It was a Monday when he was told about his parents. He didn't get much of a chance to exchange goodbyes with his friends. He packed his bag with some homework (even though it was already late); his wand, just in case he needed it; and a mirror, in case of emergencies, or the worst.
"We have been expecting it to get worse, but the very best healers are-"
"Their situation has been worsening for a while now, but I'm sure-" The words were lost on him but he knew the gist of it. 'They're sick, but don't worry kid; they'll get better!'
They were lying, of course. They thought he was just a child, and that he wouldn't be able to handle the news; maybe they were right.
He knew they were dying. They were paler, James had to do more for them. Sometimes, at night, he could hear his father coughing; then his mother, trying to sooth his father, would end up in a fit herself.
He tried to block it out. They were his parents, he didn't want them to die. What would he do? Where would he go?
He always did find himself selfish.
One night, while he was sitting in a ward at St. Mungo's. He wondered if they would live. He hoped and prayed to whatever god was up there to have some mercy, if nothing else.
His parents were good people; they donated to charity regularly; they raised their son to the best of their abilities, even if it was difficult at times; they tried to keep their family safe. Did they deserve to die?
It was that night they were returned home. The healers had given up hope, it was rare for a couple this old to get dragon pox, they claimed. He spoke with his friends on the mirror that night; a carefree grin masking his emotions.
Long after two had gone to sleep, he stayed up with the eldest; discussing silly things, like Christmas break, and where the raven-haired one would be staying.
It, too, was that night that one of his best friends snuck out of school at three a.m. to go to comfort him; even after he claimed he was okay, numerous times.
He was glad, in a way. His parents would have wanted to say goodbye.
They stayed up that night, he voicing his fears and the other just listening, because he was a good friend and that's what friends did.
They passed two nights later. He was numb.
They didn't deserve to die, he was the bad person; he was the one who did things to hurt others. His family members came to the home, murmuring condolences with tears running down their cheeks; he didn't cry. He didn't feel anything but grief, and loss.
His friends, his best friends, were given time from school to visit; two days. One brought chocolate, the other a few bottles of butterbeer. The third brought nothing, he didn't think anything could make the younger feel better.
Once again it was that night that his friend stayed up with him, they discussed trivial things, such as what happened in potions that week, and the latest Slytherin the elder had hexed (in the younger's place, of course).
It was then he allowed himself to voice his sorrow; he cried.
Bitter sobs racked his body and soft murmurs of comfort came from the elder. Those two males, stricken with grief, were the only things breaking the hush of the still, silent night. It wasn't fair. Why did they have to die?! There were worse people than them in the world.
He cried himself to sleep, and the elder stayed with him, watching him, until he, himself, drifted off into the world with no suffering.
It was exactly a weak later the Head Boy returned to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
Whispers circulated the hall, 'did you hear about his parents?'
'Yeah, I heard they were sick for a while.'
'Why isn't he upset, shouldn't he be crying?'
The male paid no heed to them, of course. It was... natural, to be curious as to why he was gone for so long.
Strangely, the source of the whispers usually were hexed before they were even around for a day. Of course, none of the Marauders knew what was happening, the Head Boy was part of their group, do you really doubt them so little, professor? Maybe they all had an allergic reaction. They should really get that rash checked out, it didn't look healthy.
At the end of the year, two figures stood alone, at the top of the astronomy tower.
They spoke of many things, like the future, and what they were planning to do; the war, the younger was planning on joining the resistance group, the Order of The Phoenix, then become an auror; and the stars, there were so many constellations to see, the shorter figure only knew two, he never was adept at astronomy.
For ten minutes, they remained silent, looking above at the small gems of light illuminating the dark night.
"Isn't that Sirius?"
"No, that's Orion."
"Same difference."
He thought, maybe things would get better.
Ugh, sorry, I know it's not very good.
~AladdinIRL