I watch the leaves fall on to the ground , gliding in the midnight air, taking their sweet time to fall onto the ground. It's excruciating, the way they fall, knowing you can't stop it. One day, all those leaves will be gone, and taking their place will be brand new leaves, vibrant colors, bending in the wind, but never breaking. But then when fall comes around again…
One…two…three…
I counted the leaves, each time one fell, the wind blew stronger daring the others to hold onto the tree still. Life was like that sometimes: unpredictable and risky. Sometimes there's nothing better than to just…fall, because what's the use hanging on still?
That's how you make me feel.
I panted, staring at the full moon enviously. It has no worries. All it has to do is go through its normal phases. I want to ask it, "Do you know what you do to me?" I bet it does, as it smiles so mischievously up there, knowing I can do nothing to stop it. The moon has no worries that another moon will replace it.
It's funny, James, I didn't have those worries either.
I watch the last of my transformation, as I gain my mind, body, and, quite ultimately, my soul back. The hair on my hands and feet and face shrinks and shrinks. I see a black dog come out of the clearing. It's limping, it's belly scratched severely. For one moment--just one, mind you-- I wait for the silver stag to come out, waving it's strong antlers arrogantly, a cocky (unusual for a stag) grin plastered all over his face.
And for one moment--just one split second--I'm surprised it doesn't.
He transforms--bones reversing, twisting, growing, hair shrinking, and then he--Sirius--grows taller, and then crumples to the ground.
I wish you could see this, James, to see what you have done to him--to me.
"Moony," he whispers, "Moony, why isn't he here?"
I walk over to him, hoist him up on my shoulder, my bones aching, knowing he only has me now, and I wonder the exact same thing.
Yesterday, James, I walked around in my flat, carrying the Prophet around to look for jobs (I'm flat broke, and no one will take me. You know why more than anybody), and I found myself in the bathroom.
I looked up at myself, for two seconds, only, and I was already scared. I couldn't find myself. I wasn't there. I looked up again, looking past the cracks and fog and no matter how much I looked, I could not find me. I turned on my good side-- the side with no scars-- and almost like a lightening bolt in a storm, I saw a flicker of myself. A flicker, and as quickly as it came, it was gone.
I look in the mirror now, and I see this really old guy, streaks of gray in his hair, dark circles around his eyes, shabby robes, wrinkles…remember when we used to joke about wrinkles?
I remember a lot of things, James, even though I don't think you do. Or maybe you do, I don't know. But I remember a lot. I think my memories are the only thing holding me up, keeping me alive, because they are the memories of what could've been and not what is. I know it's terrible to live in the past, but the present is too bleak to bear.
Sometimes, James, I look in your eyes as we pass in the hall of the ministry on Order meetings, I see the ghost of the old James. And then it's gone, disappeared, as we wave an unfamiliar hello. As we make small talk, talk of the weather, ask questions we shouldn't have to ask if we were still friends. It really hurts, James, it hurts to be like this, to put on a cheerful smile and ask about you.
Sirius--Merlin, he's a wreck. He's not Sirius, anymore, James, not the one we knew. He's like this frail baby, this kid who wasn't exposed to the real world yet, and after a glimpse, he just fell apart. Just. Fell. You have to be careful around him-- no joking or laughing, like being around a guy who's loved one just died. Tip-toe and whisper.
He's got a job, that's barely holding the two of us, an assistant to Mr. Ollivander, who still remembers the two little black-haired boys giddily throwing dung bombs at a green-eyed girl.
I wonder where they went.
Today, I go to Sirius's flat, which is now just as bad as mine. Broken windows, doors off its hinges, carpeting about to rot. I remember when he first bought that flat, we had a party. You brought a jug of butterbeer (provided by your father) and you said it was the drink of our childhood. Because it was true--whenever we had a problem, had a joke, party, whatever, it was always over a mug of butterbeer.
You also told us, before the party, that whenever you look at it, you remember us. That was probably the most sentimental moment for us and probably the beginning of the separation The Marauders.
The Marauders. Merlin, those years seem like a faraway dream, like something that never happened, a fairy tale. Do you remember, James? Those days where we went around, noses in the air, the whole school knowing we had just pulled a prank on a Slytherin. We made the best pranks, we were a good mix. Your cockiness and slick demeanor, my smarts, Sirius's twisted mind (a crucial factor in the planning), and Peter's--just being Peter. He made us look innocent.
Peter, James, why is he still hanging on to you, while we were caught off so gradually, unaware of what was happening? How come he is still able to laugh with you, talk with you. Why is he still your friend?
Today, I'm afraid of going to Sirius's flat. It's scary, going there, getting messier and messier, darker and darker. He's in a hole, and every time, the hole is getting bigger and bigger and he just keeps falling…
There used to be three of us to stabilize his mind, now there's only one.
Speaking of one, transformations are getting harder, for me and Sirius both. Before I didn't try to resist the transformation because I knew I had you guys, now I fight within every power in my body, and it fights back, stronger every time I do. Sirius is not enough to stop me from hurting someone else out there.
Before I floo to Sirius's flat today, I look out the broken window, and I see this star. It's shining real bright, and I can feel it pull at me. It sounds crazy, right? I haven't wished on a star since I was seven, but when I looked at the star, I wished that The Marauder's were reunited.
It's funny, right before I threw the floo powder on the fireplace floor, I felt this big weight lift off my shoulders, and for one second, I decided, everything's going to be alright, because nothing can separate The Marauders for long.
I close my eyes and feel the smoke twirl around me, pulling, and pulling. And there I am, in Sirius's flat.
And you know, I was not the least bit surprised when I saw you, hugging Sirius.
I almost cried.
And when you reached out to me, "Moony…", and pulled me into a strong, manly hug, I did.
AN: I hope you guys like this...should I do one in James's POV? Or would that be too much? Is this too much? Review, please. I need the feedback.
