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~I want you to know I'm a mirrorball…~
Diana was average.
Sure, statistically, she was above average, but when she was with her friends, and even Sirius, she was only average.
She had been lucky to graduate with about the same grades as Sirius. She knew, clear as day, that it was only because Sirius put minimal effort into schoolwork, preferring to devote his energy into inventions and mostly pranks. It was the same for James actually—Remus seemed to be the only one to take his studies seriously, but Diana knew that all of the Marauders were geniuses in their own ways. It was only a matter of what they prioritized.
The only one who could, perhaps, sympathize with her situation was Peter. The boy was sweet as could be, if a little timid. Where he lacked in academic results he more than made up for in personality. Out of the Marauders, he had been the one she befriended first. She would never tell Sirius, lest he got unnecessarily jealous, but Peter had a special place in her heart.
“I think I’m in love with him.” It had been out of the blue. Diana had never expected to fall in love at Hogwarts, much less actually admit it out loud. But Peter had been someone she was comfortable with, plus, he had been the only one in the room. The only other person she could have talked to about this was Remus.
Predictably, Peter had let out something between a squeak and a choke. Diana had to give him a few strong pats on the back before Peter’s words were finally coherent. When he had replied, however, it hadn’t been the answer Diana had been expecting. “I know.”
“You—you do?” Diana had been aware of her high-pitched voice, but she hadn’t cared. How did he know?
Peter had favored her with a dry look. “I think everybody does, except for Sirius himself.”
Soon after that, Diana and Sirius had gotten together, and once they had graduated, they married almost immediately, faster than even James and Lily. It was the beginning of the rest of her life, and she couldn’t be happier to share it with the ones she loved: the Marauders, Lily, and hopefully whoever Remus and Peter would end up with.
So for a while, everything was perfect.
~You'll find me on my tallest tiptoes, spinning in my highest heels, love…~
Diana was the light of his world, the moon to his sun, the rainbow after his rain, the water to his daisy—
She cleared her throat, and Sirius was brought back to reality. With his signature charismatic grin, he gave a proper bow, pressing a light kiss to her palm. “You look as radiant as ever, my dear.”
“Really?” Diana was fighting back a grin, “Then why did I put all this effort into dressing up?”
“You could be wearing a potato sack, and you would still be beautiful,” Sirius assured. “Like a butterfly that changes its colors, no matter how you look, your shining personality positively radiates through your skin.”
There was a snort behind him. “Careful, Sirius. It almost sounds like—”
James was cut off as Sirius threw a nearby pillow at him, expertly catching it before it could hit him. Lily walked in behind him, poking him in the arm. “Like you’re any better.”
Sirius tuned them out as James immediately got that dopey look in his eyes at the sight of Lily. Instead, he focused on his own wife, who patted him in the cheek fondly. “I understand, Sirius. Let’s go, we’re almost late.”
The four of them were going to a party together. Remus and Peter were going to meet them there, muttering something about couples when asked.
Sirius understood why, though, when predictably, the first thing he did the moment he arrived was to lead Diana to the dance floor. After all, he had a wife now, so what was he supposed to do but dance with her? Maybe it was about time Remus and Peter settled down also, he thought absent-mindedly.
Sirius pushed back a stray golden curl from Diana’s eyes. She glanced up at him, a half-smile on her face. He stared back, tracing her features, memorizing them, as he did every single night before they went to bed. There was something about her that was so fleeting, like a wisp of smoke escaping through his fingers. Even now, Sirius still couldn’t believe that someone like her could love someone like him, and thanked the gods every morning when he woke up and she was still beside him.
One morning, when she’d laughingly asked him why he was staring at her, he’d told her exactly that. All she did was quirk an eyebrow before asking, “Shouldn’t you be thanking me instead?”
They had been a few hours late to breakfast that morning.
With a sigh, Diana leaned into his chest, their bodies still swaying to the music, but at a closer distance. Sirius looked down, memorizing the pattern of how her hair fell instead. He studied the thick and thin strands, and how they interlocked with each other, before asking, “What are you thinking about?”
