Without Wand or Wire

When Draco wandered into the family gallery, it was as if he were a stranger, wandering lost and aimless in the dark and dreary halls of the manor he questionably called "home". Still, even a true stranger would be able to tell they were in a galleria the moment they walked in: with the hundreds of portraits adorning the erstwhile empty hall, it could be nothing else. He allowed his feet and momentum to carry him to the halls end, an end that, alas, was not dead.

"Draco, my boy!" came the delighted-yet-perpetually-sneering and sibilant voice of his father.

Draco started at the sound, his heart suddenly leaping like a jackrabbit, fit to burst from his chest. The realization that it was his father's painted image that spoke to him from just ahead, and not his actual father, did nothing to still the fluttering behind his ribs.

"Goodness, you're filthy!" the portrait remarked, eyeing the streaks of brown and red that painted Draco much the way oils did the surrounding canvases. "Don't suppose you've been out on a Dark Revel? You seem old enough now. ..."

Draco raised his left arm, looking at it as if he'd never seen it before. Partially hidden beneath the grime was a black skull. "I have the Dark Mark ..." he said slowly, but the words had no meaning to him. Why couldn't he think of what the Dark Mark actually was? He might as well have been speaking in tongues. ...

"Well, I can see that!" the portrait snapped. "But that doesn't tell me why you look like you've been carousing with the house elves!"

Draco looked up at the face of his father, his mind still in a fog. "You're dead. ..." It was much a question as a statement.

The painted Lucius shifted uneasily in his frame, eyeing the young man suspiciously. "Did you ... ?"

That brought Draco back to himself -- after a fashion. His veins suddenly flooded with angry heat, but he couldn't decide what over. At being accused? At the fact that his father had been murdered at all? At the fact that the man's death hadn't come by his own hand? Was the fire that burned now in his breast, as he met the eyes of his sire's likeness, born of grief or hatred for the man the image represented?

"Your master killed you," Draco finally told the painting, his voice shaking with ... disdain? Anger at having been abandoned by his father, at having been led down the same cursed path? Mourning at Lucius' passing?

The psuedo-Lucius seemed to grow pale, if that was possible for an entity made only of paint. "H-how? Why?" he finally managed.

Draco wondered if his father had ever sounded to pitiful, so weak, when he was alive. How had he ever feared this man?

"He was a failure," Draco told him coldly. "What more reason could the Dark Lord need?" He ignored the protests of the other portraits of his ancestors at his impudence and disrespect; only his father's image was silent.

It surprised Draco to find he could look this man in the eye. He wished this painting was but a poor mockery of the man he knew, but if that were true, then Lucius would still be alive. No, Draco had learned a hard lesson about the kind of wizard that served the Dark Lord. There was a reason most of them were from Slytherin. There was a reason almost none were from Griffyndor. The Slytherins could tell themselves that it was their pure blood that put them in that house, that it was their intelligence that kept them out of harm's way, and that the supposed Griffyndor bravery was nothing short of idiocy and a death wish, but the plain fact of the matter was that Slytherins were cowards. And cowards needed to bully others that were weaker in order to feel strong, brave, important. Just as his father had bullied him and the house elves and even his mother his whole life.

As if conjured by his thoughts, his mother's portrait stepped into the frame.

While Draco had somehow managed to face his father's likeness with strength, his resolve crumbled at the sight of Narcissa's cold beauty. The confusion returned, and with it the overwhelming scents of earth and copper. His vision swam, as his mind confused the past and the present. He fled from the hall without another word.

* * *

When the hysterics among the among the Weasley children were over, everyone gradually made their way back down the stairs to finish supper and clean up. Ron was starved, and wolfed down some of the leftovers as everyone else was putting things away. When the cleanup was through, they settled by the fire for a nightcap.

Bill brought out his guitar, which he had taken up a few years past as a hobby. It looked like an acoustic guitar, but with his father's help, he had bespelled it so that it could sound like an "electric guitar" if he wished, a popular Muggle version of the old instrument. For now, though, he kept the more traditional sound as he played a few songs for the family (with the kitchen door closed, of course, so as not to wake the portraits.) Ron and Ginny joined him in singing on a couple of songs, ones they'd heard a number of times on the Muggle radio Hermione had brought for their father.

