Where She Is Headed Is My Place to Go

Where She Is Headed Is My Place To Go

Chapter 2:

Remembering hurts the most

When Remus entered Twelve Grimmauld Place that night, it was with a great feeling of relief. He closed the door as quietly as he possibly could, careful not to wake up Mrs Black, and was startled when the grandfather clock in the empty hall struck twelve. For a moment he just stood there and then he leant against the door for a moment, embracing the security of it, of the shelter it provided, the knowledge that he was safe.

Few places were safe those days. Hogwarts, still. But Diagonally - Hogsmeade - the Ministry. Of course, he had yet to see a masked Death Eater any of those places, but they would come.

No, what he feared on the streets were not the minions of the Dark Lord, rather he was afraid of being recognised by someone who remembered him as a friend of Sirius Black and brought him in for a questioning. It had happened trice in the past two years, the first time just after Sirius' escape, the second a few weeks after Harry's trial and the third not two days ago. It had been almost amusingly easy to fool the Aurors; he had been so used at lying about himself for years that the words of denial had come easily to him: No, he had no idea of the whereabouts of Sirius Black and no, he had not been contacted by him. If he was, he would without a doubt turn him over to the Ministry.

But Remus had left the Ministry feeling slightly shaken. Rufus Scrimgeour, head of the Auror office and in charge for the hunt, had given him a very figurative look before he allowed Remus to sign his name in the log-book and leave the building. And somehow, Remus just couldn't suppress the feeling that the next time he was brought in, they would not be taking on him with velvet gloves and if they used Veritaserum, not just Sirius' life would be destroyed, but he would also be exposing the Order. So far he'd been able to sneak out of it by not using Sirius' name, rather calling him "James' murderer" even though it ached in his heart to say it. It ached mostly, he suspected, because the words and the bitter expression that went with it came easily to him after years of blaming Sirius.

But he had a feeling his luck was running up, so for a moment, he simply enjoyed being safely behind walls, even if the walls were those of Twelve Grimmauld Place.

Some of the other Order members enjoyed the freedom of the Unplottable headquarters, people like Mundungus Fletcher, the thief, and Terence Higgins, who had standing arrest-order for a violation of the Decree for Misuse of Muggle-artefacts in every port in Europe and only travelled by night and in disguise. He and Arthur Weasley had grudgingly accepted each other, even though Arthur from time to time gave Terence a very annoyed look that clearly spelled "trouble". So far Arthur had done nothing, which Remus hoped he'd continue with; turning Terence over to the Ministry was impossible, as he had many connections to the people of the underground and could bring the entire Order to fall if he was questioned by the right people. When Terence was at headquarters, he could usually be found in the garden, where he enjoyed the freedom of being able to walk around in broad daylight without fearing a visit to Azkaban. Mundungus was mostly in the kitchen, trying to find food.

But their most sought-after and wanted member, was also the person dreading the place the most. Sirius had objected, vetoed and tried by every means possible to scurry away from the place, noticed or un-noticed, and Remus never left the house without the feeling that Sirius might not be there when he came back. Thus the first thing, usually, he did when he came back, was to find Sirius and make sure that he was there - and not yet on the verge to go mad.

"Sirius?" he called out, when he hung his cloak in the wardrobe in the hall. The house was, as was always the case when there wasn't a meeting, ominously quiet. Kreacher was probably sleeping; he seemed to be doing that most of the time. Buckbeak rarely made much noise, except when Sirius fed him.

At first, he searched the kitchen, but found it empty - and surprisingly clean. The living room on first floor was blown, a clear sign that Molly Weasley had been around with a feather duster. The drawing room and the library were also empty.

It was with a steadily rising nervousness that Remus half-ran up the stairs and found only Buckbeak in Mrs Black's bedroom, and the grey Hippogriff was asleep with his head under his wing.

Where could he possibly be? Not s second Remus would allow himself the forbidden thought that Sirius had simply left as he'd threatened to do since the moment he entered the house. Surely Sirius wouldn't be that stupid.