“Sometimes…” Diana didn’t lift her head up, so her voice was slightly muffled. “...It feels like everyone’s moving forward.”
Sirius blinked in confusion. “Is there any other way to move?”
“No,” Diana agreed, “But sometimes, other people don’t move at all. It’s like everybody is running forward, but some of us are stuck in the quicksand, with no way out, let alone catching up.”
“Diana,” Sirius said gently, “Where is this coming from?”
It was a strange conversation to have. They were at a party, dressed in glimmering, fancy clothing, surrounded by equally glamorous people, swaying slowly to the music. They should be happy, and when Diana finally lifted her head, Sirius realized it wasn’t like she wasn’t happy either. She still had that half-smile on her face, and her posture was still relaxed, but there was something wistful about the atmosphere.
For some reason, Sirius got the sense of smoke dissipating, but he had no idea where it came from.
“Everywhere and nowhere,” she muttered back vaguely. “Though I’ve decided to run another direction.”
“...You have?”
“Yes,” she nodded, “You see, unlike some others, I have solid ground beneath my feet. I won’t sink. I can’t catch up with the people running forward, so I’ll run sideways, backwards, in every other direction if need be.”
Diana would return to normal the next morning. This conversation would disappear from Sirius’s mind until it was needed again one day, years later. It would be only then that he would understand what Diana was trying to tell him that night.
~I'll show you every version of yourself tonight…~
Sirius was pacing the floor, almost wearing out the carpet underneath his feet in his anxiety. Diana just watched from the bed.
“What if he hates me? Worse, what if I ruin him? I’m not a good role model—”
With a sigh, Diana got up, walking over and placing his hands on her slightly bulging stomach. “You’re going to be the best father ever, Sirius.”
He exhaled deeply, looking down at her with bright eyes glistening from unshed tears. “A son, Diana. We’re going to have a son.”
“A son,” she agreed with a soft smile.
“What if…he ends up like me?” It came out as a whisper.
“Then he’s going to cause unprecedented chaos and unseat you and James as the most rampant prankster Hogwarts has ever seen.” Gently, Diana carded her hands through his hair.
“No, I mean…from before I…”
“He won’t,” Diana said firmly. “You’ll be there to guide him away from that path, won’t you?”
Sirius leaned in, pressing his lips against her forehead. “Mostly you, I think.”
She let out a light laugh. “Don’t underestimate yourself. Otherwise, what’s the point of those ‘Best Dad Ever’ mugs you and James got for yourselves last week?”
He paused in his movements. “You know about those?”
At Diana’s raised eyebrow, Sirius chuckled. “I regret nothing. It’s not like they’re going to get us Father’s Day presents within the next few years.”
“So you got them for yourselves?” Diana snorted. “Lily and I are the ones who have to push a whole baby out.”
At that, they both looked down at her stomach. Perhaps still giddy about finding out the baby was a son, after a second’s pause, they both burst into laughter for no particular reason at all.
Things would be okay, Diana thought to herself. What she never told Sirius was that both she and Lily were secretly worried they might not survive the pregnancy. There was always a risk, even with magic as an aid, but Diana knew better than to voice those concerns. Sirius would just worry needlessly.
Still, given the unlikely event that she passed away from giving birth, Diana rested easy knowing that Sirius would be there to take care of their child. Their son.
Arcturus, their brightest star.
~I've never been a natural, all I do is try, try, try…~
“Mommy, who is that person?” Little Archie’s head popped up, leaning against Diana’s lap. He was at just the right height to lean his head against her lap as a pillow standing.
Diana glanced at her half-finished painting. Right now, it was just an ordinary painting; the finishing touches were where the magic happened.
“Do you remember Grandpa Nick?” Diana leaned down, picking Archie up to her lap. “Your grandfather. My father.”
When Archie nodded, Diana hesitated before deciding to continue anyway, “Recently, he left…Earth. He’s with Grandpa and Granny Potter now.”
