Chapter Text
“Youre firing me?!”
The office sat high above the main newsroom behind wide glass panels, overlooking rows of cluttered desks littered with half-drunk coffees, notebooks, abandoned laptops and crumpled drafts that would eventually become tomorrow morning’s paper.
Phones rang endlessly somewhere below, printers spat out sheets in angry bursts, and from up here the whole place looked like controlled chaos pretending to be professionalism.
Sirius had always liked it in a strange way. Fast paced. Loud enough that nobody noticed if he turned up hungover.
The office itself was cramped, stuffy from the June heat, with filing cabinets shoved against one wall and framed front pages hanging crookedly behind the desk like anyone actually gave a shit about journalism awards from 2007.
Marco Bianchi was the sort of man Sirius had disliked within minutes of meeting him.
Thick around the waist, permanently red-faced, thinning grey hair slicked back far too aggressively. He wore expensive suits that pulled awkwardly across his stomach and had the charming habit of referring to female interns as sweetheart whilst somehow making it sound vaguely threatening.
Sirius had watched him spend years talking over younger women in meetings and then turning around two days later to steal their ideas entirely.
The man was a prick.
A successful prick, admittedly, but still a prick.
Sirius had survived working under him mostly by avoiding him unless absolutely necessary and relying heavily on the fact that half the editorial team thought Sirius Black was far too attractive to ever actually dislike.
Marco sat back heavily in his chair and sighed through his nose. “Yes. I am firing you because you are utterly fucking shit at this job.”
He didn’t give Sirius time to argue. “You’ve missed deadline after deadline for the better part of three months, you handed me a half-finished article last Thursday that looked like it had been written by somebody recovering from a lobotomy, and I am frankly exhausted by your inability to show up on time looking like a functional member of society. Last Monday you arrived smelling so strongly of vodka that Cheryl from HR asked me whether we were hosting a failed session of alcoholics anonymous now.”
Sirius scoffed. “Bit dramatic.”
Marco ignored him. “Two weeks ago you interviewed the wrong councillor because apparently reading names properly is beyond you. Yesterday I found out you’ve used the company card three separate times for taxi journeys at three in the bloody morning that somehow all began outside casinos in Camden.” He leaned forward now, face twisting with genuine irritation. “And I have spent the last two year pretending your writing talent outweighs the fact you are one catastrophic life decision away from becoming completely unemployable.”
Marco exhaled sharply. “You’re twenty-seven years old, Black. Yet every Monday morning you stumble in here looking like you’ve survived a minor war. You disappear halfway through workdays, you answer emails three days late, and I genuinely cannot remember the last time you submitted anything that didn’t require somebody else cleaning up after you.” His eyes narrowed slightly. “You have spent years assuming charm makes consequences disappear.”
Then he sat back again, folding his hands across the desk.
“Well unfortunately for you, I’ve finally run out of patience.”
____
Truthfully, Sirius wasn’t nearly as furious as he probably should’ve been.
Losing a job was objectively bad, sure, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to care all that much as he stepped out into the grey London afternoon with a cigarette already tucked between his lips.
He’d hated working there for the better part of two years anyway. Deadlines, early mornings, endless complaints from middle aged editors who thought journalism still meant something noble. Besides, it wasn’t like he was going home to an empty flat and instant misery. Gilderoy would be there.
Probably shirtless.
Possibly cooking despite being quite bad at it.
Sirius smiled slightly just thinking about him. Gilderoy was gorgeous in a way that almost irritated people, all bright white teeth, expensive skincare, blond hair that somehow always looked freshly styled.
He was vain as hell, flirted with absolutely everyone and spent far too long looking at himself in mirrors, but frankly Sirius couldn’t complain considering he’d spent most of his own adult life doing exactly the same thing.
As he shoved both hands into his jacket pockets and started towards the tube station, his thumb instinctively brushed against his phone. For a second he considered calling James. Mostly out of habit. James had always been the first person Sirius called whenever life inevitably decided to become a complete disaster.
Lost his flat deposit? James helped. Overdraft looking grim? James transferred money before Sirius had even finished asking. Needed bailing out after making a particularly poor financial decision involving a poker table in Camden last winter? James sorted that too, accompanied by an exhausted sigh and a lecture Sirius had completely ignored. The thought barely had time to settle before Sirius remembered exactly why that wasn’t an option anymore.
