Archived

          “Sirius?” 

          The voice didn’t come from beyond the door. It came from behind him, down the few steps to the street where Regulus stood on the sidewalk with a white paper shopping bag in one arm. He was staring up at the figure standing on his doorstep with a confused twist in his brow and his mouth just slightly agape. He had questions. He had fears; the first of which was that they might be seen. Every manner of protection lay on that house but Sirius was a wanted man and of course they might check to think the man’s childhood home.

          For several seconds Regulus stood there a fool, opening and closing his mouth as the words came and went. No sound was made and he seemed torn between several different ideas as he fled up the stairs, rushed past his brother and popped open the door with a quick flick of his wand. “Come inside,” an invitation, an order. “Come inside. What are you doing here? How are you here? Why are you here? Are you here? How do I know? Close the door! Damnit, close the door!”

          His head was a mess of questions and among them was whether or not it was the real Sirius. Could it be a person in disguise trying to use him to locate his brother? Trying to see if Regulus knew anything about him? Trying to see if he’d slip? No one escaped Azkaban—though he supposed it anyone could, it would be Sirius—and he couldn’t imagine how many heads were rolling at the Ministry over that oversight.

There was no safer place in Europe than the house their father made for the Blacks--every enchantment known to man, magic so seeping out of the pours of the place, it was amazing that their Muggle neighbors didn’t run away screaming. Sirius hadn’t been sure the door would still let him in, that his mother wouldn’t have taken it as her duty to make the front knob curse him the moment he laid hands on it, that she’d have changed the locks, the spells, the boundary, the moment he ran away. But his blood was as Black as it had ever been, and that--more than his mothers feelings about him, more than what he’d done--was what mattered to this family, that pure blood reigned on. So the house recognized one of their own. 

More disarming was the sight of his brother. 

He was older than Sirius remembered, taller, though he looked just as shocked and frightened now as he had whenever their parents would come to divid them. How Sirius had hated him--the way he’d agree with all of their propaganda, the way he smothered himself with Slytherin colors and Death Eater friends just to fit in. But more than hatred, Sirius had pitied him, had feared for him. He’d always been a good kid, soft and kind, and horribly naive. 

What sort of man would that make him now? 

Viktor’s breath hitches as he laughs again through the tears. He tries to wipe them away on the back of his wrist but it doesn’t work. “Both,” he answers breathlessly. He can’t stay standing now and drops down onto the nearest surface, feeling weak and overwhelmed. It’s over, it’s finally fucking over. He has no idea to explain that to anyone who wasn’t at Durmstrang, what the latest news means. He’s not sure he can. “Karkarov is dead.” Saying it aloud…it tastes sweet in his mouth, satisfying. Relieving. He laughs again – gods, he must sound insane. “He is dead! And we are all free of him forever.” He wipes at his dampened face again and smiles at Harry’s godfather. “He was my headmaster for most of the time I am in school, and it is…. terrible. Worse than terrible… I cannot…” He shakes his head with a soft sigh. “After the tournament, we were going to kill him,” he admits. “All of us. We were all to be finished with school after that year, and we could not let him go back to the school to the younger children. We could not allow it. We were going to kill him and push him off of the boat, say he disappeared when we are getting back to the school, say we are not sure where he is going to. And then he did disappear before we are getting the chance…. I do not believe that many people are deserving of death. But if I ever know who it is that is killing him, I swear to the gods I would shake their hand.” He takes a deep, steadying breath and lets it out slowly, trying to calm himself down. “I watched him torture his students, my friends, for years, and I could do nothing. None of us could. Now he can never hurt anyone again. And I am glad. I am glad of this news…You have no idea.”

Since the fiasco at the ministry, Sirius had been freed of all charges--though it didn’t always keep him from feeling like a wanted man all the same. After all, it had only been a few weeks. The looks he got on the street were no longer the same horrible, pale-faced, fearful gawking, but they were stairs nonetheless. Being secluded in the Weasley’s backyard was a pleasant relief--cake, drinks, people who didn’t blanch at the sight of him. And Harry--Harry looking happier than he’d seen him in a long time, Harry turning sixteen, almost a man, and surrounded by people who not only loved him, but who just might be able to protect him long enough to see that happy day come. Even if the celebrations were marred some by the constant updates of deaths and disappearances. 

