Disclaimer: All characters belong to JKR. I just play with her ideas. The lyrics are from Missy Higgins's song The Special Two

PART ONE: REMUS

I've hardly been outside my room in days,

'Cause I don't feel that I deserve the sunshine's rays.

The darkness helped until the whiskey wore away,

And it was then I realize the conscience never fades.

Guilt: def. A feeling of having done wrong or failed in an obligation.

The air was oppressive; thick and musky and almost stifling, and Remus felt as if he was slowly suffocating within this dank, dark, dreary little sanctuary he had created. He wondered, resettling himself about the springy, stiff lounge and drawing his scrappy blanket closer around his shoulders, whether anybody was even looking for him. Not that it mattered. The only people who would know where to find him were dead now. Dead and gone, leaving him alone in this overwhelming funk.

Well, that wasn't quite true, actually. One of them was still alive, somewhere… but he was as good as dead, and that's what counted at the end of the day.

James, being the typical leader, had gone first, gone bravely, defending his family to his last breath… and then, Sirius had followed, as he inevitably would, dying bravely and stupidly, always the martyr trying to prove himself to the world and to his family. And then, there was the Rat, who had slunk off to greener pastures, always the follower, never brave like his friends…

And then there was one.

Just one unworthy, scraggily patch of humanity, tainted by the blood of a wolf.

Remus took another, long swig from the heavy glass bottle resting on his lap, wincing as the strong liquid burned a trail of fire, starting in the back of his mouth and traveling down through his body.

Sirius wasn't supposed to have died. Sirius was all he had had left: his last friend, the one he had thought he had lost so long ago, in that fateful night that had robbed him of everyone he loved… until Sirius had been miraculously restored to his life, and became once again the lightness in Remus' life, the ray of sun and hope that managed to penetrate through the heart of his heavy thoughts, and made him smile.

His only surviving best friend.

Torn away so suddenly and cruelly.

Sirius had always complained his family would be the death of him.

They had never, any of them, appreciated the accuracy of this prediction.

Downstairs, suddenly, there was a creaking on the floorboards, and Remus sat up, alert, drawing his wand wearily. He listened as the footsteps climbed the stairs, and grew closer, ever closer, until the door was gently opened and light threw sudden shadows across the room. A current of fresh air swept in behind it, closely followed by a messy head of black hair, a pair of glasses and an enquiring pair of emerald eyes.

Remus sighed, tucked the bottle of Firewhiskey out of sight beneath his blanket, and waited for Harry's eyes to adjust to the darkness.

He had, of course, forgotten all about Lily and James' son.

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PART TWO: LILY

When you're young you have this image of your life:

That you'll be scrupulous and one day even make a wife.

And you make boundaries you'd never dream to cross,

And if you happen to you wake completely lost.

To baffle: def. to totally bewilder or perplex

This wasn't happening, and if she squeezed her eyes shut and continued pacing the common room rug just a little faster, everything would just… disappear.

Yeah right.

She had her life all planned out: she would graduate at seventeen, commence simultaneous training to be a qualified Mediwitch and Auror, from which she would graduate to critical acclaim by her superiors two years later. At twenty, she would begin her dream job, work for the Ministry as part of their specially trained Reconnaissance Squad, and clean up after all the mess that Potter and Black, as ordinary, knock-about larrikin Aurors, would inevitably cause. She would fall in love by twenty-five with a handsome stranger (and certainly not with a particularly offensive young man with messy black hair), and by twenty-eight she would be happily married, with maybe a child on the way, whilst continuing to work part time, behind the scenes in the Medicinal division. And that was precisely how Lily Evans had planned on attacking life.

Until he had….

"Eeeurgh!" she screeched, releasing half-an-hour of pent up frustration with evident relish.

Her feet collided with what she assumed to be a lounge, and she halted, balling her hands into fists. It was past three am, and the school was silent. No one would be awake to hear her rant and rave, Lily rationalized. Eyes still firmly shut, she visualized James Potter was standing before her. He was about a foot taller than she, and Lily sculpted his face to minute detail. There was the pale, barely noticeable scar that cut between his left eyebrow, and there were the golden flecks in his eyes, and there was the particularly offensive dimple that always appeared on his right cheek when he was puzzled or secretly amused… His arms would be crossed, she decided, and his hair would be fairly tame at the front, although it was sticking up everywhere at the back, as per bloody usual.

The image complete, Lily let it rip.

"How dare you? You're not just supposed to stroll into here-" she tapped her forehead "-and ruin everything. I had plans! I had plans and you weren't in them. And all of a sudden you waltz into them and hurl yourself at them like we're playing ten pin bowling and you're the ball, and you ruined EVERYTHING!"

Lily stopped to catch her breath. She had been talking in a hurried, hoarse sort of whisper, the type that meant she really wanted to yell, but was feeling mildly considerate, even if certain persons did not deserve her consideration.

James stood there in her mind, and the dimple flickered for a moment, before it returned full force to mock her.

"I have news for you, Potter," she told the dimple smugly. "I don't care what I think, I'm not going to like you. I'm going to ignore you and I'm going to hex you, and you're going to get the hell away from my plans, because I refuse, I refuse, to loose everything just for you."

