A/N

Sorry if it's absolutely horrible, I seem to find myself unwell. Do enjoy.

Words, 2028

4: Okay, Not Okay

"Good night," he had whispered shouted down the hall after Lily. She had turned, giving him a half wave before ducking into his room, closing the door behind her. Sirius had then collapsed on the couch, arms pulling a pillow towards him as he hid his face in the cushion, not even bothering to remove his shoes.

He was exhausted, not having properly slept in several days despite the insistence of Lily and Nerine. Every time he closed his eyes one of two things would plague him, Peter's betrayal or the dead body of James and the house falling around him. Sirius was ready to fight sleep until he passed out from utter exhaustion, but his body had other ideas, as many of our bodies do after a traumatic event.

And slowly, he fell into a fitful sleep.

Cold—

Damp—

Dark.

Sirius spluttered on nothing, the strong, metallic stench of blood filling his lungs, causing him to grow light-headed, the misty forest spinning around him, his body feeling light, like he was drifting from himself. And instantly, he immediately decided he didn't like the strange experience.

Snap—

Crackle—

Snap—

Crackle.

Crackle snap.

Crackle—

Snap.

Sirius froze, hand hovering over where his wand should be, an unexplainable fear gripping him.

Crackle—

Snap.

Snap crackle.

Snap—

Crackle.

Turning, Sirius' eyes struggled to penetrate the shapes moving through the dense fog. There was something, someone, moving just beyond his vision's focus.

Crunch—

Grunt—

Snap—

Squeak—

Crack snap.

He finally reached for his wand, ready to summon light, freaked out by the trembling darkness, and the creeping mist. Sirius fumbled with his pocket only to find— he stepped back, heart pounding hard, where was his wand? He felt rather uneasy, if he was being honest with himself, which it was just him, the only person he truly had complete honesty and rawness with on a personal level.

Crunch—

Snap.

"M-Master," a voice sobbed, a very familiar voice.

Sirius' blood ran cold.

"I'm sorry," Pettigrew wailed, "I failed you."

No response rang back.

What was going on around him?

"The blood traitor is free."

Did Pettigrew just call him a blood traitor? Sirius clenched his fists, anger boiling in his veins like fire.

"I won't fail you, not again."

Sirius felt himself lurch forward, the contents of his stomach flipping as acid climbed his esophagus. He shut his eyes as tight as he could until the world stopped spinning around him. Could you feel yourself wanting to vomit in a dream? Sirius' feet slammed into a hard floor with enough force that he stumbled, eyes flying open.

With a yelp of surprise, Sirius jumped back before he could trip over the body before him, lying broken on the once-polished floor.

"James," he sniffed, wiping his nose with his sleeve.

"Lily, it's him. Lily, take Harry and run."

Sirius hadn't realized he had reached out to touch the hand lying by James, twisted at an uncomfortable position by his side. Of course, he had heard of realistic-like dreams, similar to Occlumency branched from one's shared trauma, but Sirius had strong Occlumency shields and didn't expect this. Maybe that was why he feared sleep so. He shook his head, withdrawing his hand.

If there was blood, or bruising, or some struggle of a fight maybe he would rest easier, but there wasn't, the Killing Curse was— well, the Killing Curse, it left no trace of life or struggle behind.

And, with this, the scene before him, the destruction he had walked into, he was left wondering, did James go out fighting? Where was his wand? Did he even get a fleeting chance? Or did he just run out to intercept the Dark Lord, immediately struck to his death?

Sirius tried shaking the thoughts, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes, trying to shake the image, erase the thoughts. If there was anything he wanted to forget more than anything it was the image of his best friend, lying dead, with no trace of fight on his own entryway floor, and the house falling from the broken Fidelius Charm, a glaring reminder of his failure.

Sirius awoke with a start, cold sweat running down his back and plastering his hair to his face. With a groan, he flipped over onto his back before sitting up, the early rays of morning moonlight spilling across the sitting room floor and crawling its way towards him. He placed a hand over his pounding heart, the beat pulsing against his fingers like a drum.

Sirius tried shaking the nightmare from his head, the echoes of Pettigrew's pleas still haunting him. That meant he was out there, somewhere, searching for his master who mustn't be dead. But Peter was a coward, right? he wouldn't just start a hunt, would he? Sirius shivered, wishing he had a blanket, the rest of his dream coming back to him, the image of James appearing whenever he closed his eyes, the pale face floating behind his lids.

Maybe things would be fine. Maybe Peter would take Animagus form and get stepped on by a horse or something. Or maybe an unassuming cat would gobble him up for dinner.

And with that cheerful thought in mind, Sirius rolled from the couch, coming up in a sitting position with his hair sticking in every which way kicking his shoes off and sending them flying across the room into a far corner before climbing to his feet, and starting for the bathroom hair still sticking up.

"No."

Sirius stopped halfway down the hall, heart plummeting down to his stomach.

"Please, no."

"Not Harry. Kill me, kill me instead. Please, not Harry."

He frowned, lines etching across his forehead. Abandoning his current goal, Sirius spun away from the washroom and bolted towards his room.