Though it was impossible that Archie wasn’t aware of his deranged dead grandparents from his father’s side, they were hardly a good example. Their family—consisting of them, the Potters, and Remus—had mentioned James’s parents enough times that Archie knew they had passed away before he had been born.
Archie just blinked. “He’s dead?”
“Yes.” Diana held back a wince from his blunt words.
He tilted his head, looking at the panting consideringly. He quietly studied the painting for a few seconds. To be honest, Diana hadn’t expected Archie to remember the man. They had met maybe once or twice—after Diana’s mother died, her father kept to himself, though he did let her bring Archie to him a few times. Now that he was gone, Diana was finishing up his portrait through one of the old photos of him, planning on hanging it right next to his wife’s in their manor.
His portrait would be the last to go up. When she died, her portrait would probably go to the Blacks.
“Oh!” Archie perked up, suddenly realizing something. “You’re making a painting that talks, right?”
“Yes, I am,” Diana agreed. When she graduated from school, there was a period of time where she didn’t know what to do with her life. Everyone in her social circle had been set—even he who must not be named —but she had been suspended in time, not knowing where her talents laid.
Or perhaps she didn’t have any. All she knew was that career-wise, everyone around her seemed to know which path they wanted to take, and they all had something they excelled at. And Diana? She could only watch as they jumped head first into the rest of their lives.
She had known, even back then, that there was no way she could catch up to them if she only looked towards the better future her friends were geared towards. After all, unlike them, she was not an inventor, and only had a limited amount of creativity (sometimes, it even seemed like she only had a little amount of everything). So she turned her head and looked towards the past instead.
And there she was now. Diana did magical paintings, mostly portraits. She wasn’t the best, but she definitely wasn’t bad either.
Just average.
Whatever she privately thought of it, it was her best, and that was enough, she decided. She looked down at little Archie in her lap.
“So does that mean you’re putting Grandpa Nick in there?” Archie asked, peering at the unfinished strokes interestedly. Right now, the portrait didn’t really resemble anyone.
“Oh, no,” Diana quickly denied. She bit her lips. How could she put this? Was art the imitation of life, or was life the imitation of art? “When the magic is done, the painting only talks like Grandpa. It’s not actually Grandpa in there.”
“Then where is Grandpa?” Archie frowned.
“Drinking tea with Grandpa Potter, probably. They used to be good friends.” She bent down to give him a kiss on the cheek. “If you want to see him, the real him, not the painting, you have to be patient and wait, okay?”
“How long?” Archie curled in her lap.
“A long, long time. And when it comes, it will be worth the wait, I promise.”
~And when I break, it's in a million pieces…~
“Mom?” There was a knock on the door, and Archie poked his head in, carrying a small tray with him. “Aunt Lily made chicken noodle soup.”
“Come in,” Diana waved him in tiredly. She just wanted to sleep the years away, honestly.
Archie came in and put the tray down carefully. When Diana made no move to touch it, he frowned. “Mommy, you have to eat to get better.”
She gave him a half-smile. “It’s just a cold, don’t worry. How about you? Have you had dinner yet?”
Archie made a face. “Dad made me eat all the chickpeas. It was gross.”
“Good job, Arch. Little boys need to—”
“—eat all their greens to grow. I know, Mommy.” Diana smirked at Archie’s pout.
“Here,” Diana reached out to the drawers, where she had prepared for this occasion. She took out a piece of candy and placed it in Archie’s hands. “A reward for eating all your vegetables.”
True to his father’s genes, Archie looked down at the piece of candy in his hands and frowned before glancing back up at her. “I’m still gonna tell Dad if you don’t eat.”
Busted. With a small laugh, Diana asked, “So you don’t want it?”
“I’ll take it,” Archie quickly said. He shoved it into his pockets, as if afraid Diana would snatch it back from him.
In the end, Diana managed a few small bites before falling back asleep.
~Hush, I know they said the end is near…~
Contrary to Diana’s expectations, it didn’t stop there. It dragged on for a whole eight months before they finally knew what was wrong.
