This one was a long time coming, really. I'm actually surprised I didn't write it sooner. I hope you guys enjoy it, tell me what you guys thought in a review :) As always, I always welcome constructive criticism, SPaG errors, anything :")

Written for the History of Magic Task 2.

Prompt used: (object) candle

word count: 1184

Sirius' legs were trembling as he parked his bike on the road. Well, parked wasn't the appropriate word. The way he haphazardly threw it onto the cement was a definite indicator that something was well and truly wrong for he treasured the hulking vehicle he had painstakingly built all through 6th and 7th year. He stepped over the rubble and entered the broken home through what used to be the door. Now it was little more than a hole in the wall.

The inside was dark, all lights smashed, the stink of Dark Magic almost burning his skin. The atmosphere was heavy and stifling and Sirius tugged at the collar of his shirt in a vain effort to release some of the heat that had gathered there. He stepped forward and almost tripped over something.

He looked down to see a bright blue candle in the shape of a broom nestled under his foot and an almost hysterical laugh bubbled out of his mouth at the sight of the object. He had given the candle to James in 6th year as a Christmas Gift after he had ran away. All he had was a few sickles on him, and this was all he could afford. James, being the sentimental prat he was, had immediately thrown aside his clearly expensive gifts from various family members and proclaimed Sirius' gift to be the best one. To this day, he had kept it safe tucked away, and looking at the tiny wax figure, Sirius' laughter turned into dry sobs. He wandlessly lit the candle that had stayed unlit for over 3 years and held it up to eye level.

His stormy grey eyes swept over the living room, barely taking in the surroundings. It was almost ironic how everything inside the room was perfectly fine, as compared to the wreckage outside and, from what little he saw on his way in, upstairs.

His eyes fell on a still body lying just beside the hideous yellow couch- his housewarming gift to the Potters- and it was like everything just...stopped.

Suddenly, he couldn't feel his heartbeat, and the breath that had just seconds ago been coming out in pants now seemed to vanish without a trace. The trembling in his legs stopped, his quivering lips stilled. His body froze.

The only movement that could be sensed was his grey eyes roaming desperately over the body, again and again and again and his mind whirred and roared and screamed at him as he tried to connect what he was seeing to what could have happened but he couldn't.

His brain refused to believe that he would never see those brown eyes sparkling at him again. Brown eyes that were now lifeless and dull behind those round glasses he always made fun of.

He refused to believe that the messy black hair would not be messy anymore, no more running a hand through it to impress girls. Messy black hair that was...not so messy anymore. In fact, for the first time since that day on the Hogwarts Express when Sirius Black and James Potter became friends, the infamous Potter hair was..flat. No rebellious tufts sticking up in the back, no stubborn fringe falling into warm brown eyes, and Sirius' heart ached to see his brother that way.

He refused to believe that he would never hear another word of Lily-worship coming from James' lips. Lily-worship that he openly mocked, but secretly liked because he was the only one James ever opened up to about his love.

He refused to believe that he would never wrestle with an overgrown stag on full moon nights anymore. The scar on his stomach twinged. It was a scar that Prongs' humongous antlers caused when he impaled the younger boy accidentally. The scar ached, as if it was mourning as well.

He refused to believe that Padfoot and Prongs would become...just...Padfoot.

The hot wax from the candle dripped onto his hand, jostling him into action. He took tentative steps forward, as if he was scared. And he was scared. Scared that this was real, that this wasn't just another one of his nightmares.

His legs gave out just as he reached James Potter's dead body, a scowl still on his lips. His heavily trembling hand reached out to cup one stubbled cheek and it was the warmth, it was the goddamn warmth that did him in and Sirius could do nothing but break down as the realization that he would never get to hug his brother, or steal his son away from him, or prank him, ever again. Both of his hands clutched the soft fabric of James' shirt and his head fell onto his chest. Sirius' shoulders wracked with heavy sobs, fists tightening into the fabric as he tried to come to terms with the fact that James was lying dead on the floor.

Slowly, he lifted his head up, his long hair forming a curtain around his face. His hands loosened from the fists they had formed and he slowly cupped James' cheek with one hand. The other went to close one eyelid first, and then the other. He slowly trailed one finger over his forehead, smoothing the wrinkles there, down his temples and across his cheeks. He lifted it up to drag it down his nose, and he would have given anything to see his nose crinkle like it always did when he did this. But it didn't, and although Sirius knew it wouldn't happen, his heart still shattered into tinier pieces and it became harder to breathe.

He ran his finger over James' lips, relaxing the scowl into a smirk, something that was a little more James Potter, despite how much it hurt Sirius to see him like that, since it gave his heart false hope that he would wake up any minute, screaming 'Marauder prank, Pads! Just a Marauder Prank!'

He squeezed his eyes shut and bent down to press a kiss to his forehead. He stayed there for a second, knowing he wouldn't be able to walk away if he stayed there any longer. And as much as it pained him to admit it, he did have to walk away, because he knew he would deteriorate to nothing if he stayed there and that coldn't happen because Harry needed him. His godson needed him.

"I'll protect him, Prongs. He'll be a true Marauder one day, I promise," He murmured softly, running a hand through his hair, getting it back to its original state, choking back the sobs that threatened to engulf him once more.

He stood up on shaky legs, one hand going to rest on the arm of the couch to support him, the other clenched at his side. He stared at James for another minute, trying to memorize every single detail about him, and when he was sure, absolutely sure, he turned and resolutely climbed up the stairs to his godson's room.

He never saw the candle flickering.

He never saw how it melted away just as the echoes of his steps disappeared.