Absolution

It wasn't a cold day despite the steady wind, but she shuddered lightly as she hurried along the empty pavement. Clear afternoon sunlight slanted through the neighborhood, its warmth collecting in her thick black hair, and she shook her head unconsciously as if to rid herself of its weight. Nor did she realize the grim expression that was frozen on her face, which would have caught the eye of any passerby, had any been abroad just then. Onward she stalked, resolutely facing down this visit.

The first visit. The ones that followed wouldn't count.

She had finally been discharged from St. Mungo's, despite all her chafing and complaints to be released earlier and now here she was, dull and tired and stumbling through the streets of London, but no longer in any pain. At least the physical pain was gone, her injuries healed, but that empty place... Ah, now that hurt plenty. She knew, because she checked frequently to be sure, and it was no less painful each time.

Her feet carried her unthinkingly to the front of 12 Grimmauld Place, reflexively moving through the familiar routine as the house belligerently shouldered its way past its neighbors. Her wand lifted, flick, swish, poke, the wards were lifted and the bolts on the inside opened, and then her hand moved of its own accord to take hold of the ancient iron handle and she was inside the foyer, out of the wind and still shivering.

Sirius. An odd sound, somewhere between a hiccup and a sob, slipped across her lips and out into the still air of the foyer. She felt the house sneer in response, and had a sudden image of herself racing through its cobwebby, mildewing corridors, a torch blazing fiercely in each fist as she set fire to the rotting curtains, the foul, screaming portraits, the biting stair rails- everything. Her lips curled up in a feral smile at the thought. Burn it to char and stone, and raze it to the ground until nothing remained but a greasy smear in an Unplottable, barren lot in a dodgy London neighborhood. It would be a fitting end to this cursed place.

Setting the thought aside with a shudder, she composed herself and started to walk down the hall with a stiff gait, still mindful of the house's malevolent interest. It seemed to rest on her shoulders, heavier now than it had been while Sirius still dwelled beneath its roof, and she realized with a start that this was the new normality of the Order's headquarters. But that idea, too, was brushed aside, as she slowly but purposefully strode through the hallways, trying to remember Sirius' presence in his old, hated home one last time.

Her patrol took her all over the house; from the basement kitchen to the dusty sitting room to the dismal, abandoned ballroom. From the living room- surprisingly comfortable these days- to the hippogriff's room to the dark and forbidding Black family library; every room brought a new twinge of pain to the empty place inside her, another reminder of the life lost...

She found herself outside his bedroom, one hand raised as if to knock at the door. Her fist was clenched so tight that her fingernails bit into her palm, and her arm trembled slightly as she lowered it, still staring fixedly at the barrier to his room. The last place that would still bear his imprint.

Suddenly it seemed too much, almost sacrilegious, the idea of invading Sirius' room, even if it was only to say goodbye. He had been her friend, her cousin, but this was too private, too personal. Slumping forward to rest her forehead against the cool wood, she closed her eyes and tried to picture him with his usual rakish grin and the accompanying gleam of humor in his eyes, black hair drifting into his face. She pictured the intensity of his personality, the charisma that only true rogues seem to possess, his short, hot temper; she remembered everything about him.

"Goodbye Sirius," she whispered, eyes still closed.

And from behind the door, she heard the floorboards creak.

She jerked back, her eyes flaring open in surprise. For one mad second she thought that he had somehow slipped the veil, that Sirius had made his way back home and was hiding out in his room to make a grand appearance later... but just as quickly, rational thought reasserted itself. No one came back from that journey- the veil was forever.

And yet... she had heard something. And still did actually; the creaking had ceased but there was the faintest hiss of breath, so slight that she almost thought she had imagined it. But unerring instinct, honed through both her Auror duties and the Order, signaled another presence within Sirius' room and curiosity ignited within her. Who would have dared invade his personal place?

More quietly than most who knew her could have imagined, she turned the corroding knob to the door, holding her breath against a protesting squeal that never materialized. Instead, the door swung inward soundlessly and she followed it like a shadow, pressing it closed at her back and glancing around cautiously. Heavily ornamented furniture hunched like toads, managing to look grotesque despite being obviously expensive and she almost smiled at the piles of clothing that were tossed recklessly on nearly every surface. As she'd expected, Sirius' imprint was everywhere she looked, from the messy tumbles of laundry to the oddly tidy arrangement of paper and pen by the bedside. She almost tripped over a board still set with Gobstones but managed to catch herself before toppling over, and as she straightened she heard the noise again.

