1996

Moony

I'm floating on the lake on my back, staring up at the stars. It's a full moon. It seems hazy, tinged a bit green. The world is blanketed in quiet. It feels eerie.

I feel a nudge against my back, and I'm being pushed toward shore, lifted out of the water. Once I'm standing in the shallows, Prongs steps around me—but it isn't Prongs. It's Harry's Patronus, silvery and ethereal. It tosses its head, antlers glistening against the velvet black sky, and then walks around me and back across the lake.

Remus—shouldn't you be the werewolf? I hear the voice echo through my mind—sinister, high, trembling. It's Wormtail's voice. My eyes rise fearfully to the moon...

Yes, I should be the werewolf. I haven't taken the wolfsbane potion! I'll be loose—on Hogwarts grounds—a werewolf—

The moon winks at me, as if it's laughing, and I feel the change set in. My bones are lengthening, my joints shifting, and fur sprouts from my skin in waves...

I look down, and there's Sirius standing in front of me, black wings spread out like he's some sort of dark angel—an angel of hell, and of Azkaban, and of my heart. He watches me with his heart in his eyes, dim against the backdrop of Hogwarts, as if he isn't quite real.

And his eyes close. He tilts slowly backward... falling... falling... through the veil...

He fades away, and all that's left is the stone archway, tattered veil fluttering on an unreal wind with whispered voices from a land beyond mocking the feelings in my heart.

No, Sirius—you're not gone, you can't be—you can't be—

I wake with a start, splashing the water in the tub and sending it sloshing over onto the floor. I've been sleeping long enough for the heat to fade so that the water is chill, but my heart feels colder.

Sirius is gone. I'm alone. There's the Order, there's Harry, but no one as close as Sirius. I smile bitterly, but my eyes are tickling with tears, and there's nothing to be done for the aching emptiness in my heart.

The house seems filled with whispers and dark murmurs. It's always been a dark place, bordering on evil, but it was Sirius' house, and he had control over it, however limited. Now, it rebels against those of us still living in it, and all of the dark magic hiding away in shadowed corners comes out. The portrait of Mrs. Black rarely shuts up, and Kreacher looks particularly pleased with himself. I don't know what's to be done with him, but a part of me—a loud, insistent part—cries that he be beheaded and placed on the wall with the long line of house elves that would be so proud of him. That part is what Sirius left in me, the mark of what the two of us shared—so close we sometimes blended together.

I'm trembling. The darkness of the house is closing in on me. It'll swallow me whole, if I allow it. And I want it to, a little. I don't want to remain. Not without Sirius.

But I'm not done here. There's the Order, and Voldemort is still on the loose. And Harry is nearly as shaken as I am by Sirius' death. In some ways, maybe more. He feels guilty, a little; he shouldn't, it wasn't his fault, but I understand the way he feels.

Icy chills run down my spine, and I know that I need to get out of here. Out of this bathroom—out of the house, if I can. I can't dwell. It's strangling my heart, allowing myself to remember Sirius, mourn Sirius, want Sirius—miss him horribly.

I have to do something else. Anything else. I stumble out of the claw-footed tub, splashing water all over the washroom. It sneaks across the floor, silent and imperceptible as death. I'm shaking as I dress, hardly dry, my robes clinging to my damp skin. I cast a fearful glance back at the bathroom, and then flee.

* * *

I try in vain to listen in the Order meetings, to focus on what's happening and distract myself from the one who's missing. I'm gone, though. Someplace distant. Some place where the memory of Sirius lurks, soothing and hurting, alluring and repulsive. He's alive in the halls of my heart, and it's tempting to dwell there with him, lost in myself. Gone forever from the world.

But this won't do. I can't be this way. People die, I tell myself. It has happened to others. Given time, I will get over it. Well... I will at least learn to survive.

It's no help.

In the end, I know that I need resolution.

I go to Dumbledore. I know I look awful. I haven't slept properly, not since... well... But Dumbledore looks at me, and I can tell he knows the way I'm feeling right now. He nods when I tell him I need to talk. And he waits for my request.

"I need to know the absolution spell," I murmur quietly, my voice hoarse. "Please."

He watches me over his half-moon glasses, those pale blue eyes of his lit with a strange light. I can see that he's concerned. He runs his fingers through his beard for a moment before responding, and then his voice is horribly somber. "I can teach it to you, but you must be certain you want to use it. It might help you, but it might also hurt you. With this spell, there is no middle ground."

I nod wearily. "I'm willing to take this risk," I say softly, but there's steel hiding in my voice. I'm sure. I need a change. If the spells hurts rather than helping, I'll deal with that when it comes.

