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Sirius’ memory was never good. He struggles with remembering birthdays or exam dates. He sometimes even forgets how James looks even though he had been greeted by his face every morning for the last five years.
The reason for his forgetfulness, Sirius cannot blame on his genes. (Well, incest or not, his family members never had a history of dementia or anything of the sort). Sirius can directly blame the holder of said genes. His mother.
Sixteen years in that house definitely do not do any miracles for his nervous system or his brain. Hence, his fucking memory being so shitty that he forgets when the full moons are even though he makes notes in all of his notebooks. Every day, Sirius rewrites every date of the full moon on his arm for at least the following three to four months. The only reason he doesn’t forget is usually Peter who is on food duty for when they are all back in the dorms after transformation.
If Sirius could burn a house down with no consequences he would and it would be his. He would preferably set his mother on fire as well. Maybe he will watch, maybe he will even record it. It won’t be enough anyway.
Something that Sirius never realized that comes with memory loss is the feeling of a last time. How many last times did he have without knowing? He doesn’t remember the last time his mother held him sincerely. He doesn’t remember the last time his father sat at dinner with them. It doesn’t matter but sometimes it does.
It matters when Regulus stopped calling him by his childhood nickname. Maybe they were ten and eleven or thirteen and fourteen when Sirius heard Regulus’ carefree voice, not whatever the hell cold tone he has adopted now. Regulus doesn’t smile anymore. Sirius cannot remember a time when he did.
The secret notes were a lot of fun though. Sirius is fond of those memories. He and Reggie left small charmed notes that only the other can understand. It was scribbles really, but the second Regulus learnt how to write, he wrote to Sirius. Sirius left him notes about Hogwarts’ potion classes and Gryffindor’s quidditch anthems and ‘look at how cool your older brother looks on a broom’, followed by a stick figure surfing on a flying broom.
Regulus wrote mostly about his piano lessons or the violin ones or the ballroom dance ones. You know, all the stupid pureblood shit? Yeah, Reggie did a lot of those (maybe he still does). Sometimes he didn’t write words but instead some simple faces. When Sirius hid his journal so their mother wouldn’t find it, Regulus drew a lot of angry faces and wrote at least ten notes in two days which Sirius still keeps in the pocket of his leather jacket.
He looks at them often just to remind himself that his little brother can be full of emotions. Not whatever hollow doll their mother made him to be.
Sirius finally sees the stairs leading down to the metro station. Fucking finally. He sprints with no thoughts. The sooner he gets a ticket the better. So he takes two steps at a time and when that proves not fast enough, he tries sliding down the rail the way Minnie would never approve of.
When he is left with just a quick sprint to the booth with the lady that sells the tickets, Sirius rubs his bubbling tears off. They come up and blur his vision effortlessly while his voice breaks once or twice on the ‘thank you for the ticket.’ If the lady there thinks it’s weird for a kid to be in the metro in the middle of the night, she only gives him a once over and goes back to her book.
Sirius finally has the ticket. The ticket to his freedom. To the Potters because James will understand. He has to. If he doesn’t hug Sirius the moment he arrives on his doorstep, Sirius might crumble and die. James is his only failsafe. If they hadn’t met, Sirius might have been locked in a closet right now for the next two days. He is the reason Sirius feels safe enough to abandon his family and leave that damned house.
So it’s worth it. It has to be. It should matter that Sirius is sitting on the cold metal bench in the metro with only his leather jacket to keep him warm. The crunched up ticket in his fist must mean something otherwise his years of abuse would be for naught.
Sirius lifts up his head to see that in ten minutes he will have boarded the metro and no one will be able to come after him. So even if his mother walks in from the entrance to drag him back into the house, he will bite and scratch and be the bloody dog he is. Nothing can
make him go back. Maybe she will start yelling at the station in the dead of night. Then Sirius can finally tell her what the fuck is up and get the satisfaction of giving back as good as he got.
Sirius leans his head back on the tile walls and lets his lungs deflate. With closed eyes and drawn eyebrows he chants off his warm headache but his dry eyes are stinging and it’s irritating and Sirius forgot to take a bottle of water with him, shit, he is stupid.
He puts his head in his hands. Did he forget anything else? Wallet, license and keys for his motorbike he left with James, notes from his brother, the Padfoot figurine Remus made him last November, the secret stash of clothes he likes and hid from Kreacher… Sirius has short memories of putting each in his bag and pockets but his whole body tenses at the thought he forgot something important. What? What is it? What is it and why can’t he fucking remember when he needs to? Fuck.
Sirius wrecks his hair so he has something to do with his ringed hands instead of pulling it. He must look like a mess with his nest-like hair and dark circles around reddened eyes. He inspects the bitten skin around his bare fingernails. The witch sat him at the dinner table with a sticking charm so he couldn’t lift his hands and took it upon herself to erase the red and golden nail polish, courtesy of Peter and his colorful stash, the muggle way. Sirius wanted to pour the acetone down her throat and let her choke.
