Hello. This is an idea that's been floating around in my head for a while now, so I figured that I would write it up. This takes place about three months before It Was Just How You Looked in the Light. Enjoy!

It was just two days before the start of the Christmas Holidays at Hogwarts, and the halls were blustery and cold. Four boys were walking through the halls, chattering nosily.

"James," McGonagall said as the Marauders made their way past her classroom, in their now usual formation of a slight gap purposely put between Remus and Sirius. The bespectacled boy stopped, confused by the sudden use of his first name. She looked worried about something. "I need to see you in my office."

James shot an accusatory look at Sirius, assuming that this was about a prank or something of the sort. Sighing, he adjusted his bag on his shoulder, waved off his friends, and followed the teacher into her office.

"Sit down, Mr. Potter," She said quietly.

James sat, placing his bag beside his chair and looking intently at the teacher, praying that his face looked every bit as innocent and clueless as he actually was in the matters of mischief.

McGonagall toyed with a paper weight on her desk for a moment, and then pursed her lips. "Mr. Potter, I'm afraid that there is no good way to tell you this."

"Tell me what, Professor?" James inquired, utterly perplexed.

"Mr. Potter, I have just received an owl from your mother," The professor began, "You father was readmitted to St. Mungo's Hospital last night; he was having difficulty breathing…" But that was all James heard. He was very suddenly filled completely with dread, a rushing sound filling his ears, and he could barely catch snatches of the words pouring from her thin lips, "Couldn't revive…. Stopped breathing… Passed away early this morning…So very sorry… Excused from classes…. Floo to your home tomorrow afternoon… Deepest sympathies, Mr. Potter."

James blinked.

McGonagall was patting his hand.

He blinked yet again. "Thank you, Professor."

He stood and walked out without another word.

His father was dead. It seemed unreal. Yes, he had been sick for a long time and yes, he was getting on in years, but it just didn't seem to be real. James was hoping that this was a cruel joke, a dream, a hallucination from inhaling too many potions fumes…

But, just as soon as he hoped this, he knew it was real.

His father was dead. Gone, forever.

"Hey, watch where you're going, Potter," Barked Mary McDonald, a girl who was regretfully in both his year and his house. It appeared that he had bumped her shoulder as he had walked past, unseeing.

"Sorry," he mumbled, bending to pick up her fallen books and return them to her.

Lily Evans had been walking with Mary, and she was perplexed by James's lack of response to the whole scenario. "Potter?" She inquired, confusion on her face, "You okay?"

James only blinked, "No, Evans, not really." He walked away, leaving her standing confused and staring after him.

She wasn't really worried about him, Lily rationalized as she made her way down to dinner, she just didn't want him walking into more people. That was how she found herself face to face with Sirius Black in the Great Hall at the end of the Gryffindor Table. He stared at her expectantly as she tired to formulate a half-sane sounding explanation as to why she was there.

"Evans? Is there something we can do for you?" Sirius prompted, looking mildly amused by her search for words. Remus and Peter, sitting across the table, looked up at her now too.

"I… um…" She tried, cursing her lack of articulation. Clenching her fists, she gritted her teeth and choked out, "Potter's acting funny."

"And this is unusual?" Sirius questioned, devilishly raising an eyebrow.

"Not his normal sort of arsehole funny," Lily said quickly. "He was just sort of staring off while he was walking through the hall. Nearly killed Mary McDonald, then acted like he never even saw her there."

"Huh," Remus murmured. "That is a little unusual for James."

"We'll look into it," Sirius said to Lily, who still looked unsatisfied. "Run along now, Evans. I'm sure you've got a lot of Big Head duties that need to be completed by tonight."

She scowled and trounced off.

Peter and Remus exchanged glances. Peter looked at Sirius uncertainly, "Do you think we ought to check on him?"

Sirius looked at Remus, who immediately averted his eyes. "Yeah, I suppose we should. C'mon then."

The three trooped off to the Common Room.

James knew he ought to be packing.

He had to Floo home tomorrow, and it made no sense to go home empty handed. But he just couldn't muster up the energy. So, instead, he lay there, his bed hangings drawn, staring up at the canopy.

