As always, a big thank you to my wonderful beta Ambush99

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!" James swore, swinging a fist towards his friend.

Remus ducked and caught the flying fist. "No! Do you think you were the only one who cared about him?!" he 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, his shoulders falling. "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, as he leant against the door, feeling more drained than he did after a transformation.

"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, having already made it to the damp, hay-smelling carriages.

"What?" James asked, as he slowly climbed, his movements holding none of the grace they normally did.

"How did he die from dragonpox?" Pete asked again, his voice now small.

"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," Pete reasoned, always the better of the group in Healology.

"Some people are just unlucky," Remus replied in a strained voice.

"I suppose," Pete responded, seemingly still not satisfied with the answer.

"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."

"Like I care," James mumbled, his face pressed into his cloak.

"Well, I do, and we need to eat," Remus snapped.

"Fine," James replied, his eyes not leaving the window. The carriages made their way slowly up the potholed track. James often wondered why the school never repaired the track. But, he reasoned, he guessed it was rarely used apart from six times a year. Still, a couple of charms and it would be fixed. So, why? He closed his eyes for a moment, blocking out the gloom outside. It was nothing to the gloom he felt within him. Why did he care so much about a bloody, stupid track from the station to the school?! Maybe he didn't. Maybe he was just trying to distract himself from reality.

After what felt like a lifetime, they arrived outside the castle. Thick mizzle swirled around them as they made their way to the castle. James barely looked as they entered the great hall, the high ceilings, floating candles and enchanted sky not making an 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.

James vaguely looked up as the new first years were ushered into the hall. He found a small smile as he thought back to him and Sirius taking the piss out of how small they were. But were all of those memories based on a lie? He remembered back to when it had been their turn to be sorted. He had been confident, not for one second thinking he would be sorted into anything other than the house of the lions. His new friend, his whole family from the house of the snakes, hadn't been.

"Are you ready for this!" James said, bouncing up and down on his toes, grinning at his newly found friend.

"Sure," Sirius replied, looking down and away from the Slytherin table.

"What?"

"How do you know you'll be in Gryffindor?"

"My whole family has been in Gryffindor," James replied proudly, as he pulled out an imaginary sword. "Gryffindor, the house of the brave!"

Sirius nodded sadly. So, he was going to be in the house of the snakes. He would lose his new best friend and have to share a dorm with that greasy haired git. His whole family for centuries had been Slytherin, and he wasn't brave. "Yeah, you never know, I might break tradition," he said, but with far less conviction than when they had been on the train.

"You totally will. You are definitely not a Slytherin! Look at them! They're slimy and evil."

"I know," Sirius replied sadly. "They're my family."

"Oh, I'm sorry," James said, but he didn't sound it. "But you're different. When you get sorted into Gryffindor, save me a seat next to you."

"Sure," Sirius replied distantly, as he watched 'Beck, Mary' being sorted into Hufflepuff.

"Black, Sirius."

James watched as the hall became silent. The Slytherin table watched his new friend with excitement, the other tables watched with mild discontent. Just who was his new friend? His parents had never bothered him with wizarding politics, not that he would have listened. He watched as his new friend slowly, and seemingly nervously, put the old, battered hat on. He waited. The hat seemed to be conflicted. What could it be? It was a hat; it couldn't think for itself. Could it? After what felt like a lifetime, the hat burst out. "Gryffindor!"

He burst out cheering and clapping, but he was one of the few to do so. The Slytherin table stared at Sirius with a mixture of disgust and disbelief. The Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw tables vaguely clapped. The Gryffindor table clapped with muted enthusiasm, seemingly shocked with the selection. James watched Sirius give a small smile before he headed towards the Gryffindor table.

It was only later that he learnt who Sirius truly was. The heir to the most ancient and noble Black family. One of the sacred twenty eight. A family devoted to pure blood status. Slytherin's as far back as the history books went. And more recently a family steeped in the dark arts. But Sirius had seemed so different. Now, after sharing the same dorm with him for five and a half years, he wondered if Sirius had been just better at hiding it than others.

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, been 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.

"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."

"I think we should head back to the tower. I just can't do any else tonight," Remus sighed.

Pete tiredly shook his head. "I can't either. James?"

James looked straight ahead at the Slytherins making their way down to the dungeons. "I can't."

"What?"

"I need answers."

"Prongs, you aren't making any sense."

"Why was Sirius's brother so cold?"

"I dunno, they're a fucked up, cold lot?" Pete suggested with a shrug.

"I know, but Sirius never put him in the same category as the rest of them!"

"Did we really know Sirius?" Pete said sadly, as he looked down at the floor.

"Maybe not, but I still need answers."

Remus sighed. "Well, you'll be needing this," he said resignedly, handing over the map.

"Thanks mate," James replied quietly.

"Be careful," Remus warned.

"I'll be fine."

