Rating:
PG
House:
The Dark Arts
Characters:
Remus Lupin
Genres:
General Angst
Era:
Multiple Eras
Spoilers:
Order of the Phoenix
Stats:
Published: 01/24/2005
Updated: 01/24/2005
Words: 746
Chapters: 1
Hits: 177

Reminiscing

Kelsey Potter

Story Summary:
"To live in hearts we leave behind, Is not to die." ~Thomas Campbell, Hallowed Ground (st. 6).

Posted:
01/24/2005
Hits:
177
Author's Note:
Just a short, poignant one-shot...read and enjoy.


There is an armchair in the corner of the living room, here at Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place. It is a fairly large armchair, one that has stood in the living room for a long time. Once upon a time, many years ago, it was bright red with darker red swirls; however, over time it has faded to a kind of dusky rose. The material is velvet, but the years have worn it smooth in some patches and bare in others. There are a couple of magically induced burnt spots on the back, and one or two small burns from the sparks of the fire. The seat cushion and back both have an almost permanent groove in the distinct shape of a skinny, slouching teenage boy. It's not in very good shape at all.

But that chair isn't going anywhere. It's staying in the same corner that I always remember it sitting in. It's my favourite chair in the whole house.

Just like the clock on the mantelpiece. It's an old clock. The casing is made of rosewood, scuffed and scarred by the years. The face was once white, but has since faded to yellow from age. The glass covering is a little bit cracked because someone slammed it a little too hard after adjusting the time. It has to be wound every morning at seven-nineteen exactly or it stops working. But when it chimes the hour--the chimes still work after all these years--it plays part of Beethoven's sixth symphony. It's the prettiest sound in the house. Mrs. Black could never stand that clock. She used to mutter darkly that she would have thrown it into the fire had Regulus not given it to her for Mother's Day. When we were cleaning up everything last year, it was one of the first rooms we cleaned and Mrs. Weasley wanted to just throw it away. "Look how scarred it is, it's filthy, it's not even going anymore, you'll never be able to use it again."

But the two of us cleaned it and polished it and made it shine; I found the key and gave it to him; we set it to the proper time and wound it up, then hung around for a couple minutes until it struck the hour. Molly was saying the whole time that even if we did manage to clean it, the chimes wouldn't work anymore, but it went off and sounded just as beautiful as ever. Even Molly was impressed.

Back in June, once Harry had gone back to Hogwarts and I was sure Tonks and Moody were going to be okay, I came back here. I could hear Phineas calling for him and knew, somehow, that despite his callous attitude he really did care.

But I didn't go talk to Phineas. I didn't seek out Kreacher and beat him bloody, although I certainly wanted to--and I did later. I didn't go into a rage or start getting rid of everything with his name or his face on it, although I won't lie--there was a less rational part of me that was ready to do just that.

I just went into the living room and sat in that armchair. The fire had gone out because there was no one to tend it--Kreacher was wisely hiding somewhere I couldn't get to him--but I didn't care. I just sat in the chair, not even thinking, not moving, totally numb. Ten minutes later the clock struck the hour and Beethoven's Sixth started playing in the sweet, gentle tones I remembered. Then I just put my head in my hands and started to cry.

This armchair will never move from the spot where it stands--where it has always stood--where he collapsed into it, looking stricken, when I came rushing in to tell him what Kreacher had done, where Harry had gone. That clock will be wound every morning at seven-nineteen, play the symphony every hour on the hour, and sit there on the mantle for all time. It only chimes erratically once a day--at eight-thirteen P.M. exactly. The exact time he died. That's how I know he still cares. That's why that clock and this chair will stay put forever.

Because this was Sirius's chair, and that was his favourite clock. Because it is in this room, looking at the clock and sitting in the chair, that Harry and I feel closest to him.

Because we loved him, and he loved us. Because we always will.