A/N: Here you go, a new story! It's going to be a little more serious because Sirius is getting serious with age, you know? Ok, quit rambling, Katarina. Enjoy!
Disclaimer: Nothing is mine except for my OC and storyline, unfortunately...
Begin Again
July, 1995.
Where does this pain come from? Can I even define it? Do I want to throw up, clutch my stomach or just close my eyes and let the depths of nothingness suck me in? Why do my hands tremble so much? C'mon. Focus. How could I forget how to think? My head is empty and I can literally picture one big nothing. It isn't even like I stepped outside myself and now I'm watching my own limp body struggling with this huge, sudden burden. No, I wish I could've stepped outside myself. Instead I'm trapped, I'm trapped with one proposal, with one demand I don't even have a choice to ignore. How long am I staring at the same spot across the room, which is left empty and untouched in just one fragment of a second? C'mon, now. Focus. Breathe out. Breathe in. Shock subsides. I'm not glad because of that. What is left is much, much worse. Fear. Awful, cold fright which absorbed my lungs and my gut, but somehow missed my mind. And now, my mind is working two hundred miles per hour, finally accepting the fact that I am screwed, that my world is screwed, that the time I dreaded so much finally had come to snatch me out of my little white lie I called life. The end of it inevitably came, that in the shape of one old, eccentric and strikingly wise man. It came suddenly and just like that, in one big crack, it announced that I have to find and re-learn to use that one piece of wood, which I hoped never to take in my hands again. And to think that, just a couple of hours ago, my greatest concern was how to pay a parking ticket…
I almost started to chuckle at my foolishness, but then one flashback came. Then another one. Soon enough, I was kneeling on my kitchen tiles, one hand on my face while the other one clutched a little peace of parchment, with one address, awfully familiar, written in a neat, old-fashioned handwriting. I was sitting there remembering my blissfully peaceful life in the last fifteen years. One big fat lie, covered up with a veil of pretending ignorance. Year after year, from today to that faithful day when I decided to run away and leave everything behind me. Year after year of stable job as a secretary in a big advertising company and a cat for a pet and the only family, boring black hair, my natural, instead of freaky purple, friends who didn't know and didn't really care about my background, boring lady suits for everyday attire, lonely nights in front of a TV, brief and unsatisfying relationships, unanswered letters… I am starting to shake a little. Michael proposing to me five years ago and me rejecting him… Like I knew. Like I knew that this day would come, sooner or later. And then, finally, the memory of the worst day in my life came. Now, I am openly sobbing.
November 1st, 1981. I remember it so clearly now, it really hurts. I was sitting in my apartment, the one in London, in that building with awful graffiti on it. It was really early in the morning and I was sipping my coffee, looking through the window and not knowing in the slightest what the hell was happening in my community. And then one owl which I recognized as Remus', flew right into my closed window, crashed and went up again, urgently tapping for me to let it inside. I brushed my rising concern aside while I was unfolding the letter. But then I saw just one sentence and I really started to worry. It just said, 'Read the newspaper', scribbled in hurried, messy handwriting. Then I spotted the other thing attached to the owl's leg-The Daily Prophet. I frowned; we weren't the ones to believe that thrash in these dangerous times. But, he probably has his reasons. He is, after all, still one of my best friends, even if we weren't as close anymore. Well, not after Sirius' and mine awful breakup, after a couple of months of turbulent, emotionally wrecking, passionate thing which couldn't even be called relationship. It lasted, what? Three months? Lots of fights. Too similar tempers, too different attitudes. Amazing sex, though. I smiled almost fondly but then I remembered our last, exceptionally fucked up argument where we agreed that it didn't lead anywhere. And we agreed that the love we shared turned into some twisted hybrid of emotions, unfortunately, with lots of hatred. I sighed, unrolling the newspaper. Now when I think of it, I hadn't really seen Sirius, let alone talked to him in a long, long time. And I didn't really miss him. Oh, well. I shrugged and finally concentrated on the first page. But then I froze. I wanted to stop reading but my eyes wouldn't fucking listen to me, so one word came after the other, creating horror. Dark Lord, gone. Little Harry, alive. James and Lily, dead. I couldn't even cry from shock. And then… Sirius Black, killed Pettigrew and bunch of other people, framed Potters, worked for Voldemort, life sentence in Azkaban.
It wasn't just because of Sirius, no. I had run away from the world which was finally in peace, but with so many victims I couldn't even count. And with my best friend, my Lily, dead. No, I couldn't afford to stay there with my whole generation wounded, dead or imprisoned. I couldn't be strong anymore. I couldn't work on mending the damaged and rebuilding destroyed. So, I made up a new identity and left as a true coward. I went to the USA, and lived like a good old content Muggle since. Nothing in Wizarding world concerned me anymore. I didn't have any idea what was happening there. And I learned to live with my guilt. It became quite easy, until a half an hour ago, when Dumbledore apparated straight into my living room. And he filled me in. Of Voldemort's return. Of reformed Order. Of innocent man I once loved, then hated, then loathed. Of young Harry and our duty to protect him. Of the fact that it is finally time. Time to go back.