Bill still had work to do for Gringotts, of course, and wasn't around as often as he'd like, but he and his younger sibs had never really bonded before, what with their age gap and all, so now he made what free time he had with them count. It seemed, with the threat of war looming and with Percy's having distanced himself so far from the rest of the family, all the more important for the rest of them to stay closer than ever; even Fred and George, who were enjoying their new freedom in their apartment, still spend nearly every evening at number twelve.

Ron had even asked Bill to teach him how to play the guitar at the start of the summer, a request which his elder brother had happily obliged. To their mutual delight, Ron took to it as naturally as he did to chess -- although he didn't feel confident enough to play for an audience yet. They took the sessions to the now empty Burrow. Bill had even taken to leaving his with his younger sib, so Ron could practise whenever he wanted. Ron had, by listening to that old radio, actually managed to pick up a few of the tunes and play them by ear. That night, after Bill had played his songs and the kitchen had cleared out a bit, he and Ron went to the Borrow for another lesson. It didn't last long, though. Bill decided there wasn't any more he could teach him; now Ron's increase in skill was just a matter of continual practise.

He told Ron as much, and the younger man's ears glowed red with pride in that Weasley way, happy to have found another thing he was actually good at, since there didn't seem, to his mind, to be much that he was. He couldn't wait to show Hermione and Harry, but at the same time was still too self-conscious to play for a crowd. He was determined to be "good enough" by the end of the summer, though. Even when he returned to Grimmauld Place after the lesson, rather than going to sleep, he stayed up practising -- without actually plucking the strings, of course -- until well into the night.

* * *

Long after Bill and Ron had come back from the Burrow and retired to their rooms for the night, Remus Lupin was still awake, nursing a second glass of firewhiskey in the kitchen. He didn't sleep easily or well these days, and the long, lonely hours he spent with only the radio for company seemed both a blessing and a curse. He didn't really want to be alone, but he just couldn't seem to abide the presence of others these days, not when it seemed all they could do was look at him in pity, constantly reminding him of what he'd lost. And the worst of it was that he wasn't even sure they really knew. Did they think he was morning his best friend, or did they know that Sirius was so much more than that to him? Did they understand that losing someone you loved without ever being able to tell them how you felt only made it that much harder?

He doubted anyone knew what a big part music had played in him and Sirius' life, how they often used to sing lines of songs in their conversations, making a game of it. Now, when he listened to the wireless, it was like he was still playing that game, listening for new lines to use the next time he talked to his friend. A time that would never come, now.

Sitting there at the table, watching the magical fire play in his half-empty glass, Lupin realised they'd hit a commercial break. How long had the music been stopped? If he hadn't even noticed, perhaps it was time to call it a night.

He'd been about to get up and turn the radio off when the DJ announced that Evanescence's "My Immortal" was up next. He knew this song; this one was different than the other, offensively bubbly tunes that had made up so much of the night's programming. It was music like this, which so perfectly spoke of the pain he hid daily, that offered him some refuge, some solace, in the long, cold hours of the night.

I'm so tired of being here,
suppressed by all my childish fears
And if you have to leave
I wish that you would just leave,
'cause your presence still lingers here
and it won't leave me alone. ...

The girl could have been singing about Sirius. There wasn't an hour that went by that Remus didn't keep expecting to turn around and find him there, grinning incorrigibly, and quipping, "Just kidding! I'm not really dead!" Remus let the words wash over him, drowning in them.

You used to captivate me
by your resonating light
Now I'm bound by the life you left behind
Your face, it haunts
my once pleasant dreams
Your voice it chased away
all the sanity in me. ...

They had seen everything of each other, sides that even the most notorious of "old marrieds" might never come to know of their spouses, and yet had been denied the contact that Remus yearned for most of all. The man who'd once brought him so much joy was now the source of all his agony. Having been privy to Sirius' soul, Remus was spoiled from loving any other. And now … he could think of nothing else. He yearned to lose himself in mindlessness of the werewolf, and idea he'd never dared to entertain before. …

These wounds won't seem to heal
This pain is just too real
There's just too much that time cannot erase

Would the ache of loss ever fade? Could anything ease the regret of never having said the three little words he'd wanted to say more than anything he'd ever actually spoken aloud?

Even when song finally ended, Remus' misery didn't fade with it. There was no question in his mind; he would never love another like that. His body might swell among the living, but Remus had died with Sirius, as sure as if a dementor had taken his soul.

