Blame

Author's Note: Yes, I apologise for the delay in getting this second part out. What I had written initially needed some extensive editing and it all took a bit more time than I'd expected at first. But, it's here now. A "Thank You" goes out to Nikki (fg_weasley) of MNFF for beta-ing this part! Now, I present for your enjoyment, Part II of Blame, entitled, Pursue.

~**~

Blame

By ForeverSirius77

~**~

Part II: Pursue

~**~

Green light. Bright, rushing green light tearing through the air, the sickly colour shining through the windows. Orange flames leaping up, their fiery tendrils engulfing the smouldering, blackened wood. Crackles of fire, screams, high pitched laughter and voices echoing around, the horrific sounds only broken by the cry of a young baby. Cold, lifeless bodies lying in burning grass and piles of rubble. James's eyes staring lifeless into the dark sky. Lily sprawled unmoving a few feet away. Harry crying next to his mother. A baby's pleas that would forever go unanswered -

With a start, Sirius jerked awake, gasping for breath and shaking his head in a hurried attempt to clear it of the sights and sounds of his nightmares. He had not meant to fall asleep, hadn't even remembered sitting on the bench in the first place, but it seemed that his exhaustion had finally won out. His head fell into his rough, cut hands.

It had been so clear, so vivid, in his mind. The dark thoughts had haunted his dreams for days - weeks, even, if he was honest with himself. Ever since they had told him of the danger, he'd been assaulted with thoughts of 'the worst' happening. Every night. It never failed. But that was all they had been: dreams, nightmares. He had always been able to wake up in the morning, see the sun shining through the window in his room, and know that everything would be fine. Everyone would be alive; everyone would be safe.

But not this time.

That same scene that had made up his worst fear for so long wasn't only playing like a sharp film in his nightmares.

Now, it was real.

He had felt the heat of the fire and had the slight burns and singed clothes to prove it. He had the cuts on his hands from digging through the broken boards and tossing aside destroyed furniture to reach his friends. He had seen with his own eyes the piles of rubble that were all that was left of a once-grand and elegant home, the white paint of the house now blackened. He had stumbled over the stones that made up the destroyed front walk, had climbed the trembling staircase to the second floor.

He had seen the cold, dead, unmoving bodies of his friends. He had heard the cries of the one-year-old baby sitting next to his still mother -

It wasn't a nightmare now. The sun wouldn't shine through the window, everything wouldn't be fine.

He couldn't wake up from it this time.

His heart raced and pounded against his chest. He stubbornly blinked back the tears that stung at his eyes, demanding to fall. Summoning every bit of strength that he had, Sirius shoved the emotions aside for the moment. There would time to remember later; there would be time to mourn afterwards.

But not now.

A cool breeze whipped through the air suddenly, the icy wind already harsh and cutting on this early November day as winter made its arrival known. Sirius shivered, pulling his warm jacket tighter around him in an effort to protect him from the low temperatures. Unfortunately, though, the shiver that raced up and down his spine, freezing him all of the way through, was not just caused by the outer cold.

An inner coldness gripped Sirius's soul in its grasp, emotions and memories trying to force themselves to the forefront of his mind, trying to make him focus on them. Icy tendrils of guilt, sadness, and regret all wrapped themselves around his heart and mind, squeezing, jerking. His heart pounded and breathing grew difficult. The emotions were trying to stop him, trying to cripple him.

But Sirius would let nothing get in the way of this pursuit.

Slowly, stubbornly, he stumbled up from the wooden bench upon which he had collapsed some time ago. (He had no way to really know whether he'd been there for minutes or hours, after all. It had been dark when he'd stopped, and the sky was still black now.) Making sure that he was steady on his feet once again, he continued on his journey.

Just one foot in front of the other, he thought.

For hours, Sirius had searched. Hours had passed since he had left Godric's Hollow; it had been hours since he had watched Hagrid fly off with his godson. He had made his decision, figured out what he was going to do, hours ago. And with a purpose in his head, he had shoved the grief aside and walked on. Searching.

