James wasn't sure how it happened, but they ended up in Sirius' bedroom. The cheerful reds and yellows mocked him. Sirius was gone, and this room would remain the same till the end of time, or at least the house, as if just waiting for its owner to walk in. But Sirius never would again.

James punched the wall. It didn't make him feel any better. It just bruised his knuckles.

Remus didn't say anything, just stood near the door as if heading off the path of escape. But James had no intention of leaving.

He walked around the room, listlessly, examining the pictures of motorcycles and muggle girls. In a way, this room had stood tribute to a Sirius who was gone long before he actually died. The Sirius who had rebelled against his family through Gryffindor banners was not the same Sirius who had come back from Azkaban.

James, again, was drawn to the picture of the Marauders on the wall. Sirius' true family. How they had let him down. Wormtail was a traitor. Remus and James himself, who should have known better, hadn't questioned Sirius' part in their 'deaths.' And now James couldn't even save his life.

"Padfoot's dead, Moony," he whispered, in a small, small voice. Nicknames had been Sirius' idea, even if they had teased him mercilessly about being called Snuffles. James wasn't even sure how they had come up with that one. "The first of the Marauders to go."

He heard a sigh from the doorway and turned around. Remus looked very old, as he ran a hand over his face. "Not really," he said, "Just the first to go permanently."

James remembered the conversation he had had with Sirius almost a year ago in this very room. He had promised his friend that he would never leave him; that no Death Eater could get to them as long as they were together.

He wanted to break something, to make some inanimate object feel one iota of the pain he felt. Maybe he would burn the portraits in the house. Sirius always hated them anyway. How could his family not have realized how incredible he was?

Because they were a bunch of dark, evil, sons of banshees, that's why. And it was family who had struck him down. His cousin, Bellatrix Lestrange, had killed him with triumph.

Suddenly, James understood his son's rush for revenge. Suddenly, all he wanted was to hunt down the Lestrange's and break them too.

"I think he would have preferred this way to one of us dying," said Remus, quietly. "Any of us would."

"None of us should," James spat. "None of us should have died! It was supposed to be us against the world. The fact that Peter was a little rat doesn't change that. We three should have survived this war!"

Remus crossed to the bed and sank onto it, one hand over his eyes. James felt a sudden surge of guilt. Why was Remus comforting him when he was in as much pain as James was? And Remus had been through this before.

James walked slowly across the room and sat down next to his friend. Remus did not move or look up. James sighed and ran a hand through his messy, black hair.

"I had always thought I would be the first to die," Remus whispered, finally. "The wolf would finally do too much, or some werewolf hunter would find me. Then, it was you. And Peter. And then, you were both back. And now..." Remus drew in a shuddering gasp. "What are we going to do, Prongs."

"I don't know, Moony," James said, tiredly. It hadn't really been a question, but he felt he had to answered it anyway. "This was supposed to be a victory for the Order."

"I suppose it was, in a way," Remus said, raising his head.

James scoffed. "One of us is dead, Tonks is in St. Mungo's," James missed Remus' flinch, "Kinglsey and Mad-Eye were hurt, and the Death Eaters didn't lose anyone. Some victory."

"We've got ten Death Eaters in custody," said Remus, "Including some people like Malfoy and McNair who no one knew were Death Eaters. They didn't get the prophesy. Everyone knows Voldemort is back now. I'd call that a victory." There was a brief pause. "And so would Sirius," he finished.

The silence this time was longer as James considered this. He was right about all they had accomplished. And he was right about Sirius. James could practically hear him, still sounding teasing, even as he was being serious, "Come on, Prongs. You didn't think all of the Order could come out of this alive, did you? The important thing is Harry is safe."

Harry would probably never forgive him for not telling him about the Prophesy. Harry would definitely be blaming himself for his Godfather's death.

"Then, why doesn't it feel like a win?" he asked, hoarsely.

"He was your brother..."

"Our brother." He hated the way Remus put himself down all the time. It had always been his greatest flaw.

"Our brother," Remus agreed. "It's only natural we feel the cost was too high."

James stood up, tugging on his hair, relishing in the mild pain. Then he remembered something else from that day nearly a year ago. Sirius had smashed it, but maybe...

He crossed the room to the cabinet on the wall. There, indeed, was a bottle of firewiskey and one glass. He poured the glass, walked back to the bed, and handed it to Remus. He kept the bottle for himself.

How many times had the four Marauders toasted the death of a colleague? How many times had all the Order?

"To empty victories," he said. He and Remus touched their drinks together and drank deeply.

Goodbye Padfoot.

Well, that's that. Next up, The Half Blood Prince.

If something in this chapter seems familiar (particularly the 'break them too' line), it's because I purposefully tried to draw similarities between James' grief and Harry's in the book. Harry expresses a similar sentiment about Dumbledore.