Mourning After

"Mourning After"

He could not bear to return to the house alone. The thought of all those rooms, empty but not empty, echoing with memories, made the bleak canyon of the London street seem by comparison as cheerful as the Burrow.

But he could not stay here, in the street, alone. It would soon be daylight. Muggles would be coming to work, and Ministry employees as well. The latter would find their workplace a scene of wreckage and confusion. There would be questions, and accusations, and rumours flying like Bludgers gone mad. He must not be here. A werewolf. There was no place for him here--not below the streets, in the Ministry; and not in the streets themselves. He was no more welcome here than was the Muggle sleeping in the doorway of the building opposite the vandalized telephone box. A lone Muggle, young, female... such a one should have a home to go to, a family, friends... she might have done well to have received a letter just before her eleventh birthday... an owl would've found her... The Doorway, Opposite the Visitors' Entrance...

She'd have done better than me, Remus thought. He pulled his coat collar up around his ears, and walked on past the girl, heading towards the corner. Once out of her sight, he could Disapparate...

But where to? he asked himself. He could not go back to number twelve, Grimmauld Place. He couldn't face the thought of that house. Not with Kreacher there... if the house-elf still was there... and not the house itself. Empty but for those portraits... and those curtains... so like the veil that hung from the arch...

He walked faster. He didn't know where he was going. He didn't much care where he was heading to... if only he could get away from the picture of that arch, of that veil... and of... of... of Sirius, falling, disappearing on the other side...

He realised he was running, and he slowed to a walk again. He didn't need to be seen running... fleeing... by any Muggles. In his shabby, threadbare coat, and old trousers and jumper... he ought to be OK if he just kept walking, kept moving, not giving anyone any reason to think he was running away from anything.

He ought to get out of here. But how could he Disapparate, when all the time more and more Muggles were filling the streets, appearing out of the Tube stations and shops and other doorways, getting off buses and out of taxis and their own parked cars; walking, looking at their newspapers and watches and the keypads of their handheld telephones... and always, at the same time, glancing around as alertly as wild animals for city human predators?

And where would I Apparate to? he wondered again. Back home? No. His own place was just as empty as... as number twelve was now. And as full of memories, memories of the month... of the month... Sirius... had spent with him, lying low, as Dumbledore had put it... hiding out again, as... as... Sirius... had said...

But oh, what a hideout, Sirius had admitted. The home of a werewolf, where no one came to call unless they were on official business, members of the Order of the Phoenix, who knew Sirius was there and was supposed to be there...

Remus stopped walking. He stood, clenching his hands into fists inside his coat pockets, and gritting his teeth against the pain that shot through him like a blast from a Death Eater's wand.

Only I didn't feel such a blast, he thought. I didn't receive any physical wounds. All I did was keep Harry from lunging through that veil, trying to go after... after Sirius

. . . and bring him back--

Remus bit his lip hard, and drew a very deep breath. He smelled fuel fumes, and hot coffee, and spices from a takeaway just ahead. Enough to make anyone's eyes burn.

He blinked, and walked on. Anyone could find him if he went home. If one of the other members of the Order wanted to talk with him. They knew where he lived. It wasn't any secret. He supposed a Dark witch or wizard could find it as well, if one wanted to.

Maybe he was better off in the streets of London. Yeah. Maybe it was safer here. Just another member of the crowd. Just another human...

Yeah. Right.

Maybe if he went home, a Dark witch or wizard would come to call. To curse. To kill. Maybe he ought to go home after all...

He stopped again, and stood still. Or tried to. It was impossible to stand still on this pavement, now thronged with pedestrians hurrying back and forth, in and out, crowding, rushing, jostling, sidestepping each other--how on earth was he to Disapparate in this crowd?

He ducked aside, to the edge of the pavement, into a doorway that was like a small, plate-glass cave. Out of the sunlight now pouring into the street. Quiet. Shadowed. Empty...

No. Not empty.