"I will teach you," he says gently. "But before you use it, think of what Sirius would want." He doesn't wait for my answer; he launches into a quiet explanation of the spell. It sounds rather difficult, though not entirely complex. Once he finishes, I nod slowly, dully moving my wand in the motion he described. The incantation echoes in my mind, though I don't use it yet: Endymonis Consulere.

"Use it wisely, Remus," Dumbledore murmurs, watching me. "And good luck."

"Thank you," I whisper, and I watch his back as he sweeps away down the hall, his robes trailing behind him along the floorboards.

I turn and make my way to Sirius' room in a fog, hardly concentrating enough to put one foot in front of the other. Up the stairs. I pass Kreacher, and he's up to mischief, but I don't care. When I enter the room, I shut the door behind me, leaning my back against it and sliding down to the floor.

I put my forehead against my knees, trembling. My wand is in my fingers, twirling among them in an unconscious sort of anxious twitch. I sit in silence, shaking with an internal chill, for a long while, my mind flashing with images. The dream. The fight. Harry's face. Sirius falling through the veil.

Something shuffles in the corner, and I look up to see Buckbeak looking at me forlornly, shifting his wings. I give him a bleak, empty smile; he and Sirius had much in common. They identified. Both on the run for an unfair sentence, and both cooped up in this evil house.

He bows to me, and I stand up slowly, moving over to stand next to him. I run my hand along his head; his feathers are soft, and they tickle. He closes his large amber eyes, twitching his tail and snapping with his beak. I look around and catch sight of a bag of dead ferrets; I pick it up and throw one to Buckbeak, who snaps it up and swallows it whole.

"There you go," I murmur to him quietly, absently. I run my hand along his gray feathers and drop the bag of ferrets on the neighboring chest of drawers. "It's alright."

No, it's not. I wander away from Buckbeak, sitting on the edge of Sirius' bed and twirling my wand in my fingers, watching it, mesmerized. Nothing's alright. Everything's wrong. Sirius is gone, Voldemort is rising, no one is safe.

With a low sigh, I raise my wand. I concentrate on Sirius. It isn't hard to fix the image of him in my mind. He's laughing. He's alive, free from all of these worries. I wish he could have been. "Endymonis Consulere," I whisper, drawing the wand tip through the air. It takes enormous magical effort. I can feel it coursing through me, focusing at the wand's tip, until it slowly gains form.

In moments, Sirius is standing before me.

He's different. The right age, but he looks as he might have if he had never lived through Azkaban. There's none of that darkness in his eyes. He's smiling, but his smile falters when he sees me, and he sinks to his knees in front of me, putting a hand against my cheek. "Remus?"

"I miss you," I murmur softly, my heart aching.

"Don't," he says quietly, running his thumb across my cheek. "It's alright."

"It's not," I reply. I look up at him, and his eyes seem so strange without the hollowness hiding behind his usual glint of life. Behind him, Buckbeak scratches his talons against the floor, making a quiet keening sound.

Sirius lowers his hand and turns, looking back at Buckbeak, and he smiles sadly. He watches the hippogriff for a long moment before returning his gaze to me and asking softly, "You'll take care of him, won't you?"

"Of course," I whisper. When he doesn't say anything, just watches me, I ask him, "How is it that you're here?"

"It doesn't matter," he replies. But I know. He's composed of my memories. It's the spell. I ignore the murmuring in the back of my mind. Endymonis Consulere... a spell... resolution... absolution... a spell...

"I love you," I tell him, desperately, and I put my hand on his cheek. "I always have." Always. In our fights. With regret. In Azkaban. With guilt. And now... with horrible heartache.

"I love you, too, Remus," he says, an inexpressible sadness in his eyes. He leans forward.

Before our lips can touch, I break the spell. The wraith Sirius dissolves into sparkling dust, falling over my hand, into my lap.

I stare—for a long time I stare at nothing. I ignore the soft noises of Buckbeak's movement. All I can hear is in my own mind.

Not real. No replacements. There is no one else. He's gone. No fakes. Sirius. I love you, I miss you, and there is no one else. Ever.

I put my face in my hands... and I cry.  

&&&&&

That's all, folks. ._. Keep in mind I wrote this before HBP came out. The irony of Remus and Tonks after this ending is not lost on me, haha.

I wish I could remember exactly where Endymonis Consulere came from. I remember scouring Latin dictionaries, and I had a specific idea in mind... these days all I found is Endymion from Greek myth, and that consulere comes from the Latin root for a word that essentially means consult, lol. I guess it kind of makes sense. He's seeking counsel from a wraith version of his dead lover. Hm.

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed. I applaud you for making it this far. Man I liked my chapters long, and there are so many things I could do better justice to now that I really am tempted to rewrite. 

If you can spare time to vote or comment, I'd really appreciate it!