Anger

Send the Pain Below — Chevelle

Sirius pulled his old journal out of his trunk. He hadn't written in it in years, but decided the time was right.

Dear Diary,

Drucilla is dead. It's my fault. If I hadn't begged her to go, she'd still be alive. That hurts. I was just beginning to feel like I'd put Sophia behind me. All these emotions are stirred up again. I held her in my arms. I've done it before, but never lifeless, as she was. My cloak is stained with her blood from the vampire bite on her neck. I haven't taken it off. I can't. I never want to cause another death unless it is my own. It's unfair. It's unfair that anyone I dare care about betrays me or dies. Perhaps Drucilla's won't be the only funeral this week.

Oh, Drucilla.

Sirius moved to the next blank sheet.

My Dearest Drucilla,

I never got to say 'good-bye.' You left too soon. Everyone leaves too soon. But you and I know that. I'm not sure how I shall go on after this. They say we live in our minds anyway, having you with me like this keeps me happy. And lately, happiness seems in short supply.

Sirius sobbed and tried to cry. He buried his face in his pillows and was angry with himself for breaking down. He was also angry at the vampire that'd killed her. To be truthful, he was also angry with Drucilla for leaving him when he needed her. How could she? After all they'd been through, how dare she leave him like this?

Peter tapped Sirius on the back. Sirius jumped, then glared at Peter.

"Dumbledore wants to see you," Peter said coolly. Sirius wiped his face on his sleeves, but it was dry, then walked numbly to the Headmaster's office.

The Grouch — Green Day

"You wished to see me?" Sirius asked the old wizard, staring at a spot of floor between the phoenix perch and a side table.

"Mr Black, I was wondering if you would help me with some of the funereal arrangements for Miss Topham. I know Drucilla meant a lot to you," Dumbledore said gently.

"You don't know the half of it! She was everything to me! Without her, I'm nothing! I defined myself by Drucilla!"

Dumbledore raised his right hand to halt Sirius's rant, then half-smiled. "Something just occurred to me. Do you know what it is?"

"No," Sirius growled, wanting an argument.

"You're just a child. You haven't the faintest idea what you're talking about," said Dumbledore simply.

"Why, thank you," Sirius snarled.

"Quite all right my boy. I realise you have a level of naïveté you don't fancy admitting to."

Dumbledore sat down behind his desk and smiled at Sirius, who sat in one of the high back chairs on the opposite side. "Should I ask you about women, you'd probably list off your personal favourites. Perhaps you've even been shagged a few times. But you can't tell me what it's like to wake up next to a woman and feel truly happy."

Sirius began to interject, but Dumbledore continued.

"You're a tough boy. If I ask you about war, you'd probably throw the Bard at me, yeah? 'Once more into the breach, dear friends.' But you've never been near one. You've never held your best friend's head in your lap and watch him gasp his last breath looking to you for help." Dumbledore stood and folded his arms behind his back. He started up the staircase on the right side of his office to his large telescope. The Headmaster stared out his darkened window and was quiet.

"If I ask you about love," he started again, startling Sirius. "You'd probably quote me a sonnet. But you've never looked at a woman and been totally vulnerable. Known someone who could level you with her eyes." Dumbledore faced the boy again. "Feeling like God put an angel on earth just for you, who could rescue you from the depths of hell." The old wizard descended the staircase on the left side of the office. "And you wouldn't know what it's like to be her angel. To have that love for her be there forever. Through anything. Through cancer, as Muggles call it."

The light in Dumbledore's eyes had largely died out. Sirius was overwhelmed with the feeling that Dumbledore was speaking from personal experience, especially as sadness washed over the old man.

"And you wouldn't know about sleeping sitting up in St Mungo's for two months, holding her hand because the Healers can see in your eyes that the terms 'visiting hours' don't apply to you," Dumbledore said in an angry tone. Sirius hung his head.

"You don't know about real loss," Dumbledore's voice caught in his throat. He cleared it before he continued, "Because that only occurs when you love something more than you love yourself. I doubt you've dared to love anybody that much."

The guilt and pity Sirius felt quickly left him, and anger boiled inside him. He decided to attack the old man for attacking him.

Walking Contradiction — Green Day

"What about you? You sit up here all bloody day and—," Sirius quickly scanned the office, "paint idiotic pictures. And yet you know fuck all about the lives of your own students!" Sirius stood and stomped over to an easel in the office. "What is this about, huh?" Sirius shouted angrily, but then looked at what was there. A thought crept into his brain.