There was someone already here. Sheltering from the crowd. From the other humans. A man, grey-haired, in a threadbare coat and faded blue jeans, huddled half on, half in an ancient sleeping-bag, nursing a bottle in his gnarled hands. He looked up at Remus, not with the darting and dismissive glance of the passersby, but with a curiosity that verged upon interest, and a hint of compassion in his faded and bloodshot eyes.

"What's the matter, son? You look as though you'd just lost your best friend.

"Here," he went on, patting the pavement with one hand and holding out the bottle with the other. "Have a seat and a swallow. Won't hurt. Might help."

Remus hesitated. The man's expression changed. His lip curled, and he shrugged. "Suit yourself," he said, and took a swig from the bottle. "Got more friends than you know what to do with, I expect."

"No." Remus was surprised at the suddenness of his own answer. He was relieved by the steadiness of his voice. He shook his head. "No, actually..." He swallowed.

"Actually you've just lost your last farthing." The man's laugh was contemptuous, but the look he gave Remus now was not unkind. Indeed he seemed to expect Remus to laugh too, or at least smile; to understand what he'd said as if it had been some sort of inside joke.

And after all, Remus thought, it wasn't that cryptic. He'd never heard the word "farthing" before, but it didn't take an O.W.L. in Muggle Studies to know it was worth a lot less than a Galleon.

"Not last farthing," he said, sitting down and taking the offered bottle. "Last friend." He put the bottle to his lips and took a drink. Ahhh. Not bad. Not firewhiskey, but it would do. He wiped his mouth on the back of his hand, and held the bottle out to its owner.

"No. You take a bit more of that. Tell me about this last friend of yours. More than a business partner, I take it?"

Remus nodded, and took another swig. Whatever it was, it blazed all through him like a shaft of sunlight.

"I'm sorry," his companion said. "I had a business partner once. Once was once too many. Worse than an enemy, they can be, business partners. 'Course, I had some friends as well

. . . those are harder to find... and the loss of them is harder to bear." He put his hand out, and Remus returned the bottle. The liquor was burning his chest, but in a good way, not in the way the fumes and other smells had burned his eyes a few moments before. He sighed, a deep, swelling sigh.

"So tell me," the other man said.

"I can't."

"Yeah." The other sighed. "I understand."

No you don't, Remus thought. I might as well tell you I'm a werewolf. He took the bottle when it was offered again.

"I had a dog once, as well," the man said, with another, heavier sigh.

Remus froze, the bottle almost to his lips.

"Good dog, it was," the man said. "Ever had a dog?"

Remus pressed the mouth of the bottle against his lips.

"Oughta get a dog," the man said. "Make a better friend that many men do.... 'Course, dogs don't live so long..."

"Here." Remus held the bottle out, almost forcing it into the man's hands in his hurry to get up, to get away. The man took the bottle, his fingers fumbling with the surprise that was plain on his face.

"Here," Remus said again, digging his hand into his trousers pocket. Knuts, Sickles, a Galleon... not one farthing, he thought. Not one pound. Not even bus fare or Tube fare or cab fare. "I'm... sorry," he said, clenching his teeth again.

The faded eyes gazed up at him, calm now, kindly. "Don't be. I've had money, and lost it, and now I'd rather have my dog back again. You take care of yourself, son," he added, as Remus turned away, stepping out of the doorway and back into the crowd. Somewhere... there had to be someplace... he hurried on, keeping pace with the other people, trying to ignore them as he hoped they were ignoring him. Trying to think...

He couldn't go to Kingsley Shacklebolt's house. Kingsley had been taken to St Mungo's. Kingsley... Moody... Tonks

. . . they had all been taken to St Mungo's. And even if they had been treated, and released, sent home, he did not want to see them. He did not want to ask how they were... he did not want them to ask how he was... he did not want to talk to anyone. He did not want to see anyone. Except...

A good dog, the man had said.

Oh, God, Remus thought. Why couldn't I have been an Animagus? I could transform now. I could run away, I could hide, I could howl...

