(Disclaimer:J. K. Rowling owns all. The quote's from that Pink song "Who Knew?")
"If someone said three years from now, you'd be long gone,
I'd stand up and punch them out, cause they're all wrong.
I know, better, cause you said forever, and ever...Who knew?" - Pink
"A Hindsight Frenzy"
Sirius Black knows there's damage around him without truly comprehending it. For even if he could get past the smell of rotting carnage long enough to open watering eyes and survey his surroundings, one image would still overtake it all: a rat. A rat, running to the nearest sewer tunnel with his filthy tail tucked safely between a now incomplete set of rodent feet.A boy. A rat. A boy.
Dammit.
Sirius has to laugh now. He has to laugh because it keeps him from remembering other boys apart from the rat, ones that are going to spend the rest of their wonderful lives hating him, and ones that don't have any more lives to spend. He has to laugh because if he starts thinking about that, he'll start feeling again, and if he feels right now he'll break down in front of the ministry officials which will surely start arriving soon, all a-huff and pissed and rosy, and if he breaks down in front of them, his fierce canine pride will not forgive him; and Sirius has far too many grudges against himself already. One more might destroy that last defiant shred of dignity and humanity that he's so-closely guarded and kept for a special book-scented someone who greets him late at night with a harsh, but forgiving gaze, and unwillingly desperate kiss.
Greeted. His mind rebukes. Greeted.Past tense. No more after this.
No more chocolate kisses, late nights, rough and tumble, education, romping, jumping, giving, loving, pleading, forgiving, rosy, gentle, careful, socks, jumpers, couches, beds, halls, curtains, dorms, lakes, shelves, stacks, muggle films, broomsticks, tricks, fools, brothers, friends, lovers, traitors, misleading-...
Sirius's mind has run away with itself again and started remembering. So he does what anyone would do after being stupid, and intentionally, or even unintentionally losing the two most important things to them in the whole entire stupid world.
He reacts.
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They find him still standing there, his hands clasped permanently at his mouth, as if to guard those perfectly aristocratic lips while he laughs hysterically.
Surrounded by charred fingers, singed clumps of hair, hauntingly open eyes, and the rank stench of innocent death, he stands and waits in absolute fits for them to arrest him. Though there's nothing left to arrest, nothing left to take into custody, cause whatever there was left of Black is gone now. Gone. Lost in the mumbles behind bubbling, fading, bubbling, fading, and once again bubbling laughter that spills from the same dark place in Sirius as his shudderingly dark intents.
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It was a week ago he was babysitting. Babysitting Harry, that adorable little mini-James all wrapped up in far too many blankets he'd gotten from nearly every major wizard in the community, and staring wide eyed at tricks Sirius learned when he was six that were mainly pretty colors and distracting images, which oddly enough seemed to entrance his co-babysitter
Remus more than the actual baby himself.
It was a week ago he bounced baby Harry on his lap in the living room, asked Lily if she was sure she was the mother of such an adorable baby, and ducked a flying pizza roll, so that it hit unsuspecting Remus in the back, staining his sweater, and James and Peter laughed for a good two minutes.
It was a week ago they discussed James's career, and Sirius and Remus living closer to the Potters, discussed the future and what exactly they were gonna do about Black's damn cousin Bellatrix.
It was a week ago he took James to the pub and told him he was a fool and a genius and a great pathetic old man and he was proud of him, and James said something similar and they clapped each other on the back, and Sirius got drunk and stumbled home to Remus who sobered him up with something nasty tasting and got the best reward Sirius could give, and woke up in Sirius's arms, both filled with something more than food, but less than satisfaction, yet so totally consuming that it didn't matter as long as it didn't leave.
Now if there's anything left in him, it's bewilderment, and he embraces it.
In fact, he wants to do more than embrace it, he wants to bear it's children, and it's grandchildren, and it's great grandchildren, and he wants to grow old with it, rocking back and forth on a rickety old front porch, talking about the weather and how he hates the infernal government. He wants to continue to love it because it feels like it's all he's got left.
If anyone, even all knowledgeable, encyclopedia swallowing Remus, had told him that he would be standing here now, lost in carnage, void of both lover and friend, half insane, and accidentally having destroyed the lives of the only few people he gave a flying shit about, he'd hurt them.
He'd hurt them because a) he's Sirius fucking Black and he doesn't need a reason to hurt someone, b) he's Sirius fucking Black and he's put up with enough idiots that he shouldn't have to put up with one more person stupid enough to make such an outlandish claim, and c) he's Sirius fucking Black and he doesn't let anything happen to his friends. Certainly Peter knew that. Certainly Peter knew that if he did something Black would come after him like a goddamn one man calvary. Wouldn't stop till every agony that laces his bones now had coursed through Peter at least a dozen unmerciful times. And he obviously did, seeing the brilliant set-up he's provided to ensure that no one else lets that realization cloud their worser judgement. Fucking rat. Fucking Black family instincts. Fucking Black family pride. Fucking Black family period. Maybe he if he blames them this will all go away like it usually does. Course most of the time it's James making things go away, not blaming the Blacks. And James can't make anything go away cause he's dead.
This is so fucked up.
The loose, caffeinated, love-drunk, and possibly fully drunk teenager deep down inside him finds the situation preposterous, ridiculous, positively humorous...hysterical.
So he embraces it with hysteria. And somewhere beyond that, a gentle, pained voice is pushed aside, so as not to interrupt him as it chides, "Moony needs you. Moony needs you sane, and free...Moony needs you to be free...Find a way out...There has to be a way out..."
But no family-based blame, no James Potter, no research, and certainly no charming improvisation is going to get him out of this. Cause those are all gone.
He's alone here with ebbing delirium, and he decides that's all he needs.
(Much thanks to Molly for the format guide, and y'know, being awesome.)