"You—you—ripped off a Winslow Homer painting here, except you've got an Englishman rowing," Sirius stared at the painting, considering it carefully. "You know that phrase, 'any port in a storm'?"

"Yes," said Dumbledore, surprised at Sirius's new level of calm.

"Maybe that means you," Sirius smiled to himself.

"Ah!" Dumbledore clapped. "Yes, tell me what that means."

"Well, you're sitting in your little boat. Waves are crashing over the sides. You're terrified. You wet yourself. You do what you must to escape. Maybe that's why you became a professor," Sirius became more amused with himself.

"Yes, perhaps," Dumbledore was not pleased with the boy's analysis.

"Maybe you fell in love with the wrong bird," Sirius said snidely.

"Perhaps you should watch your mouth," said the Headmaster sharply. "Hold it right there, son, all right?"

"How'd she get that cancer, Albus? Was she, you know, shagging some other bloke?" Sirius provoked the old man. Dumbledore fell silent. "That's it, then? She was a slut, eh?"

Dumbledore turned quickly and pointed his wand in Sirius's face.

"If you ever disrespect Grace again, I will end you. I will BLOODY end you. You got that, boy?"

Sirius stared at Dumbledore in surprise. Sirius reached for his own wand, but Dumbledore lowered his.

"I look at you, I don't see an intelligent, confident man. I see a cocky, scared feckless kid. But you're in mourning, Sirius. No one denies that. No one could possibly understand the depths of you and your feelings towards Miss Topham. But you presume to know everything about me because you saw a painting of mine. You ripped my bloody life apart." Dumbledore sat behind his desk, and Sirius walked away from the painting.

"You're practically an orphan, right, Black? Your mum disowned you, your father divorced your mother and remarried, your stepfather has passed on, yes?"

Sirius sniffed. He nodded once. Trudy had lied to him about his father dying. He figured this out when he saw Hamish Black at Diagon Alley during his fourth year with his pretty, blonde trophy wife, and their five-year-old son, the same age Sirius was when Hamish left his mother.

"D'you reckon I'd know the first thing about how hard your life has been—how you feel, who you are—because I read Oliver Twist?" Dumbledore dropped a copy of the Dickens classic on his desk before Sirius. "Does this encapsulate you?"

Sirius folded his arms and sighed.

"Personally, I don't give a toss about any of that, because—you know what? I can't learn anything from you I can't read in some bloody book."

Sirius bristled.

"Now get the hell out of here. Get to bed. Classes start again tomorrow morning."

"I thought I might be excused," Sirius whispered.

"No, Mr Black. You have lost that privilege," Dumbledore said plainly. Sirius slammed the door and stomped off to the Gryffindor common room.

Basket Case — Green Day

His friends had waited up for him, but he jogged past them up to his bed where he found his journal tucked neatly under his pillow. He continued his letter to Drucilla.

I can't take it anymore! Old dodgy fool.

But I know now what I'm supposed to do. I had the girlfriend and love I was meant to have—though a hellish upbringing—a blessing no one would dare expect from something as arbitrary as life. And the truth is simply that it's over. Just this one loose end to ravel up….

Why do I believe you can hear me? Why do I think you can see this?

I don't get to say 'good-bye'. You're dead, and I blew that. I don't get to say 'good-bye', but I'll tell you what. I'll cross whatever distance there is.

I send you my love.

Sirius

Sirius Black stared at the drying ink in his journal. Merely writing wasn't enough. He carefully tore the page out and folded it into his back pocket. Taking a quill and parchment with him, he again ignored his friends and walked to the West Tower. He found the passageway to the roof and sat looking out over the village.

Sirius held his letter to Drucilla tightly in his hands. He read it by the lights of a still-bustling Hogsmeade. Sirius sighed.

You can't see it, can you?He thought. Sirius tore up the letter.

And you never will.

He let the scraps fly away in a breeze. He watched his words for the woman he loved flutter away in the gale, then stood on the battlements of the Tower.

Sirius looked to the sky and begged for an answer. He nearly lost his balance standing on the edge.

"I could do it. We both know you wouldn't stop me. But, please, tell me what you're doing. Okay, let's look at the logic. Your excellent plan. Man is born. Man suffers incredible amounts of pain. Man dies. Where is the great miracle in that!" Sirius shouted angrily. "I HATE YOU! I hate this bloody school! I hate this stupid village! This damnable country! And I hate this fucking life I've had thrown at me!"

His voice echoed over the mountains and several people in the village below for the second night in a row looked skyward to find the source of the shouts. Sirius hid himself in the darkness. His toes inched over the edge of the battlement.