I could howl.

But he could not run now. If it would have been risky earlier, it was impossible now. This was London's morning rush hour, but there was no way to rush through it. No way to move faster than the crowds, than the traffic; no way that would not draw more attention, arouse more suspicion, than running like a Muggle fleeing Muggle justice or Muggle crime.

We never explored London, Remus thought. On all those nights of full moons, we could have explored London. We could have roamed the streets, as we roamed the countryside around Hogwarts all those years ago. A stag... a stag would have been noticeable here. A rat... there have always been too many of those in London. But a dog... and at night, in London, a wolf could have been mistaken for a dog... Padfoot and I could have wandered the streets of London, the parks...

We had that one full moon when he stayed at my place. We ran out into the night. We howled. We hunted. For one full moon. And then Dumbledore sent him home. "Home". To that house he hated. No more freedom. No more full-moon marauding. No more flying on Buckbeak in the dark of the moon.

Buckbeak.

Remus stopped walking; stopped so abruptly that the person behind him ran up onto his heels, ploughing into his back. He heard her swear. He turned to grab her, to steady her, to keep them both from falling down. She glanced at him, and the way she brushed his hands away from her arms, and traces of his touch from the sleeves of her suit, told him she thought he was nothing but a Muggle like herself... and not at all like herself.

He muttered an apology, but as she hurried away he wanted to shout after her--"Haven't you ever forgotten to feed your hippogriff?"

But he didn't.

Sirius would have.

Padfoot would have run after her and jumped up on her. Careful to have put his forepaws into something very smelly first.

And I can't even remember to feed his hippogriff. Remus sighed, clenching his hands into fists again in his pockets, thinking, he put that spell on Buckbeak, so Kreacher couldn't hurt him again... and I forget to feed him.

He stood still, looking around him, letting the people push past him, jostle him. Go ahead, he thought. Knock me down. Trample me. Once I'm underfoot, out of your line of sight, I can Disapparate. You might stumble, and fall--but you won't see me go. Come on. Somebody. Run into me. Somebody--

"Remus!"

A woman's voice. She called his name again. "Remus!"

He turned, looking around, searching--

And saw her. Coming towards him through the crowd. A short, red-haired woman, wearing a fuzzy fuchsia outfit that looked out of place among the somber suits of the other women--but quite cheerful, quite summery; and, at her elbow, his hair (what there was of it) just as red as hers, a tall, thin man wearing glasses, an orange sweatshirt with what looked like a black-and-white Quaffle on the front, and a pair of jeans that were at least two sizes too big for him.

"Remus! Oh, Remus!" Molly Weasley came straight to him and put her arms around him, there in the street, in the middle of the Muggle crowd. "Oh, Remus!"

"Don't, Molly." He and Arthur spoke at the same time, and both gently broke Molly's embrace. She stepped back and stood looking up into Remus's eyes, her own eyes red-rimmed and puffy. "Oh, Remus, where have you been? We've been so worried about you. We've been looking everywhere. Oh, Remus, why didn't you come back to--"

"I couldn't." Remus cleared his throat. He hadn't meant to speak so roughly. But nor could he tell her why he had not been able to face going back to that house. He could not tell her anything. He did not think he could speak.

"Of course you could!" Arthur spoke heartily, but the shadows in his eyes betrayed the brightness of the smile on his lips. "You can always come to the Burrow! You're always welcome there, Remus; you know that."

Remus stared at him. How could I have gone back to the Burrow, after last night? he thought. It was one thing to be there, helping out while you were recuperating from the injuries you'd received just before Christmas. It's one thing to visit people, to discuss plans and strategies; but how could I have talked to you about what had happened last night?

"Come on." Now it was Arthur who reached out to him, who laid a hand on his shoulder, gently but firmly. "Come on, come home with us, Remus. You need something to eat, and you need some sleep."

"I can't." Remus hoped his move away from Arthur wasn't too obvious. He appreciated the sympathy behind the gesture, but he couldn't bear it any more than he could have endured Molly's embrace. "I have to feed Buckbeak," he said.