But for all of his efforts, he had come no closer to finding the one that he sought. Sirius had not figured, initially upon choosing this option, that it would be so difficult to accomplish.

After all, witches and wizards would be flocking the streets and gathering together as news of Voldemort's defeat spread. The darkness that had terrorised the Wizarding World for years was no more, gone, vanquished.

Peter would not exactly be able to blend in very well with everyone as crowds gathered tonight to celebrate.

Celebrate.

Just the thought of that one, simple, innocent word caused Sirius to stumble once again, losing his footing and barely catching himself on a nearby, rusty metal railing. He paid no attention to the pain that he felt as his cut hands impacted the metal, the sting that came as the scratches met the icy, grey handrail. Celebrate.

How could anyone wish to celebrate today? How could anyone contemplate being filled with happiness and cheer after what had happened last night? After the death and the bodies, the fire and the rubble, the screams and the cries? What was there to celebrate in that?

Sirius, personally, could barely think of smiling again himself, much less laughing joyously and celebrating. He had no reason to do any of that. It wasn't a nightmare this time. His friend - his brother - was gone, dead, never to come back ...

And he was to blame.

"No," he growled to the world at large. He knew that no one was around to hear him, and it was not like he actually needed to be heard. The words just needed to be said. Over and over, he had thought the simple words, had silently uttered the denial of those guilty emotions that hissed the same thing to him.

It's your fault. Over and over, that dark, inner voice whispered those statements to him like a chant. It's your fault, the voice always said. You're the one to blame.

He had silently denied the voice for hours, ever since he'd realised that everything had gone so very wrong. He could not just think the denials now, though. They had to be heard. Spoken. Aloud. If not for anyone else, Sirius himself needed to hear them.

"I'm not."

The universe gave him no answer, of course, but Sirius did not need to hear one. For hours, he had suppressed these thoughts, had pushed them away - or had tried to - but they seemed determined to haunt him.

They're dead, the voice uttered. Dead and gone. Harry's never going to know his mother and father.

Running a hand harshly through his long, black hair, Sirius shook his head, as if such a simple action could stop the thoughts, could silence that damn inner voice.

And it's your fault. The voice was gentle, yet mocking, as it taunted. You've made your godson an orphan. If the voice had been real, had had a face, he was sure it would have been smirking. You're the one to blame. It continued to hiss, whisper. Like it wanted nothing else than to cause him pain. Like pouring salt in a fresh wound. It's. All. Your. Fault.

Eyes squeezed shut, Sirius froze, stopping right where he stood and standing in the very middle of the concrete sidewalk. His fingers grasped his hair as his head fell into his hands, the strands of dark hair that weren't held in his grasp swinging side to side as he shook his head. A distant, logical part of his mind realised how he must have looked to any outside observer: either mad or drunk (or both, he supposed; drunken men could be mad men as well).

The mumbling that the black-haired wizard was doing also would not help a case for sanity.

"It wasn't me," he muttered, trying to get that voice to shut up.

Your fault, it hissed.

Variations of "No" continued to fall from his lips, the words running together as they were whispered. His breathing was heavy, ragged, like he had run a great distance with all the speed that he could muster. The emotions that came with the voice continued to rise up in him, the guilt wrapping around him, trying to suffocate him.

All ... Your ... Fault ...

If the voice had had a body, Sirius was sure it would have been dancing. The smirk would have grown wider, the glee barely suppressed. Like having Peeves's mocks sung over and over in his ear.

They're dead, it whispered.

Sirius's fervent silent and muttered denials didn't seem to silence its taunts.

Gone and never coming back.

Grief, guilt, regret - their holds grew tighter. He shook his head, hissed that it wasn't his fault, anything to get the voice to just stop!

He'd tried all those things before, though, and the voice had never quit.

The blame lies with you -

"NO!" he exclaimed, the denial not muttered or whispered like all the others had been. Had anyone been around, heads would surely have turned in his direction at the shout.

But at such an early hour, he was alone on the street.

