Giving Notice

BLESSED.

Chapter Eleven: Remus Lupin has some thinking to do, and some things to put away.

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Fantastic Beasts and Where To Find Them. Slide that one into the bookshelf, next to The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 5) and A History of Magic.

Quidditch robes. Hang them up in the cupboard, next to the school uniform.

His wand. Smooth. No chips or even any fingerprints. Doesn't look like it went to Hell and back and took him with it, does it? Lay that one on the desk.

The Firebolt. Lean that up on the broom rack that Sirius bought, the one in the corner.

It really is a lovely room. Navy blue and white, it's simple and tastefully done - I wouldn't have thought that Padfoot would have had the decorating sense, or the restraint, to do such a nice job of it. But he did. He really wanted Harry to like everything about the first real bedroom of his own, from the large bed with a thick navy-coloured quilt, to the big desk, spacious cupboards and brand-new soft carpeting on the floor. It really is a perfect room for Harry. It even has Harry's things in it now, doesn't it? Courtesy of Albus, who sent them along.

It has everything of Harry's in it, but it will never have Harry in it.

Well, I'd better keep going. These won't put themselves away. Let's see... a pair of green dress robes...

~*~*~*~*~*~

I should have known. Albus should have known. We all should have known. The look on his face should have told us.

He'd fought against the Dark Lord again - he hadn't managed to destroy the monster, but really, bringing down a powerful, sadistic genocidal creature such as Voldemort is too much to expect of a child. Everyone in the wizarding world seemed happy enough to let him march off and do it though - and I allowed it to pass unchallenged, because Harry had proven himself so many times over in the few years I'd known him...

He couldn't destroy the serpent, but he could cut the head from the body. He did this quite cleverly - after the disaster of the Triwizard Tournament, Dumbledore himself had given him lessons all year about how to make a Portkey himself, in order to get out of danger. When Voldemort kidnapped him again, Harry took the idea one step further, and rather than escaping, he hid long enough to make several Portkeys out of small things like pebbles, buttons from his clothing, and so forth. Then he used his wand and a simple Wingardium Leviosa to flick them directly at all the senior Death Eaters - with his Seeker-honed aim, only a few managed to dodge. Even MacNair, the main Ministry contact, was unmasked, so to speak.

Harry did magnificently - he managed to battle the enraged Dark Lord after divesting him of most of his helpers, including one Peter Pettigrew, who Harry brought back personally and placed directly into Auror hands. And the Aurors did their job well - even a furious Fudge could not deny that he was alive, nor prevent the Daily Prophet from running a very long, very explosive story about the results of Wormtail being interrogated, under Veritaserum, about the true identity of the traitorous Secret Keeper and the resurrection of Voldemort.

Sirius was officially pardoned and had been given lavish financial recompense for his thirteen years in Azkaban for a crime he hadn't committed - though Fudge cleverly managed to deduct a lot of it with the fact that Sirius had illegally escaped from lawful custody, wrongfully imprisoned or not. Still, Sirius was now a free man, and Voldemort had been forced into hiding to regroup and gather enough strength to strike again. And this time there had been no deaths. Free from both Voldemort and with Sirius free, the Dursleys would be nothing but a memory in a year's time at most. Harry should have been happy.

Sirius was so happy, so excited - I was, too. He bought a house around the edge of Wizarding London, near Diagon Alley, bullied me into moving in (not that I needed much persuading) and for weeks he waited eagerly for the third bedroom to be occupied. With Sirius as his legal guardian, I knew that Harry would finally get the proper care every child deserves, and I would finally be welcome to be part of Harry's life, to see him as he grew. Sirius roped me in, regarding my single year of teaching as a veritable oracle of knowledge regarding teenagers in general and Harry in particular. I think he chose the house solely because he thought Harry would like it there.