"He's been fed."

Remus stared again at Arthur, who went on, "Dedalus Diggle has been to see to him. He's going to take him down to Kent for awhile."

"Buckbeak will love it there," Molly put in. "Dedalus has plenty of room for a hippogriff."

"And a lovely paddock by the sea," Arthur added. "Plenty of charms laid on. Buckbeak can stay in or out, just as he likes. Nobody will bother him." Once again Arthur's smile did not quite reach his eyes.

Remus knew Arthur was right. He knew Buckbeak needed more than just a room in a London house. He knew his own garden wasn't enough. He could put all the charms he liked on it; it was still just a garden, surrounded by other gardens, and houses, and streets. There was no place where Buckbeak could fly. Only on dark-of-the-moon nights; and he shouldn't fly even then, not there...

"Come on, Remus," said Molly. "At least come and have a cup of tea with us. We're not that far from King's Cross. Arthur, you've got some Muggle money, haven't you? We can get some tea, and something to eat--you need to eat something, Remus, you look completely worn out. And we can all sit and have a nice private talk on platform nine and three-quarters. There won't be a train for at least an hour. And who'd be going to Dover today?"

Dedalus Diggle and a hippogriff, Remus thought, as he let Molly and Arthur lead the way through the streets. And a train going to Dover has got to come from someplace, and there'll be plenty of people wanting to come to London today...

But Molly had said no train would be in for at least an hour.

And when they had gone through the barrier between platforms nine and ten, they found platform nine and three-quarters as deserted and as quiet as number twelve, Grimmauld Place, had been after the Christmas holidays.

Arthur had bought cups of tea, and some packaged biscuits, from a vendor near one of the Muggle platforms; and once on platform nine and three-quarters he took out his wand and drew a bench up between two of the pillars.

"Now, then," said Molly, as she and Arthur sat down and removed the lids from their steaming cups of tea. "Now, then. This is much better, isn't it?" She patted the bench beside her, and smiled up at Remus.

But he had no desire to sit down beside her. She was a much more attractive companion than the old man in the doorway, and she smelled a lot better; but she was just as inclined to talk. And Remus had had enough of sitting and drinking and talking for one morning. For the foreseeable future. If he wanted to think about that.

"Excuse me," he said. "I'm just... I've just got to--" He turned and walked away, past the ticket barrier, heading for the toilets farther along the platform. His footsteps echoed off the roof and walls and in the empty trackbed, but he could hear Molly's and Arthur's voices behind him as well--

"Go with him, Arthur."

"Molly, I can't. He's a grown man. He'll be all right."

"He's not all right! He might--"

"He can't Disapparate, Molly. Dumbledore's put more barriers around this place than there are around any place but Hogwarts or Sirius's house. Nobody can Apparate or Disapparate here."

"But--"

"Just give him a moment--"

The sound of their voices broke off as Remus shut the door labelled MEN behind him. Had he really planned to Disapparate once he got in here, alone? He peered at himself in the mirror over the basin. Well?

His reflection looked back at him. Pale in the dim light of the flickering candles in the brackets that flanked the mirror. Eyes even more shadowed than Arthur's... cheeks and chin grey with stubble... collar frayed... jumper ravelling... and all a bit blurred, a bit obscured by the steam rising through the tiny hole in the lid of the teacup...

Water dripped from the cistern behind him. A steady one, two, three... four... one, two, three... four...

Like someone trying to get somewhere, but not sure where... or whether...

Had Dumbledore put barriers round the toilets as well? Could he, after all, Disapparate from in here? He set the cup down on the rim of the basin, and reached for his wand--

"Remus?" A tap on the door. "Sorry--are you all right?" Arthur's voice called, tentative as his knock. "Only Molly just... we'll be on the bench, OK?"

Where else? Remus wondered. He sighed. "OK, Arthur. Tell her... I'll be out in a minute. I'm fine," he added, and turned on the blue tap. Maybe some cold water on his face... and then some hot tea inside him...