"Hey, James, are you in here?" Sirius's voice floated up the stairs. James chose not to respond, instead he turned over to face the wall. "James?"

The hangings were suddenly wrenched open, but James didn't move. He felt Sirius shake his shoulder, assuming he was asleep. "James, wake up."

"I'm up."

"You okay?" Sirius asked, still staring at James's back.

"No."

"You ask Evans out again or something?" Sirius asked, attempting to make a joke.

"My dad's dead."

"What?" Sirius said feeling like somebody had punched him in the stomach. "When did it happen?"

James turned over, finally, and then sat up. "Yeah. This morning."

"James, I'm so sorry," Sirius said after a moment, his hand moving as if it were about to grasp his, but then stopped short. "How'd it happen?"

"It was the Griffin's Ague," James said simply, in a voice he usually reserved for talking about really boring things like the weather or Arithmancy. "He's been sick for a while now. Guess he just couldn't fight it off." He shrugged, staring blankly at the curtains of the bed.

"I'm so sorry," Sirius repeated, at a loss for words.

"Thanks."

James stood very still while his mother fussed over everything from his hair to this shoes. He didn't really care. He just let her fuss; it was better than her crying.

Sirius stood beside him, dressed in his own pair of black dress robes, the Black Family Crest's outline still visible from where he had ripped it off. He had accompanied James home, hoping to provide some sort of moral support.

Mrs. Potter then hurried out of the room to fuss about something else that James found to be particularly trivial, like food or flowers.

"Remus and Peter are coming round at about noon," Sirius said to fill the silence.

"Oh," James said, taking a seat at the foot of his bed. "Is Remus talking to you then?"

Sirius frowned. "No. Peter told me."

James nodded.

Sirius took a seat on the floor, picking at the front of his robes, trying to remove all of the remains of the Black Family Crest from it. He knew that it sounded selfish, but he was getting a little annoyed with James. Obviously James had every right to be this way: unresponsive and hurting. But Sirius felt that maybe someone should have offered their condolences to him as well. Mr. Potter, or Alan as he had insisted that Sirius call him, had been his replacement father for nearly two years. He had taken Sirius in, treated him like a member of the family and he had given him the kind of love and attention that Sirius had so craved from his own father.

So, to Sirius, it felt a little unfair that James was being treated like he was the only one who had lost a father. Not that he would actually say anything. It just struck him as slightly unfair.

Granted, these thoughts also made Sirius feel like he was betraying his real family. Well, his blood family at any rate. Not that they hadn't betrayed him by disowning and disinheriting him, but here he was mourning some other man as if that man was his father, while the man that had helped bring him into this world sat at home smoking a pipe, very much so alive. And when he died, Sirius knew that he wouldn't mourn his own father, not in the way he was mourning his friend's.

Sirius felt like he was jealous of James's grief. And then he felt sick.

The wake was uncomfortable for Sirius. It was full of people that he didn't know, saying kind words to James and his mother while he stood awkwardly near them. Mrs. Potter had insisted that he be up at the front with them, but as none of the Potters seemed to know who he was or what he was doing there, Sirius just found himself standing there, awkwardly.

It was a relief when Peter and Remus finally arrived. James left his mother's side as the receiving line had dwindled significantly, and the four of them wandered outside just to get away from their fellow mourners. They just stood, quietly, outside the funeral home.

After a minute, James was biting his lip. His face turned red, his eyes swam behind his glasses, and he excused himself to go off the bathroom. Sirius made to follow him, but Remus threw out his arm and kept him from following.

"I'll go," Peter said, quietly. "It's weird, I know, but it feels better to talk to somebody who didn't know them. That way you don't have to keep worrying about them." He was reminding them of his own father's passing, at the end of their second year. Peter followed James.

Sirius and Remus stood there, silence hanging around them much like the fog that clung to the air. Finally, it was Remus who broke the quiet. "How are you holding up?" It was the first thing that he had said to Sirius since June.

"Me?" Sirius asked, perplexed.

