A/N: My second fanfic! This was intended to be a one shot, but I think it's going to end up as two or three chapters. Anyway, without further hesitation, enjoy (or at least, I hope you do)!
Disclaimer: Sadly, I don't own the Harry Potter series. The only thing Iown is my brain and the silly ideas/plot bunnies that insist on bothering me when I should really be studying for exams...
As the jet of red light shot towards him, he ducked and laughed humorlessly at his cousin, belittling her meager attempts to duel him and believing firmly with great confidence that he'd be able to defeat her and put an end to her wrongdoings at once. For a renowned Death Eater, she seemed to be awfully out of practice to Sirius. Perhaps it was this foolish thought that had gotten the better of him like it always had. He'd been too laidback, too full of himself and trusting his own abilities far too much. He knew this recklessness was his most deadly weakness. It had been ever since he'd learned how to breathe, for Merlin's sake. Having been sorted into Gryffindor and acquiring an equally reckless and fun-loving friend like James to back him up hadn't done much to help his problem either. Remus, his only sensible and down-to-earth friend, had always shook his head in half amusement and half concern whenever this recklessness had gotten the pair into trouble, sounding very much like a fretting mother hen. 'Honestly, Padfoot and Prongs, you two will both get yourselves into quite a bit of trouble at one point if you aren't too careful! Don't say I didn't warn you guys…'
But just as he began to relax into his usual manner, the dark-haired woman in front of him shot out with surprising agility and speed that caught him unaware. Before the jet of light even hit him, he knew what was happening, and what would become of his fate a few milliseconds later.
It wasn't that he hadn't been prepared to die soon. He knew that when he'd set out for the Ministry instead of staying in the safety of the house, he was risking his life. He'd been more than willing to do that, though, if it was for his godson. He'd promised James when he'd been named the godfather that he'd take care of sweet, young Harry no matter what, and that he'd be a second father to the young boy. What he didn't expect, and why his expression was a mixture of his lingering laughter and shock, was how he'd go. He hadn't expected he'd die so pathetically, fighting off his cousin and because of his own foolish pride and arrogance. He'd expected himself to die in a blaze of glory, heroically fighting off Lord Voldemort and protecting the Chosen Boy.
His friend's warning came back to him now as he neared death's door in a manner that was not at all as he'd expected – if only he'd been a bit more careful, a bit more prepared…
He heard the whispering of the voices and how they beckoned for him to join them, and at the same time, they seemed to be full of sorrow, sympathy, and regret for him. 'Such a tragedy,' he heard a hollow voice whisper behind him, just beyond the veil. 'If only he'd been more careful and less reckless…'
Soon, too soon, he felt his back touching the fluttering veil, and he was falling backwards into it, the darkness soon engulfing him. The last thing he saw before his vision was completely obscured by the darkness of the veil closing after him was his cousin's triumphant smile, and the expression of horror and grief on the last Marauder – or at least, the last Marauder that he trusted – and on his godson's face that was far too mature and grieving for the number of years the boy had lived. The last thing he thought before he felt himself being transported into a place that seemed like a whole different world and element was that he'd failed both James and Harry, and that he was so awfully, terribly, painfully sorry…