Chapter 24

“You don’t need to shine, just hold on”

Hello everyone! Insomnia night, so I’m going to take advantage of it to finish the chapter. We’re actually merging back into canon here. We’re at Chapter 14, which you can start by rereading if you want, although, truth be told, the most important part is the ending. I’ll let you know when to read it.

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The pale Sunday light barely filtered through the heavy curtains of Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place.

Sirius was slumped in an armchair in the sitting room, his legs stretched out, his gaze lost in the fire still burning in the hearth. On the table, the previous day’s Daily Prophet lay untouched, exactly where he had left it after reading another article about himself.

Finally, with an impatient snort, he grabbed it and threw it into the fire. The flames devoured it at once, blackening the letters he had barely managed to read.

He stayed there, watching the paper curl and turn to ash, but the sight brought him none of the satisfaction he had expected.

It only left a stale taste of resignation in his mouth.

Just as he was about to get up, a soft noise at the window broke the silence.

—Hedwig.

He sprang to his feet and opened the window.

The white owl entered with an elegant beat of her wings, soaked by the drizzle, and perched on the back of a chair. Sirius noticed the slight tremor in her body and the quick rise and fall of her chest.

—Come here, girl —he murmured, with an unexpected tenderness.

He closed the window behind her, gently stroked her damp feathers, and carried her down to the kitchen.

He poured some water into a bowl and offered her a bit of bacon.

Hedwig drank gratefully before holding out her leg, where a brief note was tied with a simple ribbon.

Sirius undid the knot with quick fingers and unfolded the parchment, frowning as he read.

(NB: this letter is from Book 5, but I’m copying it because it’s short. Sorry, Mr Copyright!)

“Dear Padfoot,
I hope you’re well. The first few days here have been awful, so I’m glad the weekend has finally arrived.
We have a new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Umbridge. She’s just as charming as your mother. I’m writing because what I told you about over the summer happened again last night while I was serving a detention with Umbridge.
We all miss our great friend, but we hope he’ll be back soon.
Please write back quickly.”

He reread the words again and again, gripping the note so tightly his knuckles turned white.

Just as charming as your mother. Detentions. What he’d told him about over the summer.

Remus Lupin entered the kitchen with his calm step and a loyal book tucked under his arm.

His eyes took in the scene: Hedwig dozing on the back of the chair, a teapot still steaming on the table, and his best friend holding a piece of parchment with a deeply serious expression.

—A letter from Harry? —he asked quietly.

Sirius didn’t answer, simply handed him the note.

Remus took it carefully and began to read. His initial curiosity gave way to concern. When he finished, he let out a soft sigh and set the letter down on the table before sitting in a chair.

—Over the summer he told me his scar had started hurting again —Sirius murmured, breaking the silence.

Remus nodded gravely.

He poured himself a cup of tea and, thoughtfully stirring it with a spoon, spoke at last.

—Dumbledore told us that Harry’s scar was linked to Voldemort in some way —he said in a reflective tone—. That when it hurts, it’s because Voldemort is experiencing a strong emotion.

Sirius drummed his fingers against the table, pensive.

—Yes. The thing is, before it was only an intermittent pain… —he mused aloud— but now it seems to be happening more often.

—That makes sense —Remus agreed—. Now that Voldemort has regained his body, he feels things more intensely. Their connection is stronger. But that doesn’t invalidate Dumbledore’s theory.

Sirius nodded, though his expression remained tense.

Trying to offer him some reassurance, Remus sought his gaze and smiled gently.

—Besides, Harry’s at Hogwarts. It’s the safest place he could be. Half the teachers are members of the Order, and he’s with the Weasleys and Hermione… He’ll be fine.

This time, Sirius did return the smile, though he still looked uneasy.

—And then there’s Umbridge.

Remus made an instinctive face at the name.

—I know her —he said, a note of distaste in his voice—. She used to work at the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures.

Sirius clicked his tongue, his expression one of absolute contempt.

—Charming, just as Harry says.

Remus sighed and rubbed his temples with two fingers, as if the mere mention of the woman gave him a headache. Sirius, meanwhile, lifted his cup to his lips, but barely drank.

His gaze wandered distractedly over the table until it settled on Remus’s clothes.

He had always dressed in modest, worn garments, but this time the wear was more obvious. There were recent patches on the sleeves, seams reinforced again and again, as though he were trying to make the fabric last just a little longer. The collar was frayed, and the cuffs bore the marks of having been mended several times.

Sirius felt a sharp stab of anger and helplessness in his chest.

Remus never spoke about his financial situation, never asked for anything. But now, sitting across from him in clothes he was desperately trying to keep presentable, it was clear that things were even harder than usual.

—You’re still living off what you saved back at Hogwarts, right? —Sirius asked, in a deliberately casual tone.

