Disclaimer: I don't own a thing I'm afraid.

There was someone in the upstairs room. My father's old study. Everyone else pretended they couldn't hear it, couldn't hear someone moving, pacing, the occasional thud of a dropped book. But there was someone up there.

Eventually I decided to have a look. It was a quiet Wednesday. I'd never liked Wednesdays.

There was someone there. His messy dark hair and hazel eyes nearly killed me when I saw them again. His existence in the old, dreaded room seemed criminal.

Each time we talked he got older.

First an overly excited first year - exactly the same as he was on the train the first time we met. He talked endlessly of Quidditch and pranks and Hogwarts.

He was fifteen next, and waxed lyrical about the exact shade of Lily Evans' hair for more than an hour. For a little while I could almost forget the look of abject terror I'd last seen on her face.

Sixteen, seventeen, eighteen. Growing up. Realising life wasn't all passing notes in Transfiguration and exploring the castle under an Invisibility Cloak. Our talk became more serious.

And I soon realised with dread what age the boy in my father's study was approaching.

I tried to tell Remus one day.

He thought I'd finally lost it.

Maybe I had.

It was another Wednesday. He was twenty-two. He had a young wife. A child who meant the world to him. And he was asking his best friend for help.

I couldn't speak to him that day. When I started crying he didn't know what to do.

'It was your fault, wasn't it?'

This James was older. The same age I was, though I was decidedly worse for wear. I couldn't answer him.

'I was going to make you the Secret Keeper. I trusted you.'

His voice was low and calm. I would have preferred if he shouted.

'Please James…'

'Please what? Forgive you?' He laughed cruelly at me.

'I'm sorry, sorry, so sorry James. I didn't- I thought-'

He cut off my stuttering apology. 'You killed me and Lily. You made Harry an orphan. You deserved Azkaban.'

'I know, James. I know. Please- I'm sorry.'

'I don't know how you could ever expect me to forgive you,' he said coldly, turning away.

'I don't either,' I whispered.

He didn't return.

AN: cheerful fic, eh?