Harry Potter Define War

It is impossible to stay exactly the same as we journey along the unpredictable, often rough, path of life. Of course our personalities, our mannerisms, our situations change as we grow older, how could they not? It is, however, fair to say that some change more than others. And for four Hogwarts boys in particular, this was certainly more than true.

How can four students, four seemingly, at least at first glance, normal students change beyond recognition in just a few short years?

War.

If the Wizarding World hadn't been in the grips of a terrifying war, would James have been dead within three years of leaving Hogwarts?

If Lord Voldemort and his Death Eaters hadn't been exercising an atmosphere of complete panic and distrust, would Sirius have been incarcerated in Azkaban for a crime an old friend committed?

If the prejudices of society weren't so heightened by the Dark Lord's regime, would Remus have had to retreat into anonymity, sprouting unjust distrust amongst his friends?

And if War hadn't been so predominant throughout his life, would Peter have found solace with the Death Eaters, bringing about the doomed fates of those he once counted his dearest friends?

War; noun, a state of armed conflict between different nations or states or different groups within a nation or state.

War; noun, that which tears even the strongest of friendships apart.

There wasn't much to do in Azkaban, Sirius had learnt this early on, nothing much except to resist Dementors and try to retain as much of his sanity as possible. The cell, with its hard wooden bed, claustrophobic walls and barred door with Dementors lurking just outside was a far cry from his old dormitory in Gryffindor Tower. He missed that warm four poster with its lush velvet hangings, the constant company and camaraderie that sharing a dormitory brought and the constant security more than he could say. Strangely enough, this dank little cell, no expense spared for the top security prisoner, reminded him in explicably of his old bedroom back in Grimmauld Place. He'd always hated the old fashioned grandeur of the room as a boy, but it had pleased him to no end that it was at least slightly bigger than Regulus'. He'd taken every pain to emphasise his difference from the rest of the family, infuriating his mother to no end, and had even resorted to using Permanent Sticking Charms to ensure his difference would never be forgotten even after he ran away, leaving them all behind forever; his parents, Regulus, his deranged cousin Bellatrix, even that git of a house elf, Kreacher.

Though the roughly hewn walls of his prison cell weren't covered with pictures he'd torn from Muggle magazines or faded Gryffindor banners or photographs of himself arm in arm with his best friends, he felt a certain similarity all the same.

He'd been trapped then, trapped within the physical confines of his bedroom whenever he'd been sent upstairs in disgrace, and also within the Blacks' twisted Pureblood ways. And there was no doubt that he was trapped now. He laughed drily to himself, if that gruff bark-like roar that emanated from his throat could be classified as a laugh. It had been ages since he'd laughed properly, years since anything about his situation was even remotely humorous. He used to laugh all the time, perhaps he'd laughed too much then. But that was then. Somebody else's life.

That other person's life was so different to the gaunt, high security prisoner who would never leave this cell again. That other person had been a carefree young boy, carelessly handsome with shiny dark hair and wicked eyes, that kind of boy who was arrogant in every sense of the word, but nevertheless was surrounded by friends and admirers. What had happened to him? Where had that boy gone? Unfortunately that boy, that boy who was clever enough to pass all his exams without doing a scrap of work, who could charm students and teachers alike with that easy smile, that boy who had the three best friends anyone could ask for, was gone. And he was never coming back.

Friends. What did that even mean?

He'd had friends once, Sirius could remember that very clearly indeed. As the Dementors glided up and down outside his cell, he reflected on the fact endlessly. He'd had friends once, a long time ago. But they were gone now. What had happened to them? What had happened to that confident Quidditch player, the boy who'd been more of a brother to him than Regulus ever had been, the unashamedly noble stag, the young man who'd married the girl he'd loved for years, the father who was so proud of his baby son?

Where was James? Where was Prongs?

Over and over again, Sirius was forced to remember that James was dead. Gone. Forever. The image of James spread eagled in the hallway of the Potters' cottage was forever burned into Sirius' mind, he could never forget that terrible night no matter how hard he tried. Sometimes, he wondered what James might be doing now, if his life hadn't been ripped away from him at such a young age. Well, he, along with Lily, would be taking care of Harry, that was for certain. He couldn't quite tell how long he'd been in Azkaban, the days, weeks and months just rolled into one, but he was sure Harry was still rather young. James might still have worked in the Order, he'd been good at that. Merlin, he'd been good at everything, he could have had a top Ministry job, he could have played Quidditch for England, he could have done anything, if only he wasn't dead.

