PART I: SIRIUS
He blinks awake, jaw cracking as he yawns. He cast a warming charm last night but it must have warn off because he can feel the chilly bite of the wind through the cracked, lifeless house. It's fine though, his fur keeps him warm enough.
He doesn't have proper thoughts as a dog.
Or proper feelings.
He's still him, still in control. But he's also...animal. Everything is filtered through this new body, these new senses, this new brain. He's still Sirius. He's just Sirius the dog not the boy. When things become too much, too hard to handle, it's easier being like this. Things hurt—if not less—than different.
His first real thought, as he comes awake, is Moony.
Moony, Moony, Moony.
This place smells so strongly of him, he's in the floorboards, the mattress, filling Sirius's nose and wrapping around his chest. He whines, burying his head more fully in the blankets piled around him.
Moony, Moony, Moony.
Even as a dog Sirius misses him. But he can't go to him. Can't talk to him. Can't talk to anyone. Sirius huffs, scratching at the mattress. He just wants to be a dog. To hunt and sleep and not have to feel that ache in his chest every time he remembers that the most important people in his life have been lying to him.
It's funny really, that it's Regulus who has once again proven to Sirius that he can't place his trust in other people. Maybe he planned it this way. It would be so like their mother, to try and teach him a lesson by seducing his best friends away from him.
When will you learn brother? he can hear Regulus's snide voice so clearly that his lips actually curl back, teeth baring themselves at the very thought of him.
Everyone lets you down, the voice goes on. Everyone is out for themselves. I mean, how could you be so stupid? After everything? This is why the Dark Lord will win. Dumbledore's supporters are nothing but a bunch of disappointments and morons.
Another whine escapes Sirius without his permission.
No.
He can't go back.
Can't face any of them.
So he'll stay here. For now.
Hunt and sleep and wander around the forest. Then come back and lie in blankets that smell like Remus and pretend it doesn't feel like breaking apart.
PART II JAMES
James is a wreck.
Has been since Christmas. Maybe even before then.
He feels himself being torn in a million directions. Or maybe more accurately, in two directions, but with the force of a million hands. Sirius or Regulus. Who does he go after? Who does he fight for? Both, his thoughts insist vehemently. I love them both. I need them both. But he isn't sure life works like that.
Last night is a blur:
"Maybe we should go to Dumbledore?" Lily had suggested while she watched James pace the Prefect office once he could no longer bring himself to stare at the map. At the spot the Quaffle was hovering over.
"I don't know," James had said. Because he really hadn't. He knew Regulus wouldn't want that, that he didn't trust Dumbledore, and James wasn't sure he was wrong not to.
"He might help—it can't be—-they can't keep kids in Azkaban can they? There's no way that's legal."
James had made a noncommittal noise. As far as he knew there were no hard and fast rules about who could and couldn't be put in Azkaban, as long as their crime was bad enough. But what could Regulus have done? Alice said the Pureblood families were almost untouchable, so why had they allowed this to happen? All he could picture was Regulus alone in a cell. Was a Dementor hovering above him sucking the life out of him.
