A/N: indicate italics or thought
The Last of the Marauders
I looked up in horror as Sirius lowered his wand for a moment, laughing. "You can do better than that!" he taunted Lestrange. You arrogant little idiot! I thought furiously. Don't let your guard down!
It was too late for warnings, for his opponent had struck, her Stunning Spell colliding hard with his chest. Sirius fell backward and passed through the veil. Horror-struck, I recalled what Alastor Moody had told me–why this room was called the Death Chamber. Those sentenced to die were brought here and shoved past the ragged curtain, the division between life and death.
Vaguely, I felt myself grab young Harry Potter around the chest, restraining him as he rushed at the dais, roaring his godfather's name. I felt as if someone had plunged a white-hot knife into my gut, and heard myself, impossibly, telling Harry that Sirius was gone. Each time I explained Sirius was dead, the knife twisted a bit harder, gouging out a hole where my friend had been.
I suffocated a howl of anguish as I stared at the black veil, wanting to do something, anything but just watch, helpless to save him.
Distantly, as if in a dream, I told the Longbottom boy, Neville, whose his legs were jerking every which way, to help me find the others. I somehow managed to croak the counter jinx through the large lump in my throat, but felt Harry tear away from my hand and race after Sirius' murderous cousin Bellatrix Lestrange.
In the next room over, I quickly released a brain, which had somehow left its tank, from Ron Weasley. Then, I sank down against the opposite wall, my mind numb and my heart empty.
He was gone. My friend was dead. In this matter, my human and bestial natures were of one accord: Sirius had been like a brother to me: always the first to understand, and the last to judge; he was my pack-mate, a brother of the hunt, my dearest friend. He had stood by me that night almost two years ago when no one else would, and I stood by him, the only one to believe his innocence. Harry's Patronus had brought the foursome full circle: Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs. James had died fifteen years ago, giving his life to save his only son. Sirius had now done likewise, coming to his godson's aid against all odds¼and paying the terrible forfeit. As for Peter, I neither knew nor cared if he still lived; he was a traitor to us all.
The others were gone. There I sat, last of the Marauders, a wolf alone in a crowded room of Pack.
The Last of the Marauders
I looked up in horror as Sirius lowered his wand for a moment, laughing. "You can do better than that!" he taunted Lestrange. You arrogant little idiot! I thought furiously. Don't let your guard down!
It was too late for warnings, for his opponent had struck, her Stunning Spell colliding hard with his chest. Sirius fell backward and passed through the veil. Horror-struck, I recalled what Alastor Moody had told me–why this room was called the Death Chamber. Those sentenced to die were brought here and shoved past the ragged curtain, the division between life and death.
Vaguely, I felt myself grab young Harry Potter around the chest, restraining him as he rushed at the dais, roaring his godfather's name. I felt as if someone had plunged a white-hot knife into my gut, and heard myself, impossibly, telling Harry that Sirius was gone. Each time I explained Sirius was dead, the knife twisted a bit harder, gouging out a hole where my friend had been.
I suffocated a howl of anguish as I stared at the black veil, wanting to do something, anything but just watch, helpless to save him.
Distantly, as if in a dream, I told the Longbottom boy, Neville, whose his legs were jerking every which way, to help me find the others. I somehow managed to croak the counter jinx through the large lump in my throat, but felt Harry tear away from my hand and race after Sirius' murderous cousin Bellatrix Lestrange.
In the next room over, I quickly released a brain, which had somehow left its tank, from Ron Weasley. Then, I sank down against the opposite wall, my mind numb and my heart empty.
He was gone. My friend was dead. In this matter, my human and bestial natures were of one accord: Sirius had been like a brother to me: always the first to understand, and the last to judge; he was my pack-mate, a brother of the hunt, my dearest friend. He had stood by me that night almost two years ago when no one else would, and I stood by him, the only one to believe his innocence. Harry's Patronus had brought the foursome full circle: Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs. James had died fifteen years ago, giving his life to save his only son. Sirius had now done likewise, coming to his godson's aid against all odds¼and paying the terrible forfeit. As for Peter, I neither knew nor cared if he still lived; he was a traitor to us all.
The others were gone. There I sat, last of the Marauders, a wolf alone in a crowded room of Pack.