But there hadn't just been James; he remembered that as clear as day. But the others were gone as well. Not dead, but as good as in Sirius' mind. That quiet and reserved boy was gone, the Prefect, the tall, thin bookworm who tried to exercise some control over his unruly friends, the werewolf, was gone too. Remus. Moony. Remus thought he was the traitor, the one who'd sealed James and Lily's fate, Sirius thought he was the traitor until, until…Remus still believed it had been he who had caused the deaths of his friends, of course, the entire Wizarding World was united in this belief, but somehow, the fact that Remus still believed he was guilty caused Sirius so much more pain. Remus, who'd always been so logical and cautious in everything he did, would, of course, believe Sirius was guilty of the crimes he was convicted for. The evidence was all there. Every now and then, he reflected on what Remus might be doing, if he was still involved with the Order, how he was managing now without James' financial support with which he'd always been generous. He'd always expressed a wistful interest in returning to Hogwarts as a professor. Sirius wondered if he'd ever achieved this, but the obvious truth flooded back. Remus was a werewolf, and he couldn't imagine someone like him ever being allowed to teach. The unjust thought made Sirius' blood boil almost as much as the unfairness he himself had suffered in recent years.

But the Dementors weren't finished yet. They couldn't be content to let him think only of two of his friends. For there had been another boy, another Gryffindor he'd counted as a best friend, someone he would give his life for, someone he would always defend, someone he hoped would return the favour.

Peter. Wormtail. The mousey little boy who'd landed them all in this trouble and sealed all their fates. Sometimes, he could hardly believe it was true, convinced it had to be some cruel mind game the Dementors employed in order to break down even the toughest of inmates. It seemed ludicrous; how could that lump of a boy, who'd hero worshipped them at school, who seemed genuinely pleased to be included in their company have grown to be a supporter of Lord Voldemort? How could Peter Pettigrew have been the one to betray Lily and James to the Dark Lord, the one who then killed a dozen or more innocent Muggles before faking his own death and framing Sirius, one of his supposed best friends? It seemed so farfetched, yet he knew it to be true. He'd seen it with his own eyes.

Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs. They'd promised they'd be friends forever, no matter how girly or sappy that made them sound. When they'd worked together to help Remus during the full moon, when they'd spent hours pored over a scrap of parchment that eventually became the most ingenious rule breaking tool Hogwarts had ever seen, when they'd stood arm in arm, smiling at the camera, they'd honestly believed they could do just that. Stick together, remain best mates, brothers, for the rest of their lives. It didn't matter that there was a war raging right under their noses, because they were the Marauders, they could handle anything and they'd do it knowing they had the support of the other three at all times. It had all seemed so simple when they were safe within the boundaries of Hogwarts, before reality and real life kicked into start with a bang.

Then James was married, and Peter felt like he didn't belong, and Remus was shunned by society and Sirius lost his real brother to the Dark Lord once and for all. James and Lily were forced into hiding with their newly born son, and Peter seemed to remain loyal to them when he was really working for Voldemort, and Remus tried desperately to find acceptance and was constantly turned away, and Sirius tried in vain to keep the four of them intact.

Perhaps he should have tried harder.

As Sirius lay back on the narrow bed and closed his eyes in the hope of sleepy oblivion, the relentless thoughts bounced around his head over and over. He knew it was impossible for people to stay the same as they grew older, though he wished things didn't always have to change for the worst. He missed the old days with an insatiable longing that no amount of reminiscing or reflecting could ever hope to quench. Maybe if they'd all stayed as they were as Hogwarts pupils, then things could have been different. He wondered how Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs would have fared in this new world if they'd been plucked straight from Hogwarts, those four, bright-eyed boys who believed that anything was impossible as long as they had the support of their best friends. He mused on what those teenage boys' reactions would be if they had seen what the future held. They'd never paid much attention in Divination, but perhaps if they had, they could have done something to prevent the bleak future that awaited them.

Knowing the idea of sleep was nothing more than a wistful fantasy, Sirius swung his long legs out of bed and walked slowly to the barred door. Gripping to the metal bars for support, he closed his eyes. He could see the four of them quite clearly in his mind, four, happy teenage boys at Hogwarts. He knew in a moment that these joyful images would be replaced with the inevitable; dead James, incarcerated Sirius, isolated Remus and traitorous Peter, but for now, they could remain teenagers in his mind, before it all went wrong, again and again.

Sirius was unlike the other prisoners of Azkaban in several ways. For one, he was innocent of the crime he was convicted for, and for another, the Dementors didn't just force him to relive the worst moments of his past. Quite the contrary, perhaps it was because they feared him more dangerous and mad than most, but he was able to recall clearly the best times of his life as well. It was the startling difference from this new reality that tormented him the most.

And while he knew that it was impossible for people to stay exactly the same as they grew older, he couldn't help but wonder regretfully how changed their fates might be had they stayed a little more like their teenaged selves.

War; noun, that which drives innocent men to the brink of insanity.


End file.
