Chapter 21
"Lost and Found"

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"Long Day", by Matchbox Twenty.

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Three weeks had passed, quickly, since classes had resumed. There was a sort of dreary hell to every day. January seemed to be in a constant state of , and this January was no different. The sky didn't often brighten, and the only time it changed from it's bland, grey state was to cloud over, darken in colour, and . I was beginning to hate the snow almost as much as I hated the rain.

It's something you go through, I think, every season. You get sick of the sun, you get sick of the rain, you get sick of the snow. I've found it's in a human's nature -- Never to be completely satisfied, or sated. If there's something more you could attain, you want to. There was never a happy medium, and I was getting a little more sick to my stomach with each day. Someone had said it was all downhill from here -- Graduation, our lives were so very close. Whoever said that was a liar, an idiot. Maybe it was me, but whoever it was could never have imagined there would be more hills after all of these years. I wondered, wryly, if there was ever a point in your life without hills -- Where you didn't have to struggle for your sanity every waking minute.

James had returned on the day he said he would; Saturday. Bridget had, as well. They came to Dinner together, and I assumed they had taken the same train back to Hogsmeade. It was their own, sad, little parade, as they walked into the Great Hall, both of them gaining more attention than was necessary.

I became addicted to that perpetual sadness that hung, heavily, around James. Around everybody. Whether it was a concious decision or not, I didn't know -- But it was the only emotion you could really realize anymore.

Bridget wasn't so much sad as she was angry. She had always been a "make love, not war" sort of girl, one you just wanted to be around, but now she was so bitter. I found myself better friends with her now, than before, which made me feel a little strange -- I could be better friends with somebody angry, then I could be with somebody happy. What did it say about me, really.

Her long, dark hair hung limply most days, or she just threw it into a ponytail. It, like the rest of her, had lost it's vibrance. She had lovely brown eyes, and they were as lovely as always -- Perhaps even more so. There was a certain passion about the girl now, that was completely undeniable. She didn't talk about Ray much, and as if I could blame her. She sat down with me the first evening she was back, and she told me that she hated carnations. It was the only flower at his funeral. Carnations were everywhere, she said, like some sea. Some blood red, sea of carnations. Is that supposed to make it easier, she asked me, laughing dryly. Are flowers supposed to make death easier? Flowers are meant to be beautiful, and why would you associate death with something beautiful?

I leaned back in the armchair I was sitting in, and just listened to Bridget talk, James Potter rather forcefully stuck in my mind. Not until she was finished -- Ranting and raving about flowers, and death, and beauty. Before she was done it had all warped together, and I swore she had said "death is beautiful" -- did I tell her I was sorry about Ray. She, not so easily, told me it was fine. I thought it funny that she could be fine, but I was far from such a state.abc.

A sort of heavy innocence hung in the air around us, like a suffocating lie that grew bigger the more you believed it. He lay next to me, his breathing slow and steady, much like, he, himself was. There was nothing frantic or worried about him. He was slow-paced, nonchalant, and very lovely while doing so. And he was steady -- So consistent, so prominent, so steady.

He was asleep, his breathing told. Asleep with my sweater beneath him, as I sat with my legs drawn against my chest, hugging my knees tightly. Though he could not possibly see me, through the dark, and the fact that he was sleeping -- I felt the impulsive need to cover myself, as I only wore a thin tank top. The way he laid there was intimidating to such a point, that I normally just left, not wanting to talk about it, not wanting to look at him, not wanting to cry for the umpteenth time. I could not leave this time, because he had been getting frustrated with my disappearances, and he was asleep on my sweater. Yes, he was asleep on my sweater.

His shirt was off -- it had been when I came up --, and I felt my cheeks flush, as I realized, with a meek smile, that I had seen three out of the four Marauders sans shirt, all in very different situations. This one -- The most different of them all. He was sprawled out, with ease and gracefulness -- though I didn't know either were possible when one was sprawling -- conveying the fact that this was his bed, he owned it, and he was dominant. His legs took up far too much room, as they often did when he lay or sat in such an obnoxious manner, and I would often tell him that I had no choice but to leave, because there was no room for me.