Suddenly, James did something that Lily didn't expect. He grinned.

Lily blinked. Why was her imagination making up things that just wouldn't happen? Maybe she was going mad after all, but in her opinion James was supposed to be busy looking hurt, his mouth was supposed to be down-turned and those golden flecks were supposed to be considerably duller.

Lily squinted with determination, trying to force the image to change…

"What on earth are you doing, Lily?"

Lily's mouth fell open, and a little "oh" of surprise escaped. She groaned. Now her imagination was talking to her? She pressed a hand to her forehead and closed her eyes.

She closed her eyes?

Ooooh no. Oh no, no, no, no, no….

Lily opened her eyes again in resignation and found that, quite as she had expected, James was still standing in front of her, looking very much inclined to laugh.

"How much of that did you hear?" she asked weakly, a furious pink blush unfurling in her cheeks.

James casually raised a hand and ruffled his hair, looking thoughtful.

"Well," he said slowly, "I heard a bit of a scream, so I came down to investigate, and you started yelling at me…"

Perfect.

Had there been a better way to ensure he heard everything? Somehow, Lily didn't think so.

Lily examined him closely, frowning as he blinked back, seeming absolutely baffled.

Well, that would make the two of them.

"Why are you angry at me this time?" he asked suddenly. "I'm getting a bit tired of you yelling at me, to be honest. I mean, sometimes it's funny, but would it kill you to be a little friendlier?"

His voice had turned suddenly from quietly complaining to gently teasing.

Lily thought it was quite possible she was about to vomit.

"Right, Potter, here's the deal," she told him quickly. "I will be nicer, you will stop making me fall for you, and we will both forget this entire incident, got it?"

James raised his eyebrows, and that little hairline scar suddenly disappeared beneath a tuft of fringe. The dimple appeared again, although Lily failed to notice this, as she was busy staring at her slippers.

"Right you are, Lily," he agreed, trying desperately not to smile.

Lily nodded shortly, and without bothering to say good night, she turned and hurried up the stairs to her own room, making a firm commitment to stop taking aloud to herself. However good it felt, her tongue had a habit of getting her into trouble, and it seemed only wise that she should sheath it, even in private (because private seemed to have a nasty habit of turning public).

Lying back in bed, Lily sighed and shut her eyes.

"What are you going to do with yourself, Lily Evans?"

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PART THREE: JAMES

But I will fight for you, be sure that I will fight

Until we're the special two once again.

And we will only need each other, we'll bleed together,

Our hands will not be taught to hold another's,

When we're the special two.

And we could only see each other, we'll bleed together,

These arms will not be taught to need another,

'Cause we were the special two.

Fate: def. The development of a series of events, seen to be beyond a person's control.

James had always known that they had been meant to be. From that first instance on the train platform: he, the wizard-born boy, very self-assured; she, the Muggle-born girl, bewildered and entirely out of her element. And yet she had not accepted help from anyone. He had to admire that.

In fact, there was an awful lot to Lily Evans that called for admiration. So much so that it was often asked, what's not to admire?

To which the usual response would be: Just ask Potter. She's really quite vicious when it comes to Potter.

Not that James minded one inch. Any attention, he believed, was good attention.

And there was no two ways about it; James did succeed in getting her attention.

Her affection, on the other hand? Well it seemed that James had been fighting a loosing battle there, all the long.

That was, until he found Lily raving madly to herself about him before the common room fire after midnight, one night early in seventh year. And from that particular incident, James Potter learnt an immensely valuable lesson. Sometimes, it was better to simply stop trying.

So instead, sometime during seventh year, James had an epiphany of sorts: he might just stop trying, and things would happen naturally, as they were meant to.

Eventually, it became quite natural that Lily and James hold hands in the corridors, cuddle in the common room and, at night, curl up together in front of the roaring fire and kiss.

And that they would lay there, and look into each other's eyes, and James would whisper: "All I see is you" or other such nonsense in this manner, to which Lily's reply would always be to blush and kiss him, or to tell him she loved him.

Overall, James decided that he quite liked the whole theory of natural progression, after all.

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PART FOUR: SIRIUS

I remember someone old once said to me:

"That lies will lock you up with truth the only key."

But I was comfortable and warm inside my shell,

And couldn't see this place would soon become my hell.

Trust: def. A firm belief in the truth, reliability, ability or strength of someone or something

"Lies," Dumbledore had once told him, "are a dangerous thing, Mr. Black. Only with truth will you find happiness, and forgiveness."

And so Sirius had hung his head, his face colouring fiercely as he admitted to telling Snape that Remus was through that damn passage. It had been the most shameful thing in his life to date; more shameful than being cast out of the family, certainly. Probably even more embarrassing than losing in Quidditch to Hufflepuff.

Thankfully, everything had turned out all right, that time. But, Sirius reminded himself dolefully, that was because James had gone to his, and Snape's, rescue and saved the day.

There was no James to rescue him, this time.

Sirius clenched his fists, screwing up his face and tugging his arms away from his body, as if to tear himself apart completely. Death was looking more and more attractive.

