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As the wind from the North Sea hits Sirius, drenched clothes, waves crashing against the cliffs behind him, he stumbles to the ground. His muscles scream in pain, aching from the swim that twelve years in Azkaban surely didn’t account for.
But one thing has changed. Changed Sirius’ whole world, just like that wretched night all those years ago.
Sirius is free. He’s cold, hungry, and feels as though someone just graced his shivering body, it would cause him to combust right in this spot and probably break seven bones from the fall. But he is free.
And his first thought as a free man is one he should’ve anticipated, the half of his soul he’s been missing.
James.
Sirius transforms himself into Padfoot, shaking his body to get rid of the dripping hair covering his eyes, and starts walking.
—
”In loving memory of James Potter & Lily Potter”
The graveyard is quiet this time of night. The fireflies are keeping the huge black dog company, illuminating the text now and then.
In loving memory.
There’s a bible verse under the text, and if Sirius wasn’t currently Padfoot, he’d snort. James wasn’t a Christian, and neither was Lily. She sang in the choir until she got her Hogwarts letter, but that was the extent of her belief. Really, you haven’t lived until you’ve seen Lily absolutely sloshed on firewhiskey, swearing like a sailor at sea.
Sirius bets Dumbledore put it there.
He hates him. It’s Dumbledore’s fault that his brother is here. An army made up of barely out of school teenagers, fighting wizards twice their age? They were bound to lose from the start?
If it weren’t for Lily. Oh, his lovely Lily. The girl with the ginger hair that you could always spot across the schoolyard, like a sore thumb against the grayness of the castle. The girl who refused to laugh at James’ jokes, thereby sounding like a wounded animal trying not to wheeze whenever he was particularly funny, the girl with the toothgap, the girl who saw good in (almost) everyone.
The one who was there for Remus when Sirius betrayed him. He never had the chance to thank Lily properly for all of that.
James must’ve died first. Did he think he saved his beloved? The girl of his dreams since he was barely eleven years old and barely tall enough to reach Remus’ shoulder.
If he dug him up, would he recognise his brother?
The worms should have reached him now. Would he recognise his eyes, brown and warm? Would they be hidden behind the frames of his glasses?
Was he buried with his glasses? Sirius doesn’t know.
Would the maggots have carved a hole into his chest, feeding of his body, making him one with the earth again? Would he be able to see straight to the heart that used to beat with such love and care? Would he see the pink of the lungs that’s supposed to breathe in sync with Sirius’, but no longer does?
Sirius doesn’t know that either.
He realises then that there isn’t much he knows, not anymore.
He knows the cold feeling of a dementor passing by, memories flashing of things he’ll never forget, and how to determine what’s too much mold to eat. He knows that there are 785 bricks in his cell and 34 bars. He also knows exactly how wailing sounds, from both men and women who once called themself strong, and how long it takes them to realise there's no point in crying in there. He knows he isn’t normal, not anymore.
He doesn’t know anything that matters.
Were there many people attending their funeral? Mary?
Remus must’ve been there. His Remus. Was he all alone, having lost all of them in one night? How many full moons has he spent alone?
It hits Sirius that Remus probably thinks that Sirius did it. That he betrayed the Potters. That Sirius turned out like his wretched parents after all, the Black blood simply too tainted to be able to resist such a thing. Because he’s done it before, at 15.
Remus hates him, and surprisingly enough, Sirius understands him. At least Harry’s with him. Or well, the boy is thirteen now, and according to the weather, it should be the end of summer. Harry should be out shopping for his new school books with his uncle Moony. Maybe Pomfrey stayed with Harry when Remus had his moons, if he were lucky. Remus must’ve solved it one way or another; there isn’t a problem he can’t solve.
He needs to find them and tell Remus the truth. Somehow prove to him that it wasn’t him, that he would never betray them like that. Not again.
All of that will have to wait. Sirius is exhausted, muscles not having rested up from the long swim, fur not fully dried yet. The grass around him is softer than the cold, damp stones he’s used to. The sullen weariness slowly creeps upon him, making the serene graveyard feel like the perfect place to rest.
Sirius leans his back against the cold stone, raven against speckled gray, laying his head fully down in the grass over his paws, uniting with his brother once more.
Tomorrow he’ll start searching for Remus. Tomorrow, he’ll start trying to clear his name. Tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow.
He just needs a moment here, letting time pass.
--
The first time Sirius sees Harry, he recognises him immediately. All he can think of is one single thing.
James.