"Yes," Remus responded. He shoved his hands into his pockets. "You knew Mr. Potter pretty well. He took you in, gave you a place to stay. He meant a lot to you."

"He was James's dad," Sirius mumbled, not wanting to meet Remus's eye.

"I know that," Remus said quietly. "But he also treated you like a son for two years, so it wasn't like he meant nothing to you."

"Yeah," Sirius said, watching his breath escape in puffs of mist in the cold foggy air. "He was a pretty great guy…" His throat hitched, and biting down ridiculously hard on his lip, he allowed a few tears to leak out of his eyes. He hadn't cried since he was eleven, after his mother had sent him a letter telling him she didn't love him because he had disobeyed her and wound up in Gryffindor.

Sirius sniffled, then let out a very hollow laugh. "Well, I must look like a right idiot about now, right?" He was convulsing, holding back sobs and screams that were just begging to escape. "I-I-" he hiccupped, stumbling over words, crying in earnest now. "I know he's James's dad… and I feel st-stupid because I'm supposed to be making J-James feel better, not joining right in… But Mr. Potter…He was one of the few people I've got… one of the few people who actually cared and-and… I just can't believe he's gone…" He buried his face in his hands, sinking to the ground.

The other boy stood over him, a curious look on his face. Remus sat down next to him, placed his arm tightly around him, and said nothing until Sirius had cried himself out. "Feel better?"

"Maybe a little," Sirius admitted.

They sat for a minute. "I'm sorry, Remus," Sirius said. He was quiet for a while longer, just letting himself sit with the arm of a former friend and lover around him. He frowned, suddenly feeling like nothing less than pond scum. He wanted suddenly to disappear. Remus, the kid he had betrayed, his former best friend, was sitting there comforting him. Sirius didn't feel he deserved it. But he missed talking with Remus so much. He wanted to make things right again. "Remus, I'm so sorry. For last year. For everything."

"Don't worry about it," Remus said, letting go of Sirius rather hastily. "It's over."

"But-" Sirius sputtered, confused and guilty. "But I let Snape find out… and nearly got him killed, and Prongs… and you could've been in so much trouble…" He was unable to draw a decent breath anymore.

"Sirius, it's okay," Remus said. "I forgive you."

"But what about-?" Sirius started.

"It's over," Remus cut him off. "It's over, it's done. Can't we just move on?"

"But," Sirius said, still confused. "You can't just go from hating me to forgiving me in ten seconds flat."

"I never hated you," Remus said truthfully. He sighed, standing back up and offering Sirius a hand to get back on his feet. Sirius accepted.

"So, can we be friends again?" Sirius asked, knowing exactly how childish the question sounded, but not caring because all he needed to know was the answer.

The other boy was quiet for a long time. "Yes," Remus finally said, a grin easing its way onto his pale face. But the grin soon slipped off as he added, "And just friends."

Sirius nodded. Nothing more really needed to be said.

James was sitting in the bathroom stall, on top of the toilet's tank, just praying that the world would collapse in on him now and end the misery.

"James?" Peter's wheezy voice echoed off the ceramic bathroom tiles.

"Pete, I'm really not in the mood to talk right now," James said, his voice sounding brittle.

"I know," Peter said, stuffing his hands in his pockets as he stared at the door of the stall that James inhabited. "But I figured that you would eventually, so I followed you."

James nodded, then felt foolish because Peter obviously could not see him. But, feeling much too tired to talk, James decided to remain quiet, leaning his head against the cold metal of the stall's door.

A faucet was dripping, and in the quiet, the sound echoed throughout the room. Peter sighed, taking a seat on the ledge of a sink and waiting. Waiting while the water dripped. Waiting for James to say something. "I left Remus and Sirius alone," He said suddenly.

James made a small noise of surprise. "I wonder how that's going." His tone dictated that he didn't.

"Probably somewhere in between Remus killing Sirius and them becoming best of friends again," Peter said, pulling a Honeyduke's candy bar from a pocket inside his robes and breaking off a piece. "Want some chocolate?"

