TM Prompt 194 - Nothing Left
"The true magic of this broken world lay in the ability of the things it contained to vanish, to become so thoroughly lost, that they might never have existed in the first place."
He sits in an empty kitchen, hands folded tightly in his lap as he stares blankly at the paper spread before him.
Sirius is waving up at him.
He's dressed in immaculate robes, hair thick and coifed, a grin lighting his smooth features. Remus can remember walking with him to the wedding, exasperatedly brushing dirt from his clothes and reminding him what not to do.
Below the faded image is a caption: Sirius Black, Best Man.
A criminal no more, and it twists his lips into a wry smile, deepening the lines in his face.
Finally his name is cleared, and he isn't around to enjoy his freedom.
There won't be a coffin; there was no body to retrieve. No shaggy hair and handsome features to look upon one more time before saying goodbye.
There is nothing left of Sirius Black, nothing but a home he loathed and a handful of pictures.
So many years of wasted hatred, of tainted memories, of desperate isolation.
They embraced like brothers when they found each other again, whispering apologies and confessions, united in vengeance and grief.
Their friendship could never be the same again, they both knew it, but slowly they began to build something different. Different, but strong, and now he feels weaker than ever as he stares at the empty words of an ignorant critic.
The world will move on, sometimes lingering on distant regret or condemnation, but ultimately forgetting the flawed hero who had been his best friend.
He is alone again, and it's almost as though it never changed.
He sits in an empty kitchen, hands folded tightly in his lap as he stares blankly at the paper spread before him.
Sirius is waving up at him.
He's dressed in immaculate robes, hair thick and coifed, a grin lighting his smooth features. Remus can remember walking with him to the wedding, exasperatedly brushing dirt from his clothes and reminding him what not to do.
Below the faded image is a caption: Sirius Black, Best Man.
A criminal no more, and it twists his lips into a wry smile, deepening the lines in his face.
Finally his name is cleared, and he isn't around to enjoy his freedom.
There won't be a coffin; there was no body to retrieve. No shaggy hair and handsome features to look upon one more time before saying goodbye.
There is nothing left of Sirius Black, nothing but a home he loathed and a handful of pictures.
So many years of wasted hatred, of tainted memories, of desperate isolation.
They embraced like brothers when they found each other again, whispering apologies and confessions, united in vengeance and grief.
Their friendship could never be the same again, they both knew it, but slowly they began to build something different. Different, but strong, and now he feels weaker than ever as he stares at the empty words of an ignorant critic.
The world will move on, sometimes lingering on distant regret or condemnation, but ultimately forgetting the flawed hero who had been his best friend.
He is alone again, and it's almost as though it never changed.