''…Are you sure?'' That was the first thing I managed to squeeze out of my brain after I heard everything. I was sitting with Remus in Leaky Cauldron, that almost forgotten place which was bearing the most pleasant memories of my life. After initial shock, hugs, random compliments and awkward laughs you always have with someone you hadn't seen for a decade, Remus made me tell him my boring story. And boring it was, because after it he filled me in every single thing I missed, everything Dumbledore hadn't already told me. And damn, I missed a lot. Right now I was gaping in shock at the fact that I'll be residing in the Ancient House of Black, with the person I thought was already dead or at least spiritually ruined. And even if one big, rational, pathetic part of me was screaming to get away, to forget about all of this nonsense and get back to Boston as soon as possible, I kept sitting. I was accepting everything. Did I even have a choice? If I run away again, I won't bear to live with the knowledge that I willingly left my world and my kind of people to fight without me and die.
''…Yes, I'm quite sure. Like I said, I was there an hour ago and I told him you'll come. Really, Viv, did all perks of being a Muggle made you a little slow?'' Remus attempted to joke, but I couldn't laugh. This was just too much for one person. Too much information, too little time. I couldn't even answer him. I just stared blankly at his shabby, old robe, scarred face with some hardly noticeable but still present handsomeness, roughed and hidden by layers of worry over the years. But, there's that boy I knew. I could see him in those kind eyes. I could see him in those soft bright strands with flickering gray. But still, it was that calm, good-natured, loyal Remus, the normal one out of four. And in that moment I realized how much I had actually missed him, missed this place, missed my old life. Of course I was going to fight. Of course I was going to defend mine. I blinked back my tears, hopefully but not surely the last ones and took a deep breath.
''Take me to Diagon Alley. I'm desperately in need for some robes.'' I said hoarsely, adjusting brave façade. Well, I couldn't fool him, for sure. He knew me so well, even after all these years. He took my hand and squeezed it.
''You can do this, you know.'' He smiled kindly and suddenly looked exactly like before. Well. Maybe everything is exactly like before.
And before I knew it, my hands were full with bags of clothes and my pockets were full of newly exchanged galleons. I took all of my Muggle money supply and brought it here with me. I also left everything else in my apartment in Boston, never to come back for it. Oh well, it's not like I'm going to need anything of that here. But when some of my supposed colleagues realize I'm missing, the police will have some work to do, for sure. I chuckled at my own silliness. Really, is now the time for you to worry about your apartment and job, when you are going on a probably life-long adventure? I was so deep in thought, enjoying my quiet walk with Remus that I didn't even realize when he pulled my forearm and apparated us. And just when my insides stopped twisting and when I prepared my voice for some yelling session, I noticed we were standing on the top step of, what I could see, and what Muggles called it, The Haunted House. The door was old, with peeling black paint, the door knob was in the shape of a little snakes eating each other's tails (?!), the wall was made of some old, decaying, dark grey bricks and the windows were so dirty that my almost inexistent OCD started yelling. I was so confused that I totally forgot to shout at Remus for not telling me that we're going somewhere, probably to Voldemort's own, sweet home. Remus took out his wand, mumbled some ward under his breath and the creepy door opened with one awful, squeaky sound. I felt goose bumps forming on my neck and back. We stepped into the old house and rotten, stale smell hit my nostrils. Remus showed me with a finger on his lips to zip it and just when I wanted to start sneaking around, he did some odd thing. He took off his robe and placed it in some old, dirty closet, like he would in his own home. And then it hit me-was this actually… Were we really…? I looked at Remus bewildered, pleading for some answer, but then my goddamn nose came in contact with some stale dust and I had insufferable need to sneeze. I couldn't hold it and saw Remus wincing. When I came back to normal and nobody came to attack us and the house stayed the same as the second before, my stupid mind decided it was okay to make some more noise.
''See, Remus? Nothing happened, stop being such a-'' I started to talk slowly but loudly enough, because right then-
''USELESS SCUM OF THE EARTH! MUDBLOOD! WEREWOLVES, BLOOD TRAITORS, VICIOUS RATS AND DIRTY WHORES! HOW DARE YOU TO STEP YOUR NASTY INBRED FEET ONTO THE-''
What in the name of Merlin is going on? I cast a look towards the source of that awful noise and I recognized the woman from the portrait. I encountered her once, a long, long time ago. Walburga Black. I was gaping at her, not even paying attention to her shouting when I heard another roaring voice coming somewhere from the stairs. Notorious, hoarse, deep voice. Even hoarser and deeper than as I remembered it. My breath hitched in my throat and I felt my insides twisting much worse than when apparating.
''THE ONLY INBRED ONE IS YOU, AND, OH JOY, ME, AND THAT WITH YOUR OWN SICK FAULT, YOU OLD BLOODY BITCH!'' he yelled and cast some charm which made some curtain fall onto the portrait and shut it up. And as I turned my head to the stairs I saw him, standing in long, black robe, with hands buried in pockets and boyishly, casually slumped shoulders on the top of the stairs. And that was the only thing which helped me realize who was that man. That awfully thin and tall man, with shoulder-long, dirty hair, unhealthy bony face, scarily sharp cheekbones and jaw covered with short, almost-to-say well-kept beard. Only his posture helped me realize who that man was. His posture and his striking grey eyes which were looking directly into my own blue ones, and through them, directly into my soul. Sirius Black.