"Yeah, I could do it, but, you know what? You're not worth it."

Sirius sat back down on the roof. He picked up his quill and parchment and began composing.

The stars will cry the blackest tears tonight

And this is the moment that I've lived for

I can smell the ocean air

Here I am pouring my heart onto these rooftops

Just a ghost to the world

That's exactly, exactly what I mean…

Throwing himself into his schoolwork was the best thing for Sirius. It took his mind off the pain for a while. It would've worked better if Lily hadn't teared up every time she saw him. He'd completely lost his voice in the morning, but by lunch, it had squeaked its way back. Dumbledore sent him an owl summoning him to his office yet again that afternoon.

"What's that?" James asked.

"Note from Dumbledore. Wants me to meet him about," Sirius sighed heavily, "the funeral."

Remus, Peter, and James shifted their gaze to the floor. They mumbled to him, but he didn't understand a word. Sirius sighed again and walked off to History of Magic by himself.

Classes went by quickly, since Sirius slept through History of Magic, then Flitwick told him to take a study period for his class. Sirius went outside.

Anthem Of Our Dying Day — Story Of The Year

He sat in the bleachers of the Quidditch pitch and closed his eyes. A name was in his head, drumming against the inside of his skull.

Sophia. Sophia. Sophia, his mind chanted. It burned in him. That knowledge, that shame.

Sirius screwed up his eyes. He tried to put the name out of his head.

Sophia. Sophia. It dripped, still burning into his belly. It drizzled through him.

"No. I didn't do it. I didn't kill her, and I haven't killed anyone, ever," Sirius whispered into the frozen air. "And I never will."

A calm voice inside Sirius, one he'd not heard in some time said, Don't be so sure, mate.

I am not a murderer.

I never said it would be a direct killing.

What?

The calm voice went quiet. Sirius stood up quickly and went into the grounds, to get as far away from the Quidditch pitch as he could. He wandered the hills between the castle and the forest.

I know what you did.

Sirius stopped and whirled around. It was not his own voice that time, in his head.

I can see your faults.

Sirius turned again. The voice was unnatural, high-pitched, gravel-like, hissing.

I know what you'll do, too.

It was the unnatural voice again, but Sirius was sure it had been a figment of his imagination. Sirius jumped when he heard screams for help coming from the direction of the forest. He decided to run instead of help the man. He ran all the way in the castle and up to the dormitory. He hid under the covers.

I told you it would be indirect.

Sirius forced himself to sleep for awhile, to put the screams out of his mind.

At four, Remus woke him for his appointment in the headmaster's office.

Sirius muttered "Bertie Bott's Beans" three times as quickly as he could to the gargoyle that opened Dumbledore's stairway. He hummed his latest composition to himself as he ascended the stairs.

From up here the city lights burn

Like a thousand miles of fire,

And I'm here to sing this anthem of our dying day

Sirius sang

I'll find him, Drucilla, thought Sirius, and when I do, I'll drive a stake through his heart so fast, and he won't have a second to beg for anything to save his damned soul. He'll regret the day he harmed you. I'll kill him, Drucilla. I'll take his life like he took yours. I'm going to put him in a hole a lot worse than the one you're going into. I'm going to make him vanish as if he'd never lived, as if his name and everything he was, or thinks he is now, was just a dream that passed through someone's mind in a blip and was forgotten before they woke up.

I'm going to find the man who put you on that cot in the hospital wing, and I'm going to erase him. And his loved ones—if he has any—will feel more anguish than yours do, Drucilla. Because they'll never have the certainty of knowing what happened to him.

The thoughts kept mulling around in his head. He would go vampire hunting tonight. There were no legal spells or potions for killing a vampire. It was best to use the manual way. A good thick stake right into the heart. Then dust. A dangerous sub-human creature was nothing but dust. He knocked on the door of the office with a sort of manic glee. He was going to kill a vampire.

"Since when do two wrongs make a right?" Dumbledore asked the young man at his door.

Sirius was quickly snapped back to reality. "Oh, er—erm, I—," he fumbled for words.

"No need to explain. Revenge can seem very important early on. Come in."

Good Riddance — Green Day

Sirius followed Dumbledore into his office. A young man was sitting in the office and smiled very sympathetically at Sirius.

Fuck you, Sirius thought bitterly.

"Sirius, this is Mr Ambrose." The Kid offered his hand. Sirius didn't take it. "He and his father's funeral home are going to take care of the funeral for you. He needs to ask you a few questions," Dumbledore sat behind his desk.

