Tears in Heaven

Every day I look to the sky, at the first hint of morning light and wonder to myself, why? Why were two of the greatest friends I ever knew taken from me so abruptly? I remember the first time we met, on the Hogwarts train long ago. The sun was shining then, even if it was a dull September sun. I remember how their eyes were lit with undying life, boasting an immortality that was beyond their reach. That light always smiled behind Padfoots eyes, hinting mischief with every look, even as he neared the end. It seems strange to think that light now put out. I wonder if there driving God mad with their pranks, the ones they'll never grow out of. How can you grow out of anything in death? I miss the sound of their laughter as we walked through Hogwarts; I wonder if their laughter rings throughout heaven. I wish I were with them now to hear it.

Memories now haunt my waking mind, memories of darkness that constantly replay. I remember the rain as it fell an unheeded warning of the danger that was to come. The night Prongs died. He was not the only one who fell, with him died Padfoots mischief and laughter. He was never the same after that night. Was it me that caused this dreadful change in him? If I had stood up to the ministry and spoken out for him, I knew in my heart that he was innocent, no matter how angry he was he would never have killed Wormtail, and to betray Prongs that was not like him. Maybe if I had spoken out Padfoot would still be alive, but now they're both dead. The Lords of mischief and mayhem, that could never prank the living again. I let Padfoot go to his death; it was me that said he could go after Harry into the ministry. If only I had said no the veil would never have taken him, I often hope that he's still alive somewhere, on a distant plain, fighting to come back to me, but I have no faith in my hopes, they are driven by my maddening grief.

I sometimes think that I'll see his smiling face as I wander through the empty house of Black, but I never do. I used to think I'd see Prongs again, but he never came to me. But then he did, through his son Prongs still lives, but there is nothing of Padfoot left. I feel as though the happy times were just a fantasy, a dream I thought was reality, but only photographs make me believe them to be real. I hope my friends are in heaven watching as I write what could be my last Good-bye. I hope they can see the tears I so unwillingly cry. Without Padfoot and Prongs there's no joy left in my life, without their musical laughter no smile upon my face. I wish I could be where they are now; to hear their laughter, see their faces once more. I hope they're watching over me, I wonder if they shed their tears in heaven, as I have done on earth.