When the letter came from Minerva saying that Harry's work had slipped considerably, and that his attitude had become unacceptable, neither of us were overly worried. After all, hadn't a similar thing happened at the end of the TriWizard Tournament? Besides, the sheer amount of Ministry paperwork involved in signing the care of the Boy-Who-Lived over to a convicted murderer, guilty or not, resulted in miles of red tape that took up the majority of Sirius' time. He was trying to get Dumbledore to push it through the Ministry, but as it was, it seemed like Harry would be spending the entire summer at the Dursley's and then at the Burrow, just as he always had.

Still, Sirius made Dumbledore promise that he wouldn't tell Harry about the possibility of getting it through early. "I want it to be a pleasant surprise for him if we can get it early," he told us at the time, earnestly. "Besides, two years ago I promised him he could live with me, and I had to break that promise just a few hours later. I don't want to raise his hopes unfairly again."

I wish we had, now. We should have given him some hope, false or not. Should have given him something to look forward to, something to live for.

Because apparently Harry was all Padfoot had to live for.

~*~*~*~*~*~

"...I'm telling you, Moony, he'll like this. Now come on, will you help me move this desk or not?"

"Padfoot, not to criticise your decorating skills or anything - you've done a much better job at it than I ever thought you would -"

"Hey!" A pillow comes in my direction. Really, he's so predictable sometimes.

"...but don't you think that maybe, just maybe, it might have been a good idea to ask Harry before you went off and decorated his room? I mean, he's a GRYFFINDOR, Sirius. Why the Ravenclaw décor? What's wrong with red?"

Sirius squirmed like a kid caught with both fists in the cookie jar. Oh bugger. I had once again unwittingly wielded my 'authority' on Harry's preferences. (How was I supposed to know if Harry preferred strawberry jam to marmalade? Just because I saw him at breakfast in the Great Hall from the Teacher's Table...)

"I just wanted him to have a room that was nice right from the start, even if it wasn't his first choice at decorating, at least it would be somewhere nice for him to sleep for the first few nights... Does he like red, Moony?"

"I don't know - but I don't know if he likes blue, either! He's a teenager, and this is his first room that he could call his own - what if he wants to decorate it himself, or just plain doesn't like it the way it is now?"

"Then we'll just re-decorate it together - hey, that's an idea! Maybe I should make it all Slytherin green and silver and then we can redecorate it to his choice when he gets here!"

"...I don't think so." Privately I doubted if Harry would say anything, even if the room wasn't to his tastes at all - it wasn't his style.

"Moony, you have absolutely NO sense of adventure - besides, imagine his face..."

"Sirius? Remus?" The unmistakable voice of Albus Dumbledore came from the living room, catching us both somewhat by surprise.

"We're in Harry's room, Albus," Sirius shouted. "Look, could you come in here and tell us whether Harry will like this room or not?"

He did come in. And we learned that Harry would never like the room, because he would never see it.

And Sirius screamed. Just the once.

And he's barely spoken since.

~*~*~*~*~*~

He's listening to that bloody Muggle song again. How in Merlin's name am I supposed to get this packing done if he won't turn it off? His mother was a Muggle, so Sirius knows enough about Muggle things that confuse the hell out of me. He's gotten that See-Dee player in some kind of loop and I don't know how to turn it off, short of pulling the plug or exploding it. Which is frankly very tempting. It might actually get a bloody reaction out of him for once.

I recognise the song, of course. Lily, being Muggleborn, had a great appreciation for Muggle music. She used to play it all the time, although she used these great big black discs and a different kind of player with a needle in it. And when she was pregnant, she played this one song over and over. And when Harry was born. And at his first birthday party.

I used to like this song, even when Lily played it ad nauseum. I hate it now.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Harry always wanted a family - Lily wanted Harry to have almost as many siblings as the Weasley children have. We think that Harry's little brother or sister may have died with her that Halloween night. It was too soon to tell for sure.

