A/N: Just a sad little story...one of my three o'clock in the morning creations. "I will not say do not weep. For not all tears are an evil." (Gandalf, Lord of the Rings: the Return of the King) And because we all have to mourn a little before laughing.
Disclaimer: Don't own Potter. Don't own Wicked. I just live, work, and play there.
No one mourns the wicked. No one cries they won't return. No one lays a lily on their grave.
He stared bitterly at the cold stone arch. The black Veil that hung from its apex was tattered and ripped, fluttering threateningly in a non-existent breeze. He just stood, as if frozen on the spot. He did not notice the last few minor spells whizzing past him. He did not notice Dumbledore carefully erecting wards to stop the captured and defeated Death Eaters from escaping. He did not even notice the fact that Harry and Bellatrix were no longer in the room. He merely stared at the black curtain that had swallowed his best friend. He merely stood, unbelieving of what had just happened, disregarding the words that had just spilled from his own mouth.
"It is not possible…that he just died." Remus said these words, but they contrasted what he had just told Harry, what his eyes were telling him, and what his brain seemed not to register. He kept telling himself that there was no way Sirius could have gone down that easily. There was no way that he was dead. But in his heart, he knew. There was a hole in there now…and deep down, he knew. Sirius wasn't coming back. That void in there knew it. And it was telling his brain to just accept it. But he couldn't. It would take him longer than that to admit that he was truly the only one left now. It was going to take him forever to see that Sirius was dead.
He tried to say it. But the words didn't come out. He had almost said it earlier, hadn't he? But Harry had cut him off so forcibly, that he had, for a second, believed the boy. That second had grown into a minute, the minute into more, and now, he could no longer say that Sirius was dead. Because he wasn't. He was going to pop back out any moment, brushing his hair from his eyes, giving a bark of laughter before running off to find Harry, and tell him that everything was okay. But it didn't come, that moment. Sirius did not come back, and wouldn't, no matter how many times Remus wished he would.
Slowly he raised his wand. He muttered a spell under his breath, and a white lily fell delicately into his outstretched hand. It was slightly lopsided. Conjuring had always been Sirius' strong suit. Remus had gotten good at Vanishing Spells, often having to clean up after Sirius on a Conjuring spree. Remus sighed and walked numbly forward. The arch was raised a few feet on a stone plinth. Why had Sirius chosen to battle his cousin up there? Hadn't he known the danger of the Veil? And now it was over. And Remus felt like crying.
He laid the lily at the base of the arch, tucked between the stones.
Sirius wasn't wicked…he deserved a lily on his grave…
Remus turned and moved away. He was numb and unfeeling as he moved from Order member to Order member, healing, binding wounds, staunching blood flow. He couldn't do anything for many of them, and they'd have to be transported to St. Mungo's. As he worked, he didn't notice the silent tears that trickled down his face until Mad-Eye handed him a handkerchief. "It's okay," Moody said. "It's time for you to take care of yourself, not others."
Remus nodded. He sat down, arms around his knees, and buried his face in his hands. He was shaking with silent sobs. No one bothered him. Slowly, in the depths of his mind, he accepted that it was over. Sirius wasn't coming back. "He's dead," he muttered bitterly to his hands. "He's gone. He's not coming back, the idiot. He's dead, and I'm going to miss him."
Remus went home to Grimmauld with the others. But it was empty there, and dark. And there were far too many memories hiding in the halls, and lurking in the rooms. It was here that they'd laughed so hard, Mrs. Black had heard them, three floors below and started bellowing. It was here that they'd made fun of Snape again, just like schoolboys. It was here that they'd found Sirius' old photo albums and spent three hours reliving moments in a time long ago, when the world was far brighter than it was now. It was here that Remus had played chess with Ron, and Sirius had helped him lose spectacularly. It was here that…
It was too often that he had stopped in doorways, remembering something Sirius had said or done in that room before turning and walking out again. He didn't stay at headquarters for very long. He packed his battered suitcase about a week after the Ministry battle had happened, rented a flat in the deepest part of Muggle London, and disappeared for a while, alone with his thoughts and memories.
It was during those times when, while making dinner, he would turn and ask Sirius if he wanted his potatoes mashed or boiled, before remembering that Sirius wasn't there, and couldn't hear him. It was during those times when, lying awake at night, he could have sworn that he heard Sirius singing off-key in one of his midnight showers, but then remembered that Sirius wasn't there, and couldn't be singing. It was during those times when he was out shopping, that he would glance over his shoulder and ask Sirius to carry the heavy bag before remembering that Sirius wasn't there, and couldn't carry anything. It was during those times…Remus mourned. Deeply.
It was Dumbledore who finally called him from his solitude. Remus went up to Hogwarts one day, after receiving the Headmaster's letter, and asked Dumbledore for the dirtiest job he could give him. The old wizard had looked at him with sadness in his eyes, and told Remus about the Underground Werewolves. Remus agreed, even when he heard that it was led by Fenrir Greyback. He didn't care. Perhaps Greyback would finish him off and it would all be over. And so Remus disappeared again, but his time, Sirius didn't come with, and Remus could concentrate. He still mourned, but it didn't matter now.
And slowly he healed.
He smiled now, though it was rare, and usually only for Harry. No one asked questions for once. He slowly got over it. And Tonks helped. And then, the next summer, he really smiled. And he thought that Sirius would have wanted him to smile, and laugh. And then it was okay. The hole was still there, but it was smaller. Because Tonks was slowly filling it up. She couldn't replace him, but she was better than he was alone. She made him smile. She helped him heal.
And he knew it would be okay…and he knew that Sirius, wherever he was, would be laughing. And he would have been laughing from the moment he died up until Remus joined him. And then they would continue to laugh together, and they would laugh about the sadness, and wonder why they had ever mourned.
No one mourns the wicked. But Sirius wasn't wicked. We mourned him anyway, even if we knew he was laughing. We mourned anyway, even if we knew that soon, we would heal, and we would realize that he would want us to laugh. No one mourns the wicked, but Sirius wasn't wicked, and so we mourned him…but only for a little while, before we smiled and laughed again.