The room was dim, lit only by the light that flowed like honey through the large window at the far end, and even that was blocked by ragged gray curtains. As she looked about, the curtains shifted, and she realized that it was actually the tall, stooped figure of a man that was silhouetted before the panes. Standing so still, she'd confused his tattered cloak for the curtains he stood in front of, and she started as another breathy sigh drifted from him. One foot contacted the massive clawfoot of a table, and she swore aloud as pain shot like a hot wire from her heel clear to her knee.

The man turned quickly, and as he did the light slid across his face so that she recognized him. "Tonks?" asked Remus wonderingly, his voice hoarse and more brittle than she'd ever heard before, and she forgot her injury as she limped a few steps closer. That soft voice, as mild as ever, carried such a weight of remorse and grief that she couldn't respond even when he repeated her name again. Staring into his eyes, red-rimmed, but free of any film of tears, her mind clawed frantically for something clever to say, something amusing or diverting, but the words lodged in her throat and what came out was only a desperate little gasp.

There was a sad dignity in how Remus straightened his spine, moving toward her with a hint of his former confidence. "Is there something I can do for you?" he asked, not dismissively as she might have been tempted to respond to someone who had invaded her own private mourning, but rather with genuine concern. Despite the awful pain that lurked behind his eyes, she could see him trying to dredge up the altruism he had lived by for years, and she suddenly felt terrible for his sake.

Choking just a little, she finally managed to answer, "I was worried about you. I needed to see that you were all right." And while that hadn't been her reason for being there at all, as soon as she saw him it became the reason. It was the only reason that made any sense at all, and she didn't feel that she was lying in saying so.

"I... I'm fine," he stammered, but the catch in his voice needlessly confirmed what she had already seen. The fine lines around his eyes, deepened by lack of sleep, the way one corner of his mouth kept twitching downward whenever he looked about the room, the sheer, bone-deep sorrow that permeated his every move...

She only looked at him, and after a moment his head drooped to his chest. "I couldn't save him," he said in a soft monotone. "He was across the room, and there was Harry...I couldn't do it. Merlin help me, I didn't even try."

"You did what you had to," she replied. One hand reached out to touch his arm tentatively, with the same slow motion she'd once used to coax a knarl to take a bit of bread from her fingers. He flinched as her hand wrapped gently around his wrist, but didn't pull away, and she took a step closer. "Sirius would have wanted you to do exactly as you did."

She saw the guilty argument starting to rise in his eyes, and before he could begin she slid her arms around him in a firm hug, inhaling the musty aroma of his old cloak as she repeated, "You did what you had to. It's all right." She closed her eyes again, trying to remain calm herself as she soothed him.

His muscles tensed as she pressed against him, and for a moment she thought that he meant to push her away. But he let her hold him, though his ribs swelled with a ragged breath and he remained rigid within her embrace. She could sense the tumult that clamored just beneath his placid façade, like some restless volcano nearly ready to succumb to intolerable pressures, and pulled him tighter to her. Eyes closed, head nestled just beneath his stubbled chin, the space that had once separated them erased to an invisible line; she simply held him, offering silent absolution and solace.

Time had ceased, and even the sun had stuck on the horizon like honey crusting on a jar rim; golden and slow, glinting richly. He tried once to speak, a halting jumble of words making little sense and gradually petering out beneath the soothing sounds she crooned against his chest. At one point she thought he was crying, but a quick glance up to his face found it dry, even if his eyes were burning through the deepening gloom. And gradually, gradually, she felt him relaxing against her, the stiff lines of his body slumping against her own as he ceased resisting and finally let down his guard. There was no feeling of triumph that followed, no sense of having passed through the gauntlet... the empty place still burned inside of her, and Remus' own bitter grief still leached across the indefinite space between them.

Sirius was gone. And they remained, painfully alive and clinging to one another for strength among the debris of his existence. But despite the heavy aura of despair that was perpetuated by the house, the conviction of her words rang true in their memories, underscored by the warmth that passed between them in that cold, dim room.

It would be all right.