The safehouse was overrun by the Order members.

Moody didn't talk. He sat in the corner, holding an eye patch to the missing limb. Rosier—no, Evan Rosier—didn't go down without a fight.

Everyone was quiet. Thinking, waiting for something to happen—to break the silence.

Lily didn't cry as she rested her head on James' shoulder. She cried for days already when the news of the McKinnon family being wiped out by the Dark Lord's followers. Marlene didn't even get a proper burial.

Remus sat quietly next to Emmeline, sipping his tea. Alice and Frank stood quietly in a corner.

"He was a child." Sirius finally said from his place at the table, breaking the silence.

"He was a death eater." Moody shot back, adjusting his eye patch. "And put up a pretty good fight."

"He was 18!" Sirius barked back. Evan. Sirius didn't know Evan, never crossed paths at Hogwarts. But Evan was a good friend of Regulus', and in some weird way, Sirius found himself caring.

With one final glare at Moody, Sirius got up. He took his jacket, throwing it over his shoulder as his boots echoed through the quiet safehouse.

The door slammed behind him and Sirius felt the weight—of the war, of the deaths—morph into his shadow as he apparated through London.

Sirius wanted to cut the world off. Live without drowning. Breathe without guilt.