Lily had put an end to that little arrangement three weeks ago after discovering James had quietly been sending Sirius £710 every month for nearly a year just to cover rent. Apparently she’d found the bank statements whilst sorting paperwork for the mortgage they were trying to finalise and had, in James’ words, completely lost her fucking mind. Sirius still thought she’d massively overreacted. It wasn’t as though James was struggling for money, and yes, Sirius maybe spent most of his own wages on cocaine, vodka and the occasional regrettable online gambling spree, but that wasn’t really the point.
Friends helped each other.
James had always helped him. Still, Lily had made herself painfully clear. No more money. No more late night rescue calls. No more James Potter fixing Sirius Black’s increasingly expensive life choices. He even had to change his emergency contact to Regulus rather than James.
Sirius exhaled smoke slowly into the afternoon air and muttered bitterly to himself. “She’s always been a bit uptight anyway.”
____
By the time Sirius reached his building, he’d mostly convinced himself the day hadn’t been all that terrible.
So what if he’d lost his job? Marco was an arsehole and journalism was boring half the time anyway.
He still had enough cash left for a decent bottle of vodka, his landlord was usually forgiving when rent was late by a few days, and more importantly, Gilderoy was home.
The thought alone was enough to improve his mood considerably as he bounded up the narrow stairwell two steps at a time, already picturing soft blond hair against his pillows and those ridiculously expensive silk sheets Gil insisted on buying despite living in Sirius’ flat rent free.
Four months together now.
A personal record, embarrassingly enough. Sirius grinned to himself as he fished for his keys. Honestly, after the day he’d had, all he really wanted was to get inside, drag Gil into bed and forget the entire world existed for a few hours.
The front door stuck like it always did, swollen slightly from damp, forcing Sirius to shove his shoulder against it harder than necessary before stumbling inside.
His flat was exactly as depressing as he remembered leaving it that morning, peeling paint in the hallway, trainers kicked carelessly by the radiator, last night’s empty takeaway carton still abandoned on the kitchen counter.
Soft noises drifting from the bedroom. A breathy sound followed by something close to a moan, and Sirius immediately smirked to himself, dropping his keys onto the side table.
Well.
That was promising.
Apparently Gilderoy had missed him. He loosened his tie as he wandered towards the bedroom, amusement tugging at his mouth already.
“Bit eager, aren’t we?” he muttered under his breath, fully prepared to push the door open and insert himself into whatever Gil had apparently started without him.
Instead, there was a man on his knees.
Dark hair. Broad shoulders. Expensive watch Sirius had definitely never seen before.
And directly above him, leaning lazily against Sirius’ headboard with one hand tangled in somebody else’s hair, stood Gilderoy.
Half dressed.
His perfect blond hair still somehow immaculate.
The bastard actually looked up first, meeting Sirius’ eyes without even the slightest flicker of shame crossing his face.
Gilderoy smiled. “Oh. You’re home early.”
Sirius laughed, not because anything about this was funny, but because the alternative was apparently standing there like some pathetic idiot whilst his boyfriend got his cock sucked by a stranger in his bloody bedroom.
“Well,” Sirius said slowly, dropping his keys onto the chest of drawers with a sharp clatter. “This feels slightly fucking awkward.”
The bloke on his knees scrambled backwards so quickly he nearly knocked himself into the bedside table. Gilderoy, meanwhile, had the audacity to look irritated. Actually irritated. Like Sirius had interrupted him somehow. “Can you not make this dramatic?” he sighed, reaching lazily for the shirt hanging off the bedpost.
That was what did it.
Sirius crossed the room in three strides and swung first, his fist connecting cleanly with Gilderoy’s jaw with a crack loud enough that the other man yelped. Gilderoy stumbled sideways into the wall, clutching his face. “You absolute fucking psycho-”
“Psycho?” Sirius snapped. “I walk into my flat and find some random prick halfway down your throat and I’m the problem?”
The other man, the one who was sucking his boyfriend off, the one with dark hair, expensive trainers, annoyingly symmetrical face, had already stood now, hands raised defensively. “Mate, I didn’t know he had a boyfriend.”
Sirius turned sharply. “And who the fuck are you?”
“… Otto.”
“Well Otto,” Sirius said coldly, grabbing the nearest shoe off the floor and launching it uselessly somewhere in his direction, “get the fuck out of my house.”
The worst part, and Sirius hated himself a little for admitting it, was how humiliating all of this felt. He didn't even feel particularly sad.
