Somehow, I knew.

The day was different, cold and gray. I awoke in the woods, pain in my fingers, and blood on my hands. I had bitten them raw in the night. Whenever it happened, I felt weak the next day, tired.

My weariness lifted when I heard the news – Voldemort was dead. The misery was at an end. All were safe once more. James, Lily, and little Harry could come out of hiding. There was no more need for Secret Keepers, no need to believe in prophecies.

I asked how it happened – and left the Leaky Cauldron in a blind stupor.

No anguish was worse than this – no pain as deep and profound. The cracking of bones as I transformed, the lengthening of limbs, the tearing of skin – none of it compared to the wrenching, gaping blackness enveloping my mind. I could not breathe, or think, or speak—

James was gone. My dearest friend, who had gone to such great lengths to help me – dead.

Lily, too. Lily, who had given all of us such a hard time, who had challenged us, bettered us, changed James in his love for her – dead.

In one night, I lost it all. James. Lily. Sirius.

That hurt too, as if he had sunk his great dog-fangs into my heart. Heh ad betrayed us – betrayed James. Sold his dearest friend to Voldemort. All of them, lost to me forever.

I was alone again.