Remus looked up and, after a brief silence, sighed with resignation.

—For now, yes. But that won’t last much longer.

Sirius glanced back at the letter on the table, his eyes catching on the word “Umbridge.”

—Ever since that bloody anti-werewolf law was passed… —he muttered with contempt.

Remus gave a bitter smile.

—Well, yes. Though it’s not as if it was easy before, either.

—How’s the job hunt going? —Sirius asked, his voice low.

Remus set his cup down with a resigned gesture.

—Terribly —he admitted with a tired smile—. My Gringotts vault has more cobwebs than Galleons. I wouldn’t be surprised if they soon deny me access and give it to someone with an income.

Sirius snorted, irritated.

But before he could say anything, Remus met his eyes and added quietly:

—Thank you for letting me stay here, Padfoot. If it weren’t for that, I don’t know what I’d do.

Sirius gave him a light clap on the back, a crooked smile on his face.

—It’s the other way round, Moony. I appreciate the company.

Remus let out a soft laugh and shook his head before lifting his cup again.

—What a pair we are.

—Yeah —Sirius agreed, with a half-smile—. What a pair.

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HP – 14: Percy and Padfoot. The final part, the one that follows Ron’s disastrous Quidditch training session and begins with something like: “They spent the whole Sunday in the common room, surrounded by books, while at times the room filled with students and at others was left completely empty.”

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Sirius stepped away from the fireplace with a sharp movement, still feeling the heat of the fire on his skin and the echo of his own voice ringing in his head.

His heart was pounding, but not because of excitement, danger, or the fear of being discovered. It was something deeper, more corrosive, like a slow poison building up inside him.

He knew Harry was right.
That Hermione was right.
That Dumbledore, Kingsley, Moody, Molly, Arthur… even Remus and Tonks, though they never said it aloud, were right.

Sirius clenched his teeth.
Of course he knew.

HE SHOULDN’T GO OUT.

It was madness even to think about it.
And yet, the disappointment still nested in his chest like a creature with sharp claws.

He dropped heavily into an armchair, elbows braced on his knees, burying his face in his hands.
Why did it hurt so much to hear it?
Why that stab of pain when Harry had refused his suggestion to meet in Hogsmeade?
Why had his first reaction been to tell him he wasn’t like James?

Because no one could understand him.

No one could understand what it was like to be trapped.
What it was like to live with the feeling that time had gone on without him.
No one could understand what it was like to have spent twelve years in Azkaban, surviving on nothing but the memory of his own sanity, only to escape and discover that the world no longer had a place for him.

He had believed that, at the very least, the Order would give him back something of what he had lost.
That fighting Voldemort would be enough.
That, in the absence of freedom, he could at least cling to action, to war, to a purpose.

But even that had been taken from him.

The Order plotted in his own house while he remained on the sidelines, reduced to an unwanted host in the place he hated most in the world.

Every time reports of attacks arrived, every time someone came through the door with a new plan, every time he saw the others leave on a mission without him… the rage gnawed at him.

What the hell did they expect him to do?
Sit there and wait for the war to be resolved without him?
Endure inactivity with resignation?

He couldn’t. He never had.

And worst of all was that, deep down, he knew his frustration didn’t stop with the Order, or even with his confinement in Grimmauld Place.

He knew part of his disappointment was aimed at Harry. And that filled him with guilt.

He had wanted to be better.
A responsible godfather.
Someone Harry could rely on, who wouldn’t fail him the way so many others had.

But when Harry had written to him that summer, telling him about his trial at the Ministry, Sirius had caught himself harbouring a selfish wish, a thought he should never have had.

He had wished Harry would be expelled.

That Harry would be forced to run, to live outside the law, to share with him the life of a fugitive.
Because, in some twisted way, that would have meant he wasn’t alone.
That Harry —the person who looked most like James in the entire world— would be with him.

Of course he had been glad when Harry was acquitted, when he was able to return to Hogwarts.
But that had only made him feel even more alone.

He ran a hand through his untidy hair, closing his eyes in frustration.

Yes.
Going out was dangerous. For him and for everyone else.
If he exposed himself, he would only end up being captured by the Ministry and sent back to Azkaban, or killed by Death Eaters before that could happen.

It was just that… he wished he weren’t a fugitive ex-con, hunted as a mad psychopath accused of betraying his best friends and murdering thirteen Muggles and a wizard.
That was all.

In the doorway of the sitting room, a shadow stood motionless.

Remus Lupin had heard everything.

He didn’t announce himself, nor did he make the slightest sound. He simply stayed there, watching his friend with a darkened gaze, his eyes filled with more than compassion: understanding.

He knew what it was like to feel trapped in a life he hadn’t chosen.

He knew what it was like to watch others move forward while he was left behind.

He knew what it was like to feel alone.