Four months with Gilderoy Lockhart, officially Sirius’ longest relationship to date, and somehow he was the one who’d been cheated on. Him. Sirius Black. Which meant eventually he’d have to explain this. James would know. Regulus would definitely find out somehow. People would look at him with that subtle pity reserved for men who apparently weren’t enough to keep their partners interested. And that was what twisted unpleasantly in his stomach. Not losing Gilderoy.
Christ, Sirius was realising now he didn’t actually care all that much about that. It was the embarrassment. The sheer indignity of being made to look stupid.
Gilderoy had recovered enough to glare at him now. “You’re overreacting.”
Sirius stared at him for a long second.
Then drove his foot sharply into Gilderoy’s shin hard enough that he shouted.
“Get. Out.”
Otto had already grabbed his jacket.
Gilderoy muttered something venomous under his breath but Sirius had already reached for the front door, yanking it wide open and pointing down the hallway.
The front door slammed.
Sirius was standing alone in his tiny miserable flat, jobless, single, and suddenly far too sober for how catastrophically shit his day had become.
He considered calling James.
It was instinct more than anything. Every disaster in Sirius’ life somehow ended with James Potter sorting it out, listening to Sirius bitch for an hour straight, or simply reminding him that the world was not, in fact, ending just because Sirius had made another catastrophic decision.
His thumb hovered over James’ contact before he glanced up at the microwave clock glowing faintly from across the kitchen.
3:11 p.m.
James would still be at work.
Besides, Sirius grimaced slightly, tossing his phone onto the sofa cushions, Lily had made her feelings painfully clear.
No more relying on James.
And if Sirius was being honest with himself, which he generally tried to avoid at all costs, she wasn’t entirely wrong.
He’d gotten far too comfortable knowing James would always catch him before he hit the ground. It was probably time he stopped relying on his best friend quite so much, and a breakup with a man Sirius didn't particularly like, (except for the sex) didn't seem like a moment to break this rule.
Unfortunately, Sirius had never been particularly good at healthy coping mechanisms.
So instead, he drank.
Three Coronas vanished quickly whilst he sat half sprawled across the sofa staring blankly at the television without actually registering what was playing.
After that came two generous glasses of whiskey, expensive stuff he’d nicked from Fleamont Potter’s drinks cabinet during his last visit and never quite gotten around to feeling guilty about.
Then a vodka lemonade because apparently committing fully to self destruction felt appropriate after the afternoon he’d had.
By the time he set the empty glass down on the coffee table, warmth had settled pleasantly beneath his skin, his thoughts softening around the edges. The humiliation still lingered somewhere in the back of his mind, sharp and unpleasant, but now it felt distant somehow.
Sirius leaned his head back against the sofa cushions and exhaled slowly.
Right.
He felt better.
Which, naturally, meant this was probably the perfect time to make another terrible decision.
After another ten minutes slumped across the sofa, Sirius decided sitting around feeling sorry for himself was beginning to get a bit dull. The flat suddenly felt too quiet now that Gilderoy had fucked off, and without the television on loud enough to drown out his own thoughts, the place had this miserable emptiness to it that Sirius found deeply irritating.
What he needed, he decided, was air.
Something other than these four peeling walls and the lingering image of Otto’s stupid bloody face kneeling in his bedroom. He stood a little too quickly, steadied himself against the arm of the sofa and stretched. Right then. Fresh air.
Peter could be fun.
Or at the very least, Peter wouldn’t lecture him.
James was currently under strict domestic dictatorship courtesy of Lily for the rent thing, and she also still hadn’t forgiven Sirius for the whole accidentally flirting with Peter’s girlfriend incident a few weeks back.
Sirius maintained he hadn’t known Luciana and Peter were together.
In fairness, Peter had never actually mentioned it, and Sirius had simply assumed a woman that attractive wouldn’t willingly date Peter Pettigrew. Apparently that had been the wrong assumption to make. Peter had been furious for two days before forgiving Sirius entirely, because Peter always forgave everyone eventually. Which meant Sirius wasn’t technically banned from seeing him.
So really, this was a perfectly solid plan. Better than sitting here getting progressively drunker in silence.
He headed downstairs towards the underground garage beneath the building, phone shoved into his back pocket and keys swinging loosely between his fingers. The stale concrete air hit him immediately as the automatic lights flickered on overhead, illuminating rows of battered hatchbacks and storage units tucked against the far walls.
