Wingardium Leviosa [Harry Potter one shot collection]

Mirthless laughter: Sirius Black

Sirius could only laugh. . . and laugh. Oh, the irony. Peter had beaten him.

There is that one time in every single person's life when they have laughed inexplicably, for absolutely no valid reason. A time when they've felt that there was no other way to react in a particular situation other than to laugh out loud, even if laughing was the last possible reaction that could be deemed appropriate for the situation. Laughing in these scenarios are usually uncalled for, but it wasn't like Sirius cared. What else remained of his that he had to lose?

Sirius Black had always been carefree and rebellious. Hogwarts had been his escape; his sanctuary from his maniacal family. He shared a mutual loathing with his mother, absolutely despised his house elf, Kreacher, tolerated his father and usually ignored his Dark Arts obsessed younger brother. After he had run away, of course, he didn't have anything to fret.

Cracking jokes and laughing with his friends was something he reveled in. Laughter always came easily to him. But this laughter was different, and it stood out from the other bouts of mirth that had escaped his throat all those times ago.

He wasn't laughing after savouring the success of a prank. He wasn't laughing at James's pitiable and usually desperate methods at impressing Lily Evans, he wasn't even laughing at Peter's miserable attempts at concocting the Draught of Living Death.

This was not school.

He was twenty one, almost twenty two. A meagre four years out of school, Sirius and his friends were in the very midst of a full blown wizarding war, with a small sliver of hope which promised a better future being the only thing that kept each of them going. They were all skilled fighters, but they were too young to have such a voluminous amount of responsibility thrust on their shoulders, to be vigilant at every waking hour.

The war had also made them wiser beyond their years. And yet, as Sirius stood in the middle of the ruined and decimated street, his eardrums feeling as though they might explode due to the loud BANG that had sounded a few minutes ago, Sirius had never before felt so foolish.

He had underestimated Peter Pettigrew.

And that ignorant mistake had culminated in the deaths of his two best friends. Sirius knew that he could never forgive himself for that, and that he would carry the guilt of it all on his shoulders, weighing heavily on them for as long as he lived.

As he stood there in the street, heaving deep breaths, he vaguely heard sounds.

People screaming. Running. Panicking.

There were bodies everywhere.

Blood.

Destruction.

As he slowly edged sideways away from mangled bodies, shuddering as he was forced to step over a bloody one, he noticed something on the floor. Something small, inconspicuous in the darkness. Something with blood oozing out of it.

Sirius knelt down and examined the ground where the object lay. With a jolt, Sirius realized that it wasn't just any object.

It was a finger. With a short, stubby nail.

Everything became incredibly clear, and he straightened up immediately as he stared at the sewer rats escaping through the smoke and fog that shrouded the night air.

Peter had outsmarted him.

Peter, who couldn't duel to save his life, who couldn't so much as disarm a person, who couldn't transfigure a mouse into a goblet without it retaining it's whiskers and tail, had done the unthinkable.