And he knew all too well when someone needed to be alone.

So, after a moment, he turned away in silence and left, aware that Sirius didn’t need a lectura. Only a truce (truce? I don’t know if it’s correct…)

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Tonks felt the icy wind cut into her face even before she had fully apparated.

The landscape was the same as always: the stone platform, the waves crashing furiously against the shore of rocks and seaweed, the thick mist crawling along the ground as if it were alive. And the sun hidden away, as though its rays could not reach that godforsaken rock at the edge of the world.

In the distance, Azkaban stood still. Cruel. Defiant.
As if it had been waiting for her.

She drew a deep breath.

She had been repeating it to herself all morning.
This time, yes.
This time she would manage it.

She remembered the unexpected warmth Moody’s Patronus had given her the week before: its imposing shape shielding her from the darkness like a solid wall of light. If she summoned her own, it would be easier to endure what lay ahead. Surely.

She focused.

The wand trembled in her hand as she raised it, but she chose to ignore it. She closed her eyes, forcing a happy memory, something bright.

—Expecto Patronum! —she said, as firm and clear as she could manage

A pale light burst from the tip of her wand.

The shape of her Patronus began to form… but not completely.

It was not the agile, radiant creature it usually was. It was an unsteady, blurred silhouette, as though it were made of smoke rather than light.

It barely took a couple of steps across the damp ground before vanishing without remedy, swallowed by the breath of the dementors.

Tonks blinked, confused.

She tried again. With more force, more determination.

The result was even worse: just a brief flicker of bluish light, and nothing else.

Fatigue hit her all at once. She swayed slightly, her legs numb, as though all her energy had been drained in an instant. The dampness of the air seeped into her bones, even more than the previous time.

Breathing was an effort.

And they hadn’t even entered the prison yet.

Then Moody’s silver boar emerged from the mist, its steps steady, its presence powerful.

When it reached her side, Tonks felt the air grow clearer.

Alastor, a few steps ahead, didn’t even turn around.

But the auror knew he had seen her. And she also knew that, despite his feigned indifference, he had slowed his pace so she could keep up without stumbling.

Tonks said nothing. Because she knew that if she spoke, her voice would break. She lowered her wand in resignation and followed her mentor, allowing herself to be wrapped in the warm light radiating from his Patronus.

They walked in silence through the interior of the fortress, where the stones —always damp— continued to ooze the abandonment and despair of the tormented souls imprisoned within. The corridor was narrower than she remembered, and their footsteps echoed more sharply. The boar stayed close at her side, as if unwilling to lose sight of her.

They reached the cell.

The man stepped up to the bars. Though his posture remained upright, he seemed to be making a great effort to stay on his feet. His eyes no longer shone with defiance, and his laughter had long since faded.

Tonks looked at him.

And something ignited inside her.

She blinked, taking an instinctive step forward.

For a second, the mist of Azkaban seemed to dissolve.

She remembered him. In a Transfiguration class. Laughing in the corridors. Sprawled over a book in the library. Sunbathing by the lake. Flying on a broom, the Hufflepuff badger cutting through the wind.

Trevor Fernwick.

He seemed to recognise her too. His cracked lips curved into something almost like a human smile. But he said nothing.

Tonks looked away, feeling her stomach churning.

During the interrogation, she held on as best she could. She didn’t hear everything, didn’t fully process what was happening. But she endured.

Not out of pride. But because she was determined not to fail. Because she knew that if she gave up now, she would never come back.

When they left, though it wasn’t late, night had already swallowed the horizon.

The sea roared violently, the rain soaked her clothes, and the wind lashed at her hair. But none of it mattered to the Auror.

When they reached the apparition point, Moody extended his arm as he had the last time. Tonks took it.

And when they vanished together with the sharp crack of the spell, the only thing she carried with her was a bitter certainty: she had failed.

And she felt it.

In the weight of her body, in the hollow emptiness left by being drained of magic, and in the tremor she could barely contain in her hands as she clung tightly to her mentor.

In every bone, every exhausted muscle, every part of her soul where there should have been light…

Now there was only darkness.

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The sharp crack of magical impacts faded with a final flash that dissolved into the air.

Tonks lowered her wand, feeling the uneven pulse in her wrist, and leaned against one of the columns in the corner. It wasn’t physical exertion. It was something else. Something that had been coiling inside her for days now, like an invisible ivy.

—Kingsley… —she said, her voice not quite sounding like her own—. Can we stop for a moment?

Kingsley Shacklebolt lowered his wand calmly. He simply watched her in silence for a few seconds. Then he nodded.

—Of course.

Tonks sank onto the nearest bench, ran a hand over her damp forehead, and let out a long sigh. Kingsley said nothing. He only handed her a bottle of water. He always brought one extra for her, though he never mentioned it.

