1

All other things, to their destruction draw,

Only our love hath no decay;

This, no tomorrow hath, nor yesterday,

Running it never runs from us away

But truly keeps his first, last, everlasting day.

- John Donne, Songs and Sonnets 'The Anniversary'

The night was heavy around him as he laid back into the soft, slightly damp grass and stared up into the crystal-studded canopy of the sky. The heat of the day still lingered in the barely moving air and beads of perspiration peppered his brow, but he lacked the energy or the will to wipe them away. Behind him, tethered to a stile at the edge of the tree line, Buckbeak crunched through fallen leaves and broken branches as he nibbled at the scattered patches of browning grass that had just managed to survive the summer drought. At least he seemed happy, Sirius thought; happy in his ignorance that there were probably groups from the Ministry of Magic searching for him right at this moment. He envied his companion his peace. If only Sirius could have forgotten about the fact that they were looking for him too. And what they would do to him if they caught him. After all, what did guilt or innocence matter to a Dementor?

When he had escaped from Azkaban, it had been with the express purpose of killing Pettigrew before he killed Harry. The best Sirius had hoped for beyond that was at least a chance to explain to Harry, his godson, what had really happened to his parents that night. How he had failed them. How sorry he was that, in the end, he had been as helpless as everyone else. It had become vital to him that even if no one else ever knew the truth - even if he had to spend the rest of his life on the run - that Harry truly believed that the last thing Sirius could ever have wanted was to see Lily and James hurt.

He had never dreamed, as he had lain in that cold, dark cell, that not only would he be given that chance, but that he would also have the hope of building a new life for himself and Harry - to give him everything that had been denied him since his parents had died. The bonus of seeing Pettigrew getting what he deserved would have been like the gift-wrapping on almost twelve years worth of Christmas and birthday wishes for himself.

But then everything had fallen apart. Remus hadn't taken his potion, and when the full moon had risen…

Sirius shivered at the memory of the dark thoughts and feelings that had enveloped him after he had been captured again; locked up in the tallest tower in Hogwarts to await his fate. It was over. Everything. His last chance, gone. For a moment, he had almost considered...

But then Harry and one of his best friends, Hermione, had arrived at his door with Buckbeak to fly him to freedom. He'd only had a few moments to thank Harry for saving his life. After coming so close to having his life back again, it had truly torn his heart out to have to leave Harry again so soon. He was sure that Harry had felt it too…some connection with his father; some thin, barely tangible link to a past he had been desperately anxious to know more about. But there was no time. At least, not then.

Perhaps soon.

Sirius sighed at the ache crawling through his belly. After twelve years of imprisonment, he had learned to be content with his own company. He had developed ways of coping with injustice, anger, grief and regret. But he was finding it harder than ever now. Seeing Remus again, seeing the passage of the years in his face, had made him feel more lonely than ever. So much time had been lost.

How he missed his friends...

The air was stinging his eyes. He closed them, and wiped the moisture there away with the back of his hand.

Even with Buckbeak - the most loyal, most companionable animal he had ever had the pleasure of meeting - the nights were hard. And so very long. Sometimes, the loneliness grew so overwhelming that it was more than he could bear.

Which was why he had taken to coming here, to the top of this hill just south-west of the London border in Surrey where he could stretch out in the fresh air and gaze down onto the village at the foot of the valley, its lights blinking and twinkling like a Christmas scene in a Muggle snow globe. No one ever disturbed them here. He could lie back in the soft grass, gaze at the Muggle village and imagine all the lives being lived beneath the slated and thatched roofs - the meals being eaten, the books being read, the jokes being shared, the hugs being received, the love being given - and somehow, he would feel a part of it. A part of something, something greater, something more than Azkaban and the Ministry.

Part of a life that was beginning to feel as though it would be forever beyond his grasp.

He knew that he would have to stop running soon. The summer was dying and the leaves were already turning to fire on the slowly ageing trees. The Shrieking Shack at Hogsmead had provided last year's shelter over the autumn and winter, but there was no going back there, not now that Snape knew about it. He had to find somewhere else.

There weren't many places he could think of for a couple of fugitives from the Ministry to hide. His mother's old house, perhaps. As long as he could deal with her ghost screeching at him as soon as he set foot over the door. Remus' place in the Moors...but it was no-where near big enough for them both, and he didn't want to put his old friend in any more danger - werewolves weren't particularly looked upon fondly by the Ministry either.

But there was one other place...

A place that should have been the last on his list. The likelihood of ever being welcome there was...

And yet...

He sat up, shaking bits of grass from his long, straggly, unkempt hair. It had to be worth a shot. It was the best chance Buckbeak and he had right now. What's the worst that could happen? He would be turned away. Nothing new. But at least he will have tried. It would hurt, no doubt about that. But he was used to pain. God only knew he'd had enough of that. Then he could fly down to Remus'. Drown themselves in Firewhisky and then figure out where to go from there. It had to beat sitting around in abandoned Muggle factories all winter.

Sirius stood up and straightened the long, tattered coat that covered his prison rags as he strode up the grass hill back towards Beaky.

'You ready then, old friend?' he said, untying Buckbeak's' chain and patting his enormous feathered head. The Hippogriff closed his eyes, enjoying the caress for a while before shaking out his huge wings and bending his neck to allow Sirius to mount.

With a stomach-churning lurch, Buckbeak shot up high into the air, Sirius clinging on hard to his reins as his wings beat powerfully against the night air, carrying them away from the field, northwards, towards the Lake District.

Towards Ariadne Snape.