He felt stronger when he went back out onto the platform. The glow from the tea was not the same as that from the alcohol, but the alertness he felt now, the clear-headedness, seemed an improvement on the stunned sensation he'd had wandering the streets of London since dawn.

He came and stood in front of Molly and Arthur, suddenly shy, not knowing what to say to them. Molly smiled up at him, and patted the bench beside her again. Arthur held up the opened packet of biscuits. "Have one, Remus," he said. "Chocolate. Muggle chocolate, but quite good."

"Dumbledore's rather fond of them," Molly added, with an encouraging nod.

Remus felt a smile start to bend his lips. Then, just as they started to curve up, they suddenly trembled. He bit down on them, hard, and turned away, and walked over to the track, where he stood, looking down at the rails.

"Remus--" said Molly, a sharp edge of alarm in her voice.

"Molly--" Arthur sounded tense under an overtone of calm.

Remus rounded upon them. They sat, still, gazing steadily, silently, back at him. "I just don't understand!" he heard himself say--his voice a savage roar echoing across the platform. "Why?" he continued, in a whisper that seemed as much the effect of a throat nearly closed by anguish as the result of any conscious effort to lower his voice. He swallowed. "I don't understand why he died."

There. He had said it. The word was out there. Between him and Arthur and Molly. In the space of the platform that Dumbledore had barricaded against the Apparating or Disapparating of any witches or wizards, friend or foe.

Remus turned away again, and as he did so, across that same space he heard Arthur say, very quietly, "He died because he was duelling."

"Yes, he was duelling!" Remus sighed. "And... and he was enjoying it." Remus stared hard at the rails, trying not to see the image in his memory, of Sirius fighting Bellatrix Lestrange. But the harder he stared, the more he saw with his mind's eye. "He always enjoyed duelling. He was good at it... as good as James was at Quidditch. He had as much skill, and bravery, and self-confidence."

Remus blinked at the track in front of him. But the rails blurred, as his own reflection in the mirror had blurred in the steam rising from his teacup...

He sniffed, and blinked several times, trying to clear his vision.

"Remus," said Molly, softly.

"Come on. Come and sit down," Arthur said. "Have some chocolate."

He couldn't look at them; couldn't turn to face them. Couldn't see them, he thought...

He sniffed again, and cleared his throat. "He... I think he was enjoying it too much last night. Maybe he was over-confident. I... I know he was out of practice. And how fit could he have been? All those years in Azkaban... and on the run... half-starved... but at least while he was on the run he was able to ride Buckbeak... and he knew how to ride a hippogriff. The Blacks had kept hippogriffs for centuries... at least since the Middle Ages... but he hadn't been able to ride him much this year. And he'd been drinking... before Christmas, and cooped up in that house, before then, and after the holidays."

"He couldn't leave," Arthur said quietly.

"But he did," Remus retorted. "He left last night. I couldn't make him stay there. He was wild. Desperate. Harry was in trouble--Harry and his friends. Severus told us so. Sirius... Sirius wouldn't stay, sitting at home, after Severus told us."

Remus rubbed his hands across his eyes, and across his nose. "Severus had been taunting him, you know--because he couldn't leave, because he couldn't leave the house to do more. Severus wouldn't have done that if Sirius could've left; it wasn't because Sirius wouldn't that Severus taunted him, but because he couldn't."

Remus clenched his teeth, and squeezed his eyes shut, trying to breathe through his nostrils... to take deep breaths... to regain some measure of control and not fall apart, here, on the platform, in front of Arthur and Molly. He rubbed his hand across his cheeks, and pressed it against his mouth, hard, hoping the external pain would distract him from the agony within him.

"So you don't think Severus wanted Sirius dead?" Arthur's voice was still quiet.

"What?" Remus rasped. "No. Why? Why do you ask that?"

"You said Severus wouldn't have taunted Sirius if Sirius could have left the house to do more."

