Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter; if I did, Sirius Black would reside in my closet and Umbridge would be a pancake on my wall.
We weren't meant to be together for very long. Fate has made that clear time and time again.
It first started when we were sixteen, when we were young and curious and in the throes of teenage experimentation. We got called out of our dorm in the middle of the night, and brought into McGonagall's office without warning. We hadn't really thought too hard on what we were doing, on what other people might think. That changed. Because, as it turned out, one of the younger girls had squealed that she'd seen two boys kissing in the common room, and had been planning on informing the entire school.
McGonagall, both understanding and yet completely clueless, told us it was a phase. That these were adolescent yearnings that we would grow out of.
We never did grow out of them, did we?
That was the first thing to keep us apart. The ignorance of others, the confused attitude of people who didn't know how to handle two teenage boys holdings hands. Never mind kissing or fucking; that would have given them an aneurysm.
But we were patient and sneaky, and by the time we had graduated we were well-learned on how to be together and avoid people's stares. We had learned how to keep secrets, how to put on a convincing façade. We thought it made things exciting, adventurous, the way we would always have to hide. We thought it was fun.
But when we began fighting battles, when we started putting our lives on the line for a greater cause, it wasn't quite the fun game it had been when we were younger. It became our refuge from a world torn apart by more ignorance, more stupidity. We became the anchors for each other's sanity, the thing tying each other down as the world shot straight to hell.
Fate was still tricky, however, and even that couldn't last. Because we grew paranoid and nervous; all of our friends were on the lookout for a traitor, and in our confusion and fear we suspected each other. We made it worse for ourselves, refusing to speak, refusing to question our own doubts.
And then everything collapsed all at once, each tragedy coming down like a row of dominoes. James and Lily dead. Peter murdered in the street. A dozen Muggles slaughtered like cattle.
And you, taken away, blood staining your robes as you laughed and laughed and laughed.
Even though I'd suspected, even though I'd doubted, there was no grief like what I felt then.
And for the next twelve years, that was all I knew. That you had been the traitor, that your had murdered fifteen people, three of them your best friends. That you were evil and insane and that all the things I'd once found wonderful about you were nothing more than cheap lies. I hated you, hated myself for loving you once, and hated that I still couldn't stop thinking about you. It was a type of psychological torture, the way I longed for the embrace of what I thought was pure evil.
And then you escaped. For a year, my doubts remained, as did my hatred, and all I could do was hope that they would take you away and lock you up once more. Because then I wouldn't wonder what would happen if you found me at Hogwarts, if we met face to face again. Because I wouldn't have been able to handle it.
But then the Marauders Map had Peter's name on it, and everything fell into place, and I found you. And even though we didn't get much of a chance to speak that night, there was the palpable relief of knowing that you weren't the devil I'd thought you were.
For a year, we were still apart; you were a fugitive, and I was apprehensive about contact. But the fact that you were out there was a small piece of hope that I held onto daily, and more and more I found myself wondering where you were and if you were alright.
It was early summer when I answered the door to find a filthy, starved dog on my doorstep, whining to be let in. As soon I had closed the front door behind you, you transformed. Dumbledore had sent you, you said, he was reuniting the Order and he asked me to let you stay for a while. You almost seemed nervous to ask, as if you were afraid of what I'd say, of how I'd react.
I threw my arms around your neck, and suddenly I was sixteen again and madly in love. Fate had lost; we were together again.
The next year wasn't easy, not in the least. You were always kept inside of 12 Grimmauld Place, and I was always being sent off on missions for the Order. Even when we were both in the house, there always seemed to be others around, and our secret grew harder and harder to keep. It was frustrating that we could only be together on rare occasions, that most of our contact was frantically written letters owled back and forth. But it was something.
I remember lying next to you in your bed at 12 Grimmauld Place, your head on my shoulder and the sheets tangled between our legs. You lit a cigarette, the smoke swirling about you like a halo, and you asked, "We never catch a fucking break, do we?"
I tried to smile, tried to be optimistic as I felt your pulse beneath my fingers. "One day we will. It'll all settle down eventually."
I thought you smiled back, but it wasn't until you spoke that I realized you were grimacing. "Maybe."
Looking back, that was probably as optimistic as you could get.
After all, Fate wouldn't let us be happy forever.
Watching you vanish through the veil, it was all I could do to hold back Harry from running in after you. It was probably the only thing that kept me from running after you myself; if there hadn't been a grieving teenager to attend to, I would have gone in there, bolting through the archway until I'd found you.
Instead, I went back to 12 Grimmauld Place that night, my heart splintered into shards inside my chest. Because there was no way of fixing this, no way to make things better. You were gone and I was simply left there, wondering what to do, wondering how the hell you could be gone so quickly. How everything could go to hell so fast, without any warning.
We never caught that break, did we? We never got to be together like we'd hoped; all we have are the bittersweet times that we did have, that we managed to squeeze in between the battles and missions and your imprisonment. That's all we've got to cling to now.
And even in the afterlife, I know we won't ever catch a break like you wanted. Because I'll be marching in holding hands with someone else; a woman, my wife, your cousin. And I know that you might be angry for a while, but in the end you'll roll your eyes and smoke your cigarettes, and that will be that. Because there's nothing we can do. Because as much as we might want to, we can't be with each other; it never works out, and something always intervenes.
We weren't meant to be together for long. Fate has made that clear time and time again.
I'm sorry.