But due to prior painfully gained knowledge, Remus knew that Sirius could be just that stupid.

He stormed along the corridor, throwing doors open and calling out Sirius' name, now without the slightest thought on the fact that it most likely would wake up Mrs Black.

The last room he checked was Sirius' own, the bedroom he'd had when he was a child. Remus had never seen it when it had been Sirius' during school, because even though Remus was a pureblood, he did not descend from one of the wealthy Wizarding families, and he not been considered worthy of an invitation for the summer by Sirius' parents. None of Sirius' schoolmates had.

It was high-ceiled, as were all the rooms on the first floor, with two towering south-turned windows flanked with the ever-present black velvet curtains. A four-poster bed, a huge wardrobe and small wooden desk finished the room. The only source of light came from a candle on the bed stand; the flickering light cast shadows on the walls of the dark room; reminding Remus oddly of the game of shadow pictures that he had so often played with his friends, when they were younger and yet untouched by war.

Since the Order had moved into Twelve Grimmauld Place, Remus had only seen the room once and it had struck him as a place he did not yarn to see again. There was an ominous air of neglect over the tattered walls with the grown-up pattern of black-and-white squares and the long-since deceased family members portrayed on the walls.

And there - standing by the window with his back towards the door, among the family heirlooms he hated, was Sirius.

For a moment, Remus experienced that strange mix of anger and relief everyone who has tried to be scared, only to realise it was without reason, knows so well. He fought an urge to shout at his friend, not only because it was unfair to be angry, but also because long-time experience had taught him how unwise it was.

"Didn't you hear me call?" he settled on asking instead.

Half turning, Sirius offered him one of his most tight-lipped smiles, the one that equalled having a wet towel thrown in the face. "Most of the rooms are sound-proof," he answered, "and this one in particular. My father insisted."

Remus lifted an eyebrow but didn't speak. Having known Sirius since childhood, he could see the point of soundproofing the room. But he had no idea what Sirius was doing in the room he had hated so much - it was dark and unfriendly and quite chilly - there wasn't a trace of the boy who had lived in the room for almost sixteen years.

"Did I ever tell you about the last thing I did before I left this house?" Sirius asked suddenly, looking at Remus with that strangely reserved gaze that he had acquired in Azkaban.

Remus cast his mind back to Sirius' tales of his rebellion. "You mentioned a row with your parents. And that you tore your room apart."

"Exactly," he said, throwing an arm about the tidy room, indicating it all. "But you can't tell anymore. I did it to show that I didn't care about inheritance or the blood-regulative or family ties. I wrecked the bed, tore the linen and sat fire to the wardrobe, and slashed my pillows. It was a work of beauty." Sirius smiled wickedly at the memory of his war zone like creation. "And then I left, slamming the door. You know what's left of all that? The echo of the door. Everything else was fixed. I was removed from the family tree, the furniture was repaired and the house-elf beaten to forget. Of all that, only the echo of the door, Remus."

"That's - an odd thing to say," Remus involuntarily burst out.

"Yeah, it's odd," Sirius agreed, laughing a strangely aggrieved laughter. "But it has been an odd day."

"Why?" Remus asked, quite a bit curious. He had not suspected that much could happen in the empty house, but of course, Sirius had always had a knack for making things happen.

"Long story," Sirius said shortly and took a sip of the glass in his hand, which Remus hadn't noticed him holding.

"Drinking again?" he asked and moved to stand by his friend. Sirius gave him an even glare. "As you see. Care you join?"

Remus quelled the grey eyes and shook his head. "I've stopped that, you know."

"Your loss," Sirius replied and emptied the glass in a single gulp. "I'll have another one anyway."

"To drown your sorrows?" Remus remarked icily. Sirius glared at him with unmistakably drunken, cold eyes. "To forget all my mistakes," he answered coldly.

"That'll take more than a few glasses."

