Residual
Remus
3 days after
"Moony..?" Peter's face poked out from the plush red curtains of the four-poster bed.
"Leave." the choked sob came from beneath the covers.
"Moony please, we haven't seen you in two days. Come out."
Once his lungs unconstricted, Remus was going to chain-smoke until they shrivelled, turning back to black.
Sirius was gone. And it was all Remus' fault.
Gone, laid in an unloving cold sheet in the Hospital Wing, magic preventing the stench of the corpse beginning to rot as the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black demanded their heir's body, while Hogwarts attempted to honour the dead student.
Sirius was gone.
Reality hadn't set in at first, Merlin knows he had been increasingly ever-distant the past months but never did Remus think he would go through with it, never again. Gryffindor was the house of courage, of bravery- how could he have been cowardly enough to end it all? It was his fault, it wasn't, he blamed himself, blamed Sirius, blamed anyone and everyone but no matter what it didn't change. Truth was cold and harsh, a blade of ice.
Reality was starting to set in.
Nausea slipped through the cracks of his mind into his body, for the first time in four hours he left his bed, hurtling towards the bathroom door and retching. James and Peter had left, nobody knows how they hadn't cracked into pieces by now, he knew James' 'happy face' façade was in full swing: somehow he couldn't care less. The moon was in one week. He needed a shower.
Forget the corpse you burn, or bury- whatever you'll do with what became of me.
Practically scalding water rained upon him, releasing the tension he had held in his muscles for 48 hours or so. What even was time anymore now that someone he wanted around for all time, always, eternity- had died?
As if it were the Hogwarts Express in full power, realisation. His love, so full of life, energy personified: dead. He had no rights calling him 'gone', as if he would maybe return one day; he had died, and done so by his own hand. Dripping down his face, his tears mixed with the hot water, back to a cool, tiled wall, he slid down onto the ceramic floor beneath. He, Peter, James and assumedly Regulus had all been excused from lessons for a week, despite all of Gryffindor House: all the students in fifth year, to an extent, being affected by it. Ever-fierce Lily was seen furiously pouring over her Astronomy work, wiping the tears from her eyes with ink-stained hands every time the star was mentioned. Mary may have been in mourning, despite it all she did love Sirius, even just for two years. The Quidditch Pitch felt emptier than ever before: Sirius hadn't shown up to practice since the Incident, but you could always spot him in the crowd, still alone, at every crucial match which Gryffindor won.
The water was shutting off.
15 minutes wasted, not one fuck given.
I say me, but we all know that was a husk, a shell of who I was.
He made his bed. He had no need to: what were house-elves for if not this? It felt grounding, routine back at the orphanage.
I tried, I promise, I want to I am so, so sorry.
"Moony mate, you've been in there for half an hour. You'll use up all the hot water in Hogwarts if you're still in the shower."
If you wanted to know my last words… I guess it's another thing I'll apologise for. Because what would I have left to say to a world this fucked-up?
"Coming, give me a minute." Flat, no audible sentiment.
Emotions aside from anger were a surefire was to get you beaten up back "home", masking was second nature, natural as the moon and stars.
Always the 'mother hen', James Potter. Troublemaker and problematic moron, and the only person who Remus could stand being around right now. Stepping outside, he was greeted by dishevelled hair and a concerned look, and he couldn't help the weary smile spread across his features as he neatly collapsed onto his shoulder, a fresh wave of tears brought to life once more.
"Fucking… after everything…"
A silence.
"Prongs I think I still love him-" he choked, before bursting into quiet sobs, holding his friend close and praying nobody saw him so vulnerable. So open.
Moony- never your fault, darling. I guess I can call you the love of my life, but I beg don't ever say the same about me.
James
3-5 days after
Always the 'mother hen'. Not a care for his own troubles, those could be dealt with alone. Because someone always needed more help, and while Sirius' mask had been made of paper and glue, his was made of iron, infallible. Well. Nobody other than Minnie had come to check up on him properly, why would they need to?
Not like his best friend bordering on brother killed himself not a month after OWLs, and about two months after his grandfather died. It wasn't a burden though, he could deal with it alone, because he was the open arms and the shoulder to cry on. The jokester and the flirt, the funny rich friend with no problems.
