James: I Don't Know the Answer to This Question

Sirius landed in Hogsmeade.

The sky wasn't completely dark yet; a sliver of orange-red shone behind the rooftops in the west, while the rest of the sky was already dark, a grayish-blue tinged with pale purple.

One by one, the lights in the village came on.

The windows of Honeydukes were lit with colorful lights, and several young witches emerged from the shop carrying paper bags, their openings glistening with colorful frosting. The windows of Three Broomsticks emitted a warm yellow light, and the door opened and closed, the sounds of laughter and clinking glasses mingling with the aroma of Fish and Chips and Ale, carried by the evening breeze towards the village entrance.

Several wizards emerged from the tavern, having finished their meal, and strolled leisurely down the street. Some walked home arm in arm, while others stood on street corners lighting their pipes. They glanced at the little wizard who had appeared out of nowhere, but no one asked any questions, and they turned back to their own conversations.

An old wizard, who was taking a walk and eating, sat on a bench at the village entrance. He glanced up at Sirius and then looked down again.

Nobody bothered with this.

It's common for young wizards to visit Hogsmeade on weekends, and it's not unusual for one to go out alone occasionally.

Sirius stood there for a moment, then wrapped his robe tighter around himself and walked along the cobblestone path toward the Castle.

There were two of them when they arrived. Regulus walked beside him, and he walked backwards, muttering something from "Cleansweep Seven" to "Comet 260." That happened this morning.

Now he walks back alone, the only sound on the cobblestone path his own footsteps echoing.

We left the Hogsmeade and got onto the Carriage Road.

The grass on both sides was still withered, and the wind blew from the Black Lake. The evening wind was much stronger than the morning wind, causing his open collar to flip back. He didn't tie his collar; he never did.

He walked very slowly, even slower than he had come, his feet seemingly reluctant to move forward, kicking small pebbles on the road, one after another, kicking them into the withered grass by the roadside.

He wasn't in a hurry; he was just walking.

The sun had completely set, and darkness fell. The outlines on both sides of the road blurred into a single mass, with only the lights of the distant Castle still shining, clusters of warm light hanging on the dark hillside.

The road is still the same road; it took me forty minutes to walk it this morning, but now it's taken me over an hour.

By the time we arrived at the Castle, dinner was long over.

The students had mostly left the Great Hall. There was still some food left on the long table: several plates of unfinished roast meat, half a basket of bread, cold potatoes, and the candles had burned down, dimming the light.

Sirius stood at the door and glanced at it, but he had no appetite.

He was still wearing that black funeral robe, heavy and neat, the silver thread at the collar flashing in the firelight.

His clothes were so different from his usual appearance that even the few remaining young wizards in the Great Hall looked over.

Several younger Hufflepuff were chasing and playing in the Corridor. They almost bumped into him as they ran past. One of them turned around to apologize, but when he saw his face, he froze and swallowed his words.

Two Ravenclaw came down the stairs, carrying books, and exchanged glances as they passed him.

An older Gryffindor shrugged and continued on his way.

In the corner, a few young wizards whispered among themselves. One of them had a smirk on his face, probably thinking, "What does the death of someone in the Black family have to do with us? We're probably just happy about it."

Several Slytherin passing by also saw him.

Their gazes lingered on the black robe for a moment, then they exchanged glances.

Sirius Black in the black funeral robes of the Black family, and the signals he read were different for each person, but no one came forward to say anything. Sirius ignored the stares, walked through the Entrance Hall, and headed towards the Gryffindor Tower.

The torches in the Corridor stretched his shadow long, clinging to the stone wall, moving with him, sometimes long, sometimes short.

He climbed the Spiral Staircase, gave the Fat Lady the password, opened the Portrait, but there was no one inside. The Common Room was empty, and the fireplace was almost out.

He went straight upstairs to his Dormitory. The fireplace was not lit, and the lights were off; it was Black Hole.

He didn't light a lamp or change his clothes. He walked to the bedside and lay down straight down. The curtains weren't drawn. He lay on his back, staring at the top of the curtains for a long time.

His eyes were empty; he wasn't looking at anything. The cloth was right in front of him, but he wasn't really looking at it.

That image keeps replaying in my mind; I can't get rid of it.

Regulus followed Lucius to the yew tree, where the two huddled together and talked like two adults discussing serious business.

He thought he would be angry, at least something—smash things, curse, hate.

But lying in bed, staring at the top of the curtains, he realized that none of them had come.

He felt neither sad nor angry, just empty.

During this time, he got used to the improved relationship with Regulus.

What I saw today shattered all of that; things I was used to suddenly felt strange.

The scene was too far away for him to reach.

But it's so close, right there in my mind, I just can't shake it off.

He knew that the person standing in that picture was Regulus's original position, but he chose not to look.

He just lay there, motionless.

The curtains weren't drawn, the moon had risen, and a sliver of moonlight peeked in through the gap, falling obliquely onto the blanket at the foot of the bed, making the blanket appear white. After some time, footsteps and voices echoed from the Corridor.

James's voice could be heard clearly even through the door.

"I'm serious! Is he coming back or not? He ran off without a word, did he tell anyone? Did he tell me? No!" The door was flung open, and James Potter, with one foot still outside the threshold, filled the entire Dormitory with his voice.

"I'm telling you, if he doesn't come back soon, he won't be able to copy the Transfiguration paper tomorrow, and I can't keep dragging things out for him with McGonagall." He said as he stepped inside, complaining, "I don't know what he'd go back for. What's the point of going back to that lousy house? To get yelled at by his mother?" Lupin followed behind, carrying two books borrowed from the Library, his voice helpless, "He had something to do, he asked for leave to go back, it's not like he skipped school." "What could he have to do?" James shrugged, "In that house, nothing happening is the best thing ever!"