"So, Mr Black, you were her closest…friend?" The Kid asked.

Oh, God, I hate you. "I was in love with her. Her sister and her parents don't give a sh—," Dumbledore glared at him. "They just don't care about her. Never have." Sirius chuckled mirthlessly, "They might even be happy she's gone."

"I see," said Mr Ambrose quietly. "Well, the cemetery is available on Saturday for her burial. So should we hold a wake Friday evening?" He glanced at Dumbledore, who nodded his approval. Mr Ambrose then stared at Sirius, waiting for an answer. Young Mr Ambrose was still new enough to be unnerved by long pauses.

"All right," Sirius said, the words feeling alien to him.

"Very good, Mr Black," said Ambrose and scribbled in a writing pad. "We'll need some photos. From her life. And some robes to dress her in. Have you thought about flowers?"

Sirius stared at the young man. Another long pause fell with it.

"I mean, we can co-ordinate them with her burial robes. But if you had something specific in mind…" Ambrose trailed off.

Sirius shifted his gaze to the fully-grown Fawkes on his perch, preening himself.

"Erm, yeah, co-ordinate them. But, asphodel. She loved asphodel. And roses, even though she was allergic. That'll do."

"All right, Mr Black. What about a notice?" Mr Ambrose asked.

"Notice?" Sirius wrinkled his forehead.

"Yes. Er, in the Daily Prophet. A small message to the Wizarding public about Miss—er—," Mr Ambrose had to flip to the front of his notes. "Topham."

Sirius's rage boiled. How dare you forget her name? I think it's time for a career change, boy. You stink at this.

"No," Sirius said after another unnerving pause. "No notice. No one outside the school cares anyhow."

"As you wish, Mr Black."

Lily, James, Norah Schofield, Remus, and Peter stuck like glue to Sirius when he returned from making the arrangements. Sirius felt like his jaw was wired shut. He couldn't breathe a word of what went on in Dumbledore's office because it was another sign that Drucilla was gone. But Sirius knew he'd need their help. Not only to deliver things to the funeral parlour, but to somehow keep his head on straight for three more days.

"I need her trunk," he said finally. His friends had been chatting amongst themselves but stopped abruptly when Sirius spoke.

"What for?" Peter asked.

James snapped, "Peter, you are so goddamned stupid, it's unbelievable."

"To pick out her burial robes. Oh, Jesus. Her burial robes," Sirius sobbed. Lily pressed his head to her neck.

"We can do that," she cooed. "Norah and I can do that."

"No, I have to. I have to deal with the details. I have to pick out her robes. I have to go see Pomfrey and ask her when she's releasing my girlfriend's body because I'll need to make arrangements with the Ambrose spooks to make sure they have room to take her body."

"Sirius—," James tried.

"And I can't bugger this, can't bugger one bloody detail or she dies all over again. And all anyone will remember of her life ten years from now was that her funeral was fucked up, I can't let that be what people remember, you know?" Sirius sobbed again, trying to force the tears from his eyes. "I can't do that to Dru. I just can't."

"All right. All right," Lily said soothingly. She tapped Norah on the shoulder and they left. They returned with Drucilla's trunk and set it at Sirius's feet. He hoisted it onto one shoulder and carried it to his dormitory. He set her trunk down in front of his own and stared at it. He stared like a man expecting a bomb to detonate before his eyes.

I Miss You — Blink-182

Seven years of Drucilla's life was in this trunk, and opening it seemed like opening Pandora's Box. He'd associate everything in her trunk with a memory. Did he really want to enter that minefield? He had no choice. Drucilla wouldn't be buried in school robes.

Sirius unlocked the trunk and propped the cover open.

Here I am, Sirius, Drucilla's voice seemed to say. Come and have a look.

He reached in blindly and pulled out a brown leather belt. It was probably the ugliest thing Sirius had ever seen. Various images had been carved into the leather and mother-of-pearl buckle. On the inside, "Propio por Ricardo Del Toro" had been carved. Drucilla had worn it twice. The first time was during the party on the train to school their fourth year. She joked that she won it by riding the Toro the longest. At least, Sirius hoped she was only joking. The second was on Halloween that same year. She dressed up like a bandida, whatever that was. All he knew was she wore a cowboy hat and the belt over one shoulder and across her chest. Sirius tossed it aside. It meant nothing to him and he'd probably give it back to Dick the next time he saw him.

The wake, Sirius thought. He went back to work.