"No. I don't think he would've. Because he knew there was nothing Sirius could do about it. It was like... like taunting a chained... dog. Or like Muggle-baiting... you know the Muggle can't fight you back... because he hasn't the power." Remus wished he could make his own voice as quiet, as steady, as Arthur's sounded. He knew it was too late to try... it was no use pretending he wasn't crying...

"But do you think it might possibly also be that Severus wouldn't have taunted Sirius if Sirius could have left the house, because then Sirius might have left--?"

"Would have left," Remus choked out.

"Maybe... and then there would have been a chance that Sirius could have been killed. Or captured."

"What are you saying?" Remus didn't want to ask the question; didn't want the contractions of his stomach muscles to give themselves away in a sob; he couldn't control his tears but he was not going to break down entirely...

But he had to know what Arthur was getting at. Because whatever it was, the getting at it seemed to be getting through to him. It was tearing him apart, but it was cleaning the wound even as it made it; it was burning the earlier wound, not sealing it off, or numbing the pain of it, but cleaning it out...

"What do you mean, Arthur?" he asked.

"Just that... I'm just saying..." Arthur seemed to be having trouble controlling his own voice. He cleared his throat... Remus heard Molly murmur, "Arthur"... then Arthur spoke again: "I don't think Severus would have deliberately goaded Sirius into going to his... to his death. And nor do you," Arthur finished.

And for awhile it seemed that the discussion was over. Arthur cleared his throat again. Molly murmured something; Remus didn't hear what she said; and Arthur made no audible response. Remus stood and looked down the railway track, out to where the two rails seemed to converge, just before they turned the corner out of sight.

Oh, God, he thought. Padfoot...

Padfoot's gone. Gone the way of Prongs...

The rails swam before him, they flowed together, like the lake at Hogwarts flooded with summer rain...

"You know," said Molly, so softly that her voice did not startle Remus, "if Severus hadn't told you--you and Sirius--I don't think Sirius would have gone."

"I tried to stop him!" Remus clenched his fists. "I tried as hard as I could! Short of Stunning him--I wanted to Stun him, I wanted to... but he had his wand up... he'd already repelled one jinx... and there wasn't time, Molly. There wasn't time."

Remus felt a hand on his shoulder; he turned; he hadn't heard Molly come over to him but here she was, beside him; and now she was putting her arms around him. The embrace was painful, it seemed to touch every sore spot within him. But like Arthur's voice, like his words, it helped even as it hurt. And after all, Remus told himself, I wasn't hurt in the fight... and I needn't fight this...

He gave in to it then. He laid his head down on Molly's shoulder, and wept. "He was Padfoot, Molly. He... we had always done things together... he and James and... Peter... and I... and James was gone, and Peter... and we had to both do this... he wouldn't stay behind, and I couldn't... I wouldn't... I didn't make him. He... he told Harry he as good as killed James and Lily... that he was to blame for their deaths... well... I'm the one who should be blamed now. It's my fault that Sirius... was... was killed."

"It isn't," he heard Molly say. Her words made no sense, but he couldn't contradict her. He couldn't speak anymore. He could hardly breathe. And he could not stop crying. Not even when Arthur came and stood beside them, putting his arms around both of them, not saying anything, just holding onto them, holding them together, the three of them, on the lonely platform beside the empty track...

"It isn't your fault," Molly said, again, after what seemed a long time. When Remus could not look at her, not because he was embarrassed, but because his eyes were so swollen and sore that he could not bear to look at anything. "It isn't your fault," Molly repeated, her voice firmer now. She paused to take out her handkerchief and blow her nose. "You've just told us he was Padfoot."

"Yes. And he... he became Padfoot, in the first place, so he could keep me from getting away from him and James when we went out marauding. That was why they became such large animals, so they could keep a werewolf in check."

"Yes. They turned into two very large animals," Arthur said.

"And last night... last night I couldn't turn into even one wolf."

