This is the third installment in the End Times series. I really enjoyed writing from Sirius' angle. There was so much honesty in it, and I admire that about his character. As always, enjoy, and please review. I enjoy constructive criticism, and to know if I'm on-track!
The tiny, old officiant is seated in the sitting room across from me, in one of those God-awful yellow chairs that Lily inexplicably loves. I don't have the heart tell her that they're hideous, out of place in their bright happiness against the backdrop of the world. I think they remind her of the sun, and fuck knows she deserves a little happiness, shut up in this place. The room is so confined that I'm already going crazy, sitting here and waiting to see the one spark of light that I need to keep me going.
My world doesn't include much light these days. Evading Death Eaters is not easy work, especially when the bastards are determined to have you. There are so many more of them than there are Order members, and we're getting smaller all the time. Gideon and Fabian Prewett were taken out last week. It took five of the snakes to do it, and the twins took out two of the sons of bitches each, but they're gone. Their family has gone into hiding now, Molly and Arthur, and their kids. With their sixth newborn here, they aren't taking chances.
The losses are wearing us down. New recruits are thin on the ground. People are terrified; terrified of the raids, the murders, the whispers and rumors. It's wearing us down, all of us. Trust is so thin that a pinprick could pop it. I'm bone-weary and saddle-sore. I feel like I've aged a decade in the blink of an eye. Suddenly, I feel the urge to move. I've always hated waiting like this.
It was hard to drop the two Death Eaters tailing me. They've been following me for a little over a month, but I managed to give them the slip. And by "the slip," I mean I cornered them with Benjy Fenwick and knocked them so unconscious it will take a week for them to wake up, and even then, they'll probably still be blue and covered in hair. But I had to be here for today. I have a big job to sign up for. It wracks me to the core, thinking about it.
I watch James and Lily come downstairs. I can't help but grin, despite the nerves. I've never seen my best friend like this before. He hovers around Lily, who's holding the baby, as though she may faint at any moment, anxious and excited, like a moth flutters around a light. And what a light she is. Exhausted, a little thin, but incandescent with pride, clutching her newborn son to her as though someone may snatch him away from her at any moment.
"James, I'm fine! It's been three weeks. I can walk down the stairs."
"Nope. Not happening. What if you need to steady yourself?"
"James, that's why we have a bannister," Lily replies, looking slightly exasperated. "At this rate, we'll suffocate before Sirius gets to see him." James has the grace to grin sheepishly at me and allow his wife to descend the rest of the way to into the room unharassed. He moves over to me and wraps me in a huge hug, which I return with absolute gusto, slapping him on the back a few times to drive the point home.
I haven't seen him for nearly a month, and there were no good ways of communicating. Owl post is too obvious, and our mirrors are disrupted by the protective spells cast over the place. They'd had to smuggle a message out through old Bathilda. It took a week to reach me, from the date on it. Luckily, I got the message in time to show up today. I know they didn't know if I would make it. But when I showed up at the door, despite my distinctly canine appearance, James had been ecstatic. He didn't even hug me or say hello, or even wait for me to transform. He bolted up the stairs yelling at Lily that I was here, like a seven year old who's seen Santa Claus.
We break apart. I think James' face might split, from the grin on it. He looks tired, almost as tired as Lily, with huge dark rings under his eyes."Long nights?" I ask, returning his grin.
"Yeah," he replies with a rueful chuckle, running an absent-minded hand through his hair. I grin more widely. Some things don't change.
"Well, at least it's less dangerous than running from the damned Death Eaters," I reply, my eyes flicking over to where Lily is showing the officiant the bundle in her arms. "There were three to every one of us the last time we got cornered. Not that it mattered," I say, licking my teeth with a grin.
"You don't know what it's like to wake up every three or four hours, bowing to the demands of a tiny, squalling overlord. I think sometimes I'd rather be facing down Death Eaters. At least they keep more predictable hours," says James, his gaze following mine to his wife. I can see something in him flick on like a light bulb, glowing from inside him, filling him with nearly tangible pride. I wonder what it's like to feel that kind of pride. Deep down, I don't know that I really care to settle down and do this. Not right now, anyway. We're all so young. In fact, I'm the oldest of us in here by only a few months, minus the officiant. I'll be 21 in a few short weeks. I feel older than that. But that's the cost of war. You grow up fast, or you die quickly.
"Yeah, but the squalling overlord can't shoot at you," I reply. James wrinkles his nose.
"Oh yes he can! He's got a real range on-" He starts, but drops off as Lily makes her way over, cradling the infant in her arms.
