All the Young Dudes ( Sirius' Perspective )

Seventh Year : Christmas ( Part 2 )

Not James.

It was the first thought he had, once he could think again.

Not James.

A horrible, violent whirlpool, around and around, the same words repeating relentlessly in his mind:

Not James, not James, not James.

Someone was crying, next to them. A woman. Sirius could hear her sharp, gasping sobs. Beneath his face, the ground was cold, grit pressing into his skin. He could feel it-he could feel all of it. Like every nerve in his body was suddenly fine-tuned, sharp-edged, five times stronger. There was laughter-someone was laughing.

Not James, not James, not James.

Diagon Alley was ripped open, a gutted carcass, broken glass and brick and splintered wood spilling out into the street like blood. Everything was hazy; Sirius realised that it was because of the dust, settling around them like fog. He could taste it in the air when he breathed.

"You two!" There was a woman, picking her way through the rubble, "Get back! Behind me!" She swept in front of them, wand raised, and Sirius saw her uniform: an auror.

James.

He didn't know if he'd said it aloud, couldn't feel his tongue-it was fear that propelled him to his feet, sent him stumbling forward, like a puppet dragged on strings. Where is he where is he where is he

"James?!"

This time he was shouting; he knew it, but everyone was shouting, and he could hardly hear his own voice. The name was swallowed up in all the overlapping sounds, just like James had been swallowed up-

"James!??"

Some part of him was aware, vaguely, of Remus calling out for him. But Sirius couldn't stop, couldn't think-not until he found his best friend.

"MUDBLOODS OUT!"

The voice cracked through his skull like lightning, with unbearable volume, and he clapped his hands to his ears. But it didn't matter-it was inside him, in his head, the awful words ringing through his skull.

Not James, not James, not James.

People were duelling, somewhere. Sirius could hear their voices, could see flashes of magic as curses were cast. But not here-here, there was only dust, only the rubble of what had once been Quality Quidditch Supplies, splintered broomsticks littering the ground.

"JAMES?!"

Someone ran past him, knocking into his shoulder. The force of the impact threw Sirius off-balance, sending him sideways into a heap of rubble. He scrambled for his wand, ripping it out, trying to see-there was dust in his eyes. There was dust everywhere.

"James..." he croaked, desperately. Anything but this, he thought, Anything but him. Please, please, please.

"Morsmorde!" It was the same voice from before, but this time it wasn't in his head-this time it was distant, coming from somewhere over near Gringotts. Black smoke filled the street, writhing and thickening until it swirled upward, above their heads. And then it wasn't smoke anymore but a snake, a horrible black snake, a twisting monster in a gaping skull.