He found the outfit she wore on the train last September. He loved how free-spirited Drucilla was. Free enough to wear a top that didn't cover her breasts, a pleated leather micro-mini skirt that also left nothing to the imagination, and new tattoos and piercings that brought the grand total to thirty-something.

The most cherished of her body art was a dragon that covered her entire back. She said it took 18 hours of sitting backwards in a chair to ink. A wizard tattoo artist who had a shop down Knockturn Alley and was renowned for his talent (and the only person Drucilla would let near her with a needle) did it. The dragon reminded him of ancient Chinese drawings, but when Drucilla initially showed it to him, it was a shade of bubble gum pink and curled up in a ball in the lower right quarter of her back. Sirius reached out to touch it, and the dragon turned a fiery red and illustrated smoke flowed out of its nostrils as it warmed to Sirius's fingers. "It's bewitched," she told him. "It's meant to reflect my mood." Sirius wondered what colour the dragon was now. Was it black? White? Had it lost its colour? Was it even still alive?

He remembered how much he loved her at that moment on the train, even in her newsboy cap. How her blue eyes (from a spell) tore into him and reflected the glints of silver in her face. He remembered how long it took her to bleach her hair to the shade of blonde she wanted, and even then, she stopped after only the crown of her head was done. He remembered the respite between their lovemaking and their best friends boarding the train. When she lay on his chest and listened to his heart. Had their friends not entered the compartment, it would have lulled her to sleep. And eventually, he would have fallen asleep with her. Sleeping together, but not making love.

He thought of the end of June. The train ride home then. James had Lily, now, Peter had Priscilla (most of the time at least), Remus had Snape, for God's sake. Who did he have? No one. Even with all the girls he'd cheated on Drucilla with, he had no one.

And fuck Dumbledore, Sirius thought bitterly. I know plenty about those things he was talking about. Even war. His parents were Trudy and Hamish Black. If the last two years of their marriage wasn't a war, he was the next English Pope. Whoever the Pope was. He set aside the train clothes and dug through unworn school robes to find what he was looking for. The burgundy dress she wore for the Dursley wedding. He held it by the shoulder straps and stood. It hung beautifully. He pictured Drucilla in it.

Ah, no wonder I shagged her during the reception.

Sirius brought the dress to his nose. He breathed her in. Her perfume, his cologne, and their sweat commingling with a hint of rose pollen from the bouquet she carried in Petunia's wedding party. He pictured how she'd done her hair. Loose, but lovely, raven curls cascading down her neck and back. How she smiled demurely at him through the ceremony. Drucilla was definitely prettier than the bride at that wedding was, and Petunia nearly pitched a fit over it. He forgot Petunia and thought only of Drucilla. How she wished they were getting married. He knew that especially now, because it had been less that a week since he saw her in this dress and she kept dropping hints about marriage. Another couple of months, he might've proposed. But that was gone now. Another enterprise of great pitch and moment had turned its currents awry and lost the name of action.

Sirius sighed a deep, heavy sigh. He folded the purple-red dress neatly on his bed and put her other clothes back in her trunk. He shut it and locked it without another peek inside.

Sirius pulled Drucilla's pillow from under his bed and cradled it. James silently opened the dormitory door and saw Sirius standing in the darkened bedroom, his girlfriend's pillow to his face, staring out the window between their beds. While James just needed some parchment, he stayed. Just in case. He wasn't weeping, talking to himself aloud, or making any noise at all. Just breathing her in, because her scent and his memories were all Sirius had left. James watched as Sirius merely stood with that pillow to his face and breathed in the smell of his lover's hair and cheeks, over and over.

Inhale…

Exhale…

Inhale…

Exhale…

I feel you there, James, Sirius wanted to say. I know you're there. I can feel your eyes on me, and I wish you'd at least speak to me, instead of just staring.

For a moment, James felt as if they stood naked before him, as if he were witness to something between a man and a woman that was as intimate as if he were watching them make love.

James wasn't sure if he should say anything. In truth, he still couldn't believe it. Even after all the crying he'd done with Lily and Remus and Peter and Norah. Even after he'd sat on the floor of the common room and held Lily as she shook for five violent minutes of heaving spasms. He'd held her afterwards and cooed her calm. She fell asleep in his arms soon after she'd finally calmed down. He had revelled in the sensation, but wished it hadn't been the death of her best friend that had sent her deeper into his arms. And, sadly, he knew Sirius wasn't ever going to feel that again.

