"I'm sorry, okay? Ah Pads, they told me…" James coughed, thrusting his face into his hands, "Fuck! They told me to keep it.. keep it quiet.. What they'd done." He looked up at Sirius, his eyes desperate, imploring and always something Sirius could never say no to. "It's fine, Prongs, it's.. it's shit but it's fine, I, it's not important, not now." James smiled feebly, "Thanks mate. Now let's have some Firewhiskey." Sirius handed the flask wordlessly over. He directed his gaze to the river below them, leaning heavily on the bridge. He couldn't look at James, couldn't speak, couldn't see - his tears splashed noiselessly into the rushing water below them. He felt the weight on his heart that he'd watched James carry for weeks without knowing the cause. But now he knew. Now he knew and he wished he didn't all the same. James said he was sorry without really understanding what for. James was sorry he'd neglected to divulge important information about his life to his best friend. James was sorry he'd lied. But Sirius wasn't. Sirius was sorry that James, despite the insistence that they were brothers, had kept Sirius in the dark about the death of the Potters. It's not like Sirius could blame him, after all James was dealing with the death of his parents. But it was like a kick after kick in the gut. Your parents are dead. Kick. They're not truly your parents. Kick. We're not really brothers. Kick. Your family is scum. Kick. As black as your name. Kick. The Potters are dead. Kick. The Potters… dead. Your parents, because that's what they were, maybe not in James' eyes, but to Sirius, they were truly and wholly his family. Sirius drank the Firewhiskey, willing it to fill the chasm in his chest that had begun to split him open. By no means the first cut of this terrible war and far, far from the last. The first set of Potters Sirius Black would mourn.