Style // Sirius Black

Chapter XXXVI

There is no set way someone can mourn. There's no predetermined amount of time it takes a person to grieve. Everything surrounding the process of death is individual, making it increasingly difficult to deal with for those who perhaps lack certain emotional maturity. There is no manual or handbook for the process of moving on from death or what someone is supposed to do after it. You cannot tell someone how to mourn or handle the overwhelming feeling they have when a loved one departs.

That person is now forever a few steps ahead of you, a few steps away. An arms-length and an inch away from the warm embrace of your arms and the love you perhaps never told them. The guilt of you being the one to live on while they departed with the physical world is incomparable and sometimes impossible to put into words.

The feeling of regret from not telling them something so personal, tender, and comforting. The feeling of something unsaid. It's a haunting idea, bordering the feeling of a secret, losing the one you love without telling them something vital, something life-changing.

What does one do with that?

-----

Lyra sat by the river again. James sat next to her with his hand tied to his sisters, the books stacked between them like a beacon. In them sat various pictures, memories, a type of love that can't be replicated. Lily and Sirius had only spoken to the twins at night, whispering goodnight to them as all parties separated off into their respective bedrooms. James and Lily to the formers, and Sirius and Lyra to their own. The house felt emptier than it had in years, despite four occupants within its walls.

It had never been so quiet either. There was only one moment when the sounds of yelling overcame the silence. It was the day that the doctor had shown up, and Lyra let that angry monster that raged red inside of her free from its leash.

-----

The knock on the door came as a surprise to the group as the twins sat by the closed door, their respective lovers muddling around the house in an attempt to keep from stewing. James had gestured for his sister to stay put, but Lyra wasn't good at listening to what anyone told her to do, even in mourning. She lingered behind her brother as they wandered down the corridors of the Potter manor. Perhaps James should have done a better job keeping his angrier half away from the unsuspecting doctor.

When the door was tugged open, and Lyra rested her eyes upon the stout man that stood at her doorway, the fire overcame her sense of reasoning. It had been a week since James sent the letter, and no one even sent even a reply back to them. Lyra and James had assumed the letter got lost or ignored. But the innocent smile on the doctor's face was enough to let the firecracker inside Lyra's heart explode, leaving a wake of damage behind her.

"You son of a bitch!"

Lyra's wand brandished itself in her hands before James could grab the blonde. She was more nimble than him and had an easier time evading his grasp. The flicks of her wrist came quick, sending the doctor flying multiple meters back every time her spells struck true. Every time Lyra sent another spell flying, the light became greener, nastier, harsher.

"Lyra!"

His voice fell on deaf ears as the tears streaked down her already rosy face, lips turned downwards in an angry frown as her hair blew wildly in the winds. It wasn't James who called after her, and she doubted he would have tried to. He was just as pissed about the lack of communication as she was; the difference is, Lyra was more reactive. She was a chemical bomb waiting to be set off. This time, Sirius tried to reign in the rabid dog that Lyra had quickly morphed into.

"They're dead!" Lyra screeched, her voice nothing more than a lick of venom as she hovered over the wounded doctor, wand pointed at his face, "They're dead. And it's your fault."