In truth, he hadn’t expected the Dumstrang invite, but the boy seemed trustworthy enough, if his speech now was any indication. “I remember Karkarov,” he said, frowning and fiddling with the stem of his glass of firewhiskey. “Tail between his legs, wouldn’t stop crying the whole time they carried him in. Screamed all night in his cell. He didn’t stay long tho,” He added in a gruff, sounding suddenly much like the dog he occasionally became. There were some people in Azkaban he felt sorry for--Karkarov had never been one of them. Hearing the boy’s story now, he knew he’d been right to hate him. 

This had not been one of his smartest ideas, with little time on their side and Umbridge closing in on them; Harry had no choice to head to the Department of Mysteries. The visions of Sirius being captured and tortured by Voldemort replayed over and over again in his mind prompted him to go fearing for his godfather’s life, although heading to Grimmauld Place to check up on Sirius due to the behest of Hermione was followed through; the little brat Kreacher ended up leading them into a dangerous situation. 

With heightened emotions, unaware of being lead into a trap; Harry along with the rest ended up breaking into Ministry (or rather walked in, given how easy apparently that had been) before being sprung up on. A trap laid out for them by Voldemort luring him to grab something from the Department of Mysteries resulting in a fight against them, the six of them managed to hold them off, but knew that they were being overpowered and out-numbered by Lucius Malfoy and his cronies. His foolishness and irrationality caused them to be lead towards a dangerous scenario. 

Harry shut his eyes, hand twitched slightly and gave an unamused and empty smile. “That’s an understatement,” He agreed, humourlessly and arched his head. Voldemort despised failure on an optimum level, the fact that once again Harry escaped his wrath would utterly infuriate the snake-like man and lash out on his so-called allies. It would be a painful night for the next little while, that he was certain of. “Maybe. But we don’t know what will happen now. The Death Eaters might end up acting out of desperation to please Voldemort, putting people in danger or even throwing away all sense of morality to remain on his good side and avoid being tortured.” His head shook with disgust, thinking how this might end up backfiring. “He might even have them start targeting muggle-borns openly now that this failure of a plan tanked.”

Safe? Was Harry truly safe? After Umbridge, Dumbledore, Snape assaulting his mind and the connection between him and Voldemort growing stronger? He did not feel safe. Alive? Barely.

But choose not to say that to Sirius.

His head steadied a bit and looked at his godfather. “I had a vision during my exams; Voldemort had you chained in a chain and asking you about the weapon, he tortured you. A lot. I ended up going to Grimmauld Place to search for you, thanKreacher…. he said that you wouldn’t survive the night, gleefully and implicated that you were captured.” 

“I know what Kreacher did,” Sirius said, frowning. He’d never liked that elf--though liked wasn’t nearly a strong enough word for the way the very sight of his hideous little head or the sound of his mumbling, cursing voice made his blood run cold. It was as if his mother had deposited her spirit into the elf’s body which, now that he thought about it, was exactly something his might might do. “You were right. He’s been leaving the house. I didn’t think it was possible before now. He’s been meeting with Narcissa Malfoy and my dear old cousin, Bellatrix. He confessed everything after you left.”

The elf could scheme all he liked, but when asked a direct question from his master, he had to answer honestly. It was Severus who raised the alarm, who told the Order members where Harry had gone, but Sirius hadn’t needed it; when he’d come down from patching up Buckbeak and learned what Kreacher had done, he hadn’t hesitated; he’d been out the door and on his way to the ministry before Kreacher had stopped laughing. And that was the worst of it--his laughter, the absolute glee in sending them all off to their deaths.

“They didn’t have morality to begin with,” Sirius said gruffly, thinking of his brother. It wasn’t true, of course. Regulus had been a sweet kid--a big heart, a nervous brain. Too soft and too easily swayed for his own good. How many on the dark side were like him? How many could be convinced to come back to their side and help fight against Voldemort instead? “We’re keeping an eye on all of that, don’t you worry. We still have Dumbledore. We have spies everywhere. And now that the Ministry knows, we have a chance to get ahead of all of this before it gets that far.”

Sirius rose from his seat and busied himself in the kitchen, making them both a glass of Firewhiskey--Harry could use something to calm the nerves as much as he could. But mostly, he didn’t want to face the boy. It was exactly what James would have done for him, what he’d have done for James, so why was he so surprised? Had Molly been right all along? Was this his fault, the consequence of treating a boy like a man before he was ready? Everything Harry had done, Sirius might have been proud of in another life; now, he suddenly wanted to send him to his room and--and what? He had no idea how to be a parent. 

