Swimming Lessons

The Wrong Choice

REGULUS

The sunlight was blinding. Maybe that's why I couldn't see the ending from the beginning. That time was like an evening lit by a golden sun that was only ever fated to go down. After all, things that thrive in the dark can never stay in the light... can we? But like the water that pushed against the shore, for a moment, at least, I was clear and blue, unstable, and fathoms deep.

I lay on the beach, watching the sun play on the water and across the slowly tanning torso of James Potter as he went, ducking in and out of the waves, splashing water at my older brother. Sirius let out a shriek of laughter as James rough housed with him, splashing him and leaping at him from behind - a cry of "Geronimo!" echoed over the roar of the sea's waves as they went crashing, and James's arms buckled around Sirius's torso, pinning his arms down, and tipping him with ferocity into the cresting water. They plunged under, disappearing in the blue, a mass of kicking limbs among glittering sparks of the sun's reflection off the water.

Beside me, laying on a plastic lounge chair with an obscene amount of sunscreen slathered across his legs and arms, was Remus Lupin. He wore a brightly printed, unbuttoned shirt covered with blue pineapples over a plain white tank top and a pair of swim shorts that didn't quite match his shirt. His sunglasses were bigger than his face, and the bush of curls that hung over his forehead was even blonder than ever - the shades of brown that usually dominated the color had been sun bleached and dulled over the couple of days we'd already spent on the island. He shook his head and turned the page of the book he was reading as James and Sirius surfaced, shouting and laughing.

"Idiots," he murmured. But you could tell he was more amused than he was disapproving. They'd been friends so long that it was both annoying and endearing to him, probably nostalgic of days that were long past. It was clear that all three boys had come to this place to release pent up tension that had been building, the effects of being forced into growing up too soon. I envied them the ability to let go like that - to play in the waves and forget their problems.

I'd been trying to forget the things I'd left behind when I'd disembarked at Platform 9 3/4 and climbed onto the back of Sirius's motorbike. There was some darkness that echoed in my blood that wouldn't let me completely let go, no matter how much I wanted to. I picked at a loose thread on the yellow-striped towel I sat on, watching the way the loops of the terry cloth sunk and came undone as I pulled.

The sun was bright, burning from the sky. I could feel it tingling across my back and wished I'd worn a shirt like Remus had done. He'd worn it, he said, because the Lycanthropy made him sensitive to any celestial objects.

"He burns like a fire salamander if he even thinks about the sun," Sirius had confirmed that morning, when I'd asked Remus why he was wearing not one but two shirts to sit on the beach. "Isn't that right, Moony?"

Remus had nodded, "Unfortunately, yes."

"He's shy about the scars," James had said quietly, when Remus was out of ear shot.

"I don't care about scars," I answered.

James shrugged, "Neither do I." I thought his eyes might've flitted to the place on my wrist where the remnants of the Dark Mark marred my skin. Instinctively, I had turned my wrist in, pressing it to my hip. But his words echoed in my chest like a heart beat.

Neither do I.

Neither do I.

I turned my wrist over then, sitting on the beach, and looked at the silver puckering that was all that was left of the Dark Mark that. Sometimes, I could still feel my skin crawling as though something alive was trapped just below the surface, something dead and rotted, even though the Mark had been burned away as ferociously as it had been burned on in the first place.