During those eight months, Diana was either feeling the best she’d ever been or so sick that she could hardly leave the bed to go to the bathroom. Among the kids, Archie wasn’t the only one who was anxious; though she kept mostly silent, she could feel Harry’s gaze looking increasingly worried. It was as if she knew that Diana would just lie to her if she asked. She was not wrong.
Diana had heard the others talking about how they found Archie and Harry in the library reading about health potions. They were probably just looking at the pictures, but the adults were content to let them do it, since it kept them busy. Meanwhile, they consulted the experts of the field—the Black family name was no joke, but even then, nobody knew what was happening to her.
It was only after eight months that they found something —however, that something proved that her disease was terminal.
When Diana was told, her first thought was, oh. There will be an end to this suffering, at least .
Even when her friends and Sirius came together, trying to decide what to do, Diana didn’t cry. It was all a little surreal: she was going to die, and most importantly, she would have to leave her husband and son behind.
“It’s going to be okay,” a low voice in her ear said. Diana only leaned in closer to Sirius. It was obvious he was trying to convince himself; for some reason, Diana stayed calm the whole day. Perhaps it was because the shock hadn’t settled in yet.
“Let’s wait,” she finally replied after a few minutes. “Let’s wait a few days to tell Archie.”
She wasn’t going to see Archie grow up.
Sirius was going to be a single father.
One day, her name would disappear in the wind, becoming yet another unspoken topic among their family, just like Peter.
No matter how many times she repeated those thoughts to herself, it didn’t feel real. She waited for the grief to start choking her and perhaps give an even earlier end to her life, but it didn’t come. Instead, she just sat on her bed, numb, wondering why she wasn’t crying or feeling anything.
Was it because she knew that everyone would do just fine without her?
The whole atmosphere around the house had changed. The kids knew something was up, and on an agreed date, the Potters whisked Harry away to tell her the news, and their little family, just the three of them, sat on Diana’s bed together.
“What’s wrong?” Archie looked at his parents, glancing back and forth between them. Diana opened her arms, and Archie immediately crawled into them. She squeezed him tight, savoring this tiny piece of warmth. This was the last thing she wanted to do: destroy his childhood innocence with her own two hands.
“Arch,” Sirius began, but already, his voice was trembling. “Do you remember how we went to the hospital the other day?”
Slowly, Archie nodded, turning to Diana with a hint of dread in his eyes.
“Do you remember Grandpa Nick?” Diana took over for Sirius, whose face contorted as he tried to get his words out. She wanted to tell Archie herself anyway.
“Your dad,” Archie nodded again, the hint of dread growing bigger.
“You see, Mommy misses her dad very much. A few days ago, the healers told me that I can go see him again.”
“But…but you said I have to wait a long time,” Archie’s eyes started to well up. At Diana’s hesitance, the tears started to fall. “You’re not taking me?”
“Oh, Archie,” Diana murmured. “I…can’t take you where I’m going.”
Wiping away his tears gently, no matter how pointless it was as they kept falling, Diana continued, “You just have to be patient. I’ll wait for you with all your grandparents. Time will pass by in just a flash. I promise.”
“But—I don’t want you to go!” With that, it was like the dam burst. Archie wailed , little fists unconsciously swinging on her lap, his loud cries echoing in even the darkest corners of the house.
“Archie!” Sirius hesitantly reached out to grab his fists, if only to stop them from hitting her, but Diana simply held her son tighter, her own tears finally leaking out from the corner of her eyes as the grief consumed her in waves. She felt arms, larger, familiar arms, encase both her and Archie, and there they stayed.
For as long as her son cried, she would hold him; even when he wasn’t crying, she would still hold him. She would hold him until the very end.
“We’ll get through this firestorm,” she whispered into Archie’s ear. It was a phrase she always used to say. “And find stars on the other side.”
~And I'm still a believer, but I don't know why…~
“Do you think…he’ll come?”
Tired of looking at the hospital ceiling, Diana shifted her gaze to look at Sirius instead. Sirius Black—as haggard as he looked, he was still as handsome as always. Maybe she wouldn’t be the only one frozen in time.