“That doesn’t matter,” he said, handing the glass to Harry and frowning deeply. “I don’t care if I was being tortured by the whole bloody team of Death Eaters. I’m not your responsibility, Harry. You’re mine.” Harry had already almost died for him once--or worse, lost his soul, the night the dementors came. He’d risked everything again with that time turner. Parenting was not supposed to go both ways--was he doing this wrong too? 

“I don’t see the problem.” Sirius lounged back in his desk chair, his legs up, boots on the table and crossed at the ankle. He’d just finished putting a permanent sticking charm on the back of his Gryffindor flag when his father had walked in and caught him at it. His walls were absolutely drenched in things that made his mother start screaming: posters of muggle girls, photographs of is friends, diagrams of muggle motorcycles. And everywhere you looked--everywhere that, in Regulus’ room, there might have been some sign of silver and green--Sirius’ room was plastered with red and gold. The flag was only the newest addition. 

Sirius had contemplated visiting him--then changed his mind and traveled in the opposite direction--about a thousand times, and yet he’d still ended up right here, on the doorstep of Number 12, staring at a door that no one else in the neighborhood could see. Though at least, as he was currently in the shape of a giant, stray dog, his indecision, wobbling from paw to paw on the doorstep, did not look so strange. Things, certainly, could be worse. He may be on the run, may have just escaped twelve years in Azkaban, may be covered in matted fur and twenty pounds too thin, but at least his mother hadn’t answered the door. 

He made another full turn, ran down the steps, sniffed the cold, empty air of their terrible neighborhood, then shook his tail in an agitated manner and walked back up the stoop. With one last look over his shoulder--no one around for miles--he turned back into himself, into Sirius, human and, though not quite whole, at least (mostly) in his right mind. He pushed open the door. 

His mother’s screaming was immediate, which was usual enough to feel like home; whenever she was alive, his presence had always been enough to make her scream. What was new, what was horribly different, was the quiet beyond her. His father was dead, but Regulus--Regulus should have been alright. 

“What does it say, Remus? You’re supposed to be the one good with books! What good was all that studying if you can’t--oh, he stopped.” Sirius continued his pacing of the little apartment kitchen, patting Harry’s back as his sobs subsided.

He was not actually irritated with Remus--hadn’t been, not for a second since the man had come to stay, to help--but it was also not the first time Sirius had lost his temper with him either. Since Lily and James had been killed two days before, there had been no time to grieve and certainly no time to sleep, and while Harry was no longer an infant--thank Merlin--he was still a babe who wanted his parents. And about a million other things Sirius had not been prepared to give him as godfather. There had been no pre-prepped baby bag left in the Potter’s ruined house, after all. Just three bodies--James, Lily, and, horribly, Voldemort--and Harry, still in his crib, crying his eyes out, and his little forehead bleeding in the shape of a lightning bolt.

“So this is what an almost year-old looks like. He’s huge.” Sirius scooped Harry up out of his high-chair and tickled his back, making the baby laugh, which had been his one and only goal each and every time he came to visit his godson. To see the boy’s little face light up whenever he transformed back and forth into the great shaggy black dog was almost as good a reason to visit as to see James. Almost. Sirius wasn’t particularly good at the rest--changing diapers was a nightmare, and whenever he tried to feed Harry, he ended up slopping most of the mush down his front (thank Merlin for bibs) but games? That Sirius could do. 

“You shouldn’t have done that.” 

When Sirius had left Number 12 that afternoon, he had not expected to make it back alive. That he’d gone barging out into the wizard world without one scrap of fur to call him Snuffles, that he’d broken into the Ministry of Magic of all places to  hunt down and bring Harry back--well, it just went to show just how far the Ministry had already fallen under their own overprotective but thoroughly misinformed noses. 

“The Death eaters are going to have a right massacre on their hands when he gets there and finds out you escaped again.” Sirius dropped down onto one of the worn, dusty Grimmauld couches, for no matter how much they tried to clean the place up, it only seemed to fall back into dirt and disrepair by the end of the day--Kreacher’s work, no doubt. “Serves them right, mind you,” he growled, brows narrowing as he thought of his cousin. They’d been surrounded by all sounds until Dumbledore came and scared them all off--though Sirius maintained that if he’d had just another minute, he could have finished Bellatrix off for the better of the wizarding world. Not that that was what was important now. 

