Work Text:
Well, I ain't afraid of dying, it's the thought of being dead
I wanna go on being me once my eulogy's been read
The Blacks didn’t send Howlers . No, such a scene would be uncouth, unrefined - simply below them. No. What 11-year-old Sirius Black held in his trembling hands was so much worse.
It was mourning stationery - edged in black with silver filigree - and the message it contained may as well have said outright he was dead to his family. What it said was somehow worse though - because it said they wished he had died rather than been sorted into Gryffindor house. That his father had drunk half a bottle of firewhisky in a few hours due to the sheer devastation, that his mother thought he was a disgrace to the family name. That his little brother had wept once he heard that the older sibling he so idolised had been sorted into the enemy house.
Sirius hadn’t thought it was that serious. Sure, he thought it would rub them up the wrong way - but he didn’t think he would suddenly engage in something more than a simple childhood rivalry.
Enemy.
What enemy could his mother even be talking about?
Sirius heaved a dry sob and the parchment in his hand crinkled tighter in his small fist, doubling over as a wave of cold nausea hit him.
His new mates - James and Peter, Frank, and that strange, quiet boy called Remus - had all gone to bed hours ago - he’d instead stayed in the common room, turning the parchment envelope over in his hands again and again until he finally opened it. A spiteful bit of him hoped that his stupid bitch of a mother had kicked it from the shock of her son being sorted anywhere but Slytherin.
At least he’d die of his own choice, not by someone else’s hand.
His first two days of lessons had included the theoretical lesson for astronomy before they began evening lessons later into the winter. He didn’t even bother putting on shoes, or a dressing gown.
He understood death well. He’d been to so many funerals in his short life not to, and seen first hand the injuries his mother caused to their house elf Copper that ultimately ended her life. He’d wept for that little elf, until he’d felt the hard-soled shoe against the back of his head.
Sirius meandered through the castle, taking the stairs slowly and deliberately upward. His feet were barely a whisper against the solid stone, his silky green pyjama bottoms dragging silently at his heels where he still had room to grow into them.
He wouldn’t grow into them. He didn’t want to grow into them. They stood for every single failure - the disappointment he would always be. He’d tried to change the colour to red, or even black - anything to get away from the Slytherin green - but all he’d managed to do was make the hems look muddy.
The stairs to the Astronomy tower were uneven, flanked by two wooden handrails worn smooth and shiny by years of constant touch. He let his hands slide up, up, up the warmer material - a clash against the icy stone at his feet. There was the whip of wind where the paneless windows looked out to an inky sky, kissed by the pinpricks of stars in constellations he could already name by heart.
“Mister Black!” He heard a sharp gasp and he froze. “Mister Black, stop. ”
Her Scottish brogue was even broader than it had been the first time he’d heard it, staring up at her stern face as she raised a brow, scanning the faces of the first year students. He gulped and his foot shuffled against the stone unsteadily, but her tone was enough to make his movements still.
He didn’t turn around to gaze at Professor McGonagall. Sirius instead fixed his gaze out towards the lake where the wind caused ripples and waves to brush against the rocky shores.
McGonagall spoke cautiously and quietly. “Mister Black, I’m going to come to you. I’ll come slowly, and I won’t come any closer if you tell me to stop.”
There wasn’t room to toy with a witty response, or to deny her. Instead, Sirius simply whispered “Okay” into the wind. He didn’t know if she’d heard him, but the clip of her shoes against the stone indicated she was moving closer and closer anyway.
And as each footstep echoed, the faster his heart began to beat. The wind seemed louder, somehow, than the gentle whoosh it had offered only minutes before she arrived. The peace that had held him immobile on the ledge, hands hanging limply by his sides, dissipated second by second and step by step.
The serenity was gone, and in its place panic flooded him. He was stood on a ledge in the howling wind, his toes gripping the edge with what little strength they could, his arms that had been lead weights at his side windmilled to try and keep his balance as McGonagall reached out, her fingers clutching at the emerald pyjama top as he began to topple forward.