Even after all that, James still couldn't quite believe it. Somehow, she'd walk through the portrait hole, laughing insanely that she'd finally pranked the pranksters. And in that moment, Sirius would be Sirius again, if a little teary that Drucilla had pulled such a mean trick.

But he had seen her body in the hospital wing before Pomfrey took it to a back room. Her once mocha skin was whiter than white with the smallest hint of blue settling in. He had seen the desperation in Sirius's eyes when he begged her to wake up in the alley. And he saw Sirius's love for Drucilla reflected in his latest actions. Handling her funeral, most of all, was one thing James knew he hadn't the strength to do himself.

Sirius dropped the pillow on the bed and clenched his teeth. He turned.

"Oh. Hey, James. Didn't see you there," Sirius said almost happily.

"Liar," James said and embraced Sirius like a brother. "My God, I'm sorry, Sirius."

Sirius patted James on the back. "Thanks, mate. Thanks a lot. A very lot."

"If there's anything I can do…."

"Actually, James, if you could round up some pictures of Drucilla, for the wake, you know. Her doing anything. I need them by tomorrow," Sirius said, breaking the embrace and uneasily taking two backwards steps away from James.

"Absolutely," James nodded.

"Maybe we'll go out for a butterbeer next Hogsmeade weekend," Sirius suggested, hoping James would get what he came for and leave.

"Sure, Sirius. Sure."

Sirius fell asleep soon after James left with his rolls of parchment, mostly from pure exhaustion. His mind kept replaying Drucilla's death to him in his dreams. When he awoke, a waning moon had risen. He sat up and decided he wasn't very hungry, so he wouldn't join his friends for dinner. He found Drucilla's dress zippered in a garment bag on a hanger and hanging from the curtain rods above his bed. On his trunk sat a small parcel. The photographs. He opened the window a crack to clean away the musty smell of loss. The cool winter air would wake him up. A soft, yet chilly breeze filled the dorm. Lily and the boys, the men of Gryffindor Tower, had filled the dormitory last night and the previous nights with their weeping. Sirius figured he'd join them any second. But he hadn't. He'd screamed in the alley, in Dumbledore's office, on the West Tower. Screamed himself hoarse. But outside of those times, he hadn't felt anything else than the need to weep eat at him. So he sat on his bed now and willed the tears to come.

Please, he thought, let one tear fall. Others will follow. Just let that first one come.

Imaginary — Evanescence

Sirius opened the parcel of photos. The first one was of her sleeping with a Potions book over her face. The next was she and Sirius making faces at the camera in the library. Another was obviously surreptitiously snapped while she and Sirius snogged in the Invisibility Section (which hadn't worked as well as they'd hoped). There was a Muggle photo of her, Lily, Petunia, Priscilla, and Norah sitting in the Evanses' backyard, the lot of them lazing away a summer day gawky with preadolescence and legs growing longer and faster than the rest of them could keep up with. Another Muggle photo of Drucilla was snapped at Petunia's wedding.

Sirius set the photos down. It was too torturous. He closed his eyes and lay back on the bed. He saw seven different versions of Drucilla. The first year that, alongside Alice Jones, had managed to melt both their cauldrons in one day. The second year that desperately loved James Potter. The third year that saved him from his own botched Animagus transformation. The fourth year that took all of her anger and fear and turned it into a Quidditch season to end all. The fifth year that mourned her father's death. The sixth year that finally loved him. And the beautiful bridesmaid he couldn't block from his mind.

He saw her and saw her and saw her and yet he couldn't cry.

It'll come, a voice whispered from inside him. You're just in shock.

But the shock's wearing off, he answered the voice. Has been since James left here.

And once it does, you'll feel something.

I already feel something.

That's grief, said the voice, that's sorrow.

It's not sorrow. It's not grief. That's rage.

You'll feel some of that, too, but you'll get past it, Sirius.

Maybe I don't want to get past it.

Sirius's roommates decided to call it a night. They entered the dorm and found Sirius sprawled on his bed, staring at the ceiling. Remus closed the window, then sat on the edge of his bed. Frank and Peter followed Remus's example.

James smiled at Sirius, but, too, sat on his bed in silence.

Remus, restless, shifted over to Sirius's bed.

"Hey."

"How you holding up?" Sirius asked.

Remus stared at him like he'd sprouted another set of eyes.

"Padfoot? Are you mad? We should be asking you that. God, Sirius, don't you ever think of yourself?"

"Don't worry about me. I'm all right," Sirius closed the curtains around his bed. He knocked down Drucilla's dress. James picked it up and hung it from his bed. Fuck them, Sirius thought. They pitied him.