The Piano

The Piano.

The music echoed through the corridors of Twelve Grimmauld Place, drawing Harry upwards. He had spent a month and a half in the protection of his Aunt and Uncle, but had now managed to flee to the sanctuary of Sirius' house, pleading a deteriorating sanity level. The Dursleys hadn't understood. How could they? They had never had a loved one torn from them with no warning. So he had come to the headquarters of the Order for the remaining two weeks of the holiday, to try and find some peace. He began to climb the stairs, following the beckoning melody into the master bedroom.

He opened the door, sliding into the room trying to cause as little disturbance as possible. Inside he saw Professor Lupin, his hands flying on the keys of a large jet black grand piano. The man looked older than Harry had ever seen him - the lines etched deep into his kind face, his eyes red with the tears that were streaming silently down his face. The man was swaying in time with the music reverberating round the room like a new-age priest performing an exorcism. He leaned against the door frame, letting the music wash over him. He felt somehow at peace, despite it all, the music lulling him into a state of almost trance-like relaxation.

He closed his eyes, and just listened to it, giving in to his tiredness. The notes rippled up and down the chords, each one like a drop of rain on a formerly still pool. Lupin coaxed the melody out of the piano, carefully keeping a balance between tune and harmony, while managing to express himself somehow in the music. Harry had never quite gotten the hang of playing music, ever since he'd been forced to learn the recorder in primary school and had it nasally inserted by Dudley and his gang on the way home. He marvelled at how by pressing ivory keys on an ordinary piano could produce something so beautiful that could move him so easily. The music rose to a climax in a flurry of notes, finally dying away to nothing, leaving Harry feeling emptier than before, yet more at peace.

He looked into the face of his former mentor, finding his stillness disconcerting. Lupin sat at the jet-black piano, every muscle straining with the effort not to move, lest he break the spell the music had created. Finally he sighed and seemed to crumple from within. Without opening his eyes he spoke softly to Harry.

"It was his favourite piece." Harry didn't need to ask who "He" was.

"What was it?"

"It's called 'Claire de Lune' by Claude Debussy. He always loved me playing it," Lupin paused, staring blankly at the keys. "You know, it was the reason he bought this piano in the first place." He smiled weakly at the memory. Harry could almost see an echo of the man he knew leaning against the curve of the grand piano. The grief he thought he'd had under control welled up inside him.

"Do you miss him?" he asked.

"The Order needs me to be strong. We need to fight Voldemort with all we have. I haven't had time to miss him." He said, his brows drawn as if in pain. They sat in silence for what seemed an age.

"I miss him like I'd miss a limb," he said finally. "I never thought... He... When... I only just got him back." He choked out the words as if each one was eroding his resolve. He seemed so small. Just a shadow of the man Harry had seen fighting Dementors on the train to Hogwarts what seemed like an aeon ago. He crossed the room, placing his hand on Lupin's shoulder. Here was the one person who might be able to understand what he was going though; share his pain. Lupin turned his head to rest it on Harry's hand.

"I know. I miss him too. Sometimes I wake up thinking this has all just been a horrible dream, and he'll be here to cuff me round the ears and tell me to get over myself already. But he's not. I never even got to say goodbye!" His voice cracked with grief at this, and he brought his hand to his face, covering his stinging eyes.

"Oh. God. Harry, I'm sorry. There's nothing I can say or do to make this better. I just... I can't stand it." The tears had dried now, and Lupin was crying dry sobs that wracked his entire body. "I don't know what to do to make it go away! He can't be gone, because then I'd be alone. He swore that would never happen. They all swore. But here I am, the last of the four. I don't want to do this any more. I'm so tired Harry, so tired." Harry pulled him to his feet, holding him until he stopped shuddering. He encircled Harry in his arms like a child and they sank to the floor, both lost in their anguish, clutching each other like a lifeline. They curled up beneath the piano, listening to the echo of a melody that would never be heard again.

R.I.P Sirius Black. The brightest star in the heavens.