I remember when the three of us were finally allowed to see Harry, after the birth. Lily looked in bad shape. James looked worse. Knowing Lily's tongue, none of us were that surprised. We'd heard scraps of it from the waiting room, and it hadn't been pretty. A stranger would never have suspected that such a gentle woman would have such an extensive vocabulary...

It wasn't the world's best start in life for a godfather/godson relationship - particularly as all five if us knew there was a traitor inside and I, for one, suspected Sirius, simply because I couldn't imagine Peter as having the balls to do any such thing. But of course, not being experts in children, especially newborns, we soon learned how stupid we were. Harry did indeed grow into a beautiful baby, and then into a striking young man with Lily's vivid eyes and wide smile.

I remember waking up on the Hogwarts Express, the year Sirius escaped from Azkaban, to see several frightened children huddling over a pale, still body on the floor. My first thought was James and then no, can't be, it must be Harry! Mustering the memory of his first birthday party, where we danced around and held him and temporarily forgot that there was a traitor amongst us, I repelled the Dementors then turned back to the unconscious form on the floor.

I will never forget the flood of emotion that came over me when those eyes opened, showing not James' dancing blue, but Lily's flashing green. But neither James nor Lily had had a gaze that had been both so innocent yet so old... Quickly giving him and his friends some chocolate, I watched him carefully all the rest of the journey, and tried to convince myself that it was just a Dementor aftershock that had left his eyes that way.

More fool me.

I became very fond of Harry over the year. Very fond. I taught him the Patronus charm - and was stunned to see Prongs leap from his wand during a Quidditch match, charging some fake Dementors even as Harry himself charged for the snitch. I watched him defend his parent's murder, with wisdom no thirteen-year-old should have to have developed. I watched his friends protect him so fiercely, and I grew to know what it was about him that ignited that in people. Clever but not academic, talented but modest, gentle but determined - he was everything good about his parents, and more. If anyone could have taken Voldemort down, this boy was the one. He was unique amongst his generation, and his parents would have been so very, very proud.

I wish I could have known him better.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Sirius is slumped in the chair in front of the fire. He has been there virtually since we learned that Harry was dead - had killed himself, no less. Sometimes he'll get up, and my heart will jump, and then he shuffles back from the loo and flops back down again and any wild hope I might have had goes down the drain. That's the only time he gets up - and I think that THAT'S only because he has an instinctive aversion to soiling himself as so many others did in Azkaban. He doesn't even get up to eat - I have to bring food to him, and then spoon-feed him if I want him to stay alive.

And he doesn't talk beyond affirmative or negative grunts. He doesn't care anymore. About anything.

"Sirius?"

No response. I didn't expect one.

"Sirius, you need a bath. You're beginning to stink again."

No response.

"You'll get as slimy as Snape if you don't bathe."

Nothing.

I hate forcing him around like a child... but what can I do? So I pick him up and drag him to the bathroom. At least he doesn't fight me. He doesn't care one way or the other.

Running the bath gives me time to strip his clothes off - it's been a few days since I've been able to force myself to treat him like this and his clothes are practically unsalvagable. Not that that matters. He stinks and he's far too thin, as I lift him up and place him in the full tub, but he doesn't care. And not because he's on the run or bent on something bigger this time. I've never seen apathy on this level; I've never seen Sirius apathetic, ever. This frightens me, and I hate being frightened. It's bad enough that I need to delegate his care to someone during the full moon, without being unable to do it the rest of the time... I'm all he has left...

He's all I have left. The last two Marauders, who failed Prongs utterly.

~*~*~*~*~*~

I remember when the mediwitch announced that Lily would definitely be having a son. I remember it mainly because James sent Howlers to everyone saying "GET YOUR ARSES OVER HERE - I'M GOING TO HAVE A SON!!" Though he wasn't as impressed an hour or so later...

Not that it mattered. James and Lily were so proud to be parents that they doted on him like mad. Spent time with him, did all the stimulating things to encourage his growth, followed all the parent-child bonding to the letter. How Lily must have spun in her grave to see her own sister treat him as she did.