Remus lay his head in his arms and wept silently, his shoulders shaking.

"You look terrible, mate."

Remus' eyes snapped open at the sound of the impossibly familiar voice. Looking wildly about the dimly lit room, he soon confirmed that his ears hadn't lied to him.

There he was, the love of his life, standing next to the waning fire, his face graced with his usual overly-charming smile.

"S-Sirius?" Remus just barley managed to whisper.

"In the flesh, mate. Er, well, okay, not really." He smiled apologetically. "In the spirit, though."

Remus turned away. "A dream, then. Will you ever stop haunting me?" he asked, bitterly.

Sirius looked striken. He walked over and sat down next to him on the bench, putting his hand over Lupin's. "More than a dream, mate. Do you really want me to leave?"

Remus started at the touch. It felt every bit as warm and real as it had ever felt in waking life. Music wafted from the wireless on the kitchen counter. It was the near the end of a song, one Remus knew well. He whispered along with it, changing the lyrics just slightly.

"Is it a dream?
When will it end?
When everything we've ever known
has ended and I'm all alone?

"Where will I go?
Where will I be?
The feelings that I've never shown …
maybe I'll find the answer
But you're gone!
Gone!
How in the world will I go on?"

His voice broke on the final words.

Sirius gathered him into his arms, holding him tight to his breast. "There, now, Remus. It's all right, I'm here. I'm never really gone, you know, even when you can't see me. Even in Azkaban, my heart was with you." He forced Remus to look him in the eye. "Yes, Remus, I do love you. I always did. And I hope you can forgive me if I ever gave you reason to doubt that."

Remus let out a sob. He tried to speak, but couldn't manage it.

Sirius pulled him close, rocking him gently, stroking his hair. "It's okay, Remus, I know. I think I always knew. It's part of why I'm here now; to say what I should have said in life. But please don't be sad, Remus. I'm with James and Lily again -- we'll all be waiting for you. Not that we're in any hurry for you to come over!" he added quickly. "That's the other reason I'm here, Remus. You need to be strong for Harry, he needs you. None of us have been able to get through to him, so you need to be there for him while we can't."

[Sirius holds Remus.]

Remus pulled away a little, looking concerned. "Is he all right? His letters haven't said much. …"

Sirius looked grim, an expression that had never suited him. "I wish I could tell you, Remus, I really do. All I can say is that he's going down a path where we can't reach him, and if something's not done soon, he'll be lost, even to the living. You need to help him, Remus. As much as I love you, Harry's the one who needs you most right now. All of you. He needs all the love and understanding he can get. And tell him we love him too, Lupin, his parents and me. Tell him … tell him I'm sorry I'm not where he can see me, but I'll never be far away."

Wordlessly, Remus nodded. They just sat there, wrapped in each other's arms for a while, something they never really did while Sirius was alive. But there was something Lupin needed to say, something he'd wanted to say since the moment Sirius had disappeared into the Veil.

"You're a git, you know that don't you?"

Sirius laughed. "Am I now?"

"I can forgive you for never saying that you loved me, because I didn't say it either. But I don't think I can forgive you for … for fighting Bellatrix and leaving me."

Sirius sighed. "Wasn't exactly the way I planned on going out, you know. But really, Lupin, if I hadn't fought her, I wouldn't have been being me -- and it is me you love, isn't it? You still haven't said!" His voice held mock reproach, but his smile was genuine.

Remus couldn't help but smile too. "Yes, Sirius. I've always loved you, and I always will."

The music from the radio changed, catching Sirius' attention. "Hey, that's from Xanadu too, isn't it? Do you remember the first time we saw that movie?" he asked wistfully. "We just had to run out and get the record right after! And then we listened to it so often, James said he'd beat us senseless if we played it one more time when he was in earshot!"

Remus managed a sharp laugh through his tears.

Sirius pulled back a little, examining him. "Oh, is that a laugh?" he ginned. He kissed Lupin's brow, and drew him close again. "You know, I'd never realized how appropriate some of those lyrics were before now. …" He began to sing softly.

"Keep me suspended in time with you
Don't let this moment die
I get a feeling, when I'm with you,
none of the rules apply
But I know for certain,
goodbye is a crime,
so love, if you need me,
suspend me in time!"