His motorbike sat exactly where he’d left it, gleaming black beneath the dim fluorescent lighting like the only expensive thing Sirius had managed not to completely ruin yet. He grinned faintly and swung one leg over, jamming the key into the ignition. Nothing.
“Oh come on,” he muttered, trying again harder this time. Still nothing. He shifted awkwardly, foot slipping slightly as he leaned sideways and accidentally knocked into a stack of old boxes shoved against the wall beside the bike.
Something metal clattered.
Then a half-open tin of white paint tipped straight over the side, spilling thick glossy paint directly across a cardboard box stuffed full of old clothes Sirius hadn’t touched in years.
“…Eh.”
Not really today’s biggest problem.
A third turn of the key and finally the engine roared to life beneath him, loud and satisfying enough to make Sirius grin properly
The alcohol buzzing pleasantly through his veins made everything feel warm somehow, the sort of reckless confidence he’d always quite enjoyed settling comfortably in his chest now.
He pulled sharply out of the garage, tyres skidding slightly against wet pavement as he turned onto the main road.
Peter lived somewhere east. Or north. Maybe both. Sirius squinted slightly at the traffic lights ahead, trying to remember the route and immediately deciding it probably didn’t matter all that much. He twisted the throttle harder and sped off in roughly the direction he thought Peter Pettigrew lived.
The air was warm against his skin, heavy with that thick summer heat London got when it hadn’t rained in days, and the sun still sat high enough overhead that everything looked brighter than it had any right to after the afternoon he’d had.
His tie had long since been shoved into his jacket pocket, the top three buttons of his shirt undone, warm wind pushing his dark hair back as he sped through familiar streets with the engine vibrating steadily beneath him.
There was something comforting about riding, about the noise of it, the movement, the fact that for once his brain had no room to think about anything except what was directly in front of him.
No Marco. No Gilderoy with his stupid fucking face. No reminder that James Potter, apparently, was no longer available whenever Sirius’ life started falling apart.
He grinned to himself and twisted the throttle harder, overtaking a silver Audi with far less space than was technically sensible.
A few roads later, though, things started feeling… strange.
Not wrong exactly. Just slower somehow.
His limbs felt heavier than they should’ve, his reaction time lagging behind by half a second in a way Sirius vaguely registered but chose not to care about.
The vodka sat unpleasantly warm in his stomach now, mixing badly with the whiskey, and suddenly focusing on road signs felt irritatingly difficult.
He passed a turning he probably should’ve taken, laughed quietly to himself and decided Peter could wait. There was a long country road up ahead lined with thick woodland and Sirius knew it well enough, sharp bend near the end, narrow lane after that, eventually looping back towards town.
Easy.
Except as he approached the bend, still moving far too fast, his front wheel clipped the uneven edge where the road dipped slightly near the verge. The handlebars jolted violently in his grip. Sirius instinctively corrected hard left.
The front suspension bucked immediately.
The tire lost traction.
Then everything happened at once.
The bike lurched sideways so fast Sirius barely had time to register it before the rear wheel kicked out completely, sending the entire machine into a brutal sideways skid across hot tarmac.
Metal screamed against the road. Sparks burst beneath him in violent flashes.
Sirius was thrown forward hard enough that both hands tore free from the handlebars, his body launched clean over the front of the bike with all the force of seventy miles an hour still behind him.
He was weightless.
Then his shoulder hit first, smashing against the grass verge with a sickening crack before the rest of him rolled violently through dirt and gravel, his helmet bouncing twice, before the side of his body slammed full force into something immovable. Ancient.
The oak tree.
Behind him came the brutal sound of his bike colliding seconds later, the front wheel folding inward with a twisted crunch as the frame smashed directly into the trunk and collapsed sideways into the undergrowth.
Sirius couldn’t breathe.
He lay twisted awkwardly at the base of the tree, one leg trapped beneath him at an angle he knew immediately wasn’t natural, pain shooting so sharply through his ribs that even trying to inhale sent panic clawing through his chest.
Somewhere warm was dripping steadily down his temple. His left arm refused to move properly.
Above him, sunlight flickered softly through thick green leaves moving slowly in the afternoon breeze, birds chirping somewhere impossibly normal despite the fact Sirius had quite possibly just turned half his skeleton into dust.
I see trees of green
Red roses too
I see them bloom
For me and you
And I think to myself
What a wonderful world
I see skies of blue
And clouds of white
The bright blessed day
The dark sacred night
And I think to myself
What a wonderful world