"I'm going to head to bed. Pete, are you coming?" Remus asked. Watching the shorter boy nod, he turned and, without a further word, wandered towards the dormitory.

James shrugged, slipped on the cloak and headed towards the Slytherins. He needed to speak to Regulus. He needed to speak to him alone. Maybe Regulus was putting on a big act around his fellow Slytherins. He never seemed too bad, even for a Slytherin. But then, maybe he was as deceptive as Sirius? He quickened his pace, before silently slipping into an empty classroom, waiting for the appropriate figure to appear.

James looked up as Regulus appeared, thankfully by himself. He stepped out of the room and grabbed him, pulling him into the empty classroom.

"Get off me!" Regulus yelled, pulling his wand out.

James roughly shoved the smaller figure against the wall. "I just want to talk."

"Bloody funny way you have of going about it! Kidnapping me and then shoving me against a wall. Or is that what stands for manners in Gryffindor," Regulus bit back.

"Fine!" James replied, throwing his hands up and stepping back, his hand still tightly grasping his wand. "I just want to know what happened to Sirius!"

"He's dead," Regulus practically spat, eyeballing the taller boy. The boy who stole his brother from him. The boy who caused all of this.

"Yeah, you told me. It just doesn't make sense. People our age don't just die of dragonpox. He was playing Quidditch a couple of days before he left for fuck's sake. How long was he ill with it?" James said as he paced. Both boys were circling each, wands out, like angry dogs. Regulus looked identical to Sirius, just shorter and slighter. But he had the same eyes. The same face. Same hair. Just smaller.

"I don't know. He was dead when I got home!"

"What?! That makes no sense at all! You don't go from playing Quidditch and five days later you are dead from dragonpox. He was sixteen!"

Regulus paled as he let the information slowly sink in. His brow furrowed. He had just numbly accepted the information without question. But now. James was right. It didn't make sense. Sirius had been a fit, healthy sixteen year old. At worst, dragonpox would have put him in bed for a day or so.

"Hello mother. Hello father," Regulus addressed them politely, as he stepped into Grimmauld Place. They had sent Kreacher as always to collect him from the train.

"Good afternoon, Regulus. Did you have a good term?" Orion Black said, addressing his son formerly.

"Yes father." Regulus stopped and looked around. He knew Sirius had been suspended. He didn't expect him to be part of the welcoming party, but he felt something was ill. "Where is Sirius?"

"He died this morning," Walburga Black replied coldly, her nose held high in the air.

"What?! H-How?" Regulus stammered; all notion of formality lost.

"Regulus, where are your manners?! We raised you better than that?" Walburga snarled.

"I'm sorry mother. What happened to Sirius?" Regulus managed, in a small voice.

"He died from dragonpox this morning," Orion replied, in a cold, formal tone, as if he was reading the weather report. "You are the heir now. You will attend my office tomorrow at 9 o'clock to discuss your position."

"Yes father," Regulus replied, holding back the tears. "May I be excused? I would like to unpack before supper."

"Of course. Give your robes to Kreacher. Your mother will take you to get more formal robes befitting someone in your position."

"Thank you, father," Regulus replied, as he bowed his head. He slowly turned and made his way gracefully up the stairs. Once out of sight, he sprinted up them two at a time, until he found himself standing breathless on the fourth floor. He looked between the rooms and at the name plaques. His own, RAB, to his left and with a heavy heart, SOB, to his right. Without another thought, he swung open the door to his right. Throwing himself onto the bed and burying his face in the covers, as tears streamed down his face. As he tried to feel as close to Sirius as possible, his breaths came in struggled, ragged heaves. Sirius couldn't be dead. His big brother didn't just die. Who would protect him from the monsters? Sirius was so strong. Sirius could cope with his parents' demands. He couldn't. He dreaded the meeting with his father. He wasn't strong like Sirius. As the spare, he could hide in the shadows, but there was no hiding now. Despite the distance that had come between him and Sirius in recent years, Regulus still liked to think of them as close. Now they couldn't be. His big brother had been taken from him. He felt as if the bottom of his world had been cut out and he was in free fall. All this time, he had been groomed to take the family seat in case something happened to the heir. As Sirius had become more wayward, they had increased the lessons. He had begun to question the family values. But not now. He had seen the consequences. Now he towed the party line.

"Regulus, did you hear what I said?" James asked harshly. "What the hell happened?!"

"I don't know! I got back and our parents said he was dead! Do you know how that feels?! My brother is dead! He's my brother, not yours. My big brother died." Tears streamed down Regulus's face. Without another word, he turned and fled the room.

James stood there. Numb. In disbelief. Unable to move a muscle. He had sought out Regulus for information but now he felt more confused than he did before. Nothing made sense. He leant his back against the wall and sank down, letting his head fall into his hands. "Oh Padfoot," he said to no one. "What happened to you?"