Feedback: if you're so inclined.

Notes: I'm not new to HP, but I am new to writing this character.

My thanks to Sheltie and Merry for the support. :)

Disclaimer: Not mine. Tho I probably wouldn't treat them any better. Mean angst junkie that I am... ;)

I've known pain in my life. I've known anger and loathing. I've been crushed beneath despair. I've doubted, grieved and feared. But until that night, such a long, damnable night, I had never known the soul-shattering pain that comes when one's heart is turned to ash -- and nothing remains but an empty, gaping wound.

When I lost him the first time, I was furious. Twisted and torn, I refused to focus on what I had lost. What we had all lost. I turned a deaf ear to his appeals. I sent him away as much as they stole him from me. Deep inside, even as I hated him, I never forgave myself.

The second time... If truly my heart still pulsed in my chest, it would have skipped a beat. But this didn't happen. Couldn't happen. For what remained of my heart, what had been brought back to life by Sirius' return, was destroyed in the seconds it took for him to fall from sight. Scant seconds that felt more like years.

Afterward... It was all I could do to breathe. I ignored the others, the chaos. The mess at the Ministry was being dealt with. Harry was left in Dumbledore's capable hands. My duties to the others and the world had been served. I went through the motions, wanting only to be gone from that place.

And, it occurred to me, distantly, that perhaps my overdue penance was upon me. Penance for turning away from my love so many years ago. Punishment for ignoring his pleas, and my heart.

We returned to Grimmauld Place that night, but not for long. Kreacher's treachery cost us dearly, time and again. The little devil had already cost us so much... our safe house was the lesser loss as far as I was concerned. But for that night, at least, we sought it out one last time.

Once there I couldn't breathe, the backs of my eyes burned and the room lost its focus. Desperate, fleeing, I pushed around Tonks -- who was sent back to the house with me at Dumbledore's request. I rushed past the thankfully silent portraits and sought our room without thought.

Alone, my mind cried. I must be alone. I slammed the door behind me, clutching my hands into fists until they bled. I didn't feel the nails biting into my skin. I could feel nothing but the pain where my heart once lay. And as the sobs finally broke through my defenses, as the room seemed to shake, I imagined I could feel his arms around me and smell him behind me. But he wasn't there.

As the tremors shook me, I could not do the one thing I wanted more than anything. I couldn't take hold of him, safe in my arms, and refuse to let him go. Refuse to let him leave me. Again.

I have never allowed myself to truly lose control. It's the nature of what I am. Who I am. I must always be in control. That night... that was the closest I've ever come to breaking, including the darkest days of both wars. Something in me snapped, standing there.

I was barely able to see our bed through tear-stained eyes and something primal inside wanted to rip into that bed, shread it until it resembled... me. But I could no more harm that which I shared with him, especially knowing I would lose it far too soon anyway, than I could harm him.

Instead I wailed, screaming until my voice failed. All the while relishing the sounds of the portraits in the hall as their voices joined mine. I knelt there and bared my soul to the crescent moon as it looked meekly through the window.

The floor was hard beneath my knees, when my meager strength finally faltered. But I couldn't feel it. I could feel nothing save the pain that sought to tear its way out of my chest and through my throat, seeking solace in the night sky. But the sky wouldn't hear my petition. My mistress the moon never does.

She was no longer there, gazing upon me, when I came back to myself hours upon hours later.

And it's funny, really. There are so many little details -- silly, inconsequential things -- that were burned into my mind. I can remember every moment. Every look, every touch. Squabbling over toast at breakfast. His tending so carefully to Buckbeak. The way we could speak without words, our eyes finding one another's, be it during tea or before a fight.

There was the echoing of his boots as he paced. Even the memory of it rings in my ears. He had done that so much since we moved into Grimmauld Place. Always worried. Feeling helpless. Pacing, restless. However, on that day... that was the moment I knew there was nothing I, or anyone, could do to keep him from rescuing Harry. Common sense, his own safety, our future... all be damned.

It was the very same moment a feeling of unease stole over my heart and I couldn't seem to take my eyes off of him. I sat there, uneasy and wanting for more news, watching as he paced. I longed to reach out to him, but held back. The feeling that didn't abate until it was too late. Too horribly, cruelly late.

And of it all, I regret not reaching out to him the most. Not to try and stop him, but to calm or just connect with him. To remind him he was never alone. Even now my hands ache at the memory.

I remember how Harry struggled against me. I can feel him fighting against my arms, as he yelled and begged, trying to find Sirius. And although pain I had never known was destroying me, I held firm. Harry must be kept safe, I could hear Sirius say. I had heard him say it often enough. But what of you? I longed to ask him, but I never did. What of us? How could I hold Harry safe, when I wanted nothing more that to follow him, myself?

And if I heard Sirius whispering to me, from just outside my sight, I didn't speak of it to the others. If he seemed to plead that I watch over Harry, that perhaps I even watch over myself, I was sure not to share it with anyone. That moment, those words, true or imagined, were mine alone and I clung to them greedily.

There was little question, really, if I would go on. There was no doubt I would tread wearily ahead: broken, heartless and once more lacking that which helped to make me whole. There was a war to be won. A second horrible, unimaginable war loomed. My place was in the fight, doing all that was in my power to ensure that which Sirius died for didn't die with him.

But now the war is over. Time has passed and peace reigns once more. The youths that forged ahead, firing the first unfortunate volleys in our defense, have grown. Our time has passed, Sirius. It belongs to them now. In a way, they -- Harry, Ron, Hermione, countless others -- are each our very own legacy.

Now I can only hope that my penance is paid. Perhaps I shall soon join you there, beyond the veil. Perhaps this time, unlike all those before, nothing shall keep us apart.

end