Laughs trembled on the edge of sobs. But Molly said, "That's my point, Remus. Sirius became Padfoot so that he could keep a werewolf from running loose, from killing somebody. You weren't trying to keep Sirius from killing anyone; you were trying to keep him from being killed, or captured. You weren't trying to keep him from doing something terrible, you were trying to keep something terrible from happening to him.

"And that's why he died. He was trying to keep something terrible from happening to everyone at the Ministry last night." Molly stopped, and the three of them stood, no longer holding onto each other, but close together; drying eyes with handkerchiefs, mopping up after the storm. The air stirred around them, a gentle breeze wafting up the empty track, cooling hot cheeks and sore eyes, and causing the candles in the sconces to flicker. Remus thought of the first time he had stood on this platform, the morning he had left for his first year at Hogwarts. He had stood with two other people then, as well--his mother and father. All of them quiet, not hugging, not talking, done with crying, not quite ready to hope. And he had gone from here to Hogwarts, where he had found friends, the first friends he had ever had, the best friends that had ever lived. Padfoot, Prongs, Wormtail. He pictured them now as he had first seen them... and he remembered the night that three of them had been together for the last time.

"Sirius said..." Remus drew a breath and tried again. "Sirius told Peter, 'What was there to be gained by fighting the most evil wizard who had ever existed?'--'Innocent lives,' Sirius said.

"And he was right," said Molly. "His was one of those lives. And he lost it when he was sent to Azkaban. He kept his soul, and his mind, his heart, and his powers, but to all intents and purposes he lost his life. He could no longer run free, he couldn't fight, or work..."

"He might have got it back after last night's battle," Arthur added. "Dumbledore might have been able to clear his name. But Dumbledore might not have had the chance to do so if Sirius hadn't been fighting Bellatrix.

"You know, Remus, there was something else Sirius said. Ron told me... oh, only just last summer, after you and Sirius had agreed we could all talk about these things amongst ourselves... Pettigrew... Peter... said that Sirius didn't understand why he--Peter--hadn't fought against... against...

"Voldemort," said Remus.

"Yes. Pettigrew said... Voldemort... would have killed him."

"And Sirius said, 'Then you should have died.'"

"Yes," said Arthur. "Died, rather than betray his friends. As his friends would have done for him.

"And that's just what Sirius did, Remus. Peter was the one who didn't understand. Sirius died for his friends last night. Just as he was willing to die for James and Lily years ago. As they died trying to save Harry."

Remus nodded, wiping his eyes again. "Sirius... really did act as Harry's godfather last night, didn't he? He... he told Harry he would have died rather than betray James and Lily. And... and Harry... last night... Severus said Harry went to the Ministry last night to save Sirius."

"And that is why Sirius went to the Ministry. To save Harry. To save all of you--Harry, Ron, Hermione, all their friends; all his friends. You, Remus. You, his oldest, and closest, his best, friend.

"There is no way you could have made him stay in that house last night. To have done so would have been to force him to betray himself, and all of you. He would not have let you do that. You saw how he was all this past year. Moping about, frustrated, miserable at being cooped up in that house. There were no secret tunnels he could have escaped through, there was no Marauder's Map to show him where his enemies--our enemies--were. There was no way you and he could have gone wandering about the streets of London. It would have been too dangerous."

"But he would have loved it! He would have relished the danger!"

"Yes." Molly nodded. "And as you said, he was enjoying the duel last night. He was in his element. Who else could have fought so well against Bellatrix Lestrange? Who knows what would have happened if he hadn't been there to fight her? And that's why he died, Remus. Because he was there, fighting one of the most loyal supporters of the most evil wizard that ever existed. To save you, and Harry, and Ron, and Hermione, and all their friends... all Sirius's friends. So that we all can go on living, and working, and fighting against the Dark Side, against the evil. We're the reason Sirius died, Remus. All of us. And if you can bear to accept it, then I think..."

Molly's voice faltered, but she went on: "Then I think that that will be what your friendship with Sirius, and James... and Peter... will have been about. I think that... that that friendship will transform a lot of things, and people... I think it already has."