Sirius was sobbing as she held him there for just a second, her other hand reaching out to grasp at his, and with a speed and strength he hadn’t thought the older woman would be capable of she turned him and hauled. With that firm pull there was no grace to be had as he collapsed forward, his body limp and weak as the adrenaline seeped from his wiry frame like water down a plughole.
“I’ve got you now, Black. I’ve got you. Come now,” she muttered over and over as she helped him stand straight, but his legs seemed unable to hold his weight as his heart broke over and over, his breath coming in heaving gasps. “I’d cast a cushioning charm outside the window. Even if you fell, no harm would have come to you, but I dare say you’ve given yourself a fright, hmm?” She continued to speak as she brushed off imaginary lint, and then paused. “Well, this won’t do, will it Black?”
He felt the tingle of magic wash over him, and he could feel McGonagall’s smile as she ran a hand over the creases where she’d grabbed at him. “Much more befitting of one of my young cubs.” Sirius looked down at the now maroon pyjama set, and what little sense of strength he had left melted away as tears began to flood down his cheeks with abandon - and he gripped McGonagall tighter as he broke down.
“I.. I wanted to… but I… I didn’t mean... She’s going to kill me,” Sirius wailed as Professor McGonagall rocked him in her arms. He felt so stupid, so young, so full of shit. “ I don’t want to die!” He choked out, but he didn’t really know if he believed it.
“Oh, Black,” McGonagall sighed as she stroked his hair. “Aye, I know. You’ll be alright, child. Hush now.” She held his heaving body in her embrace as he wept with not a single thought other than the fact that the arms around him were holding him tightly with what he thought might even be love and care, not with the promise of violence.
Maybe he really didn’t want to die, if people could be like her sometimes.
But they weren’t, Sirius already knew. He would be counting down the days until he was returned to his mother’s claws with dread.
You can pay your last respects
One quarter at a time
“You want to know so badly, yeah? Just press the knot, Snivellus, and you’ll get what you deserve.”
The minute the words left his mouth, taunting Snape, he knew he’d fucked up. He’d tried to tell McGonagall as soon as he reached the castle, but he’d been shooed away with a pinched expression.
Sirius paced back and forth in the dormitory, running a hand through his hair in agitation, before turning around and punching the wall with so much force the skin split and agony raced up his wrist. He released a feral roar which drew James Potter out from the bathroom, his hair wet and glasses askew as he tried to shove them back on. The heat from the bathroom steamed them up a little, but not so much that his hazel eyes couldn’t fix on Sirius’ throbbing, bleeding hand.
“Padfoot, what the fuck?”
Sirius couldn’t look at him. He couldn’t look anywhere except out of the window, where the sun was rapidly setting.
“I’ve fucked up, Prongs. I’ve fucked up so bad. I even went to Minnie to try and tell her, but she told me to piss off without hearing me out.”
He flicked his eyes across and saw that James’ vaguely amused, lightly concerned expression had darkened, and his eyes darted upward to focus on Sirius’ face. “Sirius, what did you do ?”
“I… Snape was being a total fucking prick after the Evans thing. You know how he’s been sniffing around Moony and I fucking… I fucking told him about the willow!”
James was frozen. He didn’t even blink. “Sirius, it’s a full moon tonight.” James said slowly, as if he were trying to pull all of the pieces together. “Moony will be at the shack now and will transform any second. ”
“I know …” Sirius began, but then a fist came flying at him, connecting hard with his cheek. Pain ripped across his face and whipped down his neck as his head was flung to the side, his body following through momentum alone from the strength of the punch.
“Did you even think about Moony? Merlin fuck, Pads, this is the cuntiest thing you’ve ever done. Fuck, fuck, fuck, ” James cursed over and over as Sirius tried to get his bearings, his ears ringing. When he staggered back upright, the door to the dormitory was slamming shut, and he could hear James racing down the stairs - bare feet slapping against cold stone before all sound ceased entirely except for Sirius’ heavy breathing.
He was alone.
It was selfish, he knew. James was right in every way. Selfishness and thoughtlessness and pride and idiocy that had made him open his mouth in the first place. Selfishness and a total lack of care for his own existence, which he had transferred onto one of the people in the world who actually cared for him and was friends with him despite the bullshit.
