The black bricks stared up at him, the building looming over his shoulder. "This is it." Sirius hated the way his voice shook. He hated himself for suggesting this place to Dumbledore, for ever considering coming back here.
Remus opened the door. The rest of the Order was behind him, waiting. He had to go in. He had to actually go in, he had to step inside.
One shaky step.
Two.
He cursed under his breath as he actually crossed over the threshold. The house was deathly quiet.
Empty.
Abandoned.
His parents weren't there. His parents were not there, they were not going to come around the corner, they were not going to come down the stairs. They hadn't been there for years, but...
The walls were the same. The smell was the same and the same floorboards creaked as they had on the night he had left when he was sixteen years old, and suddenly, Sirius was sixteen years old again, running on moonlight and hopes and prayers, and ignoring the his broken ribs and the aches of bruises and the shame and fear and anger that made him want to crumple to the ground in tears.
"Shh, Sirius." Remus was whispering to him. He was on the floor, somehow, cradled in Remus' arms. "You are safe."
The rest of the Order was already inside, the door closed behind them. Sirius cursed himself for letting anyone see him like this, let alone them. Why had he suggested this again?
He wanted to pull away from Remus, but he was warm, and his sweater was soft. He smelt of lavender and jasmine and aftershave and Sirius never wanted to move again. "Sirius? Can you hear me?" Sirius hummed in acknowledgement, but didn't make any effort to speak.
Remus squeezed his hand. "You can feel me," he whispered. "You are not alone. I am here with you. You are protected. You are safe."