Work Text:
Sirius never truly felt like himself when he was stuck in Number Twelve Grimmauld Place. He knew how to act like he did, emphasizing every aspect of his boldly Gryffindor personality that might piss off his parents, but his heart felt like plastic. Alone, he couldn’t bring himself to laugh or cry, or do anything other than waste the time.
Wasting time was no longer adequate- he had to make his great escape while he still could. It was normal for his mother to scream about him being a blood traitor “like those disgusting Potters.” He barely heard a word she said at that point. But something even more sinister had started to creep into her rants, and her usual threats didn’t seem so empty anymore.
It all felt inevitable. Of course his parents would become involved in progressively darker magic, and of course they would expect Regulus and himself to join them. His father, at least, still clung to the deluded thought that his son’s rebellious streak was just because he was young. He really didn’t know Sirius.
This led Sirius to tonight, all his belongings packed in an enchanted case. Part of him felt like it was cowardly to give up the fight and run away, but he also felt more alive than he had in a long time.
The agreed-upon hour arrived. He stubbed out his cigarette on the windowsill and watched it leave a burn mark, a final goodbye to accompany the paper note that would surely get him disowned in the morning.
He opened the window and looked down to the street below, frowning for a moment when he found it empty. Then, in the blink of an eye, a figure appeared on his doorstep. His frown turned into a grin, so wide that it hurt.
Though it was dark and he was four stories up, Sirius could see James waving up at him, a broom held aloft in his hands. His own broom had been confiscated by his parents, likely for the (literal) flight risk that he posed, forcing him to improvise and summon James for help using their two-way mirrors.
With a quick accio (the Ministry would never dare to investigate the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, even if it suspected underage magic), the broom was in his grasp. He clutched his bag and took off through the fourth story window.
He couldn’t resist the temptation to ride around in a celebratory circle, fleetingly indebted to 12 Grimmauld Place for its bubble of protection from the eyes of Muggles. Lungs grateful to be breathing anything other than the stuffy air that reeked of dark magic, he landed somewhat clumsily on the pavement. He had never been as smooth of a flier as James, who pulled him into a tight hug immediately.
Sirius wanted to stay in that moment, consumed with gratitude for his best friend, but was overwhelmed by the need to leave behind Grimmauld Place as quickly as possible. James seemed to understand instinctively, as always, and the two of them ran off into the night.
Watch it burn, let it die.
‘Cause we are finally free tonight.