~*~*~*~*~*~

That song is still playing in the background. To hell with it. I have things to do.

Get the soap. Get the washcloth. Get the- "PADFOOT!"

He slipped under the water. Not on purpose, mark you. He just slipped under, and didn't care enough to haul himself back out.

I care.

He coughs and chokes when I pull him up, as human bodies do when they've inhaled water. "Damn it, Padfoot! Don't do this to me! I can't handle it alone!"

But I don't know if he cares. Ever since the death of James and Lily, he's defined himself solely by Harry. Harry's godfather. Harry's guardian. Harry's support.

Now Harry is gone, and there is nothing left of the Sirius that struggled his way out of the depths.

~*~*~*~*~*~

"Padfoot?"

Dressed in a bathrobe, slumped again by the fire, he hardly makes a flicker of movement to let me know that he heard me.

Until I drop the box on his feet. Then he jumps.

"These are all Harry's things, Padfoot. I'm tired. I can't do this alone anymore. I know Dumbledore brought them over and you ignored them before, but I can't put them away in Harry's room as if he's coming tomorrow. If you want the rest of Harry's belongings to get the respect they deserve, you do it." The gauntlet is thrown down.

And left down.

"Damn it, Padfoot... doesn't our friendship mean enough for you to at least try?" I don't think my voice has ever been so raspy before, even after a bad full moon.

There's a long time where there's nothing.

Then, so slowly, he reaches down into the box.

I can't move. Please please let him come out of it I can't break the spell now...

Oh, my God.

Of all the things to pull out of the box.

A knotted, tangled Invisibility Cloak.

Albus, what the hell were you thinking putting that in there?!

Sirius looks at it, this cloth that we used to run to the kitchens under, laughing like mad all the way; this cloth that saved Harry's life more than once; this cloth that took it.

And, for the second time since we heard - I hear him scream as he throws it with a fury into the fire. Everything else - what precious little there is - is tipped out, and everything that has the vaguest Dursley origin is tossed into the merrily crackling flames as that horrible screaming continues - a long, drawn-out roar of a creature wounded and betrayed in ways it had never before imagined.

And I find myself having to duck as the See-Dee player goes flying across the room, into the fire as well, only to have him cry out a moment later, reaching into the flames for that song, that last link to Lily and James. His hands are burning, roasting, but he doesn't care.

I grab him, diving my own hands into the flames to pull his out, and we collapse on the floor. I think we're both crying, but I don't care. I hear his screams in my ears so loud, so loud and he might break my eardrums but I don't care. I know our hands were burning together, are fusing together even now, dead skin melting and cooling to stick together but I don't care.

Why should I care? Harry betrayed us. He ripped Sirius apart and devastated all his friends and I hear that the Weasleys are all afraid for Ron's very sanity, and he didn't care. He just buggered off without even saying why. Why should I care? What's blood on the new carpet when there's his blood on our hands, and our blood on his? And what's a sore ear compared to the fact that we failed James and Lily again, failed Harry so very very badly that he didn't know that he had choices other than doing this to us? I don't care about my ears. I don't care about the carpet, or about anything except the fact that Padfoot is crying in my arms like a lost child - or a parent with a child that's been lost.

For hours I sit there rocking back and forth with Padfoot as he slowly calms down, moaning with a wordless pain. And I don't care about trying to be the strong one.

For once, it feels good not to care.

Is this how you felt, Harry? I didn't think I'd ever understand why. But maybe... you were tired of caring. And it was so unkind of us all to expect you to. We worshipped you, yet we cursed you with expectations that no one, much less a child, should bear...

It's time you had your rights. It's time that you didn't have to care anymore.

Rest, Harry. Hug Lily, laugh with James, and care for nothing else.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Phew - Finally that chapter is done!

In case you didn't guess, the box of things that Remus is putting away is the box of Harry's things that was taken away from Hogwarts in Neville's chapter.