He’d sent Snape to his death, at the hands of one of his best friends, with absolutely no thought as to what it would do to Remus once he woke. Sirius dashed into the loo that James had evacuated only moments before, and emptied the contents of his stomach as he heaved and heaved, waves of guilt wracking him and shook him.
And another feeling. A churning, desperate, haunted feeling and he stripped off his shirt before getting into the shower and drawing his wand.
It wasn’t the first time the compulsion welled up in him. His skin was on fire - itching and burning, something bubbling beneath the surface with a pressure that threatened to tear him apart. The pain, the guilt, the agony, the hatred of himself was roiling and churning and he knew - absolutely, unquestioningly knew - that his friends would be better off without him. Without the harm he kept causing them because he was too fucking stupid, too arrogant, too proud, too much of everything.
This feeling wasn’t new. He’d held it close since that first night of first year when he’d toed the line of life and death for the first time.
He hated himself.
The slices in his skin were a sweet, blessed relief. The first were shallow, but trance-like, Sirius used his wand to cut deeper and deeper until he could see a pattern in the flow that trickled down his arm. Blood leached out of him in a pulsating rhythm along with his heart, and he laid his head against the cool tiles as the steaming water washed away his hurt, his hatred, and his life.
It felt dreamlike after a while - he no longer registered the pain. Just a lightheadedness and a knowledge that it might hurt his friends for a little while that he was gone - in the long run they’d be thankful that he’d untethered them from his existence.
He didn’t even hear the bang on the door or the swearing, and barely registered the shower above him being turned off. It was only the feeling of cold magic against his arm that made him open his eyes.
“Padfoot, you’ve been a bit of a cunt, but one that’s going to face up to his actions because if you think Moony will be angry and pissed off at what you’ve done with Snivellus, it’s nothing compared to how he’ll feel if you killed yourself. He’d blame himself and fucking join you and I refuse to lose two of my friends in a one-shot. Come on, come on ,” Peter muttered, his wand against Sirius’ skin as he muttered healing spell after healing spell.
Peter gathered him up - whilst he was slight, he was strong , Sirius noted vaguely as he struggled to stop the world spinning. The blood was no longer dripping - instead seeping slowly from the wounds that were no longer quite as deep, but still visible against the pallor of his tone.
“I want to…” Sirius began, a hiccup in his throat as Peter sat him on the bed, and the other boy stilled before wrapping his arms around Sirius briefly.
“I know, Pads. But not today. You’ve so much more ahead of you than this - we all do. C’mon, lets get you to bed and I’ll get McGonagall. She’ll know what to do now I’ve stopped most of the bleeding.”
Just let my headstone be a neon sign
Just let it burn in memory of all of my good times
“Fuck, fuck, fuck ! I’d be gone quicker if you stopped trying to - Merlin’s sake! ” Sirius bellowed repeatedly as everything was thrown at him; curses and books, silverware and knives. His hands were moving like lightning as he launched everything he could in a haphazard whirr into his school trunk, ducking and dodging whatever he could of the woman’s wrath. Most of him wanted to just let her get it over with, because Merlin knew that it would be better than whatever waited for him out on the streets of London with nowhere to stay for two months.
But still - there was a little fight still left in him, somewhere in the pit of his stomach. Instead, though he couldn’t escape all of what was launched at him, he made no qualms about announcing the fact his mother was very much trying to murder him by cursing louder and louder each time something collided with his thighs, his back, his head.
“You will not be tolerated any longer, shame of my flesh!” His mother screeched, dark hair falling down from the ever-present austere bun in a halo of chaos, her wand brandished before her. “A stain on our most noble and ancient house, a stain which shall be wiped clean!”
Sirius’ breath ripped through him as he spun dizzily on his dragonskin-booted heel to avoid a slicing charm - a scrap of leather tearing from his sleeve despite his staggering slide across the richly polished floorboards. He tried to straighten, to regain his footing, only to walk directly into the back of his mother’s hand; drenched in diamond-tipped jewels and fierce, cold metal.
Sirius' ears rang as he stumbled, tumbled backward, landing heavily upon the open chest at the foot of his bed where his clothes and books and broom were strewn. He could hear his own breathing whistling, drowning out his mother’s shrieking, as a shaking hand that might have been his own came up to touch the side of his face.
