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Ginny Potter - A Harry Potter Fanfiction Archive and Community -- Fictioneer
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HP stories following Canon including OotP >> Swept Away by alzzu

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I spent the entire last night at the Grimmauld Place, going over my thoughts of Siriusís death, accompanied by a bottle of Fire Whiskey. And I think it did me some good Ė I donít know if it was the alcohol and getting drunk, or if it was just getting it out of my system. The bigger part suspects itís just the hang-over thatís keeping my thoughts away from him and his death, but a part wants to stubbornly think it was going it over and getting my thoughts cleared. You decide what you want to believe.

In a way, it was all very difficult to take in. Iíd always thought that James would do a come-back of some sort, and knowing him, Iíd say it was possible Ė likely, even Ė now that Sirius was gone, as well, I started seeing how stupid Iíd been, thinking about anything like that. Jamesís come-back was in Harry, he would never be back for real, and Sirius... Sirius was just gone.

It was a depressing realisation, to say the least. But itís not like I wasnít used to it.

It was hard not to be sad when I spent time with Sirius in the Grimmauld Place, as well. Sure, I had my best friend back. The last Marauders, thatís what we told ourselves. But we werenít the Marauders, not anymore. We werenít Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs. It was just Moony and Padfoot now, the others gone forever Ė and did we admit it or not, we had more or less gone with them.

Every time Harry arrived, things changed. We cheered up. We seemed to think we had our best friend back. And yet, inside we knew we could never have the group together again. Sirius seemed to be good at ignoring the voice of reason, because every time Harry left, it was ten times harder than usual for him: he always had to face the reality, over and over again.

So, in a way, Bellatrix did him a favour. She ended his suffering, she made it better him. Even if it sounds horrible, I couldnít help but be happy for him.

It wasnít Moony and Padfoot anymore.

It was Padfoot and Prongs, the way it was always meant to be.

The two of them, they were like Fred and George Weasley. So intertwined you never could be sure where the other ended and the other began. I have a feeling that if one of the Weasley twins died, the one left behind would be better off than Sirius was without James.

Iím sure Prongs was already waiting when Sirius came, welcoming him to the fold, eager to have done something before him again. They never did grow up, after all. And Iíd say they missed each other even more than I miss the both of them combined.

While part of me was happy for Sirius, the other part was even more depressed. All of my friends were gone, never coming back. I was never going to hear their voices, never going to see their faces, never going to run with them on the night of the full moon. I was never again going to be cheered up by their jokes. Never would they get me angry for not being serious enough. Theyíd never make fun of me for silly little things like blushing when I passed a girl by at a corridor, or tease me for singing in the shower.

I would never again hear them telling me the very same sentence that became their motto: ďLearn the rules so you can break them properly.Ē Iíll never be able to laugh at them, sitting in the library of Hogwarts, carefully reading the dusty books of rules of Hogwarts, books that no one else in the entire castle would find interesting.

We would never sneak out into Hogsmeade in the middle of the night, because we wanted to get a Butterbeer. We wouldnít be able to sneak off into the kitchens, either. We couldnít torment Snape; we couldnít run around the castle at night under Jamesís Invisibility Cloak.

I donít think Iíve cried more, in my entire life, than I did when I listed the things we would never be able to do again. It was a long list. I keep it in my pocket now, to remind me of what Iíve lost.

I do miss my old life. I do miss my friends. Everything I do, everywhere I look, thereís always something reminding me of them. Every single full moon, I spend the night under the effects of Wolfsbane Potion thinking of them.

Do you know why I use the Wolfsbane? Not because Iím afraid of the pain. Not because Iím afraid I would bite someone. Sure, those are valid reasons also, but the most important one for me has nothing to do with either one of those.

I use it because it would hurt worse than anything else, to remember the nights in the Shrieking Shack, to remember what they sacrificed for me. I miss them enough as it is. With Wolfsbane, I can just curl up, go to sleep and forget about it.

Somehow, when Harry arrives, it makes it easier. It still does ease up the pain, even if I know heís not his father. Heís my last link to the Marauders Ė and I know he feels the same. We both feel like we just need one more push and we are over the edge, itís like weíve lost so much we canít lose anything else.

When I look at Harry, the similarities are amazing. Even if his parents died when he was a year old, he is just like Lily and James. Itís confusing how much alike them he can be, how he can have all their good qualities but so few of the bad.

I hate to say it, but I envy the two of them. James and Sirius, I mean. They get to be together, with their true friends. And with Lily Ė kind, sweet Lily, I miss her, too. A part of me wishes that Iíd be there with them. But a part of me, a bigger part, tells me that my time will come, I will see them again Ė and if I do anything to make the time come sooner, it would just be taking the easy way out.

Still, even the protesting part admits that the option is very tempting.


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