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MAXWELL PRINCE FELT LIKE HE WAS DYING.
Or maybe Maxwell Prince just felt dead. Maybe he would rather be dead. He knew he was causing his friends to worry, he hated himself for it, but he couldn't help it.
He couldn't remember the last time he had slept for longer than an hour. Hermione was always watching him, her eyes soft and brimmed with worry.
Max had lost weight, looking scrawnier than he already was, and every so often Hermione would have to call his name to snap him out of whatever trance he was lost in.
It was at the dinner table, at breakfast, during their reading sessions, in the middle of writing letters. Maxwell had not been himself since the end of the tournament.
He would be up, early in the mornings when Hermione had randomly woken up at whatever ungodly hour. The sun broke the horizon and pierced the thick fog, and Max would just watch. Tears would fall from his swollen eyes, and sometimes Hermione would sit with him. They wouldn't talk, they would just sit, they wouldn't hold hands either, Max hadn't done that in a while.
Hermione was weary of Max, it felt like she was living with a stranger. He hardly talked, barely even laughed anymore. It was a sickening thing, for the light to dim so quickly and effortlessly, and slip away, far out of his grasp, in only a matter of hours.
She knew her cousin wrote letters to Remus, Sirius as well, occasionally sending one to Ron and Harry.
Max couldn't stop his spiraling, didn't know what to do with himself. He knew it would come to this, to death and war, and grief. But he didn't think so soon, didn't think it would begin with a child. A friend. Didn't think his mother would be at the center of it either.
It was a very odd feeling and he didn't like it very much, the feeling that he was all grown up at the mere age of fifteen. The feeling he has seen far too many die, and the feeling that his mother was a wench.
"I think Sirius and the rest of the Order is downstairs," Ron offered a warm smile. "If you wanted to say hello."
"I'm okay."
Hermione looked to Ron with wild eyes, expecting the Weasley to be able to bring back the old Max.
The Prince jumped when the door flew open, Hermione rushing forward and wrapping whoever had entered in a tight hug.
"Harry!"
Ron and Maxwell joined the girl's side, Max offering a smile to Harry in greeting.
"Are you all right? We overheard them talking about the Dementor attack. You must tell us everything."
"Let the man breathe, Hermione," Ron grinned.
"And this hearing at the Ministry. It's just outrageous. I've looked it up, they simply can't expel you. It's completely unfair."
"Yeah," Harry uttered. "There's a lot of that going round at the moment."
Max squeezed the boy's shoulder in comfort, struggling to hold his eyes open as a familiar longing for sleep came over him.
"So, what is this place?"
"It's headquarters."
"Of the Order of the Phoenix. It's a secret society. Dumbledore formed it back when they first fought You-Know-Who."
"Couldn't have put any of this in a letter, I suppose?"
Max sighed at Harry's words, rubbing at his eyes as he leaned back against the wall to support his weight.
"I've gone all summer without a scrap of news unless it was from Max."
"We wanted to write, mate," Ron said quietly.
"Only Dumbledore made us swear not to tell you anything."
"To hell with Dumbledore." Max mumbled, a new annoyance in his eyes that had began growing ever since that night in the graveyard.
"Dumbledore said that? But why would he wanna keep me in the dark? Maybe I can help. After all, Max and I were the ones who saw Voldemort return."
"Harry—"
"We're the ones who fought him. We're the ones who saw Cedric Diggory get killed."
Harry and Max both jumped, George and Fred apparating to the boy's side.
"Harry."
"Thought we heard your dulcet tones."
"Don't bottle it up, mate. Let it out."
"Anyway, enough with all the shouting."
"Do you want to hear something a little more interesting?" The twins had matching smiles, holding up an ear to the four.
Fred led them to the staircase, carefully lowering the ear to the door right outside the meeting room.
"If anyone has a right to know, it's Harry. If it wasn't for Harry, we wouldn't even know Voldemort was back. Max either for that matter."
The Prince smiled warmly at Sirius' voice, resting his chin in the palm of his hand.
"He's not a child, Molly. Neither of them are."
"They aren't adults either," Molly scolded. "He is not James, Sirius."
"Well they aren't your sons."
"They're as good as."
Max scoffed lightly under his breath, glancing to Hermione with a raised eyebrow. Though he did love all of the Weasley's, Remus was more like a parent to him than anyone.
"Who else have they got?"
"They've got me," Sirius assured.
"How touchingly parental, Black."
Max didn't notice, but his eyes slowly began to close, leaning all of his weight against the banister as the words faded away from him.
"Is he all right?" Harry whispered to Hermione, the two helping move the boy to a spare room to get some rest.
"He hasn't been the same since last year," Hermione frowned. "I'm worried about him, Harry. He's not like he used to be."
Harry gave a questioning look to the girl, a sigh falling past her lips as she softly pushed Max's hair away from his eyes.
"He's different, Harry."
"Hermione, we both saw our friend die. Cedric Diggory was murdered. Of course he's going to be different."
Hermione pursed her lips, giving a faint nod as she eyed her cousin.
Unable to explain that he was no longer the light that they would look to in times of darkness.