It was hot and slick and there was a metallic tang in the air as he brought his fingertips before his unfocussed eyes.
“Oh,” he breathed, blinking desperately to try and clear his field of vision as the room and figures in it swam before him.
Blood. His blood - dripping down his brow and cheek, his jaw, staining the white collar of the ridiculous shirt she’d forced him to wear for the entire, horrific charade.
She’d tried to whore him out to this Dark Lord . And he’d refused, knowing that it would likely mean his death. In fact, he welcomed it - he’d sooner die than serve some madman who wanted his best friends dead.
But still - he’d wanted to die on his feet, not at her feet.
“Kill you? Was that what you were about to say?” She loomed over him, her angular face twisted in loathing, her blood-red lips snarling. “It would be no loss . Reviled sham of a wizard, a waste of flesh and blood and magic!”
And then there was a pointed boot digging into his ribs, and he could think no more as the world sank into absolute nothingness around him, and he drank in the blessed darkness. He might not have died on his feet, but at least he’d no longer be the disappointment of a son, the failure of a friend.
He wondered, for a moment, if his sins might be forgiven just enough for him to get into heaven. If his support of Remus might outweigh the way he almost set him up to be a murderer, if his good grades might forgive the fact he enjoyed pissing around too.
If his determination to be the best of Gryffindor house might outweigh his blood.
___________
When the world returned to him, he was outside. On the street, left for dead - for the Muggles and the rats. It took some time for focus to return to his vision; lots of rapid blinking, lots of swallowing nausea, lots of ignoring the pounding points of pain up his torso and across his face. But slowly the blurring ceased, and he took shallow breaths through his cracked lips.
Sirius knew the sky above him was supposed to be dark, supposed to be littered with the pinprick lights of stars and searing kisses of comet-tails. Yet in the depths of the city, there was a constant glow that disguised all but the brightest of stars, and Sirius found it comforting and captivating in equal measure.
Patting himself down in slow, stiff movements, he found his wand shoved into his jacket pocket, along with a very small trunk. Regulus? Maybe. It wouldn’t have been his mother, but at least there was that. With screaming bones and aching muscles, Sirius pushed himself up onto his knees, and then used a lamp post to drag himself upright. His heart was pounding from the exertion and his vision sparkled at the edges, and he wished that his family had simply let him die.
It would have been better than whatever hell faced him next.
He meandered the streets he’d only ever really walked for brief moments when he sought reprieve from his family, scuffing his ridiculously polished leather shoes along the paving slabs that jutted crookedly upward. It all looked so different in the dark; the shops were closed but bars and restaurants were still humming with life and music. His feet guided him by memory alone to the Leaky Cauldron and he stood outside of it for a while, leaning against the crooked brick wall as he took out a cig and his lighter to spark up.
Sirius tried to convince himself it was to look effortlessly cool - but the simple fact was, he didn’t know how much longer he could keep himself standing. His ribs were roaring, his head pounding, and he couldn’t really see out of his right eye at all with how tightly swollen it was.
The plume of smoke was familiar, the acrid heat of the burning tobacco a friend. The metallic tang of blood still staining his fingers, and the roaring pain that seared through his bones and muscles, were drowned out for just a moment
“That shit stinks, you know. Give us one?”
“Pardo- McKinnon! What the shit are you doing out here?”
“I could ask you the same thing, Black - what the fuck happened to you?”
Marlene McKinnon stood under the orangey glow of the Muggle street lighting, her golden hair reddish in the hazy light. Clad head to toe in denim and leather, looking nothing like he’d ever seen her before, she strode across the street with clicking boots echoing above the hum around him. Had she been on some sort of night out? He wouldn’t have known even if he’d been invited, as every owl to him had been blocked - he only knew this, of course, because of the two-way mirror he held with James.
The world swam before him, and he slid down the wall, his head bouncing and his back raking over the uneven stones of the pub’s wall. He felt Marlene lean close to him, stroking his hair before she mumbled something he didn’t quite catch, and called for…
“Evans?” Sirius said, trying to look up at her through his one good eye. “I’d… compliment you but I think I… might be in a spot of bother.”
