Disclaimer: I'm a poor student who lives off her toast. Everyone in this fic belongs to J.K Rowling, but the 'Incomplete Lyrics' belong to Backstreet Boys, both parties being much richer and more famous than me. So don't sue me. I like my toast.
Incomplete
I've tried to go on like I never knew you
I'm awake but my world is half asleep
I pray for this heart to be unbroken
But without you all I'm going to be is incomplete
----
Pack mates, he had said. Pack mates, to the end.
You lied.
No.
You betrayed me!
Moony…Leave me alone, Sirius. (Alone. He's already alone)
He always has been
----
Remus was sitting on the comfiest couch in the common room, absorbed in a heavy tome. Sirius bounded out of nowhere, a large, happy grin fixed on his face. His eyes were alight. He looked very pleased about something.
"Guess what?"
Remus rolled his eyes. "You've been institutionalized?"
Sirius looked confused. "No, better than that!" he held up two necklaces, brown string with a pendant dangling from each. A bronze moon and a silver star. Remus blinked.
"What are they for?" Sirius sighed, witheringly, as though the answer was obvious.
"For US, Moony! To wear! See? The moon is for you, and the star's for me! I couldn't figure out what to get for Prongs, but he's not a canine, in any case."
Remus laughed softly as he took the necklace to observe. "A werewolf isn't a canine, Sirius."
Sirius snorted. "It's the same likeness. Put it on!"
Remus did, reaching his hands, up to his neck, the book slipping off his lap and producing a small, almost invisible cloud of dust as it hit the floor. He looped the string over his head, and closed his eyes as he did so. When he opened them, Sirius was gazing at him, wearing an expectant grin.
"Well?"
"Put yours on, then."
And Sirius did.
----
I didn't die on purpose, MoonyI told you to leave me alone.
I'm not leaving you when you're like thisYou already left me
----
The world's gone black. All around him people are rejoicing, laughing, singing. Because Voldemort's gone, and it's all over. And there's no need to cry.
He's sitting on a bench, by himself. The world is going on around him, unaware of his existence. Nobody cares that he's alone, now. Well, they don't need to. They have their own lives to rebuild.
But the only people who cared for him are gone. Lily and James. Dead. Peter. Dead. And-he clutches the whiskey bottle he's been holding (and it's empty. Empty like him)-Sirius. The Traitor. In Azkaban.
No. He's not going to think of him. He's not going to miss him. He's going to forget, and he's going to drink away the misery. He's going to forget what it was like to love, and to care. Because he doesn't care. And he wont forgive.
But he can't forget.
The bottle drops from his limp hand. It smashes into a million pieces. (Just like his heart did)
He's all alone in the world now, he's invisible. There's nothing, no one left for him.
The world's gone black. All around him people are rejoicing, laughing, singing. Because Voldemort's gone, and it's all over. And there's no need to cry. But he does.
----
And now he's alone again. The people who matter are still gone. James and Lily. Sirius. And Peter, Peter the betrayer, the rat, the coward. He's still there, but he doesn't matter.
Nothing matters anymore.
Nothing else mattered when Sirius fell. Those precious, frozen seconds when he was still part of the living, seemed to last forever. He had to watch as Sirius disappeared from his life. He had to restrain Harry as the boy struggled, and screamed for his godfather.
But he has to go on. He has to pretend he isn't broken inside, and he cares what happens.
But he doesn't.
He stopped caring long ago.
But the pain. The pain has only just begun.