His headache is banging louder on his mind so he kneads his forehead and cheeks. It doesn’t help but at least it warms him up. Merlin, his legs are still shaking and he may never know why. Is it the memories of his mother or maybe it was the running or the cold ass air in the stale metro station?
Sirius makes a mental note to steal one of Remus’ sweaters permanently. His Moony surely wouldn’t mind if it’s for the greater cause of him staying warm and still. Sirius allows himself a small grin and for a moment he relaxes his shoulders.
His whole body flinches as his mind catches up to the sound coming from his left. No, they wouldn’t come, she wouldn’t, she doesn’t know that he left, Sirius made sure he’s bought himself enough time but maybe his mother—
His eyes are filling up with hot tears at the adrenaline in his body. Sirius places a steady hand over his thigh where his wand lies cold. He slowly turns only to see an elderly man sitting a few benches away from him. The shabby hat doesn’t cover his flail silvery hair on the sides as he holds onto his cane with both hands in front of him.
Sirius swallows down and turns away. Shit, he almost used magic in front of muggles. He really doesn’t need the ministry to bite him in the ass right now. Being involved in legal matters is not ideal if his goal is to never see his mother’s face.
Gray eyes flicker to the board with the running trains. Two minutes. Sirius needs to survive two more minutes and he will be fine. He will be fine in two minutes. He can cry in peace and he can curse her in his mind and then wish for her to rot and leave this world. Sirius will be okay. So, so okay that he won’t be afraid. He won’t get new scars and he won’t starve and he won’t have to take on another punishment for his brother and he—
Shit. Shitshitshitfuckshit.
His little brother.
Reggie.
Regulus is still there. He refused to run away with Sirius no matter how much Sirius pleaded and begged and cried hysterically for his little brother to come. Sirius has never seen Regulus this firm and unmoving. His little brother made staying behind in that house look like the easiest decision in the world. Maybe Sirius should have realised then and there that he has lost Reggie long ago — while he was bleeding on white carpets probably or giving him the silent treatment from his unkempt bed.
Nothing can freeze Sirius’ blood quicker than his brother’s silver eyes. Just the memory of his face is enough. Sirius hopes his veins remain icier than the Black lake at this time of the year.
He knows he should not hope that talking to Regulus when they both go back to Hogwarts after the holidays is going to change anything. He knows it won’t. It will never fix all that Sirius left behind for his little brother to handle.
For a second Sirius is ready to bolt back through the front door of 12 Grimmauld Place and kneel in the skirt of his mother like a kid looking for protection. Only for his little brother not to be bestowed all the responsibilities and expectations of becoming the heir of that wicked bloodline.
The same and only second brings to the runaway boy the salvation many do not get. The train stops and opens its doors for Sirius and his legs make the decision for him. His back hits the torn seat. A heaving sigh later the train starts.
The blinding lights are leaving dark spots in Sirius’ vision and he has never welcomed more the prickly pain from looking directly at them. He places a cold palm on his eyes as he fills his lungs with the smell of the old train and spilled liquids on the floor. He hopes he never breathes in the air of his old room or his mother’s dizzying perfume.
Sirius hopes and wishes and prays that it is all over. That he can actually breathe better once he is with James. James always makes it better. His voice has always been louder than his mother’s. His presence is bigger and brighter than anything Sirius can think of in this Universe.
It’s warmer in the train but Sirius clings to his jacket and backpack like a lifeline. The ride is the longest in his life. He doesn’t look out of the windows to see darkness outside. Sirius wills his leg not to bounce as his heart picks up the tempo every time he realizes he is a stop closer to the Potters. It’s the shortest travel time he’s ever experienced.
How Sirius dragged himself down the roads and dimly lit streets in the dead and harsh night and came up victorious as he saw the Potters’ household, he may never remember. He stayed composed when he got to the doorstep and even forced himself to ring the bell with no urgency. Almost like he was visiting James for the holidays.
Sirius only needed for James to take a look at him and crush him into a warm hug to know that he was an utter mess. He didn’t cry in the arms of his best friend. Something in him waited to break down and every time he thought the moment was coming, he was pulled back.
Somehow he found himself on the sofa in the living room where James had already taken his jacket but rolled him in a puffy blanket. Sirius was not cold, not anymore, and the blanket was making him sweat a bit but he didn’t have the heart to tell James.
Euphemia and Fleamont Potter offered to make him food and warm drinks and assured him that he is welcome to stay no matter how long. Sirius knew they deserved an explanation. It was their house after all and they had been sleeping before Sirius showed up unannounced. James deflected any question in his place because Sirius was not capable of anything but curling up in the blanket and lying his head on the armrest.