Bother was right, because he was dizzy as fuck again.
“I’m sure, Black. Hey, no, no sleeping. Come on, Sirius. Up you get,” she said sternly, looping her arm in his armpit and hauling at the same time as Marlene on the other side. “C’mon, let’s get him to the Leaky. Sirius, what’s Potter’s Floo address?”
He told her it thoughtlessly as they staggered through the door of the pub on the Muggle side, only visible to magical folk, and once he’d been unceremoniously dropped into a chair, Marlene held him upright whilst Lily stuck her head in the Floo.
Euphemia Potter was through the flames and stood inside the Leaky not a minute later.
“Thank you, girls; have you somewhere you can stay tonight?” Euphemia Potter asked, and both Lily and Marlene nodded and muttered their acknowledgement that they were going to go. Sirius was of half a mind to ask them both to stay, to shield him from whatever was to come, to protect him when Mrs. Potter inevitably told him that he’d have to find somewhere else to stay.
Then Marlene’s hand rested on his shoulder and squeezed, her eyes roaming sadly over the cuts and darkening bruises before the Floo roared into life again and he was helped upright.
“Do you think you can manage, darling?” She asked, and Sirius grimaced and gazed up at the woman who had been his only source of motherly comfort for as long as he’d known her. “Good, I’ll go first - just in case you need a hand on the other side.” He nodded and then, with a hand from Lily and Marlene again, he stood.
“Thanks,” he muttered, and both gently hugged him before all but shoving him into the fireplace after Euphemia. To his credit, he remained standing just long enough to be directed into a lounge chair, where he promptly sunk in.
“Alright?” Sirius asked, uncertainty colouring every syllable. He couldn’t look up at her tense face so he stared down at his feet, hiding his face rather than showing her the shame that was painted for all to see in slashes and bruises. “I know it’s late, and I wouldn’t usually bother you, of course, but my… my mum, she…” the words stuck in his throat and he coughed once, twice, rubbing his hand across his ribs where his mother had dug her boot in so viciously.
And then he raised his head ever so slowly to meet Euphemia Potter’s eyes - silvery-grey, so very like his own. “Would I…I mean, I…” he sighed, and then withdrew the tiny trunk that was kept securely in his jacket pocket all night. “I’ve nowhere else to go.”
“Oh, my love,” she sighed, reaching out to take his hand. It was warm, roughened by hard work and age, so different from the hand that had struck him so violently. He grasped it, clung to it, suddenly and entirely unable to let go. “You are always, always welcome here.”
Sirius felt the hot stinging at the corners of his eyes, and reached up to brush them away, but she saw anyway as she crouched before him. “You can cry, Sirius. It doesn’t make you weak - it shows you are strong enough to face the darkness that has surrounded you for so long. I'm so very sorry, my love, that I couldn’t have helped you sooner.”
She pulled him forward and he fell gracelessly into her embrace. The hot sting became a deluge, made worse when she squeezed just enough to cause his ribs to scream, and he cried and roared into her shoulder.
“Mum, what’s... Sirius?” He heard a sleepy mumble, and Sirius’ heart turned to ice in his chest before Euphemia held up a hand, keeping him shielded from his best friend.
“Not now, dear. Go back to bed.” Mrs. Potter kept stroking his hair, and he sank deeper into the warm house robe she wore.
Safe. He was safe here. This was a touch that wouldn’t hurt him, a touch that cared about him.
“But Mum,” James began, suddenly sounding more awake and, to Sirius’ ears, rather petulant.
“Not. Now. James.”
Sirius waited for further protests, but there was something about Mrs. Potter’s tone that had her son backing away, and he heard the gentle click of the door closing. He wished he had it in him to feel bad - but at that moment, he was struggling to feel much of anything at all.
He had no family. He was at the mercy of his friend. What was he without that?
A failure. Nothing.
“Now that’s all dealt with, let’s get you sorted, hmm? Come on, that’s it. You should have told me you were in pain.”
“S’nothing,” Sirius shrugged half-heartedly. “It could be worse.”
