The Day the Music Died | Jegulus, Wolfstar

Catching on Fire

I was born long ago,
I am the chosen, I'm the one.
I have come to save the day,
And I won't leave until I'm done.

The day James had found out about the death of Regulus, the music had died. The only light and hope of his life had vanished completely, leaving behind a hollow shell devoted of any feeling. He had isolated himself, so had Sirius, both too weak to accept that he wasn't here any more — both too afraid to face the consequences. Deep misery and a mere glass of water were the only things running through James' veins these days, his energy draining with any sort of effort.

Dumbledore had tried to reach him, without success, all of his friends had given up trying to get him out of his flat. Had he given up on life? It was a tough question to answer... instead, he slept. He slept all his troubles away, and for a few hours he could pretend Regulus was still alive, he could pretend there was no war. For a few hours, he could pretend he was someone else.

Tock, tock.

James tiredly forced his eyes open, squinting at the window adjacent to his bed, from where the light blinding him emanated. Not having his glasses on, the only thing he could differentiate were diffuse shapes, mixed into each other for the darkness of the room.

Tock, tock.

The knocking resonated inside his sweltering jumble of a head, confused as to where the sound came from, he extended his hand to the bedside table and reached for his glasses. Pushing them up his nose, he could finally distinguish the source of the thumping; a dark brown feathered owl with piercing honey-yellow eyes glanced at him with impatience from across the window, thudding its beak against the glass.

The boy shot him a look of annoyance and turned around, — hopefully, the owl would get the hint and just fly away; but it didn't.

Tock, tock.

James sighed, pulling the sheets over his head. "Go away!" he shouted, the gloomy realization of his isolation resurfaced as the darkness clouded his vision. "I don't want your stupid paper," he repeated, in case he hadn't been clear. It was like a haunted déjà vu, of the most dreaded moment of his life; he still had trouble believing it was true, from time to time.

Tock, tock.

He rolled his eyes, leaping out of his bed with irritation. "God's sake..." he mumbled under his breath, walking towards the owl that unnervingly watched him, looking vexed itself. "What're you mad for?" He scowled, clutching the wooden handle of the window and pulling it open, the fresh, dewy breeze that characterized the first spring days caressing his warm cheeks.

The owl squinted at him, James pulled a grimace at the bird's attitude, and finally lowered his eyes to its claws, where a single, old looking letter rested — no leather pouch attached to its feet. Without thinking it through, James innocently reached for the parchment, but the owl instantly bit his hand, looking very satisfied at his hate crime.

 "Ouch!" the boy flinched, watching the cut slowly ooze dark blood. "Bloody bird," he cursed, wiping the wound. The owl answered with a very loud, crunchy sort of hoot, and flew away, the wind that its wings lifted pushing the card to the floor.

James shook his head in disbelief, a frown etched across his face, as he crouched over and tentatively reached out, gingerly grasping the crinkled letter with the tips of his trembling fingers. A mixture of anticipation and anxiety prompted him to adjust his glasses, ensuring that every detail of the parchment was brought into sharp focus.

 Slowly, he turned the letter around, exposing the neatly penned words that danced across the page. The handwriting triggered a flicker of recognition in his mind, just beyond his grasp, like a distant memory teasing his consciousness. As he squinted and furrowed his brows in an attempt to summon clarity, the name whispered through his thoughts, nudging at the edge of his understanding. Slightly frustrated, James continued to stare at the name, mentally retracing his steps, seeking solace in any fragment of information that could provide a clue to the mystery at hand.