He couldn't be bitter, he had no rights to be: not like he told anyone what was going on. Something in him wanted to protest, say there were plain signs he wasn't okay, his friends didn't actually care for him past his usefulness as a therapist, essentially.
Shoving those cares to a side was critical with the task at hand, however. Moony, a week before the moon, sobbing into his shoulder in an open display the likes of unseen since the Prank? Far more important to deal with than his paltry issues in return. Guiding him to his bed, they sat down together, James smoothing circles into his tortured friend's back. Remus was not normally a crier, the scene was a heartbreaking one to witness: "Remus mate, get off the floor I beg," was not a sentence he expected to utter today. Normal was a long-gone concept, the world split apart on that day:
And it was all Sirius' fault.
And none of it was Sirius' fault.
And Sirius linked it all together.
There was a gap in Hogwarts. Gold banners were black, with the faintest embroidering of lions in dark threads. A tribute, but it was still not enough. It would never be enough. Could anything fill in the Padfoot-shaped void he had left in all their hearts?
"Fuck you." he murmured at a banner. Shattered dreams swelled in him at that moment, he could have told James, he said he would, he promised. And yet that idiot declined every single piece of help offered to him on silver platters, all in the name of what?
'Looks like I won't be around to be your best man when you marry Lily-'
Always a joker. Now, the absence of laughter trailed around, and James felt like he had been cut in half. Something was missing: it wasn't his heart, that ached and throbbed too much to be missing.
Night fell, uneasily.
Once he had made sure Remus was as okay as possible, and that Peter had a sleeping potion available in case he couldn't rest well, and Gryffindor House was in as much order as conceivable, James crept to Sirius' old four-poster.
"Muffiliato."
Kneeling down, hands barely grasping the blanket for fear of staining the memories, James spoke.
"Padfoot… I'm so sorry for failing you."
Then he cried.
So silently, he almost had no need for the charm. No sounds could be heard other than the occasional intake of choked air. Nobody could hear the comforter break down, he had to be strong, he had to be (outwardly) okay. No evidence would remain of this slip of the
Spluttering through the swell in his throat, it took all of James' willpower not to scream his apologies.
"I'm so- I'm so sorry, forgive me Padfoot, I could- I could have gotten the map, I could- I should have seen you-"
Blotchy red cheeks, puffed eyes; James wasn't used to outwardly crying. However, it was wholly cathartic.
I cannot care less anymore. I know your heart breaks for those you know all the time,
Regulus
One week after
"I should hate you." he whispered to the air.
The words did nothing to relive him of the bitter taste of bile, still lingering at the back of his mouth, where it had been for the past week.
Nothing could drown it out; why bother trying?
Lost, would be the word he'd use to describe himself. Meandering mindlessly at ungodly hours of night, somehow undetected. Chaotic, and lost.
Right now, however, what was left of him in the present was on his bed, wrapped in a blanket, thinking. Did he know, from whatever happened after he died?
How his death caused so many people to mourn, how many were physically sick upon receiving the news?
'Looks like you are loved, albeit in death.' the thought flit across his mind for a brief moment, silently spoken.
Regulus hoped Sirius was happy, wherever he was.
Because he had made everyone else fucking miserable. Regulus had thought he was detached from the scars and memories, the twisted freezing sun that flared across their life and togetherness, but there was a void where there should be an emotion in his head, and it's summer and he's still cold.
Death tantalised him, but all it would do is cement his legacy and taint his image as another copycat.
"Appears I'll live because you died," he murmured, before collapsing back onto his bed. "I can't die, anyways. Je ne veux pas mourir tout seule, remember?" Whether it was passing out or sleeping, he didn't know.
to you, to dreams?
Despite the clear physical sensations; Regulus wasn't entirely sure what he felt. Nothing at all, it seemed. While the rest of Slytherin House seemed on edge around him, and while technically he had been given the next week and a half off of school- he still attended class. Life went on. The sun rose and fell, the Sirius star shone in the night. Even dead, his brother outshone him: how typical.
