden urge to call her "Andie" again, and he had the temptation to grin and bow to her like he had done all those times before. But he didn't, because Andromeda's expression was closed and she did not embrace him. Instead, she just looked at him, not showing any of her feelings. Sirius's heart hurt, because she was staring at him in the same way she used to look at her blood family. "Hello, Sirius," she said in a stiff, formal tone that didn't fit her at all.
"Hello, Andromeda," Sirius replied as the two reunited family members just stared at one another. "Kreacher," he said, and the old house-elf immediately popped into existence.
"Please make us some tea," Sirius said, although it was the last thing he wanted him to do. He was desperate to enter the basement kitchen and prepare it himself like he had earlier, but he certainly wasn't going to interrupt Harry and Emmeline's lesson. He needed to do something with his hands, because facing Andromeda and her closed expression was breaking him.
All was quiet as they waited for Kreacher to return with the tea, which, thankfully, he did within a few minutes. The fire crackled as Andromeda took a seat. Even as she sat, her posture was stiff as she fell back on her pureblood roots. Without realizing he was doing it, Sirius copied her. For some reason, he felt it was wrong to slouch in front of her. This conversation was going to be very important.
Finally, Sirius could take the silence no longer. "I hear that Dora was the one who convinced you to come here," he murmured.
Andromeda nodded. "She did," she replied quietly. "She said that after what happened to Alastor ..." She trailed off.
Sirius understood. Dora must have impressed upon her the importance of saying what needed to be said, of clearing the air, because you never knew what could happen in a war. Sirius could only imagine the conversation that had taken place between mother and daughter.
"Look," Sirius said, desperate to get the words out. "If anyone knows something about holding grudges, it's me. I understand, Andromeda, more than you think I do. For years, we were the only ones who got it, the only ones who could talk to one another and truly understand how insane our family was, that their values left ... much to be desired," he said, his tone sardonic at the end. "I can't imagine how you must have felt when you thought I betrayed all of that."
Andromeda looked at him directly then, and Sirius could finally detect her emotions. There was so much hurt swimming in her eyes that it almost stole his breath. Her words were clear and precise, cutting Sirius to the bone just like his own words could do. "I wasn't upset for myself," she said slowly. After a moment she amended, "Well ... that's a lie. But ... I was more upset for my Nymphadora."
Sirius instantly felt his guilt resurface as more memories swarmed over him. Through the years, he'd always tried to make time for sweet, innocent little Dora, even when the war grew worse and worse and his responsibilities as an Auror and as an Order member piled up. He tried to see her once a week - it started out as him taking her for ice cream, or out to a local park, or out for a meal. As things grew more dangerous and he grew more wary of taking her out, he'd entertained her in his flat. That was a lot more difficult, as Sirius had a harder time finding things to do, but Dora was a very great help in that area. She had a wild imagination, and if anything, she cured Sirius's boredom, not the other way around.
He'd never forget the last time he saw her as a little girl. Things had happened so extraordinarily fast, and Sirius knew that, when he saw her, it might very well be the last time. The night before his last visit, he had been talking with Andromeda in his flat's fireplace. Like many of his worst memories, it had plenty of replay in Azkaban, and even now, he could recall it more vividly than ever before.
"Are you still coming tomorrow?" Andromeda had asked him, the worry lines in her face apparent.
Sirius had smiled, even though he felt so jittery inside - but he had to be brave and strong for her, brave and strong for Dora.
Everything was happening too fast, and his life was about to change forever. In less than twenty-four hours, everything had changed. "Don't worry," he had told Andromeda. "I'll be there tomorrow. But after that ..."
"I know," Andromeda had said quietly. "I know, Sirius, and I understand."
Sirius had felt awful at that moment, because he was desperate to tell Andromeda what was going on, desperate to tell her why he might not be able to see Dora for a long time after this. Maybe he might not ever see her again.
But he couldn't. He couldn't tell her, because he wasn't allowed. He trusted her implicitly, but wasn't trust the reason he and Lily and James were in this situation in the first place? He had to be careful of who he told what, because ...
"It really is all right, Sirius," Andromeda had whispered. "I don't hold it against you, you know that. Just ... just give Dora a good time tomorrow."
"I will," Sirius had promised, meaning it with everything he had. "I will."
And he had, or at least he'd attempted to. He'd come to the house the next day, and laughed with Dora over silly stories. Dora had entertained him with her imagination, her smile bright as she changed her face and hair constantly, making Sirius laugh.