Euphemia looked sceptical as she helped him to stand, leading him to the kitchen where the light was better and started rifling through cupboards as he sat, a hunched-over figure with his elbows leaning against the well-worn dining table and crusted fingers laced through his blood-matted hair.
He could have got his wish, after all. The thought was bitter, twisted, and he chewed the inside of his mouth to avoid saying the words out loud.
He could have been dead.
I'll be the life of the party even when I'm dead and gone
Prop me up beside the jukebox if I die
Sirius dangled the small bottle of Firewhisky in his fingers, whistling as he walked to the graveyard close to James and Lily’s house in Godric’s Hollow.
The last of the trick-or-treaters had retreated to their homes to fill themselves full of sugar, and Sirius felt a twist of sadness as he approached the graveyard. He’d promised to take the now-toddling Harry out for his first proper Halloween that he could participate in, the Marauders acting as a guard of honour for the little boy and his mother.
But it wasn’t to be, and Peter was now the only one keeping them safe.
Sirius huffed out a breath in the chilly night air, watching the droplets create circles of steam before he drew a cigarette from his pocket and lit it, creating deeper white swirls as he exhaled. There was a smell in the air of winter coming - the crisp scent of coldness which he simultaneously associated with the icy wind when flying high above Hogwarts and a roaring, crackling fire in the Gryffindor common room.
That didn’t mean he couldn’t visit close to where the home was supposed to be. He could raise a glass to James and Lily, and to the little boy who’s life had been turned upside down by a bullshit prophecy that Voldemort had decided was all about him.
A toddler .
Sirius’ heart ached.
He had Harry’s next birthday present already planned out. He was going to take him on a proper broom ride - somewhere where he could see far into the distance. Somewhere where the little boy didn’t need to fear for his life, and when his parents could let someone else take the reins for just a moment.
Maybe the seaside? The Welsh coast was beautiful, but again, so was the east coast. Maybe around Yorkshire, where the beaches were as dramatic as the skies, changing from ragged cliffs and shale to long stretches of smooth sand. He thought that might be the very best for flying - he might even be able to show Harry some of the seals that frequented the coastline looking for fish and instead usually finding trouble.
He loved that little boy more than he could explain. Somehow, a small piece of his heart lived on in another person and although yes, he wasn’t Sirius’ child biologically - that didn’t really matter. He was their first, as Marauders. He was special beyond words, surrounded by love and laughter.
Sirius was determined to make sure that Harry James Potter had the best life a child could imagine. He would never want for love, joy, acceptance, or forgiveness. He would make sure that no matter what the war might take from the little boy, the Marauders would give it back to him in bucketfuls as best they could.
As he rounded the corner, a small smile on his lips, Sirius paused. There was another smell now, amidst the crispness of the autumn night.
Smoke in the air - with an acrid burn of magic .
And then he looked up, and his whisky-warmed body was icy in seconds as the bottle slipped from his fingers, colliding with the floor and scattering glass like crystals across the pavement at his feet.
The Dark Mark.
Right over James and Lily’s house. The house he shouldn’t have been able to see.
His eyes inched downwards to where thick smoke curled lazily and bile rose in his throat as he took off at a run, wand drawn as he shoved the gate open. The door was hanging off its hinges and there was a trail of destruction.
He saw James first, his ears ringing as he dropped to his knees and felt for a pulse - felt for any sign of life - but there was nothing. He was in his fucking pyjamas , his arm palm-up and his wand resting to the side of his lifeless fingertips.
“No,” he mouthed - Sirius could have said it out loud, but he didn’t hear his own voice as he shook the man that was closer to him than his own brother. His face was wet as he staggered to his feet and took the stairs two at a time, only to find the nursery door in a smoking ruin. Lily was draped against the cot, as lifeless as her husband, and behind her was a dazed but silent, alive toddler.
“Harry,” Sirius moaned and grabbed the boy from his cot, hoisting him onto his hip and kissing his - bleeding? - forehead. “Hey, mate, I’ve got you. Uncle Pads has you.”
“Mumma? Da?” The little boy’s lip trembled, and Sirius simply held him closer, hushing him as he rocked him back and forth. “Da? DA!” He wailed, and Sirius choked on his own sob.