Well, anything that would reunite him with James seemed attractive.

They had been much too clever for their own good, Sirius decided. Lily had been right: Lily had always been right. She wanted to tell Dumbledore of the switch, to have him know that Peter was going to keep their secret, that Sirius was to be the decoy. If Sirius and James had just listened to Lily, everything would have turned out all right.

"Trust me," Sirius had told them. "This is fool proof."

The words of a foolhardy man, echoing around in his brain and tinged with the deepest, cruelest emotion of them all: regret.

While Sirius' plan had seemed foolproof, it certainly did not prove to be Voldemort proof.

And it seemed significant, now, that Peter had stayed silent through the whole exchange, twisting his hands in what Sirius had assumed was nervousness. Now, he knew that it had probably been eagerness. That Peter had barely been able to contain his excitement for when he could tell his master, "My Lord, I can take you to the Potters."

Sirius hoped to Merlin that Peter's supposed nerves had not been hiding guilt. Sirius didn't know what he would do if Peter had felt guilt.

Not that it mattered, now, anyway. Peter, too, was dead, blown apart by his own trickery.

And James was gone.

It was a great honour, it was said, to be personally killed by Lord Voldemort. James and Lily had each received such high distinction, something that Sirius acknowledged with the greatest of bitterness.

Because James being gone was a finality. There was to be no more Marauders, not without their laid-back, fun loving, mischief making Prongs. There would be no one to save Sirius, now.

Sirius, too, had forgotten James' son.

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PART FIVE: REGULUS

So is it better to tell and hurt or lie to save their face?

Well I guess the answer is don't do it in the first place.

I know I'm not deserving of your trust from you right now,

But if by chance you change your mind you know I will not let you down

Redemption: def. The act of saving or being saved from sin, error or evil.

Sirius? Sirius!

No, don't turn away like that – it's too late, anyway. I saw the look in your eye.

I hate it that you're disappointed in me.

I just want you to know that things are different now: I'm getting out of the Death Eaters, and I'm going to do the right thing.

I know that I promised you I'd never go there: but you know what Dad's like. He was ranting on about pureblood supremacy, and about how proud he would be to have a son fighting for such a noble cause. And you know me, Sirius. I was never a rebel like you. All I wanted was for Mum and Dad to be proud of me. You're right, I was weak… but I've grown up now. I'm different. And… Merlin, Sirius, you wouldn't believe some of the things I've seen. Awful things, terrible things… but they were amazing things, Sirius. Things that neither you nor I could ever dream of.

That's what it is, to be a Death Eater: to taunt convention and to break the rules.

Sometimes, all I would wish for is to have my big brother with me, for you to tell me that things will be OK. I miss that.

I miss you.

I went and saw Dumbledore before I came here. He understands. I told him things, important things, and he told me that he'd do his best to keep me alive.

Because they'll kill me, Sirius. I'm dead, just for talking to you.

But they were always going to kill me, because I never wanted to be there, not really.

And it's worth it, just to say goodbye to you.

The ridiculous thing is… I don't even think you're listening….

No matter. By tomorrow, I'll probably dead, and you'll never have to listen to me again.

Is that what you want, Sirius?

I'm only eighteen, you know. I think that's too early to die, but then, who am I to decide who can live and who can die. It's not like I'm the Dark Lord.

But anyway, since I'll be dying pretty soon, I just wanted you to know that no matter what, Sirius, I'll always be your little brother. I'll always look up to you, and the thought of you will always make me smile.

Maybe, one day, you can forgive me, and we can be a family again.

Not today, not tomorrow (tomorrow, I shall die anyway)… but maybe one day.

That's it, really. I just wanted to stop by, and let you know what was happening…

Where I'm at….

Where I'm going…

Will you even think of me when I'm gone, Sirius?

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PART SIX: PETER

I step outside my mind's eye's for a minute.

And I look over me like a doctor looking for disease,

Or something that could ease the pain.

But nothing cures the hurt you, you bring on by yourself,

Just remembering, just remembering how we were...

Doomed: def. Condemned to certain destruction or death… an inescapable outcome.

Once there was a tunnel as big as the world. It had no beginning, and no end, and everything was shrouded in darkness.

The air was oppressive in this tunnel, and so far as Peter had been able to work out, there did not appear to be any way of escaping.

It occurred to Peter that rats dug tunnels: it was something that they were famous for.

But somehow, this didn't seem like the sort of tunnel one could dig oneself out of… more of a tunnel that one had dug oneself into.

And every time Peter dug himself deeper, another face appeared. Another voice. Someone else to plague his thoughts, to haunt his waking hours, to interrupt his dreams.

Some days, it felt as if there were so many faces, and voices, that he would drown.

But, of course, rats were excellent swimmers.

So Peter knew that inevitably he would just keep digging.

What more did he have left?

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A/N: This story was a response to the June Songifc Challenge on the Reviews Lounge forum. (Did anyone like my nice turn of alliteration in the summary?)

I would love to hear what you guys think about this story, so please review, I would deeply appreciate it! Thanks for reading,

Lexie