Fandom: Harry Potter
Word Count: 504
Disclaimer: I don't own these characters and I'm making no money off of this.
A/N: Post-OotP angst.
These are the things you remember. A hand on your shoulder, a twinkle in his eye. Those moments when you were under him and he’d gasp your name and you felt like the only one in the universe who could see beauty.
You spend several weeks in a dream-state, going through the motions of your day, but not really paying attention. You miss him every second, and more so when you’re sleeping. The bed is huge and empty, too empty. You are always cold, and the wolf in you howls and struggles to bite, tear, rip, though the moon is still waning.
The adults give you space; the children just look at you, puzzled, unable to comprehend. They don’t know what he meant to you. Means to you. Even if he’s dead, you’ll always love him.
Two weeks later, you wake up blood-stained, more than you’ve ever been. The wolf tears you apart with its grief. It has no words, but you understand that it is saying Where is my mate? Where has my pack gone?
You are the last. The lone survivor. It is reminiscent of those first few years, before they knew. You thought you were doomed to be alone, and now you wish bitterly that none of it had ever happened. It would be better to live with no hope than to know what you’ve lost. For a few years, you thought you had everything: best friends, a lover, a pack who went above and beyond anything you could have dreamed of. It still amazes you, sometimes. They became illegal animagi for you; you don’t know how to be grateful enough for such a huge deed.
But you don’t need to be grateful anymore. There’s no one to be grateful to. That thought wakes you up some nights, sobbing in your sleep.
You dream of them. Not Peter, not anymore. All you feel for him is sorrow that he was so weak. Sorrow that Sirius and James could never see him as more than their shadow, reflecting light onto them both. You tried to be especially compassionate to him at school, but it wasn’t enough.
In your dreams, the wolf runs with his mate, seeking out a stag in the moonlight. And when you find him, you all run together, fast, fast, faster, the wind whipping through your limbs.
That’s when you wake up.
You can’t be in mourning forever. You don’t want to be. There’s about to be a war, and you need to help. While you’re grieving, you’re not good for anything.
So instead, you get angry. When everyone else goes out, you scream at the ceiling, yelling at Sirius for being so stupid all the time. He was always blind when it came to Harry; blind to everything else. Even when it cost him his life.
You growl and punch his pillow, which you can’t bring yourself to get rid of. Better to be angry than sad. At least if you hate him, you won’t be in pain.