"No, thanks," James responded. It seemed out of place that Peter would turn to his normal comfort of sweets in a time when, to James, if felt like nothing was the same. Yet, there was Peter, absorbed in an old habit.

They were quiet for a long time.

"It's kinda foggy today," Peter commented suddenly.

James almost laughed. It was just too bizarre to ever hear Peter comment on the weather, as both boys were generally too preoccupied by their own personal happening to give much attention to the weather. He sighed, climbing off the toilet and opening the stall's door. "Yeah, Pete, it is a little foggy today."

"Did you see the scores from Friday's match?" Peter asked, "The Falcons just crushed the Cannons." He broke himself another piece of chocolate.

"Really?" James said. It wasn't surprising to hear that the Cannons had lost, but they had been having a decent season so far. James found himself surprised at the normalcy of it all. Cannons losing, foggy in London, Peter eating chocolate while they talked about Quidditch. "What was the score?"

"Three-hundred fifty to ten," Peter said.

"Wow."

"You sure you don't want any?" Peter offered the candy bar again.

"Actually, Pete, I think I will have a piece," James said. Peter broke off a chunk and handed it to his friend.

They were quiet again.

"Hey, Pete," James said after several minutes of quiet chewing and thinking. "Thanks."

"You're welcome."

Somehow, both of them seemed to understand that, even without saying it, James hadn't been thanking him for the candy.

Two weeks later, on New Year's Eve, an owl delivered a letter to the Potters' sitting room. Perplexed, James accepted the letter and unrolled it. He read it.

Dear James,

I am writing to send my condolences to you and your family. I heard about your father last week. I just wanted to say I'm sorry; I know your father was sick for a long time. Remus told me back in September when you didn't show up for a Prefect meeting. That wasn't really necessary, I just realized, but I didn't want to seem like I was stalking you since I know the information wasn't exactly common knowledge.

Anyway, I just wanted to send my condolences. I just feel terrible about the whole thing. I can sort of relate to your situation. My mum died when we were in our third year of school. She had cancer. So, I know what you're going through. Losing a parent is a terrible thing, it flips your entire perception of reality upside down and nothing ever seems the same.

It's an odd thing to think about, but it's almost like you're got to restart your life. You develop a huge list of firsts again, kind of like the one you had as a baby. The first thing you said after you found out. The first time you ate after they died. The first tears, the first laugh. And it doesn't end quickly. Weird things will end up on that list. Your first haircut afterwards. The first time you went shopping after. Your first kiss as a person with only one parent. Weird things will make you think of them, and it will probably really, really hurt.

But, it gets better, it really does. I promise. You'll get through it. You don't forget about them, you just are as consumed by the knowledge that they aren't here anymore. But, well, they are. Somehow.

I'm really rambling, aren't I?

I'm not really sure exactly why I decided to write to you. It feels a little weird, honestly, since in truth we hardly even know each other. Outside of school we're total strangers. And now we've finally got something in common, even though that something quite honestly sucks. It's sad that the only thing we seem to share is a dead parent.

Well, I suppose we're Heads together. That makes two things.

I should probably edit this letter, or rewrite it, or something before I send it off to you. But, either I am becoming very lazy or I am right in assuming that you probably won't care that my handwriting is cramped and that I basically just rambling my way through it. Honestly, it just feels normal, almost like I'm supposed to send you a crummy, badly written letter. So, I'm leaving it.

So, well, I may as well conclude this now. My deepest sympathies to you and your family.

Sincerely,

Lily Evans

James blinked in surprise once he finished the letter. He smiled. His mind automatically produced the thought: That was my first smile since Dad died. He returned to his bedroom, still clutching Lily's letter, and let himself really cry for the first time since the funeral.

Hours later the Marauders sat in James's kitchen, eating breakfast. Sirius had cracked some joke about Peter's socks, and the table roared with laughter. Then, as suddenly as the laughter had started it stopped. Everyone looked at James. He had laughed for the first time in two weeks.

He seemed to have realized it too. He smiled sheepishly, his eyes cloudy for a moment, then he laughed again. And they all joined in. No one really knew what was funny, but everyone understood that they just had to laugh.

Fin.