“I know, mate, I know." Sirius whimpered right along with him.
“Black?” A rumbling voice said.
“Hagrid,” Sirius breathed, his face streaked with tears that he tried to mop up uselessly with the leather jacket he’d been gifted for his 17th birthday. “Hagrid, James and Lily… they’re gone.”
Saying it out loud made the room spin, but he staggered forward anyway, holding Harry out to the giant man.
Peter.
He was the only one, besides Dumbledore, who knew. Who knew who had betrayed the Potters so unrepentantly.
“Here, Hagrid, take these - get Harry to safety.” Sirius said darkly, thrusting the keys to his bike. “It’s parked just down the road - the green button makes it fly - you don’t need a wand. I won’t be needing it anymore”
“Black, what’d’yeh mean?” Hagrid asked as Sirius headed for the stairs. “How'd he get in?”
“They were betrayed. It’s my fault, I should never have… it doesn’t matter. Get Harry safe, Dumbledore will tell you everything. And tell him I’m sorry, will you? It was my idea, my fault.”
He cracked away, knowing exactly where Peter Pettigrew would go. He’d go to London and hide in plain sight - except he couldn’t. Not when Padfoot knew his scent so well, a nd when he found him he was going to kill that fucking rat - even if he went down with him.
Because Harry Potter was worth dying for. Every single time.
Lord, I wanna go to Heaven
But I don't wanna go tonight
Sirius swore repeatedly. Cursed every stupid fucking cunt, including Severus Snape, who had decided for him what he could and could not do. He’d had enough of his life trapped by the walls and the spirits of Grimmauld Place, and he no longer felt the need to toe Dumbledore’s line.
Harry was in danger.
“If he dies, Snape, it’s on your head. Just like Lily and James .” He caught Snape’s horrified - as horrified as he could ever look, after years of being so effortlessly practised in hiding his every thought and feeling - expression as he pulled on his boots. Sirius stood straight, stalked towards him, and slid his wand along the man’s throat before pushing it into the hollow where he could feel the rapid heartbeat through the wood. He didn’t move. “Oh, of course I know, you snivelling cunt. Dumbledore told me when I was re-inducted into the Order,” Sirius spat at Snape’s feet, his whole body aflame with anger whilst he threw on his jacket and launched himself out of the front door.
Aurors be damned, he thought as he apparated to the Ministry-designated arrival area. Fuck every single one of them - because Harry cared enough to save him, and Sirius needed to save the young man he loved more than himself.
In that moment, Sirius remembered every time that he’d wished for death.
Standing on the edge of the astronomy tower, the fierce wind tearing at his thin pyjamas.
James punching him in the face, and Remus’ look of utter desolation when he heard about his actions.
His mother screeching, her dark hair tumbling down from the ever-present austere bun in a halo of chaos with her wand brandished before her.
Finding James and Lily dead with a bleeding Harry next to her cold body, and knowing that Peter had betrayed them all for Voldemort.
He’d always wanted to die on his feet. But now?
He followed the spellfire as he flew up the stairs to the Department of Mysteries. Was grabbed by Remus and Tonks, who pointed him wordlessly to the Death Chamber as they emerged from another of the spinning doors, both smudged with ash and dust.
He fought his way through the masked and cloaked Death Eaters, cutting them down one by one with hexes and charms and stunners as he desperately searched for Harry - and saw him across the top of the Chamber on a large dais, with some of his schoolmates Sirius was only half aware of.
His heart twisted in his chest as he looked at the boy - the young man. Now, he had so much more to live for. He had a Godson who needed him more than his friends ever had; who had so much darkness and duty resting on his slim shoulders.
He needed to be there to help him. Maybe he couldn’t guide him - Remus would be better for that, Sirius conceded - but he could offer him warmth and safety like McGonagall had always had when another bout of darkness overtook him. He could offer a hand of friendship no matter what stupid shit he managed to get up to, like Marlene and Lily always had for him… even if he was an eternal pain in their collective arses. Maybe he could even be a brother in arms, like he and James had been until mere days before his death.
All of this. He needed to protect all of this, he thought - a fire burning brighter and brighter in his belly as every second passed and each spell that blew by him.
