From the Desk of Remus J. Lupin

From the desk of Remus J Lupin

Sirius Black was never given a funeral. My head can understand this, even if my heart can't. There was no body, after all and no time in the chaos that followed Voldemort's appearance in the Ministry.

I gave him my own memorial of sorts - or at least I carved his name into a dogwood tree in the park; said a brief prayer to a god I stopped believing in a long time ago. I'm sitting under the tree now. If I had hoped that my feeble service would help me forget, help me stop playing that horrible day over and over in my head I was very much mistaken. Just the latest in a series of mistakes...

should have noticed, have shouted a warning, have done something, but I thought he could handle himself. Sirius could always handle himself and I - I had to get the children out; I had to make sure they at least made it. I wasn't worrying about him. It was a habit we got into at school, and even after, when I should have worried I didn't. This is not your fault, my rational mind insists. My heart ignores it and huddles itself into a corner, tries to piece itself back together. I should have helped.

What was I doing? Who was I fighting? If I'd shouted something, anything to announce to them that Dumbledore had arrived, then that demon woman might have been distracted, he could have hit her, it should have been her, it should have been her! But I didn't, and it wasn't. Oh, Sirius. You were the only one who hadn't left me; I only had one chance to save you...and I blew it, I blew it because I wasn't paying attention to you, I was worrying about Harry, protecting Harry, wanting him to need me, wanting James to need me like he needed you. Ha! Harry did fine without my help. He had Dumbledore; he didn't need dusty, tired, sickly old Remus. He had you, Sirius! He needed you. I'm only a tired old professor, a tagalong friend, without Sirius, Harry has nobody and I suppose I don't have anybody either.

I remember it all so clearly, every time I close my eyes all I can see is his face as he fell. All the wracked, tortured beauty, all the laughter, fading away into surprise and fear and guilt and oh Harry didn't see it but I did. His last thought was of Harry, not... he knew at the end that he couldn't see him again, couldn't protect him any more, couldn't keep his promise. Sirius, was it worth it? Why? Why did you have to get cocky? Was it worth it in the end to go out fighting? Protecting what, Sirius? What did you trade your life for? Was this what you wanted, to go out in a blaze of glory and leave the rest of us behind?

As the curse struck I just stood there, my arms were limp at my sides and my wand was limp in my hand - I'm surprised, now, that I didn't drop it. I was vulnerable to anything and anyone; an ant could have pushed me over with a feather. My brain was reeling, my heart was saying, 'He'll balance himself; he'll throw a curse back. In a minute he'll stand up and laugh and everything will be all right, everything...'

Sirius always gets back up. But he didn't.

I don't know what I was thinking after I realised it wouldn't happen. My mind was turning to mush, incapable of realizing something as enormous as Sirius is dead. My heart had figured it out all right, it had fallen apart. It felt like it was being squeezed into pulp. I remember running as fast as I could and grabbing Harry, I knew what the veil was, and he did not. I felt hot tears welling up in my eyes as Harry kicked and struggled. I tried to sound calm but my voice had an edge, the words were odd as I tried to push them past the lump in my throat. The tears were spilling over; holding them back was making my nose prickle.

"It's too late, Harry."

He just kept thrashing. I somehow managed to tighten my grip. I wasn't in the room anymore. I was drifting away, the scene, Sirius face, being replayed clearer and clearer. Every move I could have made dancing in front of my eyes. It was Lily and James all over again, I had to keep hold of Harry, I had to, couldn't let him go, because if I held onto him, he wouldn't leave. He was the last link I had to my friends, he was all that was left, he was James again, James born into different skin. If I had let him run through that veil I would have been betraying James...

James, I won't fail you again. I can't.

"There's nothing you can do, Harry. Harry... Nothing... He's gone."

No! No, No, No!!! It wasn't true! That's what I was screaming inside. I wanted so much to be able to believe what Harry believed but even he was slowly realising... He was still crying, still screaming. I wanted to scream! I wanted to cry but I was so tired, my tears had dried up long ago. I had to be strong! For Harry, for James, for Sirius. He wouldn't have wanted his friend to break down because of him. He would have wanted me to look after Harry.