Lupin looked up into Sirius's eyes, and was surprised to find the man's face wet with tears. He reached up a hand and brushed them away, then rest his forehead against Black's. His voice was just as soft as Sirius' had been, as he sang the next verse.

"Wasted the time away
Holding your love at bay
Now I can't last a day
without you
Your smile is a thrill to see
Your eyes hold me tenderly
They'll shine in my memory
forever

"But how can our love succeed?
A miracle is what we need,
and so I appeal to you ...

Sirius didn't let him sing the chorus, silencing him with lips bearing all the urgency of a love long repressed. There was no one here to judge them, nothing to hold back the wave of love that had been building for so long. Every wall they had ever built between them of denial or fear came crashing down under the pressure. Though time had no meaning in a dream, the kiss seemed to go on forever. Even when it was over, each man could feel the other's lips on his own, in a kiss would last an eternity, yet was over all to soon.

A new, lively song began. Filled with the joy of lost love found, Sirius found he couldn't contain it. He belted out a couple of lines of the song, his voice boisterous but not in the best of keys:

"I have to warn you I'm never gonna set you free!
'Cause I was born to love you for eternity!"

Remus barked out a laugh in spite of himself. "You're no Olivia Newton-John, Sirius."

Sirius grinned. "Well, all right, then, you sing it! Or better yet, let's do the scene together, like we used to. I'll be Gene Kelly!"

"Pfft. You're no Gene Kelly, either."

"Oh, aren't I now?" Sirius stood up, then took Lupin's hand and drew him up as well. He made Remus do a little spin. Then he gathered him close, and led him around the room, Remus laughing and protesting the whole while. When they reached the end of the instrumentals, Sirius stopped them, panting. "Whew! Not so young as I used to be."

Remus shook his head, sadly; Sirius' poor choice of words were a jarring reminder of the truth of his friend's existence now. Tears glittered in his eyes, but he managed to get the next words out past the lump forming in his throat.

"Whenever you're away from me,
wherever you go,
you're never far away from me,
I want you to know!
I only have to close my eyes, dear,
and suddenly I'm where you are!
You better never stray,
'cause I'll never be far away!"

Sirius' face grew sad, his form becoming indistinct, as, stepping backwards into the shadows, he echoed the last lines,

"You better never stray,
'cause I'll never be far … away …"

And he was gone.

"Sirius?" Remus asked the empty air in disbelief. "Sirius!" He reached out, but his hand found only coldness where his love had been. He sank to his knees, and as he did so, noticed the change in the tune. His voice chocked with grief, he sang the words that went with the music, pleading to the dearly departed.

"Don't turn around,
don't ever leave,
a lonely room where empty days
Are gathering to meet me
when you're gone!
Gone!
How in the world will I go on?

"Don't walk away
don't say goodbye
Don't turn around,
don't let it die
When shadows fall,
when day is done,
all through the night,
all of my life!
Don't walk away!"

And with the last line, he wept, doubled over in his grief. The huge, raking sobs were agony, like blades in his lungs, his eyes, but it was a relief to finally let them out.

Unfortunately, his keening was enough to rouse the portraits, even through the closed door.

As everyone stumbled out of bed to quell the screeching, Molly, Bill, and Arthur came down, wands out, to investigate whatever had set the Blacks off. They heard the wailing from beyond the kitchen door, and pushed it open, fearing the worst.

"Remus!" Molly rushed to the man's side, thinking him injured. "Are you all right?!" Arthur and Bill followed, scanning the room for intruders.

Lupin barely raised his head, but she could see his face was screwed up in agony. "He's gone, Molly! Gone!"

"Who?! Harry??" she asked, gripping his shoulders in alarm.

A shake of the head was all he could manage in reply, before a figure came stumbling through the fireplace. Bill almost threw a curse at it before he realized who it was. Such was the peril of being a Metamorphamagus.

Tonks brushed the soot out of her hair before opening her eyes. "Wotcher, Lu--" She was momentarily disoriented by the scene before her. "Lupin!" She rushed to his side.

Lupin grabbed her arm as tightly, making her wince. "He was here! He was here, and now he's gone! He's left me again!"

Though she was only newly arrived on the scene, Tonks didn't need to ask what he meant. "Oh, Remus!" she said gently, wrapping her arms about him, stroking his hair consolingly. "I know it hurts. I miss him too."

By now, the Weasleys had come into the room. ""What --" Ron started to ask, when Molly shushed him.

