Chapter 1 : Prompt Two
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I feel out of place in all the activity that goes on in the house. After years of silence, noise is foreign to me, alien to my ears.
I can’t help but get lost in it all. Everyone has a place, everyone has a job, except me. Holed up here every day is not much better than when I was on the run, or worse, when I was in... I shudder at the thought.
The cold seeps into my dreams every night. I hear the screams and feel the panic and dread over take my body as my hands clench the sheets. I have taken to putting a muffliato spell around my room at night as I always wake with a shout, sweat covering my forehead and my heart beating like a hummingbird in your chest.
My dreams haunt me for the rest of the day. I fear the sun setting in the horizon just as much as I feared those hooded creatures with the rattling breath. I can’t escape the screams even though I escaped the place. I am in a whole new prison.
A touch jolts me from my thoughts, back into reality. The bangs from the kitchen come into focus as well as the boy who looks so much like my lost friend.
“Sirius?” the boy asks, looking concerned. I remember that same look was on James’ face whenever he saw me drawn back into the memories of my family.
I give him a tight smile, but I realize that my pulse has slowed to normal and that I can breathe easily again.
“Are you alright?” he asks me.
The boy who looks so much like my best friend used to pull me back to darker times. When I saw him, all I could see were the memories the dementors put into my head. I remembered times of laughter with a grey tinge in the corners only to be jerked to the moment I found out I had lost my other half.
I had never felt such horrible, all-consuming grief that weighed me down so much as when I found out James had died. I was thrown into the memory countless times, feeling as if the grief was as real as the first time. The rattling breath of my jailors seemed to change to a raspy chuckle that sent shivers down my spine after I returned to reality.
At first, I could barely stand to look at him. The boy, the person that was my last connection to my best friend, I couldn’t look at. My heart grew heavy at the thought of seeing him again, and I hated myself for it.
Then he came to Grimmauld Place. The first thing I noticed was that he didn’t have the nervous habit of running his hand through his hair that his father had that I had always hated so much. I left the room and quickly went to the attic and just laughed and laughed and laughed.
Because they looked so similar, I expected them to be the same person, but the absence of the annoying habit showed me that I was totally wrong. As I was around him more and I noticed more differences, it was a lot easier to be with him, my godson.
For some reason, this made the memories hold back. I was lost less and less in my own world. Occasionally, he would do something so like his father, I would lose myself for a moment to past times. I would stagger and my eyes would glaze over until he gave me that very same concerned glance he was giving me now and I would be pulled back to reality.
“I think I will be, Harry,” I say to my godson. And it’s true. Though I still suffer, I know that, one day, these flashbacks will be gone and I will truly be a free man.
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