She stood looking up at him, smiling, her lips trembling, her eyes streaming. Remus's own eyes filled again. He didn't know if he could speak; nor did he know what to say.

It was Arthur who spoke. "Come on, Remus," he said. "Come home with us. Stay at the Burrow for a few days."

"I can't." Remus looked from one of them to the other. "I can't. The moon will be full in two days' time."

"And Severus will come to the Burrow and make the Wolfsbane Potion for you," said Molly. "He's offered to do so. He wanted to come and help us look for you, but he wouldn't leave Hogwarts, he couldn't leave Hogwarts, while Dumbledore and Minerva and Hagrid were away. But Dumbledore will be back at Hogwarts by this time, and Severus will be able to come to the Burrow, and he'll make the potion, and he'll show me how to make it, and... and it would give the two of you a chance to talk. To... to get to know each other a bit..."

Her eyes, peering up into his, appeared full of hope. Arthur's were, too; kind and mild behind his glasses. Remus wanted to hug them both. Instead, he turned and looked out along the track again. If he didn't take the potion this month... if instead of going to the Burrow with Molly and Arthur, he went to Hogwarts... what then? He could hide out in the Shrieking Shack. He would have to. The students were still at school; he could not go out marauding... there would be no adventures out under the full moon. There would be no companions. There would be no friends.

But what if...? Remus sighed, and frowned down at the track in front of him. What if he went to Hogwarts... and took the potion... he could still go to the Shrieking Shack, but he would not have to stay there... he would be a harmless wolf... and maybe Severus... maybe as Molly had said, they could get to know each other a bit... maybe they would be able to talk... and maybe Severus would revise his opinion of werewolves...

"Remus?" said Arthur. "Do you see that... is that smoke out there... coming round the corner?"

"I think it is, Arthur," Molly said. "I think that's the train coming."

"Better go," said Arthur. "There'll be people arriving as well..."

The three of them stepped back away from the track, and turned towards the ticket barrier. Yes, the guard was there now; and here came the first two passengers bound for Dover. They looked like saleswizards, wearing neat dark blue robes, each carrying a heavy-looking dragonhide catalogue case. And now behind them came a family group, a young woman and two small children, dressed in beach robes and carrying towels, buckets, and spades. Remus and Arthur and Molly stood back to let them pass. Then the guard waved Molly through the barrier; Arthur followed, glancing back at Remus as if to make sure he was coming too. Remus started after him--then stopped short as a huge beach ball, blue as a sunlit midday sky and decorated with seahorses, seashells, and starfish, bounced out of the barrier and rolled right up to him, coming to a stop with a bright starfish staring him right in the eye. Instinctively he put a hand out to grab the ball and keep it from drifting away down the platform. Whoever had put the charm on it to keep it with its owners had not done a very good job... surely it belonged to that little family... yes, here they were to retrieve it. The mother apologetic, the little girl anxious, the little boy close to tears.

Remus smiled at all of them. The mother must have started at Hogwarts after he had left; the kids would not be there for several more years yet. About twice as many years as they had been alive so far...

"Hang on," Remus said, and taking out his wand he gave the beach ball a gentle tap. "Restituo," he muttered, and pushed the ball gently towards the children. They grabbed it, grinning up at him, and their mother smiled. And Remus had a sudden sharp memory of a beach, and another family: mother, father, little boy... not quite a year before the werewolf had come...

He watched the family walk away down the platform, the beach ball rolling decorously along behind them now. Someday, some first of September, they'd be here again, and there'd be another train...

There would be, Remus thought, turning back to the barrier. The Hogwarts Express would be here, and there would be students waiting to board it. Potential Animagi, Seekers... perhaps a werewolf or two...

And maybe they would all learn the truth about the Whomping Willow, and the Shrieking Shack, and a man called Sirius Black. Out of one of the darkest of wizarding families, one of the brightest lights in the magical world.

Terminus