He dreamt of Sirius, Tonks mouthed.

Molly covered her mouth to stifle a cry, although Tonks wasn't entirely sure the woman fully comprehended just what that meant. Molly motioned with her other hand for the others to leave the room, and followed herself, closing the door behind them.

Tonks hadn't had much to report, but she was glad she'd decided to come anyway, on the off chance that Lupin might still be in the kitchen, as he often was late at night. And she hoped, now that he had finally let himself grieve, that he would no longer be awake for her late-night reports.

* * *

The next morning, Ron and Ginny filled Hermione in on the strange event of the night before.

"He was crying?" Hermione asked, her voice low in case Lupin should come down the stairs.

"Bawling, more like," Ron replied as he filled his plate with a hearty helping of bangers and mash.

"But you don't know why?"

Ginny shook her head. "Yes and no. All we heard was him say something like 'He's gone.' Mum asked if he meant Harry, but then Tonks came in. I saw her mouth 'He dreamt about Sirius', and then Mum was shooing us all back up to bed. Have no idea how Tonks knew that, though."

Ron spilled the orange juice a bit as he plunked the carafe down on the table. "I didn't hear her say that!"

Ginny rolled her eyes. "She didn't say it, I said she mouthed it." Like this, she demonstrated, making the words with her lips without actually making the sounds.

"Oh. Right. Knew that." He suddenly became very interested in reaching the surface of his plate.

"It's so sad!" Hermione sighed.

"But it's been so long! Why didn't he break down like this before, when Sirius first died? Why now?" Ginny asked.

Pigwidgeon flew in before Ron or Hermione could reply. He dropped a letter on Ron's plate, and another in Hermione's lap, before flying solidly into one of the pans hanging from the ceiling and landing solidly in the bowl of mash. Long used to the little owl's getting into trouble, Ron didn't even bother to snap at him. He just sighed and lifted the bird free, then tried to clean off the bird's feathers, with Hermione and Ginny's help. When they were done, Ginny gave Pig a bit of toast, and the owl nibbled at it contentedly.

"Say, 'Mione?" Ron asked around a mouthful of banger, his eyes glancing at the note he'd just received from Harry, "Do you ever get the feeling that Harry's not actually reading our letters?"

"Don't talk with your mouth full, Ron," she chided absently as she dropped another stitch. Having had an early breakfast with her folks before coming over, now she was practising her knitting, which she'd grown lax in of late, as she waited for Ron to finish his breakfast. "And yes, I've been wondering about that myself. I asked him how his O.W.L.s came out, and he hasn't said at all!"

"Yeah, well, I don't blame him for that," Ron told her wryly. "But I've written to him about all sorts of things, like Quidditch strategy, now that he'll be back on the team, or," he glanced over to his mother, and lowered his voice, "how Percy's still got his head up his arse and Mum's still broken up about it, or how well Fred and George are doing with their shop. And I've asked him about how … well, you know, how he's doing, after what happened to Sirius. But all his letters ever say is that he's doing as well as can be expected, seeing as he's where he is, and for me to give his love to the family!"

"At least you've been receiving letters from him," Ginny muttered. Harry hadn't replied at all to the one she'd written -- and she knew he couldn't be that busy.

Ron raised a brow in surprised. "You've written to him too? I thought you were dating Dean!" There was no mistaking the delighted look on his face. He might have teased Ginny about her crush before, but as her older brother, he didn't feel anyone but his best mate Harry was good enough for her. And now that Harry seemed to be over Cho.…

"Honestly, Ron! Harry's my friend too! Can I write to him without you playing matchmaker?" she hissed, but the flush of her cheeks suggested she was just being evasive. "And besides, it's not any of your business who I'm seeing! Although I should think you would remember that Dean's a mate of yours as well, and not be so hostile towards him!" There was no way she was going to tell Ron about their break-up now.

Hermione allowed herself a small, knowing smile before reining the conversation in. "It doesn't matter who writes to Harry, much less why -- he's obviously not talking to any of us."

A thought struck Ron. "Hey now, you don't suppose he's still angry about last summer, and is getting back at us?"

"Oh, I'm sure he's long over that. Besides, he wouldn't be that petty…" she paused in her knitting, obviously rethinking her statement, before she looked Ron in the eye, clearly worried, " …would he?"