Title: Four Companions
Author: Egwene
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Angst
Pairing: Sirius/James (what is it with this couple and angst??)
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of his relatives, friends, lovers, professors, admirers, enemies…
Summary: Each of the Marauders deals in his own way with the aftermath of the Whomping Willow Incident.
Note: Thanks to Sophocles for the great beta job and the wonderful support when I wasn't too sure of myself.
This popped up in my head one morning and it wouldn't go away even if I already have a Whomping Willow Story planned.
Feedback much welcomed.
&&&
Chapter 1 : A Knife in the Dark
Sirius was idly looking at his pale skin as he slashed the blade across the back of his forearm. He watched, mesmerised as a small drop of red blood appeared and ran along his flesh.
He felt the familiar sting and relief was upon him instantly.
God, it had been too long since he had done that. He had tried to stop but he needed this too badly. The urge was too strong, the anger too intense, at himself and at what his life had become.
He had betrayed Remus' trust and James had made clear he wanted nothing to do with him anymore. He had not even looked at him when he had broken up with him.
Sirius had apologised and tried to explain, but there was nothing to explain really.
James had coldly made clear he could not go out with someone like him, someone who could betray one of them without a second thought, someone so selfish.
He had told him that he was no better than the rest of his family.
How these words had hurt him, more than anything else could ever have.
And the truth was, he was right.
They had not been a couple for long – a few months of happiness, of carefree laughs and love. But, oh, how he loved James, and how he missed him. He missed his love and his best friend.
He knew he didn't deserve him. Even if by some miracle, James could forgive him, they couldn't be together again. The best part of his life had ended.
Remus and Peter hadn't been so virulent but they had also undoubtedly showed him how unwelcome he was.
From this moment on his life had crashed to pieces. One month later, during the Christmas holidays, his family had finally become impossible to accommodate.
He could still feel the tingle of the Cruciatus spell his mother had cast on him the day he had left.
He had stayed in some nondescript inn somewhere in Diagon Alley for two days before returning to Hogwarts and to friends that hated him.
The worst was he probably hated himself a lot more than they ever could.
The drop of blood finally reached the table and he promptly washed it away. No way his roommates – he could not call them friends anymore – could find out about this. Not that they would care in any way, but he would be too much ashamed to admit he needed this.
He never broke too much skin, the cuts were not deep, just enough to draw blood and leave a thin, white scar for a few weeks.
Some would have believed it was some sort of self inflicted punishment, but it wasn't; it was his link to reality.
He needed the pain so he could feel alive again, even for a few minutes, away from the fogged coldness he was walking in every day.
He needed the physical pain so he could forget for a moment the pain in his heart.
He needed this so that he would not go all the way and open his veins.
Not that death wouldn't be welcomed at this point, but that was the only thing he was still afraid of.
The final step.
The last draw.
He knew he would do it someday. That much was sure.
But not today.
Today, the blade of his pocketknife ran again across his arm as another small red drop emerged.
He needed the relief nothing else could procure him.
He needed it to alleviate the guilt that marred each breath he took.
A salty drop joined the red one on the table.
And he continued to mark his left arm in geometric patterns as tears flowed silently, unchecked on his cheeks.
He looked at the red strips all over the back and front of his forearm, intertwined with light white ones, barely visible, remnants of last week's session.
A week. He had lasted a week.
Was it a good thing?
What was the point in delaying anyway?
He did not hear the footsteps on the stairs leading to the dorm or the door opening behind him. But he did hear James' voice.
"We have to talk, Sirius."
Sirius felt numb.
He didn't want to talk to James. He didn't want to hear again how much of a traitor he was. The relief faded away.
It was almost funny how James and his mother used the same words to describe him.
Why did sarcasm and scarring seem to go so well together?
Maybe if he didn't acknowledge James' presence he would leave and let him be. He stayed seated at the table, the knife in his right hand, refusing to let the outside world reach him at this instant.
He heard James call him again but he didn't answer. He sat imperturbably still.
Why didn't James go away?
The pain was almost unbearable at this point and each step his ex-boyfriend made in his direction added to it.
He would have fallen from the wooden chair and curled up on the floor in pain, but he could not move.
He was still crying, but at this point he didn't care. How could James be so cruel? To come here just to insult him! But he knew James wasn't cruel, he had every right. He deserved this and much more.
"Sirius, please." James was almost next to his chair. One last step.
Sirius put the knife down on the table, but he didn't answer.
"I love you." James put his arms around his chest from behind and hugged him awkwardly. A renewed contact after too long apart. Tears on James' face too.
Sirius sighed; he closed his eyes and let himself be hugged.
Maybe they could find a way to be together after all. Maybe he still had a chance.
&&&
A/N: Next chapter will feature Peter's POV.