"He can't come back, Harry. He can't come because he's d-"

Even if Harry hadn't interrupted I couldn't have finished the sentence because even though I wanted to be strong like Sirius... I couldn't. Strength isn't the holding back of tears, it's facing the truths so horrible it seems like they could drive you mad, break your heart in pieces. I've never been strong like that, and when Harry stopped struggling - that was the worst part because I knew that even Harry, emotional young Harry, had faced it, had given up on his godfather. I was shaking, but I kept hold of his arm, telling myself it was in case he had any mad ideas, really because I needed to touch another human being, couldn't find the strength to stand alone.

I was like an Inferi, lifting the curse on Neville. I turned my back on the archway, what a fool I was being trying to trick myself. I tried to be practical, I tried to be brave, but it wasn't working, it had never worked, why should it suddenly start to work now? All the colour had drained from my face long ago; I was cold, cold like James, cold and empty as a corpse. That thought hurt, hurt like hell, but it haunted me all the time Neville was speaking. But I wasn't listening to a word he said. I still had my hand on Harry's arm but I couldn't grip, my fingers were numb. It barely registered when he ripped his arm away from me and tore after his godfather's murderer.

I would have run after him but my legs were like lead, refusing to obey the commands my mind sent them. I remember reaching out, trying to scream "Harry - no!" But I couldn't shout; I was too weak to shout.

Harry had disappeared through the door, Dumbledore told us to deal with the children and the remaining Death Eaters before disappearing after Harry. I didn't know what was happening; I was stumbling about in a grey fog like the rest of the Order, barely aware of what I was doing. The others ran off in different directions but I just collapsed onto the steps of the dais and stared into space, vaguely aware of Neville sitting beside me until even he went after his friends; I was all alone. There was nothing to do but sit and wait. So I sat and I waited with my face in my hands. Soon my hands and cheeks were soaked in salt water that finally came, had been so long in coming; I was sick from crying. It seemed like an age before anyone came to get me; I just sat there dreaming of thousands of horrible ends befalling the two most important people in the world to me, each worse than the last.

Worse still, I kept seeing Sirius' face...

When Dumbledore finally came back to the Room, followed by several flustered Ministry workers who set about dealing with the Death Eaters, he was as cool as always but I'm sure the sparkle in his eyes was somewhat dimmed. I felt like a spare part as Dumbledore got me to my feet and led me through to the other members of the Order. He told us everything that happened. The others gathered around him like wasps on honey, begging him for details and I just sat there with my mouth open, like a fool, and listened. He told us that Harry was okay and that nobody else had been hurt after I left. He told us about the fight with Voldemort and he told us that the prophecy had been smashed, although none of us really knew what that meant then

Not once did he mention Sirius. Not many people mentioned him after that day, wanting to forget, perhaps, or just not knowing what to say. Conversations worked their way around to him, then skitter and flinch away, pausing uncomfortably. This is why I don't talk to people much, nowadays.

Some time after this, Dumbledore handed me this diary.

"Remus, I've known you since you were eleven. You've never," he smiled, "been very good at sharing your thoughts and feelings with others." I opened my mouth to speak, but he continued before I could get out a single feeble excuse. "I don't fault you for it, Remus. The life of a child werewolf..." Dumbledore trailed off, a flicker of a sigh creeping through his lips. "But you can't keep everything inside you forever. Things kept that way fester Remus, they'll make you bitter. Perhaps this will help." I took the little book automatically and made to stand up.

" - Remus," said Dumbledore as I scraped back my chair. "Sometimes, when the world forms an image of us, tells us who we are and how we must act, we spend our lives, sometimes even without thinking about it, trying to make ourselves into that image." I paused, trying not to look at him. "It wasn't your fault Remus," he said calmly, "but you know that already, no matter what you try to tell yourself. He loved you dearly, Remus, and wouldn't have wanted his death to become another stick for you to beat yourself with. Try and remember that."

Dumbledore held my gaze for a moment, before I turned and shut the door, knowing I was being rude, but unable to think of anything else to say. But the silence I left behind was worth a million words. I love that man, I really do.

He was right. Sirius wouldn't have died any other way than protecting his friends, and even though I won't let the blame slip out of my fingers that easily, I know somewhere deep down it wasn't my fault. I still have nightmares about that night, but they are getting fewer as the days pass into weeks. I've been avoiding Number 12 Grimmauld Place recently but I'll be forced back there soon, I have to face the facts...

Dumbledore's right, Sirius. I can see you if I close my eyes, leaning back in your favourite chair, arms behind your head with a smile on your handsome face, saying 'Let it go, Remus. Let me go.' I'll let you go, dear friend.

But I'll miss you Sirius, more than anything in the world.