Second star, second son, second heir, second, second, always fucking second never first and still to say he didn't love Sirius was a lie.
Guess he'd be the second to die too. That one came as a surprise, somewhat.
Regulus. Get away from that hell we called a home.
Owls from home littered the next few days, in both a metaphorical and literal sense. They screamed and sang, sweet praises of Regulus' composure and of him being 'a new, ideal heir' accompanying screams of hatred for the school, for Sirius, for the funeral expenses.
The funeral would be held in private, but a headstone would be marked somewhere on Hogwarts grounds; the Forbidden Forest seemed the most popular choice.
So Regulus made to go home for two days, to attend a ceremony devoid of feeling.
Even the Floo network didn't warm him. Nothing did.
"We gather to mourn Sirius Orion Black the Third, of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, who tragically passed one week and two days ago, by…"
The coffin was mahogany wood, a thornless rose laid on it. It felt unreal: there was a body inside. His body. As the funeral celebrant rambled on about things that didn't describe Sirius, he tried to gauge the reactions of the rest of the family assembled.
Father showed no visible emotion, as always, his face thin and absent. Mother was thin-lipped and stony, possibly the only time she was in the company of her sons for so long without cursing. Verbally or otherwise.
Andromeda was visibly shaken, he could see the red puff of her eyes that was missing from her sisters'. Bellatrix looked disappointed more than anything, as she half-listened while twirling her hair, no observable trace of misery apparent from her body. Narcissa looked somewhat put down, Lucius by her side. Supporting her, he supposed.
Back to school the next day.
I beg it of you.
Again, he was sitting alone. Nowadays he did that a lot. Avoidance made sure nobody mocked him with their false pities. Claiming the funeral as an excuse, he had skipped class. Nobody was here, not in the entirety of the Slytherin Dungeons.
He was alone.
What else was new?
Feeling was. Maybe it was the lack of emotion at the funeral, maybe it was how the rest of Slytherin House trod on eggshells around him- maybe it was the damn fact that his brother was dead-
all he knew is that something pushed him and the inkstand on the fireplace mantle over the edge.
"WHY CAN'T I HATE YOU?!?" he screamed, voice protesting from overuse for the first time in two weeks. A glass vial lay on the floor: cold and rounded to his palms. He was sick of being cold, and unfeeling, and empty, and nothing and second and-
A clink and a crash against the wall. Glass lay shattered, false diamonds glittering dangerously on the dark oak floors.
"Why do- why I-"
Silken pillows were next, thudding softly against a bookcase. Clattering metal, shattered glass and dreams, screams incoherent, painful, ugly fucking screams-
Standstill- a brief moment where the books paused their flight, where Regulus breathed.
"Why do I still love you?"
Hands shaking violently, tears rolled freely, bursting from their barricades long held strong by the child.
"WHY DO I STILL LOVE YOU?!"
Chaos ensued. Pages were torn and scattered into the air, raining down as knives hurtled through them into the walls, portraits fled for fear of their canvases tearing: they were right to, few were spared intact. Pacing, rocking, back-and forth motions to comprehend anything, he shouted, he wanted to kick something, he wanted to kill something manually just to feel the blood on his hands, he wanted to break the wands of every single person in the school- he somehow managed to leave his own without splitting it.
"Tu étais mon frère, TOUT CE QUI COMPTAIT VRAIMENT POUR MOI!!" He cursed, he swore, then flung himself violently onto the sofa, howling obscenities into the plush green velvet, trying to flip it over, before deciding to "Flipendo!" it instead.
Deserved. It had seen his tears, it should be destroyed.
Above, the chandelier swung violently, threatening to fall.
"I dare you. MUDBLOOD CREATION!"
Eventually, it not only fell, but was found in a new form as a carpet, every crystal fragmented. Rather akin to his splintered mental state, he thought.
The bookcase. It was small, a mere personal collection, and nothing money couldn't buy back.
