An Abundance of Angstiness
"We die to remember what we live to forget."-Friedrich Nietzsche
Ch. 1: Remembrance
AN: Angst? Angst. And by the way, I don't own anything. This is in the Department of Mysteries.
What's great, Sirius thinks, about the human mind, is that we can't remember everything.
But that is exactly what he's trying to do.
He supposes that the irony should please him, and he can appreciate it, in the typical weird humor of his.
The memories overwhelm him in floods. Exploding dung bombs in the night: sounding to them as weirdly celebratory. Hundreds of parties where Moony dragged them off the ground, and a few in which they hauled his arse up from the couch, grinning. Cramming for tests next to Lily, smirking as they silently levitated their answer sheets up for each other to copy. And finally, at graduation, kissing McGonagall on the cheek, and saying, "We'll miss you, Minnie," and smiling, teary eyed, because this time, they actually meant it.
He tries to remember the past, because everything is too much in the present: Harry, looking so much like James and pushing his hair out of his eyes ("Pads, help me do something about my hair") and then the hair is pushed out of the way and Sirius feels like he's been kicked in the chest because that's the eyes of their Lilyflower.
That's what a child is, Remus would say, they look like their parents.
He's (drowningchokingingriefandmemories)
okay.
He's always okay. But he did not notice the bright purple spell piercing through the air.
"Sirius!"
He notices floppy dark hair tackling him to the ground to avoid the spell and smiles as he gets up.
"Good one, Potter. Now let's see if you can do better."
They step up together, shoulder to shoulder, and the boundaries are blurry now, with the spells sent and received, debris crashing down around them in an epic way that is not unlike the muggle movies they used to watch in Muggle sees a particularly good confundus spell shot in the direction of two now cursing death eaters who have bumped into each other in the head and fallen to the ground. He inhales, the adventure and adrenaline going deep into his bones, and because of nothing and everything, he mutters, "Your auror parents ought to be proud of you, James."
The head next to him pops up, green eyes wide in alarm. Sirius suddenly has to remind himself that James is dead, and so is Lily.
The world is then in pieces, broken, like pieces of glass in an (What do you call them, action movies?) smashed by the villain, breaking in. They stare at each other for a few seconds, processing what has just happened.
But they can't afford a few seconds.
A spell hits Sirius, and he crumbles, slipping behind a billowing veil. But he swears the last thing he sees is a bittersweet smile from his best friend with voice breaking, saying, "Thanks, Padfoot. You know my parents are proud of you, too. And-and so am I."