An eerie light cast over his face from the moon, filtering in through the closed hangings, and for minutes at a time you could not look at anything but him, because he was so dastardly handsome. A chill ran through my body, as I stared at his still form -- He was the only other person who did not want to talk about death.

Sirius Black was the only person as unpreoccupied with death as I was, and it was for that reason, and that reason only, for the last two weeks I had found myself in his bed on several occasions, kissing those lips.

The two of us didn't talk very much, for the only thing anybody was talking about were the deaths, and the attacks, and the forming alliances -- either for bad or for good -- and the quiet sadness that covered everything was something that I could not quite understand, yet I could not quite let go of. I found it oddly fascinating, the delicate atmosphere that seemed to envelope Hogwarts. It was addicting. It -- the quiet, the cold, the heavy-hearts -- was what I was preoccupied with. Not the death. I felt a strange disconnection with everybody who had been affected by it -- Everybody who read the newspapers, and talked in hushed voices about the impending doom, the end of the world, whatever was to happen. There was that disconnection, there was that absolute loss of James, and then there was Sirius.

James hadn't spoke to me the day he returned, or any day after that, and Sirius had been careful to avoid that subject altogether. He was very careful, he tread softly. It felt nice, I decided, to kiss a boy who had no intentions of breaking your heart, and who was okay with the fact that he was, seemingly, being used.

My lip curled slightly, and on it's own accord, as I thought about that. Using Sirius. I felt dirty, somehow, small, and pathetic. Sirius was far too good to be used by some silly girl, just because she can't quite find her place in the world. He was far too good for that, and far too good for me, and my games. I hated it when he smiled at me, as if this was right.

"Sirius, I have to go," I said, suspecting him to be awake now, and I nudged him with my foot a few times to jar him.

"What's your point, love? Normally you leave without formal goodbye's." He turned over onto his back, smiling smartly, and stretched his arms over top of his head, easing the sleep from his joints.

I nodded, and quirked the side of my mouth, offering him a bit of a hopeless look, which he appeared sympathetic to, and he sat up, pulling my shirt out from under him, and handed it to me. I felt the strangest feeling of warmth toward him, and I tugged my shirt on, quickly, trying not to recognize the feel of his eyes on me.

"You're going to be okay?" Sirius asked, quietly, and perhaps just for the false assurance I may offer him. When you are asked that, you say 'yes', and the two of you continue to ignore anything, and everything.

I tried, very hard, to nod, and say 'yes', and to thank him, or something of the sort, but neither of the three I could manage, instead finding myself reaching for him, and kissing him very soundly on the lips.

He was always very thorough, and warm when we were together, yet I did not find myself falling for him as we had fell for one another not so long ago, and I hated that, but could not help but enjoy the feeling of absolute freedom when I was around him.

"You're so damned indecisive." He muttered softly, as he brushed his lips over my very flushed cheek, and trailed his fingers up and down my spine.

My eyes fluttered, and were begging to shut, and I sometimes felt a sense of empowerment when that happened -- I could deny it, I could still deny him, and that charm. I doubted there were many girls who could say that was one of their accomplishments.

"By no means do you have to go, Lily, as tomorrow's Saturday and there's nothing to wake up early for -- But you want to go, and I understand that. So, I will see you in the morning." He reached over to the hangings, and opened them, flashing me a smile.

The room was dark, save for the ghostly-hued, dim light coming in the windows, and I found the creases of his forehead, and mouth etched with shadows, and his impossibly light blue eyes were dancing with a darkness that was uncharacteristic, yet matched him perfectly.

"Goodnight, Sirius." I said to him boldly, I thought, and graciously, as I hopped from the bed, and shut the hangings in a fluid movement.

It was the simplest thing to say, goodnight Sirius --

As if this was right.abc."Dark Blue", by Jack's Mannequin.

abc."You're shagging him, aren't you?"

