So I'm working on both fics at the moment. Currently I'm writing chapter 35 of The Secret Keeper, but I've also written a large chuck of a future chapter for this fic.
A massive thank you has to go Ambush99 for her fantastic betaing skills and support.
Chapter 2
"James?"
"He's dead," James repeated, in a hollow, lost voice, unsure of what emotion, if any, he should be feeling right now.
"I know," Remus replied tightly. He looked at his two friends, they looked as lost as he felt. The hatred he felt for Sirius was now lost in confusion. The betrayal had hurt. The consequences could have been dire. But that anger was easier directed to that person when he was alive. Now he was dead… Remus swallowed, he just didn't know.
"What shall we do?" Peter said, speaking up for the first time, his eyes still wide as saucers, staring blankly at the wall.
"I don't know," Remus managed. "James?" He watched as the person in question pulled his knees up to his chest, curling up, his face turned away from them, resting on the cool glass. It had always been James and Sirius, with himself and Peter feeling fortunate to be part of their gang. He didn't know who had been more affected by Sirius' betrayal, him or James. But learning of their friend's death, with so many questions left unanswered, he just felt empty.
The rest of the train journey was spent in silence, no one knowing what to say nor having the energy to engage in conversation. The sweet trolley went past unnoticed. Changing countryside flew past unappreciated. The charged, unbridled excitement had been replaced with a darkness which even dementors wouldn't touch.
Remus looked up as the train jolted to a halt. Hogsmeade, he thought. How had four hours passed without them realising. Slowly he stood, looking down at his dejected friends. "Pete, we're here." He watched as Peter stood, nodded and walked out, as though on autopilot. "James," he said, shaking the unresponsive figure. "Come on mate, we're here."
"Go away."
"Mate, you've got to get off the train, or you'll be going back to London."
"Don't care."
"Mate, Sirius wouldn't want you to do this!"
"How do you know?"
"Okay, I don't know what Sirius would want but I care," Remus snapped, grabbing his friend's arm and pulling him upright.
"Fuck off, Moony!"
"No! Do you think you were the only one who cared about him?!" Remus replied, looking away and blinking several times as more tears threatened. "He was my best friend too!"
James stared at Remus in a dull trance. "I'm sorry Moony, I didn't mean to, it's just..."
"I know, I never thought it would be him. I always thought I would be the one to go first," Remus replied softly.
"Why?"
"Because I'm a werewolf. My kind don't generally live long."
"Don't Moony, I can't deal with that right now," James said, his voice full of emotion. "I just thought..., god, I don't know why. Especially with the war going on, that ..., I don't know. We would all be friends forever. But that's such a stupid, childish notion. Even with his betrayal, I thought..., I don't know, Moony. But I never wanted him dead. But that's the last thing I ever said to him. That I hoped he died. I guess I got my wish, but it wasn't what I wanted. I was just so…"
"Angry? Confused?" Remus offered.
"Yeah, I guess. I never thought he would be the one who betrayed us. I know it sounds heartless, but I thought if anyone it would be Pete. I don't know why, but." James stopped and sighed. He rubbed his face. "I always thought he was too loyal. Loyal to the point he would die before he would betray us, but he did. I guess it shows how wrong you can be about people. Not that I care anymore. Whatever he did is inconsequential to what happened. I never wanted him dead."
"I know," Remus replied quietly, as they slowly made their way to the carriages.
"How?" Pete asked, as they sat in the damp, hay-smelling carriages.
"What?"
"How did he die from dragonpox?"
"I'm not a healer," James started, leaning forward and raking his hands through his dishevelled hair. "But I guess he caught a particularly bad strain."
"I guess. It's just, well he was young, fit and healthy. He doesn't fit the demographic."
"Some people are just unlucky," Remus replied in a strained voice.
"I suppose."
"I'm not going to the feast," James said quietly, as he stared out the window into the gloom.
"You are," Remus replied tensely. "I'm a prefect, so I have to."
"Fine," James replied, his eyes not leaving the window. After what felt like a lifetime, they arrived outside the castle. Thick mizzle swirled around them as they made their way to the castle. He barely looked as they entered the great hall, the high ceilings, floating candles and enchanted sky not making any impression on him as it did before. He made his way, dragging his feet, to the Gryffindor table. He looked at the empty space to his right and bit his lip. It began to hit him. He would never see his friend again.
