Empty Chairs and Empty Tables
...
He walked amongst the ruins. Black ashes fell around him. He could see some of the things left behind. The green plush sofa was half-there. His feet stepped around the piles of rubble. Half of the house had collasped. The back was still somewhat intact. He walked in further. His heart beat in his chest, faster and faster. He knew what he would find. His best mate's broken body, slewn carelessly across the tiled floor. He was. As he walked closer, he could see James Potter, arms spread-eagle around him. A wand, snapped in half, was inches away from his hand. As he knelt, he noticed James wore a medallion, something he had not known James had had. On it was a stag, and the words
Death is not the end.
He laughed bitterly. As if James Potter had known he was to die. A scream ripped through the air. He looked around before he realised it was his own. His face felt wet, and he climbed to his, turning away from the sight. He sent one last, fleeting look at James before warily beginning to climb the broken stairs. What would he find up there? Lily, in the same position as her husband, a frightened look on her face. Was that the fate she suffered? He and Lily... At first, the brilliant young witch had hated him; for his playboy attitude, his pranks, him. But 2 years ago, they'd became best friends after an accident involving James' stupidity in treating girls, Lily breaking, his own brother, and lots and lots of snow. He paused at the top of the polished wooden stairwell, stained with ash. Things were strewn on the ground as the door creaked open. He stepped inside. Lily, too, laid in the same position James had, her hands laid at the bottom of the crib. She looked peaceful, like she was sleeping. Flowers were scattered around her from the garden. One of them opened and closed, like a graceful jellyfish, it's petals opening and closing. His insides twisted, hard. He opened hi mouth and emitted a strangled groan. Hot, fast tears slid down his cheeks and dripped onto Lily's face. Why them? Why did Voldemort have to be so cruel, so heartless?
"James!" he cried. "Lily!"
His heart was torn into two, like when he'd ripped his mother's Howler apart. He cried then, for the loss of his best friends.
"Come back," he whispered. "Please come back."
He got up and ran away. He couldn't stand it anymore. They were dead.
The word rang in his mind, over and over, repeating like a mantra. Dead, dead, dead, dead, James and Lily Potter, dead on the ground. He could see it- the happy family of three, Voldemort walking in, James yelling at Lily to run, Lily jumping in front of-
Don't think like this, Sirius. He could almost hear Lily's voice tell him.
He collapsed somewhere, and through a haze of grief he saw he rested on a chair. He put his head on the table. Ash drifted around him as he plunged through memories.
He stuffed his hands in his pockets as his boots crunched on snow.
He turned and gave a last look at the house.
"Good-bye," he said.
"See you later." he muttered to the ash-filled sky.
Sirius Orion Black walked away.
All that was left were empty chairs and empty tables.
:D
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I finally got around to a HP fic.
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