The whole school, and I even had to shake my head as I knew I was not exagerrating in the slighest, was at the Qudditch match. Gryffindor Tower was completely empty, and it was where I found myself, thinking to be alone, as I sat reading a book.

It was a Ravenclaw versus Slytherin game, and the Gryffindor team was quite anxious to watch, seeing what they could pick up on two of the best teams. After the game was over there was Qudditch practice, Sirius told me that morning, for the Gryffindor team, and I was surprised that James was, finally, taking his position as captain seriously.

I looked up from my book -- wondering if the boy had been speaking to me -- when I saw who it was, narrowing my eyes and pursing my lips at the unwanted company.

"Go to hell, Remus." I said, flipping the page in my book, and reading on, ignoring the laughter that came from him, as he stood near the entrance to the common room.

He didn't speak as he approached the sofa that I sat on, and when I looked up again he was standing directly in front of me, with his hands in the back pockets of his jeans, and the look on his face nothing short of serious.

"Pete thinks you're shagging him. I think you're shagging him. It's only a matter of time before the important one thinks you're shagging him, too."

I glared at him, knowing that it was on purpose -- How he conveniently avoided names. Who I was thought to be shagging, and who the important one was, and he wanted me to fall into that trap. Remus Lupin was a man of routine. He liked to keep his mind games simple, and it was funny how I would always end up giving the information he wanted, despite the simplicity of his sarcastic, manipulative games.

"I'm not sleeping with him." I said, casually, to the sandy-haired Marauder, who's seriousness shot away, and a cheeky grin took it's place.

"And...which 'him' is it that you're not shagging?" Remus asked, crudely, as he sat down on the couch next to me, his shoulder bumping mine, and I tossed my book down, folding my arms and staring, unblinkingly, straight ahead.

I knew that, in his own twisted way, Remus was trying to make a point. Remus did some things the simplest way possible, yet he did some things the hard way. Just whichever way he enjoyed the most. Proving his point -- He enjoyed doing it the hard way. Dragging it out, and making you wonder why you spoke to him in the first place.

"I'm not sleeping with Sirius," He went to speak, but I continued. "And I'm not sleeping with James. I don't need you sitting here telling me that it's sad, or it's pathetic, or it's miserable that I don't know which one you're talking about. I don't need you saying that it's quite like me, or quite like a whore to have more than one boy on her 'shagging' list. I don't need to listen to you, Remus, because I don't give a damn about you."

I stood up, pulling my hair out of my face, and I looked down at Remus, who, in the last few weeks, had grown quite scrawny, and weary looking. I think Sirius may have been the only person I knew who seemed healthy anymore. I couldn't believe that this was an acceptable way for people to react to tragedy, I couldn't believe that lives could be so shattered by it -- I just always liked to think that Remus didn't have a heart.

He had a stubbly beard, darker in colour than his sandy blonde hair, and the circles beneath his stormy blue eyes told stories that could go on for days. He looked gaunt, and his cheeks were sunken, and I frowned as I observed him, wondering if he got more than three hours of sleep a night. Or any, for that matter.

There was a sort of absolute silence, as Remus sat with his arms -- the only thing on him that seemed to have muscle -- folded over his chest, chewing the corner of his mouth, and watching me with narrowed eyes. I thought, maybe, I surprised him at times. When I was strong, and fierce, and prepared to go down swinging. I wondered if I surprised him then, just like he surprised me when he was something other than strong, and fierce, and prepared -- When he was kind, or caring, or gentle.

"You look good," He said after a moment, looking thoughtful as he studied me further, his arms still folded.

"Are you happy? You look good."

For a second, I considered happiness, and I considered the warmth of Sirius, and I considered the last three weeks. It was happiness, in a sense, I think. It could not have been complete happiness, it could not have been guilt free happiness, because there was that weight. Knowing that he and I weren't right, knowing that this was bound to collapse, and just maybe I'd be left alone again. It wasn't happiness, but it was freedom. There was freedom, there was liberty in the bond I had developed with Sirius, and though I wasn't sure I wanted to let that go -- I knew that I could not be happy until there was that honesty to accompany that freedom. With Sirius honesty was lacking, in every form, and with James? It seemed it was all honesty, and for some reason I missed that.

