Just something I needed to visualise!
LAUGH
He was a wreck. His hair was tangled where he'd pulled on it in despair. His eyes were puffy where he's held back tears. His skin was pale from when he'd realised the truth.
James Potter was dead. It had been like they were brothers. Never separated. Fighting the Dark together.
He had just returned to his flat after seeing the wreck that had been Godric's Hollow. The ghosts had followed him here, and he could almost see Lily's vivid hair and James' beautiful smile beside him. Would they follow him forever? He hoped so. Then they'd never really be gone.
But they were. They were gone and he needed to accept that, he knew. But he could not. He could not accept the death of his best friend until justice was served.
James: brave, funny, the first to laugh and the last to finish, whose smile stretched the width of his face, teeth blinding white, hair mussed like he'd just got off a broom, brown eyes sparkling with constat humour.
Seven years of school, where James had coaxed him out of his posh pureblood manners. Seven years in which they shared a room, shared socks and ties. For seven years they had pranked McGonagall and teased Snape and been friends.
Best friends.
I love yous had been shared. Hugs turned to playful wrestling. Homework forgotten, classes skived. Cigarettes smoked. Nights spent whispering reassurances. Pats on the back after quidditch practice. Monthly adventures as Padfoot and Prongs.
Prongs and Padfoot.
James and Sirius.
Sirius and James.
Life slipping away through their fingers.
He wanted to sit and weep, to let the tears make rivers in the streets, carve a message from his pain. He wanted to break the world, just to show that he was broken. Because nothing was right any more.
Padfoot and .
Sirius and .
The Marauders would never be whole again.
Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and .
James had been the comforter, the public face. He'd been the kind one, the understanding one, the sociable one. He'd held them together. The four of them were a delicate vase holding exquisite flowers, and now they were cracked and pieces lost. The flowers were long withered.
James, his brother, who had taken him in when his birth family had beaten him out, and who had welcomed him into the family with open arms and that beautiful, beautiful smile.
And only now did he know. Only now did he connect the emptiness of Peter's hideout and the rubble that Godric's Hollow had been reduced to. The knowledge that there was a spy.
Peter.
Peter.
Peter.
Not Remus. Not poor, innocent Remus who they'd all assumed was the traitor. Remus, who they'd pushed away and left out of meetings and whispered about behind his back.
Peter Pettigrew.
Lying, murdering traitor.
Little RAT.
And anger rose through the grief. Anger swarmed in Sirius' mind. Anger.
He still wanted to break the world in two. He would do that to find Peter Pettigrew, the disgusting creature who had killed his own brother.
He wanted to apologise to Remus, who they'd all pushed away.
He wanted to grieve James and Lily.
He wanted to make sure Voldemort was dead.
But most of all? He wanted to wrap his fingers around Pettigrew's throat and squeeze.
"Peter!" He yelled across the square, holding his wand by his side, not caring about the scandalised looks cast at him by the muggles that swarmed around him. Nothing mattered but what he needed to do now. "Peter Pettigrew!"
The rat in question turned, his stupid twitching nose turned down as if he was grieving, stupid little blue eyes puffy as if he'd been crying.
More quietly, as he approached the traitor, Sirius said, "How could you? Pete, how could you?"
He was so focused on Peter that he didn't notice the burgundy-cloaked figures walking out of various alleyways. He almost breathed a sigh of relief before he realised that Aurors wouldn't allow him to kill Pettigrew.
"How could you, Sirius?" Wormtail asked, voice significantly louder than Sirius' own had been. "Lily and James, our friends. How could you betray them?"
He looked around and only Sirius saw the smile in his eyes. An act. He was putting on show for the Aurors, just as he always had for the teachers at school. Rat. Lying rat. Then he looked back at Sirius and the smile was clear, his watery blue eyes alight with cunning. He should have been in Slytherin.
The street blew up.
Pavement cracked, dust flew into the air, there was heat and flame and screams all around, ringing in Sirius' ears from where he lay on the tarmac ground. The world raged and all Sirius could wonder was where Peter had found this power - he'd never been very good with a wand.
The dust cleared, and Sirius blinked, because Peter was gone. A pool of blood remained where he had been, something floating in it … was that a finger? He realised there weren't many people around at all - in fact, he saw bodies, stained with blood as Pete's finger must be, lying motionless.
Innocent. Those muggles had been innocent.
And -
He laughed. Sirius started to laugh because of course there was only a finger left. Of course there were no other signs of that rat, because he'd done what he'd always done best: run. Peter Pettigrew had run and like in the old days, had left Sirius behind to take the detention … or in this case, Azkaban. Sirius, whose wand was in hand. Sirius, at the heart of the explosion but unharmed. How it must look.
He laughed, despite the very obvious lack of James, despite the fact he had just been framed for what looked like a mass murder, despite everything. He laughed, because he had always hated crying. When his throat clogged and his eyes watered and the roof of his mouth ached, he refused to sob so laughed instead, throwing his head back in barks and giggles.
He sounded like a lunatic. He looked like a lunatic. Peter was a lunatic.
Laughed and laughed as the Aurors dragged him away, telling him he was under arrest, he had a life sentence, there would be no trial. He laughed because what else was left for him to do now?