As if . Throughout her illness, if there was one thing she gained, it was cynicism. She rather thought she had a right to it, seeing as she was dying anyway.
Still, she wished for Sirius to have a very, very long life after this, until he was old and gray and only half as handsome as he was now.
Her husband looked awkward, as if he didn’t know how to answer her question. It was a simple yes or no question, Diana thought, irritated. Clearly, he wasn’t answering due to some misplaced sense of sympathy for the dying.
Diana sighed out loud. “I want to go home, Sirius.”
“They have the best—” Sirius cut himself off. Clearly, he was about to say the hospital had the best care, which clearly wasn’t working. Clearly. Patting her hand, he said, “I’ll speak to the healers, and see what I can do.”
If Diana was going to die staring at a ceiling, it might as well be her own. Chancing a glance at the door, she knew that he wasn’t going to come.
~I'm still on that tightrope…~
Archie could barely see his mother through his tears.
He walked up to the bed, willing his tears to stop if only so he could see his mother’s tired but smiling face for one last time, but it didn’t work. Wiping at his eyes angrily, his vision finally focused enough to see her pale face smiling at him peacefully.
“Archie,” she whispered. It was all she could manage, but Archie understood all the same. He came closer, and his mother, with great effort, put her hand on his cheek.
“Mo—” Archie tried to call her, one last time, but he choked up and the rest of the word got lost somewhere down his lungs.
Mom inhaled, and quietly, she said in a voice barely above a whisper, “You’ll get through this firestorm, Archie. And find… worlds on the other side.”
It was only a few minutes. After she said that, she mumbled something he couldn’t hear to his father.
And that was the end of Diana Black.
As if everything had sapped his energy, Archie watched with dry eyes as they lowered his mother’s body into the ground a few weeks later. His father didn’t seem to have a similar problem—Archie would never forget his wails of grief as he fell to the ground. It was something that would haunt his nightmares for a long time.
Archie just clenched Harry’s hand tightly and said nothing. He only stared.
“...not even crying…” Someone was saying something, just a whisper in the crowd, but Archie didn’t care about it. All he could do was gaze at his mother’s new grave and the shaking man in front of it.
“Shut up!” Somebody screamed. That caught Archie’s attention. Mostly because it was in his ear. Slowly, he turned to find Harry, still clutching his hand, glaring at somebody in the crowd. Archie didn’t even bother to look at who she was scowling at—he just gaped at Harry.
“Shut up,” Harry repeated, stamping her foot for good measure. Aunt Lily put a hand on her shoulder in warning, but she ignored it. “Does he have to cry for you to be satisfied?”
Before things could escalate, Aunt Lily put one hand on them each, saying firmly, “Come on, kids, why don’t we wait in the house.”
Her large stature blocked his sight, so he couldn’t see what was happening, but he thought he heard Uncle James and Uncle Remus’s voices. Harry still looked infuriated, and was ready to protest, but Archie tugged at her arm. She turned around, and seemed to deflate at the sight of him. “...Come on, Archie, let’s go.”
Once they were in the house, Harry turned to Archie. “You don’t have to cry if you don’t want to.”
Archie stared at her. Harry looked petulant, a fiercely protective look still in her eyes as she stared back.
For some reason, Archie felt intimidated, even though that look wasn’t directed at him.
“...’m all dried out,” he finally muttered.
That night, Archie would find out he was not “all dried out”.
~I'm still trying everything to keep you looking at me…~
“Ready?” Harry asked, glancing at her partner-in-crime.
Archie grimaced. “As I’ll ever be.”
“...It can’t be that bad, right?” Hermione glanced unsurely at the two of them.
They were now all adults. Archie and Hermione were seriously considering the next stage of their relationship, but before that, there was something Archie had to tackle: the Black family attic. There was no way Hermione was living in a place with such dangerous artifacts.
Harry had offered her help, and of course Hermione wanted in too, so now, they were all staring at the attic door.