"No, bloody hell no," I tugged at my hair, sighing, and felt the ability to breathe leaving me. "No, I'm not happy. It's stupid of me to say that, and I always thought it was stupid of other people to say it," My Mum for example. She was never, ever happy, and she made sure everyone knew. She'd wander the house in the mornings, wearing her silky dressing gown, and a pair of slippers, and she'd drag off of a cigarette, and she would tell my Father a hundred times over that she wasn't happy, and that he'd better do something about it -- Well, he divorced her.

"But I'm not happy, genuinely. When I'm with...him, I'm alright, because it's so fake, yet somehow I can breathe when I'm with him," I took several gulps of the warm, dry air of the common room, due to the wood in the fireplace burning constantly. "But you know it'd be wrong of me to say I'm happy when it's as if no one else is."

I couldn't imagine that I looked good, because I thought I had lost weight, and my hair was too long, and too curly, and my fair skin seemed even more drab, and pale in the winter months. My eyes stuck out awkwardly from my white skin, and I didn't look good, I decided -- Because Remus Lupin was a liar, because Remus Lupin had no heart, and I was desperate to convince myself he was the bad guy.

"I'm not going to call you miserable or pathetic or a whore," He tiredly rubbed his eyes, and stifled a yawn. It was almost three in the afternoon, and he was ready to sleep at any moment. It worried me, a bit, to see the condition of things. The condition of people's lives. What all of the secrets did to them.

"I'm just going to tell you this -- James has Qudditch practice when the pitch is free after the game," I nodded, as Sirius had told me earlier.

He pressed on.

"You're going to pull that hair from your face, and you're going to put some lipstick on, and wear a scarf, along with that chocolate coloured coat you have -- You're going to go down to that pitch at six o'clock, and you're going to throw yourself in his face, everything he's been missing, and you're going to talk to him, because if you don't -- You won't be genuinely happy. Even if you can breathe, or whatever, with Sirius, who says that's a good thing? Maybe with James...You can't breathe, because he's breath-taking to you, maybe. This is so morally wrong of the two of you, and you don't have to say a word to him about Sirius. Not yet. Just talk to James, Lily."

Remus stood, and I felt myself shrink as he towered over me, weary or not, he was still somehow golden, and good -- Just far too real.

"I think he may need it. More than Sirius needs you, and you always seem to need that little push in the right direction, you know? Right. I need a cigarette, see you."

He stood, swiftly, and left through the potrait hole he had just came through, to go smoke his cigarettes, and to go be who he always was -- The boy with the bad intentions, but the good heart.

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"Expo '86", by Death Cab for Cutie.

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It was that time in the evening, when the sun meets the horizon, and is just starting to sink below it. It hadn't yet set -- It was in some sort of limbo, it was twilight. The sun was lingering, it no longer visible, but the sun's rays still casting a weak light through the sky. A pale yellow meeting the navy, and merging, pinks and lighter blues slipping in. The stars seemed to fade, slightly, with the stubborn sunlight still flooding onto their territory, but it made for an even prettier picture, an even lovlier night. Sometimes it was still hard to believe that we would have to leave Hogwarts. Leave these grounds, and that Qudditch pitch, and our lives as we knew it. I didn't believe that the sky would look like this everywhere we went. I didn't believe the sun set that slowly, sunk that lazily anywhere else -- I think it was just Hogwarts' magic, I think that's why we always seemed to have the time, to have the accuracy to see that sky after the sun's set. We all appreciated it, too.

"Hullo." I greeted each member of the Gryffindor Qudditch team, as I approached the pitch, and they were headed in the opposite direction. Brooms thrown over their shoulders, cheeks flushed with cold, and hair a mess, each one of them would offer a nod and smile. It wasn't the team I was worried about, it was the captain.

I walked on, half-heartedly hoping that he had already left, and I had missed him, though I knew better, as he'd be the last one to leave, after gathering the equipment up.

