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Chapter 4

The Golden Snitch

-[Challenge]The Golden Chase 2018 (Happy Birthday Harry!): prompt nr. 4
-Hairdresser, 2008: Write about a character with fabulous hair (Sirius)
-Photosphere — (words) brighter than a thousand suns
-Ollivander: Cypress: write about a Pureblood

Summary: He can't believe it really happened. James, his James. Dead.

Genre: tragedy

No, no, no


No, no, no.


Sirius, kneeled on the floor, a hand buried in his own hair, can't think of anything else. Those two simple letters lie heavily in his head and can't be removed from it.

It can't have happened.

He can't believe it really happened.

James, his James. Dead. He has slipped right through his fingers.


Any life, his own life, without James Potter in it is like imagining the day without the sun, the night without any star. No, it's not possible.

And yet here they are.


Sirius blinks the tears away and bows his head, letting his black hair block the sight of those lifeless hazel eyes for a brief moment, the same eyes that had once shone brighter than a thousand suns.

He's always known everyone meets their end sooner and later, but James' has happened too soon. Too quickly.

It seems like only yesterday when Sirius first came to Hogwarts, his heart in his throat. When he was sorted into Gryffindor. When a little kid with bright hazel eyes and messy hair talked to him, a silly question, unbothered by Sirius' Black blood.

Who could have thought that from a few random words, such a deep bond would be created?




A strong, true friendship.

A great love and affection whose boundaries blurred. It just grew over the years. And while people struggled to define whatever was between them, James and Sirius knew there were no fitting labels. The two of them just... were.

Secret hugs, stolen kisses, hidden feelings, wrapped up in the darkness with only the twinkling stars as witnessess.

They were together.

They were happy.

And what is left of all of that now? Nothing.

Just a cold, empty body. A vanished soul that brought with itself not just his James, but three equally important personas: a friend (his best friend), a brother (his only brother), a love (his true love).

And Sirius can only pull out his own hair in his grief while crying and holding tight that precious body, in the vain hope that those hazel eyes, now foggy and unrecognizing, will focus on him once again, will see him like only James could - like Sirius was worth something. Because the way James looked at his Sirius was different from the gaze he directed at anyone else, and Sirius felt loved.

If James woke up ("Do wake up, James!"), he'd tease Sirius, his voice ironic, paternalistic, cocky, for the tears he's shedding, but after a few moments, a strong pair of arm would encircle Sirius, and the voice would grow sweet and protective. Concerned. Loving. Reassuring.

"I'll never leave you, Sirius," James would say while petting his hair. "I'll always stand by you."

James promised, but his eyes stay close, unseeing, and his lips are turning pale.

Those tender gestures and reassurances are in the past, no more than a distant memory.

James brought Sirius' heart with him. And how can a man live without his heart?

"James, brother," he says. "What about Harry and me? How do we do this? How do we move on? How?" Sirius' voice broke on the last word. "P-Please?"

Only the silence answers.

And Sirius stays there on his knees, unable to get away from that dead body or to stop his bitter tears.

Hugging James closer and whispering goodbyes and promises to care for Harry, Sirius mourns. Mourns his best friend, his brother, his everything. His ray of happiness.