But the entire time, there was something that hung over her. She didn't bring it up, and neither did Sirius, but he had a suspicion she knew about his and Andromeda's conversation in the fireplace the night before. Dora had a way of being sneaky and stealthy, and not even Andromeda and Ted could curtail all her mischief. She was known for being such a klutz, and yet, when it truly mattered, she was somehow able to keep it at bay.
At the end of their time together, she'd hugged him extra tightly, and Sirius had kissed the top of her head. "I'll see you later," he had said simply, because how could he possibly say the word "goodbye"? Somehow, "see you later" was a lot less painful. Dora seemed to accept this, smiling bravely at him as she'd returned the sentiment - "See you later, Sirius."
"I was never angry with you for not being allowed to inform us of what was going on then," Andromeda said, pulling him back to the present. "Not even after you left, when Dora came to me and confessed that she'd heard our conversation in the fire. Dora and I ... we always do better with more information, but there are some things that just ... have to be kept secret. Even at eight years old, Dora understood that."
Sirius nodded, his suspicions confirmed - he'd had a feeling that Dora knew something.
"She came to me," Andromeda continued softly. "I'll never forget her face as she asked, "Sirius isn't coming next week, is he? He's got ... something very important to do, doesn't he?""
Sirius could clearly see the pain in her face now. "I couldn't lie to her," she said quietly. "I could give her hope that next week would happen as normal, but ... I couldn't. I told her that no, you weren't coming next week, and yes, you had something very important to do. She seemed to accept it, although I knew it broke her little heart."
Sirius just sat there, listening to her as he looked into her face. Memories from that time period continued to assault him as Andromeda went on.
"But ... that night, I heard her crying in her room," she continued relentlessly. "She asked me why you always had to go and be the hero. She understood that what you were doing would probably save lives, but what if something happened to you? She asked me why you couldn't just stay put and keep yourself safe. "Because that's not who he is, darling," I told her. "If he just stayed at home and didn't do anything to help the war, would he truly be the person you were so inspired by?" She just looked at me and softly said no. Sirius, Dora ... you were her hero, her role model. She thought the sun rose and set on you. She told me that night that she wanted to be just like you when she grew up. She'd said you'd do anything for anybody."
Sirius felt tears pressing at his eyes at Andromeda's heartfelt words. "I'm no one's hero or role model," he said hoarsely. "I'm far too flawed for that."
Andromeda shook her head, her face softening slightly. "You were hers," she whispered. "All she ever did was talk about you. It was all Ted and I ever heard about, about how wonderful you were, about how you always made her laugh, about how the time would just pass in a blink whenever you were together."
Sirius was forcibly reminded of his own words about Sturgis, and the way his best mates teased him about his hero worship of him. He knew they meant well, but they honestly didn't understand how integral, how important, how essential Sturgis had become in his life. Was he really that important to someone else? Had Tonks really thought that of him?
Andromeda seemed to read Sirius's thoughts. "You were the sun in her sky, Sirius, and you hung the moon and stars," she said softly. "It seemed that every conversation she had with Ted and I ... it always came back to you, somehow. Whatever we were talking about, she found some way to incorporate something you did or said."
Needless to say, Sirius was shocked. Merlin ... how could anyone ever idolize him? Yet, there were many times Harry looked at him like that as well. He never thought he could be to anyone else what someone like Sturgis had become to him.
"Anyway," Andromeda went on, "I consoled her that night until she finally went to sleep. In the days that followed, she tried to find ways to cope with your absence. She tried to imagine what you might be doing, what secret mission you'd been sent on. She concocted many a story about your heroism, and every idea was more fantastical than the last."
Sirius smiled softly. "She always did have a vivid imagination," he said quietly.
Andromeda smiled back. "She was desperate for Ted and I to join her in her creativity," she explained. "We indulged her, because we were glad she had found a way to cope. We came up with many different ideas, one of them being that you acted like one of those heroes she liked seeing in the Muggle films Ted showed us."
Sirius couldn't help but grin. Lily had shown the Marauders a Muggle film or two, and Sirius had always been fascinated by them. "She sure made me sound interesting," he said wistfully.
Andromeda smiled sadly. "We all coped with the situation as best we could, but it was clear that Dora missed you more than words could ever convey," she said softly. "We hoped that time would soften it the longer you were gone, because it was so hard to see her like that."
Sirius opened his mouth to apologize, but Andromeda held up a hand. "No, Sirius. We understood that things had to be that way - it was part of your job. We knew you cared about us ... or ..."