Who was sorted into Gryffindor, James neither cared about nor was aware of. What he ate, he did not know. He vaguely remembered pushing some food round the plate, whilst others made conversation around him. Usually the start of term feast would be a cause for celebration. He and Sirius would be deep in conversation, working out their next prank. Sirius was always, had always, he mentally corrected himself, always quiet and subdued when he returned from home. But by the end of the feast, he was back to the loud, live wire that he was. He sighed, and ran a hand through his hair. He knew people had started giving him pointed looks. He wondered if they knew. It wouldn't surprise him; news always spread like wildfire through the school.
"James."
He slowly looked up to see Remus shaking him.
"Mate, let's go. Everyone else has left," Remus urged.
"Okay," James replied in a monotone voice. He pulled himself to his feet and followed his friend towards the tower.
The first few days passed in a blur. He walked between classes, wrote notes, sat in the common room attempting essays, all with no enthusiasm. All the time he felt he was just operating to get through the days. He knew it was an important year, with OWLs just a few months away. He just struggled to find the motivation to care.
"How the hell have you managed to finish your potions essay?!"
James looked up, and down at the two rolls of parchment he had no idea he had written. "I, I don't know," he said with a shrug. "But if I don't remember writing it, I doubt it's any good."
"Do you want me to have a look?" Remus offered.
"Thanks," James replied. "Pete, do you want me to look at yours?"
"Thanks," Pete replied enthusiastically.
"Do you think they'll have a funeral?"
"I think they've already had it," James replied distantly, not looking up. "Whatever he did, I would've still liked a chance to say goodbye."
Remus nodded. "I know, but I doubt they would have let us."
"No," James said shaking his head. "No, they wouldn't have."
"It looks good, mate. I'll have a proper look at it tomorrow. I just can't do anymore tonight," Remus sighed.
"Thanks mate," James replied quietly. "I'm going to head to bed. Pete, I'll make some notes for you." Without a further word, he stood and wandered towards the dormatory.
He lay there, cold, rough stone against his face. The smell of stale beer and dampness invaded his senses. He could hear scraping chairs upstairs, and slurred farewells. He blinked several times, as he tried to clear the fog from his brain. Where the hell was he? He could feel himself panicking again. The same fear that had threatened to consume him for the last weeks was there again, and he didn't think he could control it. White hot pain shot through his wrist as he tried to push himself up. He couldn't help but scream. He curled himself into a ball, as tears of pain and fear streamed down his face. It was only a matter of time before they came and beat him again. It was only a matter of time before they plunged him into that dark, cold place again. But as the time went on there were no footsteps or angry voices, just silence. He rolled over carefully, trying to ignore the excruciating pain that tore through his body. He sat up and tried to get his eyes to focus on something, anything to help him. He tried to lick his parched lips, but his mouth was so dry he could barely swallow.
As his eyes slowly began to focus, he could make out the small, dimly-lit room. Boxes and barrels. He blinked again as the seemingly never-ending piercing headache grew tenfold. He knew beer was about one of the worst things he could drink for someone in his condition, but his desperately dry and scratchy throat didn't care. Crawling over to the barrel, he lapped the drops, licking his lips as the warm, wet liquid seemed to replenish some of his strength. He looked around lazily and snagged a bottle of firewhiskey. It wasn't in his nature to steal, but he knew he needed it, not to drink but to cleanse his wounds. He couldn't go to the hospital wing or St. Mungo's, as they would report his injuries to them. The thought of what would happen to him was almost too much to bear.
"Oi! What the hell are you doing?"
He looked up to see a rapidly moving, angry, blurry person thunder towards him.
"Thought you'd help yourself to my supply?!"
"What?"
"You're from the school, aren't you?" the barman growled menacingly.
"What?" he managed, feeling dazzled by the sudden assault on his senses.
The barman bent down and grabbed the younger man by the scuff of the neck. "I don't care," he growled, as he dragged the younger man up the stairs and threw him into the street. "Find your own way back, you dirty little thief!"
He fell, hard into the street. He shivered as the ice cold wind bit into him. He knew he had to get up and move or he'd die. Part of him told him to lie down and die, his friends hated him and his godforsaken family had disowned him. But there was the other part, he, Sirius Black, would defend his friends and brother with his dying breath. With great effort he stood, and staggered towards the castle.
