So many years of grief does things to a person.
Their mind changes, alters, morphs into something nearly unrecognizable.
James Potter, heir of the Potter Fortune and the only one left of his bloodline experienced that very thing.
His mother and father both died long before, their bodies lay rest in the cold, rich soil of the rolling hills behind the Potter mansion.
The closest thing he had to a brother, Sirius Black, trapped in the confinement of Azkaban driven beyond madness by the screams and wails of his fellow inmates.
Remus Lupin, another of his closest friends, lost his mind in anthropomorphic delusion. The excruciating pain overtook him and he lost the battle, fated to forever live as what he most feared himself becoming; no less than a monster fueled only by rage and hunger. He did not die, not physically, but there was no humanity left to him. He was, in essence, dead.
And then the rat.
His childhood friend, Peter Pettigrew.
James felt nothing but rage for this man- no, this creature.
This spineless fool.
He betrayed his friends. He betrayed his family. He betrayed his school. He lost his honor.
What a foul, useless creature this man was.
Last he had heard, the boy had claimed to be under the control of the Dark Lord using imperio.
He did not care. He would never forget or forgive the events that occurred.
James is now 21. He recently reunited with his lover, Regulus Black.
He was ashamed when the other man saw him. He was a mess, a shell of the man he once was. That bright smile, that jolly laugh, that love he felt- gone.
James tried his best to contain his urges. He tried his best not to act rashly. He tried his best to be a good man, a good lover, a good provider. He was none of those things anymore.
He snapped.
He had seen death so many times, that the sobbing and screaming of his friends and family haunted his mind. The whispers that rang through the corridors of his cold, empty home spoke of insane, terrible acts. Things no sane man could ever be tempted by.
This is how James discovered his insanity.
.
.
.
.
.
.
And so, he made his choice. For the first time in 6 years, he stepped into the lifeless chambers in which his parents died. He felt nothing. He approached his father's side table, opened the drawer, and drew a stunning silver dagger from its sheath. He stood there for a moment, admiring the delicately engraved silver and the comfortable, rich leather handle. He held it in his palm. It felt right.
He poured Belladonna, a powerful poison, into his wine. He poured another unpoisoned glass for Regulus.
He adorned himself in his most beautiful clothing and his best robes. He wore his best jewelry. He slid on his wedding band, pressing it to his lips. He whispered a prayer.
He walked down the corridor to the ballroom, meeting his unsuspecting lover. The dagger hidden in his waistline dug against his hip when he walked.
He passed the glass to his lover. They toasted their love.
As the red wine trickled down Regulus's throat, James drove the dagger into his heart, killing him. a single tear fell down his face.
With that, music began to ring from the enchanted piano and violins. He embraced Regulus, waltzing as he bled out.
And as the music echoed through the selcouth yet ataraxic halls, he embraced the body of the man he once so loved.
Blood ran down Regulus's fingertips, red spots like stars scattered across the marble floors. The constellation of their waltz grew as James held his late lover, swaying each other slowly between the ghosts of their past. The notes of Le Monde bounced through the wynorrificly painted ballroom until his mind was finally consumed by the madness, living his last few moments in delusion before the poison set in.
“Oh, my love, to die just after my lover is a sad thing. I would not wish it upon anyone.” He spoke, voice shaking.
“Certainly not you. I made sure you would never feel the grief of seeing me die. And isn’t dying at the hands of your lover better than dying at the hands of a stranger?”
He knew he was lying. He was not the same as when they fell in love. He was a changed man- no, change isn’t right. The man he once was started to die the moment he felt the cool dagger in the palm of his hand.
The man he once was finally ceased when the pristine silver blade pierced his lover's flesh.
James looked at Regulus's eyes one last time, not bearing to look truly into them. He smiled.
And as the belladonna coursed through his blood, he spoke softly. “To die with you, my love is to die satisfied.” He let out one final, shaking breath, falling limp against his late lover's body.