“Don’t let the portraits’ words get in your head,” Harry suddenly advised. She was looking at Hermione. “They’ll start disparaging your blood, and you may think you’ve heard it all before, but none of all that compares to the Blacks’ blood-shaming repertoire.”
Hermione looked disturbed. “How do they know , though?”
“They just do ,” Archie whispered conspiratorially. “Magical paintings are creepy that way.”
There were footsteps behind them, and they turned to see Sirius coming up the stairs. Upon seeing them, he asked, “You’re still standing there?”
“We were about to go in,” Harry said, somewhat defensively.
“Good,” Sirius said absent-mindedly. “There’s something you should know.”
Sirius unlocked the attic door, opening it wide. “There’s…some things I hid in here a long time ago. I guess,” here he glanced at Archie, “Now’s a time as good as any to bring them out.”
Curious, they followed Sirius into the attic, where he expertly sidestepped a few boxes to reach a chest. There was just enough room surrounding it for one person to sit down. Sirius did so, and he opened it without preamble.
Was he here often?
Inside, they could make out a large rectangular shape draped with a white canvas. Slowly, Sirius’s fingers brushed the canvas before deftly pulling it away.
Archie gasped at the familiar blonde hair.
He stepped forward, never taking his eyes off the blonde frozen in time, giving a whimsical smile at her audience. Not daring to breathe, he reached out for it, not minding the dusty frame, studying every stroke of paint. “Dad…”
“...When she died, she told me to look in our vault.” Sirius spoke, never taking his eyes off the painting. “That’s what I found. It’s unactivated, but it can be fixed easily. And there’s also these.”
He gestured to the chest, where stacks and stacks of books laid. “They’re diaries and letters. I’ve never had the strength to read through them. I think…you should do the honors.”
“Why now?” The words left his lips without thought. Honestly, Archie could guess why. He should be glad that his father was finally showing him instead.
“I meant to show you for a long time,” Sirius responded quietly. “But…you were too young. I never knew when was the right time to show you. Maybe when you hit your mid-teens, I thought. And then it was when you reached adulthood. I never…I don’t know why it was so hard for me to show you.”
Because he wanted to keep it to himself, Archie guessed. He could understand the sentiment.
He turned the portrait around, hoping for a signature, but instead, he got a note.
Perhaps it is narcissistic of me to paint myself in my dying days. However, it was a good challenge, and I managed to finish it .
Slowly, and gently, Archie put it down, running those words through his mind repeatedly. He glanced down at the chest. “Letters?”
He reached down and sifted through them. His eyes widened. “Dad, have you ever looked at the addressees?”
“No?” Sirius peeked at the letters he was holding. “...Oh.”
There were many letters, most of them addressed to Archie and Sirius. There was one for every birthday until his seventeenth, he realized. There were also a few for the Potters, Remus, and… “Pettigrew?”
Harry, who had been silent, jerked at the mention of his name.
“They used to be close friends, and, well…I don’t think she ever gave up on him.” Sirius scowled heavily at the envelope. Then, he added, quietly, “She asked for him.”
“Let’s burn it,” Archie clutched the letter addressed to Peter , glaring at it. He should give it to Harry, and let her start a fire akin to the flames in her magic core, and burn it . Seeing his name chased away his yearning for his mother in his heart; he was sure it would come back later, as it always did, but for now all he had in mind was vengeance .
At least he could be sure that his mother would agree with his decision, if she really was watching what happened all these years.
A pale hand came into his sight and blocked Pettigrew’s name. Archie glanced back to meet Harry’s eyes.
“You should read it first, then decide,” Harry suggested mildly. “Your mother wrote it after all.”
However calm her tone was, her trembling hand gave away her anger.
“How about we call it a day,” Hermione suggested, cutting in. She looked mildly uncomfortable. “You need to sort through these things, and if you want I can help you.”
“...Thanks.”
Later, Archie would collapse to his knees, and read about in just how many ways Diana Black was average, and in how many ways she was not. He would stay up late into the night, whispering words that only he heard.
I’ll wait patiently to see you again.
You promised .
~But I'm still on my tallest tiptoes…~