Peter, hunching his shoulders, was the last to enter and closed the door behind him.

The Dormitory was dark. James reached for the light cord, while his other hand was already holding up his wand, ready to light the fireplace.

The lights came on.

James saw the figure on the bed, and the words he was about to say caught in his throat.

The hand continued moving forward due to inertia, and with a flick of the wand, the fireplace roared to life, illuminating the entire Dormitory with its orange-red flames.

He darted to Sirius's bedside, his voice instantly rising. "Hey! You're here! Why isn't the light on?"

Then he lowered his head.

He lay there, dressed in black, stiff and motionless, his eyes open, not looking at them.

James paused, his mouth still open, the rest of his words stuck in his throat. He turned and glanced at Lupin.

Lupin was putting the book on the bedside table when he sensed James's gaze and walked over to stand in front of the bed.

Peter followed at the very back, huddled by the doorway, and peered inside.

Lupin looked down at Sirius, his brow furrowing slightly.

James's eyes darted around, his mind racing.

He glanced at the black envelope that morning; it was a perfectly sealed wax envelope, the kind of seal you'd expect.

His family didn't have these customs, but he knew what it was—an official letter from Pureblood families. Looking at Sirius's clothes, he realized it was a funeral notice.

The two of them looked down at Sirius on the bed.

James was still racking his brains.

Sirius's personality is self-evident; he would never change like this just because someone in the Black family died.

He might do this if that Little Viper died, but not with anyone else.

So James concluded that he was just feeling down because of the gloomy atmosphere; he had spent half a day in that kind of place and was feeling uncomfortable.

Lupin looked at Sirius with a hint of worry in his eyes.

Sirius is always noisy and fussy, and he'll vent his frustrations whenever he's upset. Seeing him lying there so quietly is unsettling.

Peter didn't dare come up; he huddled by his bedside, peeking out cautiously.

Lupin and James stood side by side in front of the bed, their hands clasped in front of them, looking down at the motionless Sirius, as if they were paying their respects.

Lupin nudged James with his arm. James turned to look at him, and Lupin gestured with his lip toward Sirius. James pursed his lips.

This job is definitely his; he's the leader, and if his brothers are in trouble, he has to step up.

He already had a plan in mind; there was a universal solution to this kind of problem.

scold.

Curse the Black family, curse those old fogies, curse Grimmauld Place, curse those disgusting rules—curse them all, and Sirius will laugh and turn back into the Sirius he always was.

It works every time.

As long as you don't curse that Little Viper, it's fine.

He tossed his coat onto the foot of the bed, plopped down next to Sirius, crossed one leg over the edge, turned to face him, and quickly put on a smug expression.

Why would you go back to that lousy place?

He spoke casually, with an air of "I'll tell you this as a joke": "Just hearing the name of that house makes me want to vomit. It's dark and gloomy, with all the windows covered by curtains. If you ask me, it should have been set on fire!"

"And those Portrait," he continued, getting more and more carried away, "A whole wall of dead people hanging there, their eyes rolling around and staring at you. Who nails their ancestors to the wall as decoration? It's disgusting."

Peter chuckled beside him and chimed in, "I heard they also have the head of House-elf."

"Yes, yes, hang them on the stairs," James slapped his thigh. "A whole row of them, cut them down to make specimens, what a respectable tradition, the Black family." He got more and more into cursing, from the house to the rules, and from the rules to those Pure-bloods old bastards.

"Always talking about bloodlines, bloodlines," he said, pursing his lips and adopting a affected tone, "Noble and forever pure, pshaw, a bunch of incestuous offspring, not even very bright enough."

"You're the only one who managed to escape," he patted Sirius's leg, then patted it again, not satisfied. "The rest of them are all stuck in the same quagmire, getting stinkier the more they stir it up."

As they continued hurling insults, the conversation naturally drifted back to Slytherin.

"And those snakes, always putting on airs, acting like they're Pure-bloods this Pure-bloods that. That Slytherin stuff, let me tell you, it's all just a bunch of nonsense!"

Sirius didn't react, his eyes didn't even move, he stared at the top of the curtain, ignoring James's persistent pleas.

James ignored him and continued hurling insults, his pace quickening.

Lupin felt something was off when James said "forever pure." "You can insult someone, but why call them a close relative?"

He turned to his side from the other end of the bed and gently tugged at James ' sleeve.

James shook his head, his mouth still moving, deep in conversation.

"Especially those guys in black robes," he leaned forward, "Always following Voldemort around, secretly up to some dirty tricks, let me tell you..."

A black robe.

Sirius's eyes narrowed, and he slowly turned his head on the pillow, his gray eyes fixed on James, his face expressionless. Seeing this worked, James became even more enthusiastic, practically throwing himself on Sirius, pressing close until their faces were almost touching. "Yeah! Those Death Eaters! The ones in black robes! I'm telling you, they're a bunch of lunatics and lackeys, all thinking they're so powerful, but they're just fucking..."

Lupin sensed something was wrong; Sirius's face grew increasingly grim, and his eyes changed.

Lupin reached out to pull James away, trying to calm him down.

Sirius's voice was low. "Alright."

James was stunned. "What?"

Sirius sat up, propped himself up on the bed, straightened his upper body, and placed his hands on his knees.

He looked at James, his gray eyes holding something that had been suppressed for a long time, not yet erupting, but almost bursting forth.

"I said, that's enough, stop talking."

The Dormitory fell silent, and the fire in the fireplace crackled once.

James stopped talking, looking at Sirius with a bewildered expression.

He wasn't familiar with this reaction.

Sirius used to either join in the cursing, even more fiercely than him, or he'd get annoyed and ignore him, turning over and going to sleep.

This is something that has never been done before, enough to shut him up.

He was at a loss and didn't know how to respond for a moment.