"No, no ... It wasn't - I didn't know." The phrases were rushed, flowing out as if all coming on one pant of breath. "It wasn't me ... Peter. It was Peter."

Peter.

That word - that single name - finally did what all of the silent and muttered denials, what all of the head shakes and efforts to keep such crippling emotions of grief and guilt away had failed to do.

It silenced the taunting voice.

As he whispered the name, another emotion swirled through Sirius's veins. But it was not the cold, crippling guilt or the overwhelming grief that blurred his focus. No, it made his heart beat savagely and his hands began to tremble - not in fear or nervousness, no - but in something entirely different.

Pure, unadulterated rage.

The anger coursed through him, his blood boiling, and he yearned for the power and emotion that was building within him to be released. He was suffocating, but the anger wasn't the same as the grief and guilt. Grief and guilt could be suppressed far more easily than anger could. It needed to get out, Sirius knew.

Emotion always had an effect on a wizard's magic; intent, feeling, meaning all had just as much influence on spells as the words and wand movements themselves did - and perhaps even more influence. The stronger the emotion was, the more it influenced one's magic. Some - grief, despair - crippled the wizard; others - rage, pain - brought focus, increased power.

And Sirius had had plenty of experience with his anger.

He knew that it had to be unleashed and set free. He knew that he needed the outlet for his rage, knew what he wanted. He knew what needed to - and what should - be done.

Before he had realised it, Sirius found himself gripping his ebony wand in his hand, the dark, cylindrical wood cool against his own, hot hands.

He hadn't even been consciously aware of when he had removed his hand from his hair, when he'd reached into his pocket to pull out the wand. He glanced down at the wooden object, his eyes staring at it almost like he had never seen it before. He was entranced by the black wood against the pale skin of his hands, the flawless and polished instrument against the scratches and cuts.

The feeling of the wand in his hand seemed to soothe him. The flood of anger seemed to slow, relax. As if the presence of the wand had told it that it would soon have its target. His heart was no longer pounding against his chest, bursting to get out. It was steady, regular. Breathing was no longer difficult. Each inhale and exhale of air was smooth, normal.

The crippling emotions had been suppressed, the intensifying ones soon to be satiated.

He was calm. Focussed.

Sirius tore his gaze from the wand in his hands and glanced up at the sky. He noticed the slightly misty look of light that had appeared, breaking up the thick darkness of the night. Faint colours could be seen on the horizon as they signalled the fact that a new day was approaching.

It would be a new day to bring a new start to the Wizarding World. It would be a new day that brought with it the defeat of darkness ... But it was also a new day that James and Lily, his friends - no, his family - would never get to see.

And it was because of him, thought Sirius bitterly. A mental image of the man that they had all once called a friend - that they had thought of as a brother - became clear in his mind's eye. Sirius saw the short, blond-haired wizard vividly.

He saw the eleven-year-old boy that they'd met years ago. He saw the teenager that they'd laughed and planned pranks with. He saw the man that they'd trusted.

He saw the man that had betrayed that trust. He saw the coward. He saw the spy.

He saw the Death Eater.

Sirius saw, clearly and vividly in his mind's eye, the reason why his brother was dead. Sirius saw the reason why Lily would never smile and laugh again, why Harry would never get to know his parents.

He was the reason, Sirius thought, moving from the spot he'd stopped on the sidewalk earlier.

He put one foot in front of the other. One step forwards ... Two steps ... Walk.

Never before had Sirius wanted to kill anyone so much, wanted to destroy something so utterly.

Deep breath.

But Peter Pettigrew was the reason that this time, everything was not just a nightmare. It was Peter's fault that everyone would not be safe and alive come morning.

He was the reason that this time, everything was real, and that Sirius wouldn't just be able to wake up.

And Sirius would make sure that the traitor got exactly what he deserved.

~**~

Author's Note: Alright, there you have it. That's the end of Sirius's part, and Remus's will be coming up next. Also, additional 'thanks' goes to kmo11 for reviewing the first part of this story. I really appreciate it all!

Thank you all for reading the story and I hope you enjoyed it. Let me know what you think!

~Megan