"You thought I did, until you saw the news," Sirius finished for her, his heart breaking.
"Yes," Andromeda whispered. "We woke up on November 1, 1981, and learned that ... the war was over, and that Lily and James were ..."
Sirius nodded, a painful lump forming in his throat. "And you couldn't hide that from Dora."
"Of course we couldn't," Andromeda replied. "And, as much as we knew how much she idolized you, we didn't expect the forcefulness of her reaction. So many people were celebrating ... but she started sobbing. The first thing she said was that she knew it would destroy you. You loved Lily and James so much, and ..." She swallowed. "Dora didn't think she'd ever see you again," she whispered. "She kept saying that you wouldn't want to see anyone after ... after that. She was completely inconsolable. But Ted and I tried to comfort her, telling her that, well, baby Harry was still alive, and he would help you. And we also told her that she could help, too. It would be her job to bring sunshine back into your life. We said you might not want to talk to anyone right then, but eventually you'd come around, and she promised to do everything she could to help you."
Sirius felt pain suffuse his soul as he listened to how events had unfolded in the Tonks household. "She was right," he whispered brokenly. "Their deaths did destroy me ... but not in the way she thought."
Andromeda couldn't keep her expression closed no matter how hard she tried - her mask was cracking more and more. "Later that day, the news came that you ... that you had apparently gone mad, killing Pettigrew and all those Muggles, and ..."
She stopped, unable to speak for a moment, and Sirius wanted nothing more than to reach out to her. But he was unsure of how she'd react, so he refrained from taking her hand, although it took everything inside of him not to do so.
"We couldn't keep this from her, either," Andromeda said softly. "We wish we could have, but we knew it wouldn't have been right. Sirius, she ... Merlin, I've never seen anyone so heartbroken.
"She refused to believe it," Andromeda continued, her words coming out in a rush. "She kept saying that there must have been some kind of horrible mistake. She was convinced of it. She was screaming and crying and ..."
Sirius felt tears coming to his eyes again, his mind conjuring up sweet little Dora and how she must have felt. "I'm sorry," he whispered, closing his eyes. "I'm ... I'm so sorry."
"She shut herself in her room and just wouldn't come out," Andromeda explained. "Ted and I tried to coax her out with all kinds of activities, but she refused. For weeks she woke up screaming from nightmares about Dementors."
Every single word was like a sharp knife being stabbed right through Sirius's heart. He couldn't stop the tears that fell from his eyes as he understood the ramifications of his actions from the perspective of someone else he cared about deeply. He knew what he had done to Harry and Remus, and now, hearing it from Andromeda, he felt like the world's worst person.
"They say time heals all wounds, and yes, Dora was able to move on with her life, as were we," Andromeda whispered. "But ... she was never quite the same again. She would flinch whenever your name was brought up. But she always, always maintained that the story about what you'd done just didn't make any sense. She kept saying that that's not who you were. Sirius, you are the reason she worked so hard to become an Auror. She always said that one day, she was going to ask you why, because she just couldn't understand it at all. She always had faith in you."
Sirius was floored. "She is so strong now," he whispered. "I never deserved her trust, her faith. You ... you never had as much faith in me as she did, though." There was no accusation in Sirius's voice - only truth. "Because you, unlike Dora, saw the darkness inside me, and which direction it could go. You didn't want to doubt me, but all the evidence was against me, and so ..."
Andromeda looked at him with so much guilt that it tore him up inside. It also provided him with a realization - maybe there was another reason Andromeda hadn't wanted to see him for so long. Perhaps she still held a grudge - but perhaps it was also out of guilt, for losing faith in him, for believing that he had become a murderer.
"I ... I'm so sorry." Andromeda's voice was barely audible. "I should have ... should have fought for you. You didn't even get a trial at the time. You were just thrown in Azkaban without a second thought. I should have ..."
"No," Sirius croaked, and this time he couldn't help himself. He reached for her hand then, and instead of pushing it away, she took it. Sirius felt a sudden surge of hope flood through him even as tears still flowed down his face. "There's no point in destroying yourself by going over what you should have done and what you shouldn't have done. Believe me, I've been there and done that for over a decade."
Sirius opened his eyes, and saw that Andromeda had closed hers as she took deep breaths. She was unable to find anything to say, so Sirius went on, giving voice to what he knew was true.