“Well,” he said, sighing heavily and scrubbing his forehead, fingers coming back bloody from a cut he had not realized he had. “You’re safe. That’s the important part.” Harry and his classmates were safe, all brought back here--it wasn’t safe for them to go back to Hogwarts now, not until things with Umbridge had been sorted out, not til Dumbledore got back--and no one had seen Sirius, though he’d taken Harry and gotten him out of there before they’d had time to see anymore either. Had the ministry ever shown up? Did they meet with Voldemort? What was Dumbledore doing now? 

This blog has been so much fun, and through playing Sirius--the first character I ever loved and who I have wanted to play for ages--I have met so many incredible people and written plots I have never thought I would. Unfortunately, as I am entering the next chapter in my life--PhD program, full-time teaching--I can no longer keep up with this blog. I hope one day I will have more time and be back, but until then, happy writing to everyone, and I will miss you all!

A big shout out to the following amazing people:

@pr0ngs @expectoxpatr-ohno @proditeur @chasingxprongs @beeutifulmuses @bittenasachild-remus @gilaelin @hopefulcovets @heroicintention @moonytheprofessor @ofgreeneyes @prctettcre @rosewrists @remusetlupus @snitchsought @tapestryburnt @yagaymi @witchesnevercry @mischiefmoonaged @rcbeus @reprobusrex

“Sorry.” Remus looked down apologetically at upsetting Sirius a bit with mentioning James. It made him feel a bit hollow with how easily he was able to talk about James and Lily. It was just another loss he had racked up in his life and trying to pretend he hadn’t was not something Remus had ever been into. He’d enjoyed telling Harry a bit about his dad while he was at Hogwarts, talking about them helped keep them with him. But if it bothered Sirius, then Remus would keep those thoughts to himself. 

“I really loved teaching, I did,” Remus chuckled softly with a gentle shake of his head as if the idea amused him. The prospect of finding a career he was actually qualified for and not painfully over-qualified as he had so often been in the past was quite nice. Lupin had enjoyed his time back at Hogwarts and the chance Dumbledore had given him knowing full well what he was. It was more than anyone else had thus far. 

“I wish you could have seen one of my classes. The students really enjoyed them, you know? They were very hands on and engaging. — And — And I had a lot of books,” he added as a bit of an afterthought. He’d always loved books. Clearing his throat, Remus shrugged and leaned back into the couch as he ruffled at his hair. 

“Maybe I will go into teaching again if we survive this war. It can’t be too difficult to get work at a muggle university. Might have better luck in the muggle world. Easier to hide. And tell you what, I’ll invite you over to dinner in my shoebox whenever you’d like. As you’ve pointed out I pretty much just spoke with the three of you so seems like you get the invitation. Certainly not extending the offer to Peter.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Sirius said quickly, pushing away Remus’ apology with a lazy wave of his hand. “There’s nothing to be sorry for.” He took a long sip of his whiskey and tried to look as if he wasn’t bothered, as if the very sound of James’ name didn’t feel like a knife to the heart.  But the truth was: Sirius had never truly had the chance to grieve. For twelve years, he had not been able to think of a single good time with James and Lily, not one happy memory: no laughs, no smiles, no hugs or hijinks. Instead, he had thought on repeat about the night they died, the sight of their bodies, of the day he convinced James to choose Peter as his secret keeper. These were the memories the dementors left him with, and since he’d escaped, not all the happy memories had come back. He would receive flashes of them now and again, remember fondly something James used to do or used to say. Harry was a great help with that. But Sirius’ head was a dark place and one he himself was still working on understanding.

“It’s good,” he lied. “We should say their names more often. How else are we going to remember them if we’re pretending they never existed?” His voice was steady—his normal, confident bark—but his hand shook on his glass. “James would roll over in his grave if he didn’t think we were talking about him at least three times a day.” He laughed, and this, at least, was genuine. “I’m surprised they found a casket big enough for his head.” Sirius paused, sliding his fingers over the glass, feeling the spots where the ice had melted. “Did you go to the funeral?”

At least Remus’ job was an easy topic—or at least, it was for Sirius. And Remus had always been better at broaching the tough subjects than he was. Jokes and diversions—that was always Sirius’ style. “Oh, I bet they did,” he said, leaning forward in his seat now, his eyes gleaming. “I bet they soaked up every second of it. Can you imagine—Hogwarts, having a decent Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher? Ours never even came close.” It was a nice thought: Remus at work, changing the minds of the future for good. Thriving in the job he did best. “You were always a good teacher. If it hadn’t been for you—well…” He laughed. “I might have ended up a criminal.” Sirius had always excelled in his classes, always got top marks, was always venturing off to learn things beyond his textbooks and his professor’s instructions. But Remus taught him other things: things like what it was like to live with one wizarding parent and one muggle. Things like how to fight in your own skin, against your own skin. How to be a good person when the world was set against you. His family had been as bad as they came, but Sirius had been the white sheep because of the friends he kept.

