[For Remus and Neil]
There had been no frantic searching, no misplaced hope. In retrospect, Sirius would come to reflect on the particular way his heart had dropped down into the pit of his stomach when he'd come home that day. The way he'd known, instinctively and down to his very marrow, that James was gone.
He never even tried to talk himself out of the inevitability. It felt appropriate, that loss. He never considered questioning it.
He just destroyed everything he could get his hands on.
As he lays in what remains of the interior of their hut, scratched and bruised, half-clothed and breathless, he's dimly aware of Remus' voice floating amidst the errant feathers ripped free from pillows, but he doesn't reply, doesn't even fucking move. This is it, he thinks, numb from head to feet, staring blindly at the ceiling. This is when he goes mad.
About bloody time, really.
He never even tried to talk himself out of the inevitability. It felt appropriate, that loss. He never considered questioning it.
He just destroyed everything he could get his hands on.
As he lays in what remains of the interior of their hut, scratched and bruised, half-clothed and breathless, he's dimly aware of Remus' voice floating amidst the errant feathers ripped free from pillows, but he doesn't reply, doesn't even fucking move. This is it, he thinks, numb from head to feet, staring blindly at the ceiling. This is when he goes mad.
About bloody time, really.