—I’ve been going to Azkaban with Moody —she murmured at last, as she twisted the cap open—. Interrogations. Two already. And I… I’m not handling it well.

Kingsley sat down opposite her, folding his arms over his knees. His expression was calm, but his attentive eyes studied her carefully.

—I’m not surprised —he said evenly—. Azkaban is a trial for anyone. Even for those who won’t admit it. It’s not a place you ever truly get used to.

Tonks let out a muted laugh, more out of habit than humour. She took a sip of water and lowered her gaze to her own hands.

—I tried to conjure my Patronus there. I thought it would help, that it would be my shield. But it didn’t… It didn’t just fail. It felt as if something was torn out of me. I was left without strength. Without air. And I was scared. More than I expected.

Kingsley nodded very slowly, like someone recognising a pain he had felt before.

—That’s normal. You don’t need the dementors to attack you for them to hurt you. Just being there… it’s as if they drain you from the inside. They steal your light, your balance. It’s the pressure they put on you. And then, even magic stops responding.

Without adding anything else, he raised his wand gently.

—Expecto Patronum.

From the tip of his wand emerged a silver lynx, majestic and serene. It neither roared nor blazed with force. It walked with a steady gait and slowly circled Tonks, wrapping her in a ring of soft light.

She looked at it with a mixture of awe and gratitude. The faint warmth radiating from the spell was real. Or at least real enough to make her feel better.

—You can do it —Kingsley said quietly—. Your magic is still there. It’s just that the environment is trying to swallow it. Try again now. Without forcing it. Without thinking about perfection. Just… summon it.

Tonks took a deep breath. She closed her eyes. This time, she didn’t force a bright memory or an overwhelming emotion.

She thought of that afternoon, training with Kingsley by her side. Just that.

—Expecto Patronum.

The light emerged hesitantly, like a wavering flame.

But it didn’t go out.

On the contrary.

It slowly took shape, giving form to the ethereal body of her Patronus.

A she-wolf.
Her she-wolf.

At first it took a few cautious steps and seemed to stretch its legs and back… then it lifted its head, more resolute, proud, and sought her gaze.

At a gentle trot, it approached Tonks, placed its front paws on her knees, and rose slightly, as if trying to bring its muzzle closer to the Auror’s nose.

Tonks let out a soft, almost childish laugh.

—Always such a clown… —she whispered, unable to hide the emotion stirred by the fact that even her own Patronus was trying to cheer her up.

Kingsley smiled discreetly.

—There you have it. You don’t have to prove anything to anyone. You don’t need to shine, just hold on. That’s what makes a good Auror.

The lynx and the she-wolf regarded each other for a moment, like two sentinels recognising one another. Then, in unison, they dissolved into a silver breeze.

Kingsley rose slowly.

—No duelling today. We’re going to start with something else. Occlumency, level one. Isolation.

Tonks raised her eyebrows.

—Occlumency? I thought that was more for… defence against other wizards.

—That too —Kingsley nodded—. But what you need right now is to close your mind so the dementors can’t access your emotions. If you can keep them out, you’ll be able to focus on what actually makes you strong. And summon your Patronus without feeling like you’re drowning.

Tonks looked at him for a moment, thoughtful. Then she nodded with resolve.

—All right. Teach me.

Kingsley smiled with that subtle gesture of his, almost imperceptible.

—First: breathing. Second: focus. And third… silence.

Tonks closed her eyes again.

And for the first time in days, she believed it: she could do it.

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AUTHOR’S NOTE:

What? Did you really think that just because Remus listened to her, wrapped her in his golden light, gave her chocolate and played the piano for her, Tonks would suddenly be able to conjure a giant Patronus? Well… no. Life is tough, Auror. You have to train.

I’ve also used this chapter to give a bit more depth to the subject of Occlumency, which I personally find fascinating and very underexplored… but Kingsley will explain it properly later on. Let me know what you think.

Oh, and one more thing. You know I usually try to stay canon-friendly. But HERE I’m taking the LIBERTY of BREAKING IT:

I know that somewhere on Pottermore (or something like that) it was said that Tonks’s original Patronus was a hare. I don’t buy it. Not because it doesn’t fit, exactly, but because I strongly associate the hare or rabbit with Luna Lovegood. And for Tonks… I don’t know, for me her spirit is perfectly symbolised by the figure of the she-wolf. The she-wolf is protective, social, loyal to her pack, intelligent, and strong.

For me, Tonks is already a she-wolf before she falls in love. She doesn’t define herself through Remus; she finds him from who she already is.

I know that in Harry Potter Book 6 her Patronus changes. I know, and I will change it… but I’ll change it into something else 😀 You’ll see!

You can find the illustration for this chapter on my social media —drop by Instagram, Tumblr or TikTok.

See you! 😀