Forcing the door open, he didn't stop until he was near the bed to think, something he was learning he didn't do very often. Lily lay on her back, her left arm twisted at an uncomfortable angle under her back and feet dangling from the mattress, blankets thrown from her writhing form.

Sirius hugged himself as he edged closer, shuffling his feet along the wood floor as quietly as possible, silently thanking his stealthy skills from his mischief days back in Hogwarts. Slowly, and deliberately, he sat on the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping slightly at the added weight.

"Lily?" He said in what he hoped was a gentle tone as he reached a hand out to place on her shoulder. For some reason, Sirius had a sneaking suspicion that she wouldn't remember the dream and he couldn't decide if that was good or . . . bad.

No response, just a quiver running down her body.

"Lily, it's okay, you're safe."

She pushed his hand away, rolling over to clutch at his pillow, burying her tear-streaked face into it.

Sighing, Sirius shifted uncomfortably beside her, grabbing her other hand and carefully protracting her twisted arm from beneath her back, with another sigh, he stood to pull the blankets back up over her stilling form. "There you go," he murmured, pushing hair from her pale face with a gentle hand.

As he turned to leave, Lily muttered in her sleep, causing him to turn back around, "what was that?"

Nothing.

Shaking his head, Sirius was almost to the door when she breathed, "James." He froze, his lungs forgetting how to breathe momentarily before gulping a nasty taste in his mouth down.

"Wh-what did you say?" He croaked out.

Lily, of course, didn't respond, opting for snuggling into the blankets instead.

Before anything could progress from her slip-up in sleep, Sirius bounded out the door, quickly shutting it behind him.

Once safely in the kitchen, Sirius crossed the room, manually marking off the second and flipping the page of the calendar Remus had given him during sixth year, not noticing the date with (Birthday of Sirius Black) beneath the November 3rd mark in a vibrant Emerald green. He then headed to the sink, glaring out the window at the silver full moon outside, splashing soft beams of light on the surface of the sink and illuminating his face. Angrily, he washed his hands before setting the coffee to brew.

An owl tapped at the kitchen window and nonverbally, he waved his wand, letting it in to drop a bundle of letters on the bar before hightailing out. Sirius rolled his eyes after the stupid bird had left him, owls really didn't like him.

Crossing the room, he began flipping through the mail in the basket Marlene had demanded he buy. If he refused, she told him she would murder him, there was no need for mail to cover the counters. The letter from McGonagall, wishing him a happy birthday and a death threat if he harmed Lily. A postcard from Ireland that Remus sent him, with a doodle of Galway Bay. He sighed, pinning it up on a board above the coffee pot. A birthday card from Andromeda and Ted, along with a flower Nymphadora drew him.

Sirius smiled down at the lavender roses, pinning it between the postcard and a Muggle photo of Marlene laughing at the photographer, him. Reaching out with his index finger, he traced the curve of her lips, following the curvature of her smile and along her cheekbones, a sad moan escaping past his tightly pressed lips.

Letting his hand fall back to his side, he turned away from her smiling face and blue eyes, remembering the day clearly. That cool, fresh Spring day in April of 1980. How she'd taken his hand saying she loved him. He did the stupid thing, he asked her to marry him, even though he feared one of them wouldn't make it through the war. And he'd been right, and now he despised himself for it, he couldn't cling to anything good. Maybe he didn't deserve goodness and grace, or close friends and a wife.

Sirius slumped down in a chair near the window, elbows resting on the tabletop as his head dropped down in his hands, shoulders shaking in distress. He'd be okay, everything would be okay. No, nothing would be okay, he wouldn't be okay. The world seemed to feel more and more like Hell every single day, the flames the air he inhaled, the stones that made his body ache, the screams of the damned what plagued his nights. Sirius wanted a break, feeling as though he'd lived in survival mode since he was eleven.

Like it were something he did routinely every morning, Sirius clambered to his feet, shaking the cobwebs from his head, and began fixing a cup of coffee, deciding in a few hours he would perhaps prepare breakfast for him and Lily. Maybe, depending on how he felt, of course. Until then, he pulled yesterday's copy of the Daily Prophet towards him, and immediately wished he hadn't.

A photo of him stared back up at him, a scowl etched on his face, looking rather ill and put out with the reporter behind the camera.

Sirius Black was seen this afternoon at St. Mungo's with Lily Evans Potter, wife of the deceased James Potter, and mother of Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived.

"Why do you think he was with her?" Asks a curious healer after Mr. Black tugged Mrs. Potter to him, and stormed from the Wizarding hospital.

Lily stood beside him, tucked safely against his side, a confused expression crossing her pale features as she clung to his forearm.

Sighing, Sirius flipped the Prophet over to find an article on tea leaves and seeing the future. Sirius snorted, what a load of rubbish.

Continuing to flip through the pages, he saw another article on Animagi and stopped, memories flooding back to him.

And that was how Lily found him two and a half hours later, half asleep and slumped against the kitchen table.

"Sirius, whispered the redhead, gently placing a hand on his shoulder, "Sirius, come on. Let's move from the table," she tucked a strand of hair behind his ear, "come on," she urged, nothing but concern gleaming in her bright green eyes.

A/N

Okay, just one question: Did anyone get the postcard from Ireland reference? Okay. Bye.