In the House of Black

She saw him right as she came through the door. She was expecting it. He was always there nowadays, moping around, staring out of the windows into the rain, listless. She understood how he felt, she felt the same way, but she was too busy with work to mope. Fudge, after being shocked into realization, had the whole Ministry running around, especially the Aurors. She barely had a moment to herself, and was more than willing to trade spaces with him. He had way too much time on his hands.

"Hey," she said softly, walking through the arched doorway into the room.

He didn't reply, didn't acknowledge her presence at all, just stared out into the night. The streetlights reflected in his eyes and illuminated his tired face. He was so young, yet he looked so haggard and worn. Her heart ached with his pain.

"Hey," she said again. "Looks like it's just the two of us tonight. Molly and Arthur are busy with their own affairs, Kingsley's got some Ministry work, Moody's training that what's-her-name bird, and everyone else is, well, elsewhere."

She watched him intently. Still he ignored her. She crossed the room and stood behind him, looked at his pale, drawn face reflected in the glass, watched the raindrops slide down the windows outside. Gently, she touched his shoulder.

He jumped. "Oh. Hello, Tonks. I didn't see you there."

"I've been talking for ages, Remus. You had to be pretty far from here not to notice me."

"I was," he said softly. She squeezed his shoulder, and felt his muscles tense and bunch up under his skin and his threadbare jumper. He leaned forward, resting his forehead on the windowpane, and drew a long, shuddering breath. She stepped away, then turned around and went into the kitchen to prepare dinner. He had to be very much gone to allow her to cook. Who knew how the kitchen would look after she was done with is, or if there would even be a kitchen. She Flooed to the Leaky Cauldron instead, and brought back a bundle of food from old Tom's house elves.

At dinner, she watched him carefully. He complained about her making him eat, but she just shook her head sternly. "Molly's gone, so there's no one to look after you," she said firmly.

"I can look after myself," he protested.

She rolled her eyes. "No, you can't. If you had it your way, you'd starve and waste away in this damned house."

His tired eyes flickered up to her face, and she could barely detect his old flame, igniting for a moment, and then dimming again. "Don't say that about his house."

She shook her head. "It's not his house. It never was his house. He hated it, and you defending it doesn't do anything for him. He wasn't happy here."

"He wasn't happy anywhere," he muttered, shoving a forkful of stew into his mouth and chewing it as if it was the most disgusting thing on the planet. It just showed how depressed he'd become - the stew was actually very good.

"He was happy at school," she countered. "With his friends. He was happy with Harry. Don't you see, Remus? He's gone, and Harry's still here, alone. He needs you."

"He needs Sirius, not me. I can't be Sirius to him."

"So don't be!" she flared up, temper as fiery as her flaming hair. "Be Remus to him! Be the teacher that he once had! Be something, damn it!"

He looked down into his bowl and continued to eat. She blushed almost as pink as her hair and went on eating as well, silently. Quickly finishing her meal, she chucked her bowl into the sink, where it cracked loudly. She muttered an impatient "Reparo" and left the room. The clunk of her boots on the creaky old stairs woke up Mrs. Black, and she began to screech.

"Shut up, you miserable old bat!" she screamed, jerking the curtains around the painting. As the screeching quieted, she leaned against the wall, breathing deeply to control her temper. She went on, up the stairs and through a door, into a tiny, dusty room. There, she took a look around and crossed the room decidedly, ran her fingers down the wall and a door opened up. She went through it and ended up on a wide ledge, barred from the street by a waist-high wall or grey brick. A protective shield hung around the balcony, and while the rain pounded the pavement below, the balcony was dry, although chilly. She crossed the ledge and leaned onto the bricks, staring down into the street. It was quite dark, empty and lonely, but she kept staring down until her stomach tried to jump into her throat. She was terrified of heights.

"Hey," a soft voice said behind her, and a moment later, he leaned on the bricks beside her. She shivered in her thin shirt, eyes riveted on the drowning pavement.

"Hey," she replied quietly.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I miss him so much. He was the last of the Marauders, except-" he choked, and had to pause for a moment. "He was the last of us, and now I'm all that's left. But you're right. I have to be there for Harry." He looked up at her, and noticed that she'd changed her hair, from short and spiky pink to chin-length and a somber brown.

"You have to be there for all of us," she said. "Just as we have to be there for you."

"I - I loved Sirius. I loved him. I can't ever forget him."

"I know," she said simply.

"No. I loved him. You don't understand."

"But I do." She transferred her eyes to him. Her eyes, the only thing that never changed in her ever-shifting appearance. "I understand. I know."

"Yes," he breathed softly. She shivered again as they both watched the raindrops fall onto the pavement below with satisfying splats. He moved closer.

"Do you want my jumper? You look cold," he offered.

She shook her head, dark hair swishing around her cheeks. It was unusual for her to have longer hair, but he thought it suited her. She closed the distance between them and rested her cheek on his shoulder, taking in the warmth from his thin frame and giving back some of her own.

"I am cold. And I miss him. But...we have to go on," she whispered as they stood there together in an oasis among the falling rain, the tears of the sky.