The snow-covered lawn sloped, and I trotted down it, my arms folded tightly over me, my breath leaving my mouth and seeming to turn white, instantly. The pitch came into view, and though the light at this time in the evening often played tricks on your eyes, I knew that it was him, that it was his figure walking toward me, with his broom, too, over his shoulder.

That jolt of hair, and that lanky form gave it away before the shadows were even gone off of his face, and I was close enough to see him properly. Three weeks suddenly seemed like forever, and I found my pace slowing, as I wondered just what I was going to say.

I wore that chocolate coloured coat Remus suggested I wear, and instead of lipstick I wore mascara. Tucked in my pocket was a letter, and when I thought of it my hands shook. When I thought of him my hands shook.

Pressure lingered, to say something right, after three weeks of saying nothing at all. There was pressure to come up with something solid, and honest, and strong to say, because you would think after so much time to do nothing but brood and dwell on it -- You would have something to say, something that might express a bit of what you've been feeling. I had been so angry, and frustrated, and I stood there, now, like some kind of daft girl --

Because he seemed different, a bit. Better, I thought, seeing his hair impossibly messed up, his cheeks and the end of his nose rosy in colour. His hazel eyes were bright behind his glasses, which faintly reflected the quickly darkening sky, and the near-full moon. He was slightly breathless, his chest rising and falling rapidly, and his stance was so relaxed, and so unlike how I had remembered him.

Tilting my head, I put my hands in my pockets, waiting for him to approach me, and I wondered if he would be able to know it was me through the becoming night, like I had known it was him.

"Hey." He breathed, a generous smile cast over his features, as he set his broom down on the ground to rub his gloved hands together.

"It's Lily." I told him, feeling strange and foreign standing this near to him, and a bit stupid for having said my name, as if I thought he were stupid.

"Yeah, who else could it be?" He asked, casually, as if there had not been a gap at all between us. His smile was cheeky and something I had forgotten of -- He could smile like that sometimes. He had that boyish grace.

I nodded a few times, feeling so ridiulously exposed that I thought I might be falling, or drowning.

It occured to me -- as I spoke his name for what felt like the first time, ever -- that it could not be anybody but him, either. Not on this starry, light, swallowing night, when everything about him was like it should have always been. When he was charming, and boyish, and washed in the most romantic light possible -- The moon and the sun's rays and the stars all at once. It was James, and I hated that it, really, was always going to be James.

Sighing, I rubbed my forehead, and found myself smiling, too, though it was sadder than his own was. He had been sad, the last time I checked.

"Hi James." Just as I said it, he ran a hand back through his hair, appearing meek for a moment, and then that cheeky grin was back in place, and he wore it well.

He was undeniable. He was on fire. And I didn't want to ruin it with that damned letter in my pocket.

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"Swallowed in the Sea", by Coldplay.

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Way too long of a wait, way too short of a chapter. How do I apologize? I don't think I can, but I still love and appreciate you all so, so much for not giving up completely on me. I realize it is ridiculously short, and I considered waiting until after the Holidays to post it, when I'll get a chance to write more, but I decided it's necessary, almost, for the chapter to be this short. There'll be loose endings tied up in the next few chapters, including the "letter" for Lily, which I promise does not hold devastating news for her, but it's news in the least, and it's just a line I want to finish up. Perhaps the change in James, or so it appears, seems impossible, as well, but I felt it to be right, after so long of them not speaking, he couldn't've possibly stayed sad and depressed, could have he?

I will put the lyrics up on my livejournal, and I may try to do some review replies, but there are just sooo many, which I love. I don't really have an excuse for taking so long -- Just school, and life, and being lousy and uninspired.

I wanted to mention that I've been writing this for over a year, and I owe that to all of you. It's amazing that you can get older, and grow up, yet still stick with something like this. So, thank you.

I hope you all have wonderful Holidays, whatever it is you celebrate -- Christmas, Hanukkah, Kwanza, and so on.

Thanks for sticking with me.

Kaitlyn.