MEMORIES

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Basically in simpler, less fancier words: Don't own, don't sue. Thanks.

A big thank you and lots of hugs to my beta, JilyEvotter19!

It's chilly here inside the dark and dingy cell, the stone walls damp, the floor hard and uncomfortable. I shift slightly, trying to get into a more comfortable position but sigh wearily when my hand brushes across what could only be a spider's web. Oh, well, at least it's not rats. I detest rats – filthy, ungrateful, spiteful little creatures!
I look around trying to think of anything but him. Oh, what wouldn't I do to him when I get my hands on him!
I shake my head slightly, trying to get rid of the morbid thoughts. What good would they do, anyway? I'm stuck here for Merlin knows how long, probably for the rest of my life while he's out there, free -
I sigh once more and lean backwards, wincing when my head comes into contact with the cold wall and close my eyes, not for the first time wishing that things had turned out differently.

He'd stuck close by his side ever since the Sorting, not knowing who else to talk to. And one couldn't blame him either; after all, no one had even in their wildest dreams ever expected one of them to be in a house other than Slytherin and yet here he was, walking amongst the Gryffindors, befriending the other black-haired boy who couldn't have come from a more different background in terms of familial relationships and values.

When he entered the Great Hall, he could see his friend waving madly at him from the Gryffindor table. As he went towards him, he could see that he was sitting with two other boys from their year. One was a sandy-haired boy and the other had small, watery blue eyes. He didn't remember their names and he wasn't sure if he even wanted to. They probably wouldn't want to talk to him, anyway, given his family history.

"Hey, mate!" his friend greeted him as he sat down across him, grinning broadly. "This is Remus and that there's Peter."
At first he had been a little reserved, not sure if he wanted to make friends with them. He was scared that he would lose the tight bond that he had formed with the messy-haired boy but after he convinced him that he'd never stop being his friend, he finally befriended the other two and the four became the infamous Marauders.
I sniff slightly, rubbing my eyes.

We had been so naïve back then. I wish I had never listened to him; I've ended up losing my brother because of him, the traitor. I will, as long as I live, never forgive Peter.
I try to think of happier times so that the Dementors can't affect me too much. Or at least that's what I keep telling myself. Deep down I know that if I don't somehow distract myself from all the pain, I won't stay sane for very long. Of course, who's to say that I was sane in the first place?

He was the one who had come up with the suggestion in the first place. He'd heard his parents talk about it once during dinner and although he hadn't been able to stay long enough to hear the whole conversation - halfway through dinner, his mother had sent him up to his room for eavesdropping - he had heard enough.

Not sure how his best friend would react to his rather over-the-top idea, he was reluctant to tell him at first. But then when the other Gryffindor began talking about how they should think of something to help Remus, he quickly told him his idea and together with Peter they began spending hours in the library, working on forming and perfecting their plan.

I smile softly to myself, my muscles tense as the memories from my years at Hogwarts flood my thoughts. Those seven years were the happiest time in my miserable twenty-two years of life. I've always tried not to have any regrets but now I wonder if I could go back and fix the roots of the impending mess. Maybe then I wouldn't be rotting here in this cell and my best friend wouldn't be rotting six feet deep underground.

But that can never happen; nothing can ever bring my best friend and his wife back from the dead. What's done is done and there's nothing I could do about it.
Despite telling myself so countless times, not a day goes by that I don't wish that I hadn't left James and Lily's house that day.

He threw his cloak over a chair, grabbed a Firewhiskey bottle from the counter and lay down on the dark leather sofa rather carelessly. Once, not too long ago, he had been a carefree young lad with no worries, had been the envy of many with his strapping good looks and charm. But now his sombre expression and the dark circles under his weary eyes told a different story. He had the air of someone who had been through far more than most young people his age.

He ran a hand through his dark locks, frowning slightly. He raised the bottle to his lips but stopped halfway, his hand stilling in mid-air; something was wrong, terribly wrong. He didn't know what but he had to find out: he had to get out of here.
With that, he got up from the sofa, grabbed his jacket and stepped out into the slightly chilly October air. He walked briskly, the leaves crunching under his shoes. He didn't know where he was going; he just let his feet take him to wherever they were walking towards. After a couple of minutes, his feet came to a stop as he realised where he was standing. The street was very familiar; in fact, he'd walked home from here less than an hour ago ...

His heart began to beat faster as he broke out into a run, all the while hoping, praying that he was wrong. A dozen different scenarios flashed through his head, each worse than the last and like a broken record, the mantra of No, no, no echoed within his head.
He reached his destination, his heart sinking with every step and when he saw what had happened ...

The image of seeing his best friend's unmoving, lifeless body would be one that would always be there to haunt him.

I open my eyes and feel hot tears run down my cheeks. I remember how in that moment, I was nearly blinded with rage – how could Peter even think about doing this? In all that pain and anger, I hadn't been able to think straight and had gone after Peter without thinking twice. Now I wish I hadn't done that – not because I got landed in Azkaban because of that; I mean, I was going to end up here anyway seeing as everyone thought I was the Secret Keeper but because I know he wouldn't have wanted his friends to turn against one another.

A high-pitched giggle, quite uncharacteristic of him, escaped his lips when he saw his best friend, in his rather drunken state, fall from the sofa onto the hard floor. Said best friend scowled and tried to smack him on his leg but missed and hit the sofa instead which caused another round of giggles to erupt from Sirius.
"You're being mean," James said, pouting slightly. "Here I am, trying to – hic - cheer you and you're – hic – being mean to me."
"And you're drunk," Sirius replied as he lay sprawled on the sofa they had conjured up earlier in the Room of Requirement.
"So are - hic - you," James shot back at Sirius who choose that moment to take a rather large mouthful of Firewhiskey and grinned at his friend's comment.
"Yeah, but I just g-got dis-disowned by m'family an' -"
"An' I'm bein' a good friend and not letting you get drunk on your own!" James said, interrupting him. He was trying to take Sirius's mind off what had happened by keeping the atmosphere light but Sirius looked at him long and hard as if he had just realised that James was sitting there in front of him and after a moment said, "You're a good mate, Prongs, you are." James smiled softly at Sirius's words - that coming from him was high praise; Sirius wasn't one to freely dish out compliments all the time. "Which is a good thing, I guess, since you lot are all I've left now that I've been disowned by -"
"Fuck them, Padfoot! We're your family! I'd do anything for you."
"You know I'm going to hold you to that, don't you?" Sirius joked. A smile stretched across his lips. "When we're eighty years old -"
But James didn't let him finish his sentence. He leaned forward and said determinedly, "I'd go to Azkaban for you mate, I would."

A/N: So, that's it folks! :D Did you like it? Hope you did! :) Review and tell me! Constructive criticism is welcome and highly appreciated :)

Till next time!

xoxo

R