"INCENDIO!!" the yell sounded, as a beast of flame burst forth, engulfing the parchment-printed lives with the same selfishness most likely exhibited to take your own life after the endless efforts, care, adoration bestowed upon you by someone who only wanted you alive-
Burning away the paper, the fire burned his clarity back into him. His 13th birthday gift was in there- he had gifted it alongside a never-ending inkwell that had long since fallen to the destruction.
"Oh- Merlin- Siri fuck no, no no no- I'm sorry," he whispered, scrambling to pick up the ashes, blowing out the remnants of the flame.
"I'M SORRY!!"
Sinking to his knees in the storm of the ruined common room, Regulus sobbed his confession until his lungs threatened to give out- if he hadn't sworn himself to life, he'd consider joining the one he mourned for, cried for.
Loved. His brother.
Sirius.
love me back, in my cold grave.
"What an utter mess," he whispered to the grave.
Late afternoon, the last day of term. Regulus was to go home, and uphold the family legacy after the disgrace it had suffered by the hands of the failed heir.
"All I wanted was you alive, could you not grant me that? I cared for you. Beaucoup… beaucoup de gens t'aimient."
Beneath him, soft grass, vibrantly green but not harsh, complementing the white stone it surrounded. As the sweet sun sparkled onto the memorial scene, he couldn’t help thinking how forest had no rights being so beautiful if it ever was truly forbidden.
"I should hate you."
A small, humourless chuckle, more an exhale.
"I can't."
He would have welcomed feeling, at that point. Anything rather than looking at the heartless marble, in which rot a heart that felt too much, now nothing at all.
-- -- --
The Last Words of Sirius Orion Black III, of The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black
The ones who cleaned the wound are proudest of the faded scars.
To those who still care, or ever did at all:
I tried. If nothing else, I promise you that. It was all too much, life too difficult. Crazy. Insane. Mental. This is what I was known by; let's face it, I probably am still known by- what else is was there to me? Drain the blood and rinse your hands, and let me be finally free. Of everything. Of these plagues thoughts I've always had. You are my dearests, but loneliness is my longest consort, my dearest and only constant- I pledged myself to its clutches to ultimately escape: I know it will haunt you, and for that I am sorry.
I say that imagining you'll mourn. I hope you do, it'd be nice to be missed.
I am sorry.
Forget the husk I was, the corpse you burn, or bury- whatever you'll do with what became of me. Remember me in the elegant and beautifully strange, remember me in songs that swell with emotion, rather than lifelessness.
But please, I beg of you:
Remember me.
Moony Remus- never your fault, darling. I can call you the love of my life now, but I beg don't ever say the same about me. I'll never screw up as badly as my last bad moon with you, okay? Never again. You're safer now, with me gone. One less love to worry about. I love you, I- Not many can say with confidence that they have a star watching over them, but I will. Under every moon, I'll be with you, and I don't care how weird that sounds.
I think the whole reason you're reading this letter is because I didn't care.
James Potter, Prongs. Looks like I won't be around to be your best man when you marry Lily- maybe you could convince Remus to do it? Looks like I'm no longer your partner in crime, but then again- suicide is illegal sorry. I loved you like I loved Regulus, maybe more, once. The difference is negligible, I can't care less anymore. I know your heart breaks for those you know all the time, and I apologise so damn much for being the cause of another crack in your psyche. You'd hate me for this, if you didn't already.
They say when you grow up, your heart dies. I think mine just broke, and it shattered again at the thought of that ever happening to you. What else other than "I'm sorry" can I say: to you, to dreams? Other than the phrase of 'you did nothing wrong'; I was happy taking the brunt of it all while you were young.
I say that like I think you're not still my baby brother. I'm sorry to embarrass you in my last, I love you, I always have no matter how little I've shown it- love me back, in my cold grave. That's if I get a funeral, or a tomb My request is selfish, I know it is: I'm a selfish person, Regulus. Get away from that hell we called a home. I beg it of you.
Goodbye, Reggie.
If you wanted to know my last words… I guess it's another thing I'll apologise for. I'm indecisive, always have been-consistency . Besides: what left do I have to say to a world this fucked-up?
I love you. All.
I promise I tried.
~Signed
Sirius Orion Black III
A new day dawned.
But the sky was darker for it.