Chapter 1 : Broken
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Moony. Wormtail. Padfoot. Prongs. Lily.
We were an unsinkable ship carrying the most precious of cargo: memories. 7 years of laughter and radiance, all brought together by the unmistakable bond that is friendship. Kinship, really, if I’m being precise. We were all in need of a family, and we found one in each other. Even Lily accepted us, and came to need us.
Peter was a half-blood of the twitchiest sort. He’d been bullied and ridiculed throughout his life, whilst still being intentionally smothered by his hopelessly large muggle mother and brooding father. Though James and Sirius used him as a scapegoat in the beginning, it soon became clear that they could use his cunning brains for so much more.
Sirius, as most know, was born into the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black. Poor fellow. Even more than Peter, his childhood was a path of bruises, blood, and literally unforgivable curses. When he found us he was a broken winged bird with too much pride for a sling, but we managed to heal him without him even taking notice. That was our true magic.
James was lonely. That was it, really. Although his parents were absolutely lovely, he was forced from a young age into the highest of pure-blood societies. Balls and political talks were the most frequent, and as he was more of a gentle, improper disposition, he never particularly got along with the other ‘privileged’ (SPOILED) children. We gave him friends. Lily eventually gave him love.
And along she came. Lily Evans, muggleborn extraordinaire. I think James was in love with her from day one. Who can blame him—she was one of the nicest people I ever knew. Her family was as broken as Sirius’. Her sister may have labeled as a freak, but Petunia Evans was the true freakish jerk of that family. The entire family was living off the charity of the government, in the slums with Severus (I still can’t bear to call him that dreadful nickname James came up with). When she finally let us, we took her in and gave her comfort, and showed her that education and rules don’t make you happy.
Well, there’s also me. The poor lycanthrope to a father with a hatred of werewolves and a weak muggle mother, my upbringing was a depressing one. I was deprived all company, and lived a lie for my entire first year of Hogwarts. Like James, I was loved, but lonely and cursed. The Marauders became my safe house, and I became a ward of their love. They saved me.
So you see, my life was perfect. I had three best friends who became illegal Animagi for me, only for the purpose of helping me through my painful transformations into a mindless beast. We were an honest-to-Merlin family.
And then Harry was born, and it was even better. All of us loved him nearly as much as James and Lily, who were by then- of course- married. We passed him around like a plate of cookies, breathing in the light he brought to our dark times.
Dark times they were indeed. With Voldemort at the height of his power, none of us were safe. Lily and James and Harry were forced into hiding with Sirius as their Secret Keeper. James trusted him best, I suppose. That should hurt to say, but we all knew it. If we were four brothers, they were the twins. Sirius and I began to grow apart; he mistrusted me due to the burden of stress. I can’t blame him—it was beginning to get to us all. But that makes what he did all the more unforgivable.
Sirius took my safe house and tore it down, brick by brick.
October 31st, 1981. Today is the day I’ll never forget. Today is the day I lost all my friends. James, Lily, and Peter are all dead. Sirius is a traitor who will be in Azkaban for life. He betrayed his twin to Voldemort, and poor Peter tried to confront him. Dead. All of them. Sirius locked up.
Sirius took my masterpiece and crumpled it into plaster and shredded canvas.
But do I really believe that? Sirius, who helped to save me. Sirius, who I love as more than just a brother. Sirius, so strong and brave even while laughing. Sirius. The man who destroyed me in one breath.
So maybe he didn’t do it. Maybe I’m wrong. But three of my friends are dead, and I must grieve. I’ll plot my way around this ending tomorrow, but for today, let me be broken. Let my masterpiece lie on the dusty floor, overcome with shudders and nightmares. Let me die a broken masterpiece. Just for today.
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