My Ruin

I hurt myself. Not that it makes any difference. I've always done it. Man and wolf. Moony tore at himself, scratched and bled, but he loved the pain. He needed that pain to get by, until they came and saved him on those lonely nights.

I just hurt myself. I was doing it before I started school. I was always doing it. No one noticed. I could fob the scars and the cuts off to those who knew me as parts of the change, or part of Moony's mood swings. Those who didn't know me could presume what they wanted. I didn't care about them.

The only people I cared about believed that they understood me, even when they didn't. But I wouldn't tell them that.

I can't kid myself. James and Sirius were best mates. Peter was the clinger on, and I was the one in the middle. I was never as close to them as Sirius and James were to each other. I wanted to be. I wanted to be that close to them, or to anyone. But they had each other.

I could draw you a graph of how my feelings for him increased, until they reached an almost painful pinnacle, when he was all I ever thought about. He distracted me. He hurt me without knowing it. He went to Azkaban and I cried for him nearly every night. I cried for him, and I cried for my three dead friends, because I was alone. I was totally alone.

I began again at Hogwarts, when I returned. Severus, in his own way, was there for me, although it wasn't obvious. He had a vendetta against Sirius. He hated him. He hated James. He hated Harry.

Harry was James, totally and completely. He was also, now, Sirius' guard. And so he was mine. Sirius would have wanted that. Whatever was between him and James, I was still his friend, his only close living friend, and, I would presume, the next in line to keep an eye on Harry. So I did.

Harry became a friend. Almost like having James back. On the side, I had Severus. As I said, he was there for me in his own way. No one else would have seen it. They all thought he hated me. But we would meet in the evenings, for a drink, his office or mine, and talk about the old school days, skimming over the incidents with James and Sirius. He made me my potion, without fail, every month. He wouldn't let me forget to take it. He was a good friend, really, when I needed it. But he still hated Harry, for all my convincing. He was just too like James. And I still hurt myself, because I was still in love with Sirius.

He had escaped, they said. On the run. Looking for Harry. He knew where he was. And where he, Harry, was, was where I was.

So I could wait. I could listen for news of him, I could look for him if I was stupid enough, which, in a way, I was. He got into the school, somehow. Twice. I didn't know how. I couldn't imagine how. Severus got mad. He began to think I was helping Sirius. I had mentioned more than once how I had felt about him. Severus grew more hostile, and I felt alone again. And I still hurt myself. Again. And again. And again. With the wolfsbane, Moony behaved himself, but I would, I used him, I could cause myself more pain using Moony. And I would heal faster. But the scars were everywhere. Irrelevant. Sirius was nearby.

Severus was still suspicious of me, but nevertheless, we still spoke together, we drank together, without fail he would give me my potion. I was tempted, after a while, I began to think the Dementors would catch Sirius before I would even see him, and I would finally loose him forever. Severus was here. He was beside me, he talked to me, and he felt something towards me. And I was tempted. But I didn't do anything. Because I was still in love with Sirius. And I wouldn't hurt Severus like that. He was a good friend to me. And I hurt myself because I hurt him. Over and over again.

Then I saw Peter. And I saw Sirius. And they were in the shack. They were in my shack. But it couldn't have been Peter. Peter was dead. Sirius had killed him. Sirius, who I loved. He was here to finish the job he started. I didn't want to believe it, as I watched them, as I stood and left the room, as I headed down towards the tree.

I put it all together in my mind. The only other plausible explanation. That they had swapped and not told me. That they had perhaps not trusted me? Or just that Peter was weak, he was stupid, but he was a coward and wouldn't work for the Dark Lord. I was a werewolf...if you had to choose one of us...

I saw Sirius standing with them. But I couldn't see Peter. Harry would probably have killed him. But I couldn't let him. I hated the look on his face. That he felt I had betrayed them. That Sirius was the bad guy. But I could ignore that, because I could have Sirius hold me like I was the most precious thing in the world.

But I was always a danger to them. I was stupid. It's my fault that Sirius was put into Azkaban, they turned into Animagi for me. And it's my fault Peter got away. Full moon, I was stupid, again. I didn't take my wolfsbane. I turned and we lost him. Sirius nearly died because of me. That time. Sirius died, later, because of me. And that's why I still hurt myself.

He went on the run. He went on the run for months. I stayed at his old house alone for a while before he came back. He wanted to be with Harry though. He wanted someone that reminded him of what he'd lost in James. But I wanted him, because he was the only one of my best friends still alive, and I was still in love with him, as I keep saying.

He came home, to me, eventually, when we decided that the order should be set up again. We lived alone for a while, and in that time, if it were possible, I fell even more in love with him. I didn't hurt myself for so long, because I had Sirius with me the whole time. We shared a bed, because we had only managed to clean out one room, his old room, although his mother's room was always kept immaculate by Kreacher. Neither of us wanted to stay in there alone.

And eventually he told me he wanted me. I would have died of happiness in his arms that very second if he hadn't held onto me so tightly and told me we could be a family, me, Harry and himself. We could be like a family.

We had slept together before, when we were young and stupid. But it was nothing like that night. He touched me so gently, took me with such care, as though I would break, and he held me so tightly when we were done. It was heaven. It's where I want to go when I die. Back into his arms.

I was truly happy. We had his old house, we had members of the Order wandering in and out at all hours, but we were together. We waited though, until he knew he was in love with me, before he wanted to tell Harry.

We never got to though. Because he told me he loved me, and then he was dead. No one ever knew how much I wanted him, how much we had loved each other, really.

I held Harry back from the Veil. He didn't believe me. He thought Sirius would come back. I knew he wouldn't. I knew how Harry was feeling. Like something huge was building up inside me, wanting to get out, so much pain you couldn't put into words, the need to scream and scream and cry until you died, because the pain was just too much to cope with. The whole, consuming, overwhelming and hopeless grief that took over my life.

People were there for Harry. He had to fight on. He had just lost his Godfather, not long after finding him. And he had no one again, so everyone was there for Harry. But Harry had everyone. He had his friends who would die for him, he had the Order, he had Dumbeldore. Who did I have? I had no one. No one came to check on me. No one came to comfort me. They left me to my grief. Left me to grieve over the last of my friends. James and Lily had been killed, Peter had betrayed us and now Sirius, my beautiful, loving Sirius had been stolen from me. I was in love with him. And no one cared how I felt. No one cared that I had lost all of my friends. Everyone I had loved. They were gone.

And so I hurt myself. Because that pain is always still here. The grief is always still here. And I need to let it out somehow.