"No matter how hard I tried to distance myself from the rest of the Blacks, I always knew there was this ... darkness inside of me," he whispered. "And you knew it, too. That's why it wasn't beyond the realm of possibility for you to believe that I did such terrible things. Andromeda, you grew up with Bellatrix. You understood how unhinged she is. It couldn't have been that hard to believe that I was just like her. And ..."
"No." Andromeda spoke sharply, and Sirius was shocked when she squeezed his hand tightly. "You are not like Bellatrix. And I should have known that." She paused, taking a deep breath. "That will always be my greatest regret," she whispered.
Sirius stared at her, squeezing her hand back. "Well," he said, struggling for words, "I think the best thing we can do for ourselves and each other is learn to live past our regrets."
Andromeda smiled painfully. "I reckon you're right."
After a moment where the two cousins continued to gaze at one another, Sirius said, "I need ... I need to tell you what happened in those days that led up to me leaving so suddenly, and why everything happened so quickly."
Andromeda immediately shook her head. "You don't have to. You don't owe me anything," she said softly. "Sirius, I know that some things are too painful to talk about. I can guess what happened - you don't need to tell me anything."
"No," Sirius said stubbornly. "I ... I need to. I need you to know."
Andromeda went quiet then, simply waiting for him to continue. Sirius knew that she'd realized she could not dissuade him.
"The night we had that conversation in the fireplace, James and Lily had been attacked in their home hours earlier," Sirius said as he was once again drowned in an influx of memories. "Their house was very heavily warded, but Voldemort ..." She flinched at hearing the monster's name. "Sorry," he murmured.
"Dora says the name now, too. I have to get used to it."
Sirius simply nodded, and continued. "Er ... Voldemort knew how to get through the wards," he said quietly. "Thank Merlin, James was able to shoot a very quick Patronus to me. I instantly called for reinforcements and went to Godric's Hollow. I think what saved them and all of us was that Dumbledore showed up. The instant Voldemort saw Dumbledore, he scarpered like the coward he is. James, Lily, and Harry escaped by the skin of their teeth ... but it was too close ... way too close."
Sirius vividly remembered the sharp taste of fear, the way his heart raced, the way his entire body had jolted into action at the knowledge that his best friends and his godson were in danger. He distinctly recalled the way the adrenaline had shot through him, remembered the desperation and the terror. He also remembered the way he shook uncontrollably afterwards, when they'd escaped to Order Headquarters, which had been a house that Dumbledore had found and used. It had been under a Fidelius Charm, with Dumbledore as the Secret Keeper. He remembered how James and Lily had held each other and Harry between them, and how the boy had innocently stared at his parents with no real idea what was going on but could sense their fear, could sense that they didn't want to let go of him. ...
"We knew, then, that we needed to take further action," Sirius continued, shaking himself out of those horrific memories. "James and Lily had been hesitant to go into complete hiding, especially James, who wanted to fight Voldemort and his supporters in the open. But when the monster himself turned up at their home, and was moments away from killing Harry ..."
Sirius stopped, his throat constricting. He'd never forget Lily's desperate voice, tears streaming down her face as she gasped, "I can't do this anymore, James. We need ... we need to go into hiding."
She had looked at James pleadingly like she'd expected him to argue, but when he gazed back at her, Sirius knew he wasn't going to. Instead, he'd taken her hand in his, looked her right in the eye and said softly, "I agree. There's nothing else to do."
"We had to plan very quickly," Sirius told Andromeda once he felt he could speak again. "We knew they needed the Fidelius Charm."
"What about Order Headquarters?" Andromeda asked quietly. "Couldn't they have stayed there?"
"That was something we talked about, yes," Sirius replied, his heart aching. "But there were always people flitting in and out of there, and ... they felt most comfortable in their own home. Since Headquarters already had a Fidelius Charm on it, we knew that would be the best way to protect them. Little did we know ..." He stopped again, and only the grip Andromeda had on his hand saved him from a complete breakdown at that moment.
"I agreed to be Secret Keeper, and both Albus Dumbledore and Alastor Moody agreed to ward my flat," Sirius went on. "It would take a few days to do, so Lily and James agreed to stay at Headquarters until everything was in order.
"But that night," Sirius continued, "I couldn't sleep. Something James said kept running through my mind - he said that he would never take our friendship for granted, and we started reminiscing about old times and about how everyone and their grandmother knew how close we were as friends."