He didn’t cry when James and his parents wished him good night after a good, but failed, attempt at getting Sirius to a bed. He liked the soft coach and the warmth of the living room. His whole body was screaming at him to rest. The safety of the Potters might have lured him to sleep any other night but right now his brain is as quiet as it’s never been. Sirius is still waiting. The sunrise is coming and he still hasn’t been able to just let it all out.
It doesn’t happen until Euphemia Potter quietly tiptoes to the table next to the coach and sets down two steaming cups. She doesn’t turn on the light but regardless she sits down and takes a sip. If she knows Sirius is awake, she doesn’t call for him.
He thinks of the options he has right now. Stay where you are and try to sleep or cry, whichever comes first, or share a cuppa with the mother of his best mate. He knows he doesn’t have to but he can’t help but think of his mother and how he was made to always be presentable at the table.
Sirius can hear the slide of a cup across the table.
“It's hot chocolate, sweetheart. James said you liked it with sprinkles,” Euphemia whispers into the silence. Sirius can hear her smile. “I put in both the rainbow and the chocolate ones.”
Well, when she puts it that way then what choice does Sirius have really? Who would say no to their favorite drink as a kid? Honestly whoever can say no to the kind woman James’ mother is, Sirius wouldn’t like to know them.
He lifts his sleep-ridden, heavy body and gets closer to the table. Sirius experimentally shakes a hand out of his cocoon, fighting with the blanket to keep its warmth around his body. He dares a look at Euphemia as she is sipping her drink peacefully. His eyes linger on the small details he can see with the help of the first rays of light from the windows.
She smiles at him when she meets his gaze. One of those tired but true smiles with the eye wrinkles. Maybe that is how a mother smiles at their child. How silly of Sirius to still think that he might be in possession of a memory so sincere of his own mother.
Euphemia nods towards his drink. “I followed James’ word religiously. My boy was quite passionate about this recipe.” She chuckles at the memory, it seems. “But I believe your word is the final judgement, sweetheart.”
Sirius takes a moment to appreciate the nickname. It’s the kind of warmth in your chest one can only get from sweet, older women. His only other instance is Minnie but he is sure it’s a general thing.
Sirius takes the warm cup and brings it to his lips. He doesn’t expect the sweet taste and the rich flavour of chocolate to be this reminiscent of his first time trying this drink in his first year, a concoction made by all marauders.
He is right back at the dinner table, bickering with his first friends and having no thoughts of the house he grew up in. Instead he has a new house and little does he know he has found family within those three boys and the magic castle.
Turns out this is what broke the camel’s back at the end of the day. His heart is collapsing under its own weight and pushing air in his lungs has become an impossible task. Sirius might be dying in a very different way.
A sob escapes his chocolate stained lips and Sirius slaps a hand to his mouth. It is of no use as the sounds just bubble out of his throat and he has no choice but to let them out. Tears are burning trails down his cheeks. Sirius is not fast enough to clamp down all the sounds and tears and snoot that are coming out. And, oh, his shoulders are shaking again. Shit, why does this hap—why is it now, why not later, now is not good, no Effie is probably—
“Hey, sweetheart,” Euphemia’s soft voice is moving closer now, “it’s okay. You’re okay. You are doing so well.”
It’s not the words themselves that make Sirius’ breath shallower or his face wetter but the soft warmth of Euphemia’s body against his as she holds his head and shoulders.
Sirius clings with bloody fingers to the only mother he wants to know. His screams are drowned in her neck and he is sure her pyjamas need to be washed since absorbing all the liquids from his face. His throat is getting sore but she still holds him like the small boy he is. He tries to climb inside of her and never leave. Sirius hopes and prays and wishes Effie lets him stay in her arms forever. Until his tears dry and he cannot say James’ name again and his shoulders are sagged and he tires himself out from the whirlwind of thoughts and memories.
She holds him for longer than Sirius might ever deserve. But he takes it but he has to be worth something, at least this, please, let it be this. He may never be able to repay Effie for the soft scratches on his head and back or the head kisses or the hot chocolate or the sweet words.
Being given a second chance while still living your previous life in your head is a concept Sirius is all too familiar with within the years after his escape. He has countless intimate encounters with guilt, blame, doubt and shame. Whenever he looks at his scars or in his little brother’s eyes or hears his family name, there is nothing else that brings him on the bloodied carpet faster.
James is there for those moments. He holds him. Remus kisses his scars and gives him chocolate. Peter brings blankets and cleans his tears. Even Lily has found him like that once or twice and they have since bounded over their sibling problems.
Most times life is not kind to Sirius but his friends and chosen family are. Sirius can finally breath a bit better.