Amongst the Ashes

The darkness in this godforsaken cell seems almost tangible as it wraps a sinister black blanket around your traitorous convulsing body. The last slithers of moonlight leave the inky sky and your transformation back to human ends. I thank my lucky stars that the worst has passed and I creep forwards to your battered body. My wet nose tenderly nuzzles your cheek. You don't stir under my gentle caress and so I conclude it's safe to proceed.

Focusing all the concentration I can muster I squeeze my eyes shut and when I open them I to am back in my human form. My skin is tainted with dirt and I rub my hands across my robes, but it doesn't make much difference. The dirt has seeped into my skin, forever staining me with these barely visible marks.

There's definitely something unnerving about this cramped cell. The thick stone walls feel as though they're slowly closing in. I inhale the empty darkness deep into my lungs and pump it through my churning blood. I'm saturated: slowly drowning on nothing but air.

The chains that bind your wrists and ankles clink as you turn slightly trapped in your restless sleep. I flinch at the sudden noise and cast a wary eye towards the sturdy iron door. I move forwards until you lie just inches from me. The proximity kills me. Your body is so close to me, but you are so far away.

The steady twitching in your right hand should warn me of what's to come, but you catch me unaware as your head slams against the hard stone floor with a nasty sounding crack. The seizure grips hold of you and I react on pure instinct throwing myself across you, pinning you down. You shudder underneath me and a groan of pain leaves your lips at the pressure that I'm inadvertently applying to your gaping wounds. You thrash wildly against my grip, but I'm insistent not budging even an inch as your nails slice my skin and I feel the warm trickle of blood down my cheek.

The strength of your protesting begins to dwindle off and I relax my grip. I move off of you taking care not to worsen your many injuries. Worn-out, you melt onto the floor and I carefully cushion your head in my lap. It gives me a second to take in your appearance.

Death is written all across you. When that kind of darkness touches you it leaves visible marks. I can see it in the way that your eyes are haunted and weary with dark shadows. It's as though you're fading away. The sallow skin stretches across your gaunt face which looks as though it has never been touched by sunlight and your cheek bones jut out awkwardly. You've given up and there's nothing I can do. As far as you're concerned I'm the reason for this heartbreaking mess. I am, just not in the way you believe.

I know you've been crying. I'm not sure whether I find that comforting or unnerving. You're not prone to tears, when you're sad you adapt that low stance and your eyes flicker with resignation. That's what I have grown used to, but I guess Halloween has changed the rules… forever.

Bloody gashes cover your chest, nail marks from your transformation. The strength that you are capable of in that moment is astonishing and terrifying at the same time. I heal you to the best of my ability, but there's not much I can do. I tear a strip of rag from my robes and dab at the wounds.

You hiss as I touch the swollen skin. I pause briefly to check that you haven't come to before continuing. Your chest is swollen; I suspect you've broken a rib. Your ragged breathing echoes eerily through the otherwise silent room. It hurts you to breathe with every breath you take sharp pains shoot across your chest and yet you take another breath. I can relate.

I stroke your head soothingly. Your hair is damp with sweat. Gently placing your head back on the floor I step away.

Back in this darkened corner I light up a cigarette. A small smile tugs at the corner of my lips (but I push it away) as I remember you would disapprove. If you were awake you'd scold me and pull muggle examples of the damage it does to my health. I'd laugh and indicate my wand as you'd mutter how magic couldn't cure everything.

You were always the worrier.

I was the thrill seeker.

James was the centre.

And now he's gone we've collapsed around him.

I've been on the run almost a month now. A dull ache settles in my chest as I realise that soon the sun will rise and I'll have to carry on running. The Ministry are catching up with me. Did you realise that they're permanently stationed around you? They suspect your involvement. Arseholes. Just because of your condition they believe that you would betray your best friend. They should've known that you'd never be the traitor. Who would have expected poor stuttering Peter? The low down scum will get his comeuppance, I'll see to that.

I inhale the last of the toxic fumes.

Soon Moony pal, you're going to be the only one left. Killing Peter will be the last good thing I'll do before they take my soul. It's not as though I need it anymore anyway.

I wish I could tell you the truth, but it wouldn't make a difference: Lily and James are gone and soon Wormtail will be to.

I stump out the cigarette as the room starts to fill with a glowing red light from the rising sun.

Taking one last look your still figure I step into the light and I don't stop again.

When you awake they'll be no trace that I was ever there. Of course the stale smell of smoke will linger in the air, a pile of ashes will litter the corner and the damage you inflicted on your self will seem much less serious then you expected, but you won't give it a second thought. This afternoon on the wireless you'll hear about Peter's death and my arrest and in time it will all fall into place. This nightmare will have ended and you can move on with your life.

You always were much stronger than me.

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