"And it was then that you realized you couldn't be Secret Keeper for that simple reason," Andromeda surmised in a whisper. "You weren't afraid for yourself ... Dora told me what you said at your trial, that you'd be honored to die for them." She choked out the words, the emotion thick in her voice. "It was them you were afraid for, because you doubted your own capability if ... if you were captured."
Sirius nodded. "Exactly."
For a quiet minute, they just sat with each other. The moment felt enormous as everything Sirius had told her sank into Andromeda's mind.
Then, Sirius spoke again. "After I visited with you, Ted, and Dora the next day, I went back to Headquarters and convinced James and Lily of the new plan," he said, his voice growing hoarse. "James ... he ..."
"He didn't take it well, but you convinced him," Andromeda said. "He didn't want you to die for a secret you didn't even possess, but knowing you as I do, you would have said all the right words to make him agree."
Sirius's expression was terribly sad, because it was true. He had always been good at using words. "Yes," he whispered. "And ... two days later, it was done. My flat was warded, Peter agreed to the plan, and Lily performed the Fidelius Charm. I had no idea when I would see anyone again other than Peter, who I had agreed to visit sometimes to make sure he was still safe. Everyone else - even Dumbledore - was under the impression that I was the true Secret Keeper.
"I didn't cope with hiding very well," Sirius confessed, knowing that this was the understatement of the century. "You know me - I'm all about action. It's ... not who I am, to just sit in a flat and ... well ... just not do anything at all. The only thing that got me through was that I kept telling myself I wasn't doing nothing - I was doing something truly important. Protecting my family." He breathed deeply. "But ... By Halloween, I was ... I was stark raving mad."
The memories of the desperate letter he'd written to Sturgis, his restless sleep in the afternoon, and the clock he had destroyed filtered through his mind. "I reached my breaking point, and when ... when I learned that ..." He swallowed convulsively. "You know the rest of it," he choked, those recollections much too painful, but he had to finish. "I found their destroyed house ... their bodies ... and Hagrid told me I couldn't have Harry. I had reached the end of my endurance and ... I went after Peter. And that ... that was it."
He was crying again, but this time he wasn't embarrassed - because this time, so was she. "Oh, Sirius," Andromeda whispered.
Neither of them knew precisely when or how it had happened, but the two found themselves embracing for the first time in fourteen years, holding so tightly to one another as if afraid they'd break if they let go. "Sirius, I cannot imagine what you must have endured," Andromeda whispered through her sobs.
"Don't," Sirius said, still holding her close. "It's over now. I'm back where I belong."
They hugged and cried for several minutes. Finally, Andromeda released him from her hold, and they both sat down again.
After a moment, Andromeda suddenly looked at him in awe. "You're ... wow," she breathed. "The last time you saw Dora then ... all of that was going on behind the scenes, and you still came. You had to prepare, to plan ... you were ready to die, Sirius. You were ready to put yourself directly in the line of fire, but yet you still kept your commitment despite the fact that things were about to change forever. Three days," she whispered, her voice holding a deep, profound respect. "You had three days to get everything in order. The Potters were attacked on Wednesday, and by Saturday, you were, for all intents and purposes ... gone. I can't ... I can't comprehend ..."
Sirius smiled gently. "I'm a man of my word, Andromeda," he replied intensely. "I made a commitment to you, and to Dora." He reached out his hand to her again. "I wasn't about to let you down."
They both gazed at each other again, their looks saying what couldn't be put into words. Then, Sirius said, "Can you ever forgive me for keeping all of that from you?"
"Sirius, there's nothing to forgive when it comes to keeping information from me," Andromeda said firmly. "I was never, ever upset with you about that, and neither was Dora. It was of the utmost importance that you kept that a secret. I'm still shocked that you were somehow able to put all of that aside so you could see Dora one last time." Her voice sounded so pained as she said those words.
Sirius smiled softly, but then his expression grew very sad again. "But I did break my commitment, Andromeda," he told her quietly. "I might have kept it that day, but for twelve years after ..."
"And that's what I had such a hard time forgiving you for," Andromeda admitted, avoiding his eyes. "Even when I knew of your innocence, I ..."
"I understand, Andromeda," Sirius said, meaning every word. "And I understand if you never can."
"But Dora did." Andromeda's gaze was intense. "Dora forgave you the moment you came back into her life. And so I ..."
Sirius recognized the look on her face - it was the look he himself wore when he was finally, finally letting go of a grudge he had held for so long.
And when Andromeda whispered the words, another part of Sirius's soul healed.
"I forgive you, Sirius. Welcome home."