"It's good I've got a cellar full of spirits then, isn't it?" Sirius' voice was heavy with sarcasm.

"You seemed fine when I left this morning," Remus remarked. "What happened?"

"I remembered something," Sirius answered grudgingly. "Or rather, was reminded." He seemed almost in pain. "I don't want to talk about it."

"Is it about James?"

Sirius twisted around. "I don't want to talk about it," he repeated in a low and angry voice.

"Sirius, I know we've already discussed this, but James wouldn't have wanted -"

"NOT EVERYTHING IS ABOUT JAMES!"

"Then what's wrong?" Remus asked calmly. But Sirius had already stormed through the room with the glass in his hand and ignored Remus, who was left staring after his friend with a surprised expression on his face.

"Merlin, how I hate it when he do that," Remus muttered under his breath, but he did not follow Sirius to wherever he was heading, because he knew that he would be better off if he had time to calm down for himself.

*

When Remus went to the room he currently inhabited, hours after the encounter with Sirius, it was to find his friend sitting at his bed with a bottle of fire-whiskey in his hand. Sirius simply looked up when Remus entered, not saying a word. Remus, sensing that he would not be sleeping tonight, closed the door evenly behind him and went to sit next to Sirius.

"I need to tell you something," Sirius said slowly. "And I brought a bottle."

"I noticed," Remus replied. "Is it that bad?"

"I think it might be worse."

"Will we need glasses?" Remus asked.

"Not for this one, you won't," Sirius said, unscrewing the bottle and handing it to Remus, who took a careful sip. Sirius grabbed the bottle and took a heavy heave.

"So," Remus said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "What is it all about?"

"Love," Sirius answered simply. "It's all about love."

"Love?" Remus repeated ad took another sip of the whiskey, enjoying the sweetness of it.

"Yes," Sirius confirmed, "love. Everything is about love, I've realised. Everything in one way or another."

Remus took a moment to ponder this, but his empty-stomached-body had quickly consumed the alcohol and he was beginning to feel dizzy, so he just nodded in agreement.

"Let's have a taste to - love!" Sirius said keenly and for the first time, Remus was able to hear that Sirius was just the slightest bit drunk. "To love," he said, lifting the bottle to take a swig. Then he handed it to Remus, who hesitated only a moment before he took a mighty swallow and whispered: "To love."

"And to a friendship that survived!" Sirius continued, eagerly.

"And to Harry's health and Molly's tongue and Dung's fingers and Dumbledore's age," continued Remus in a tight and slightly sarcastic voice. "Get to the point, Sirius."

For a moment, Sirius looked at Remus with flickering eyes; he was barely able to meet the piercing, amber eyes of the werewolf.

"I think I might be in love," he aid slowly. "But it's nothing like anything I've ever experienced. It's horrible."

This caused Remus to burst out laughing. "Nothing like it? You have, as far as I recall, been in love numerous times, with numerous girls. And as far as I know, it's always horrible."

"It's different this time," Sirius said with a note of annoyance in his voice; Remus' heartily behaviour frustrated him. "This time it's not being out-of-my-mind in love all day, writing-poems-by-night in love. It's - different."

"How so?"

Sirius leaned back on the bed, resting against the wall, staring at Remus with glittering eyes. "I think about her all the time; my heart feels as if it'd be ripped apart if anything happened to her. I can't imagine life without her."

Remus lifted his feet from the floor, folding his arms around them and leant back against the wall next to Sirius. "Sirius," he began, then paused. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but - this assuming it's a person I don't know - where have you met her?"

"It's not someone I've met," Sirius said. "It's a person you know, too."

For a fleeting moment, Remus experienced a panic that he had not expected even if he'd imagined a scene like this take place. Surely Sirius wouldn't - surely he couldn't possibly -

"Is it Tonks?" he asked, his voice hoarse.

For the first time all day, Sirius actually did smile. "Yes," he said. "Or that would be Andromeda Tonks, that is."