Only, in the end, it didn’t stop his destiny. He was always meant to be the bad guy.

@snufffles (because we need some fluff and just because)

She’s standing at the kitchen window, sipping a cup of tea and it’s when she goes to yawn that her eyes land on the calendar and she swears internally. It’s not as if anything was expected out of today, but it was still nice to let the people whom you loved just how much you loved them. And for some reason there was a bloody holiday for such things. 

She takes the opportunity to whip up a breakfast to rival any other. Flapjacks with fresh berries from the garden and freshly whipped cream. She steeps him a cup of tea and sets it all on a tray and carries it back into the bedroom. 

Carefully, she sets the tray on the table beside him after shuffling a few books around. Crawls back into bed and brushes lips over his cheek. “Apparently– it’s Valentine’s. Marlene gives half a shrug and grins as she pops a blueberry into her mouth, “I’ll be demandin’ stories and a day in bed, so eat up.”

Sirius didn’t sleep well—if he slept at all. But when the nightmares came, Marlene had moved in close, and the feel of her in his arms—her steady breathing, the scent of her hair, her hand in his—had sent him back, drifting away into a world that was not plagued by nightmares. It was the first good dream he’d had in a very long time: a memory, changed, where he ran after a baby Harry in a game of tag, and Lily and James watched from the kitchen as they prepared dinner. And night fell, and they did not leave, and no green light flashed outside, and no skull came rising above the roof.

When he woke up, it was to the best sight reality could offer: no James, no Lily, no happy, parented Harry, but Marlene, smiling, with a tray of food, as she slipped back into bed. “No flying cherubs?” he asked with a tone of mock criticism. “No hearts? McKinnon, I’d think you didn’t love me at all.” He laughed and cupped her cheek in one hand, pressing a quick kiss to her lips. They had fallen into something without a name: an ease, a domesticity. There was no passion, no sex, no heat, but there was certainly love. Shared nights reading on the couch, cooking side by side, an ease to their joking and quick, comfortable conversation.

She couldn’t say that there were butterflies in her stomach when she looked at him. Those had long subsided once she had figured out that his feelings weren’t the same. That they couldn’t be. But she did feel a strong pull there, endless undying love that made her heart swell and fill with warmth. A warmth that had been swiftly taken away when he was thrown in prison and had slowly been building again when he showed up at her door. 

Deep down Marlene knew that she couldn’t make him truly happy. She never could. But she could try and they could pretend, and on some level they Would Be Happy. She wasn’t seeking lust filled nights in tangled sheets, all she ever wanted was a partner– should have realized all along that no matter what, in some context that it was Sirius. They had always loved one another in ways people would never understand. 

His lips were warm on hers and washed away that sadness and doubt she had inside of her. At least now he finally knew how much she actually loved him and while surprised, she didn’t receive rejection. Of course she didn’t, because he had never been selfish, not when it came to her. 

“Ye look more like a bear with that beard,” she teased lightly, eyes still a little glossy but that spark had started to filter back through. But she nodded, stepped back from his embrace and tightened her arms around her body to keep what little warmth she had. “Not a scary one mind ye. But the hibernatin’ type that eats all yer food an’ takes up all the room in bed.”

Sirius chuckled as he pulled away, stroking the overgrown hair upon his chin. “There weren’t a lot of shaving opportunities in Azakaban,” he said. He’d always had a bit of facial hair--at least, as soon he was able to grow it, around their fifth year at Hogwarts--but never as much as he did now. Still, it made hiding easier, made him less recognizable. It was easier to look in a mirror and only see traces of who he’d once been. The man he saw now: bearded, hardened, dressed in scraps rather than his old black t-shirt, black pants, black jacket routine--well, he might as well have been someone else. He’d have liked that: to be anyone but Sirius Black. 

“So I look like Winnie the Pooh,” he said, which should have been a throw away reference--would have been to most wizards and witches--if Sirius hadn’t read her some of the old muggle kids books when they were together years ago. He laughed, imagining himself fat and dressed in red, happy and gorging on honey. “Come on,” he said instead, slinging an arm around her shoulders and leading her back into the house. “I’ll put on some tea.”