He had too much to lose and everything he could ever possibly hope to gain, stretched out before him and if he could just reach . So many promises to keep, so many dreams waiting for him. Maybe, just maybe, he could redeem himself to be something like a father one day.
Love. Friendship. Family. Everything he never thought he’d really have, right there at his fingertips, and only one small - tiny , really - stumbling block was in the way between him and Harry.
“Sirius! My, my, you really did escape, little baby Black. But look! So did I!” He heard the shrieked, maniacal laughter and whipped to fling a curse in her direction without saying a word.
Bellatrix.
Of course Bellatrix was here. He couldn’t seem to escape the madness of his family no matter how hard he tried.
“Oh, fuck right off, you demented old bitch! If you think you or your boss are getting your hands on Harry again, you’ve got another thing coming!”
Sirius ducked from another of Bellatrix's jets of fiery red light, knowing just how much that shit stung. It was a family special, he noted - not designed to kill, but designed to make you wish you were dead.
She was playing with him. Well, he could play just as hard - and he threw the same curse back at her with a barking laugh. "Come on, you can do better than that!" he yelled, his voice echoing in the cavernous room that smelled of death and burning spellfire. “Really give it a good old go, Bella.”
His eyes darted further up the steep steps to where more flashes glowed above him, the colours bleeding together like the Northern Lights. He tried to find Harry - to make sure he was holding his own; but that moment of distraction allowed Bellatrix to find the chink in his defences.
Her screech became a feral howl and that was when he felt it - the collision in his chest. The power of it lifted him off his feet and threw him backwards - his cousin’s rage and hatred fueling the spell with a strength it wasn’t really supposed to have.
His face was frozen in a grin, his muscles locked.
Harry released Neville, his mouth open in a shout Sirius could no longer hear. He was jumping down the steps again, pulling out his wand, as Dumbledore turned to the dais too, his expression one of sorrow. Neither of them would be quick enough to reach him and Sirius knew it. Dumbledore knew it, too, and nodded just once before focussing his attention on Harry.
Harry. His smart, stupid, brilliant, idiotic Godson. The beautiful baby that had grown up without the love he had deserved, but somehow still came out of it with so much care for others. A young man who carried the weight of the world.
He felt his body moving through the air, weightlessly at first, but then gravity took hold of him and he could see Harry’s face, Harry’s hand reaching out to him, and a Remus whose face was battered and bruised with tracks of silvery tears racing downward as he screamed, his arm looping around Harry and dragging him back.
Sirius tried to close his eyes but he couldn’t - there was nothing he could do. Nothing he could do but wait, and he forced the smile to stay on his face.
He didn’t want to die. But if nothing else, he could die smiling.
The unnatural cold seeped into his skull first, then his shoulders and back, skirted down his arms and raced along his legs. As soon as he felt the coldness hit, he closed his eyes, and felt the last breath of air leave his lungs.
“Well, this is all very noble - but if you could get up off the fucking floor?”
Sirius opened his eyes, blinking. He didn’t remember hitting the floor but he was indeed staring up at a face he never thought he’d see again - in fact, he firmly believed he was going to hell.
“Prongs?” He said hoarsely, and the man above him grinned as he held out a hand, and Sirius hesitated before reaching out to grasp it. Even though it felt cold it was as familiar as his own, alarmingly non-existent, heartbeat. The Quidditch-worn callouses, the long fingers, and as he looked up further and further, the riot of dark hair his son had inherited in all its glory.
And behind him was Lily, her green eyes glittering with tears as she rested her head on James’ shoulder. Sirius’ heart began to break in that moment harder than it ever had before, and heavy tears welled along his lash line.
“I’m… I’m so sorry, Prongs. I tried so hard,” Sirius whimpered, and even Lily gasped her own sob as she dropped to the floor beside him, wrapping her cool arms around his waist and burying her head in the crook of his neck. James was there a moment later, and he was enveloped entirely by the two people he had failed so spectacularly.
As he was hauled to his feet and embraced again, James finally spoke. “Took you long enough, Pads. Whisky?”
Fill my boots up with sand
Put a stiff drink in my hand
Prop me up beside the jukebox if I die