She beams at me, and I return the expression. If her hair is bright, it's got nothing to the look on her face, even as lined with exhaustion as it is. For a moment, she is unrecognizable to me. The alien joy of motherhood is something I've never seen. I suppose that by the time I was old enough to remember my mother, this part was over. Her face was always caught between censure and aloof pride, the kind of pride you take in an valuable heirloom, rather than a living thing.
I come back to reality as Lily pushes back the blankets to reveal a fuzzy black head of hair. And there he is, all wrinkles and waving fists. He's an active one already, wide awake and staring around at the world, as though he is determined to memorize every inch of it. I raise my arms in a querying gesture, and Lily concedes.
She transfers him to me as though he is a carefully guarded secret, with the slight air of unwillingness to let go of the child, as though she is trying to convince herself that he won't disappear once he's gone from her arms. I look into his tiny face. He stares up at me, his mouth forming little, absent shapes. He looks like a baby bird, unfinished and red and naked, his little mouth gaping open. I can see the beginnings of green around the pupils of his eyes. They are just like Lily's. It startles me for a moment, to remember that I also take after my mother in looks.
I bounce the baby in my arms, pacing away from his parents for a moment, making little noises at him, offering him a finger of my free hand. He grabs at it experimentally. The more I think about it, the harder it is for me to imagine my own mother like this, holding and cooing over a baby. She was always hard. Not unfair, in her own way, at least not until she realized that I wasn't going to be like her, or my father. I vaguely remember a time in Diagon Alley. I must have been seven or eight. I was playing with another kid I'd met outside of Madam Malkin's, for some robe fitting or other for my mother. We were having a grand old time, pretending the dark cobblestones were lava, or quicksand, and the lighter ones were our stepping stones. The boy told me his name, but I don't remember it now. But I do remember his smile. It was huge, and inviting, like the kind of smile you get when pushing off the ground on a broomstick, all elation and adrenaline. And then my mother came out. She looked down her nose at the child, and must have recognized him as from some unworthy, part-muggle family, because she snatched me away. I can still hear her voice ringing in my ears through all this passing time:
"Get away from that filthy brat. You'll soil yourself."
That was the beginning of the end for my mother. I saw what she really was that day, although it took several years for me to truly understand. It was the first time I'd heard that tone creep into her voice, the tone of disgust and loathing. It wasn't the last.
I fucking hate her voice now.
I pull myself back to the child in my arms, and to his parents. Turning back to them, I plaster a grin on my face. I didn't realize it had slid off.
"So," I say looking up at them, "Have you decided on a name?"
Lily smiles. "Harry. Harry James Potter."
It's not an interesting name. Hardly in keeping with wizarding tradition. But it seems right, for all its lack of originality. A small part of me wonders if this child will defy his own name, and become someone that you could hardly attach an ordinary name to. Knowing his parents, he will. I look over at James, mock disappointment all over my face.
"Really? Harry, James? There are so many names to choose from..."
"Sirius…" Lily warns me as James fights back laughter behind a fist.
"Something more unique," I continue.
"Sirius…" Lily warns again, and even though she's scowling, I know she's close to smiling.
"Maybe something like… like Wilberforce or… or Elvendork!"
"I mean, it is unisex!" pipes up James from behind his fist.
Lily lets out a groan. "For the TENTH TIME, NO. You lose your baby privileges," she says, gathering little Harry back to her as both James and I roar with laughter. It hurts, we laugh so hard. It just feels so good to have something to laugh about, amidst all the fear and all the death that surrounds us. I look back up at Lily, who is bouncing Harry slightly. She's smiling too, although she's rolling her eyes at us like we're all back at Hogwarts. She never did like me and James getting into trouble with muggle authorities. Always said they have enough to deal with without the catastrophe we bring with us.
The officiant clears his throat with a wispy noise that reminds me of dust in a library.
"Right then," I say jovially, slapping James heartily on the back. "Let's make this official!"
Lily and James face each other, on either side of the officiant. I have a brief flashback to their wedding day, a small, shining moment in an otherwise bleak existence. It makes life more real, moments like these. That people can still love, and create, and nurture seems an utter miracle in the face of the danger we are all in. As I look at them, I know that I wouldn't have the courage to do what they are doing. I would hurt someone. I'm reckless, like a train with all coal and no breaks. Sooner or later, I'm bound to crash.
James has his set of breaks, and they're standing across from him. For a moment, I see my parents standing like this, but they're facing me, and telling me that I should go to hell, that I am a traitor to the family, a disgrace. My mother even pulls out her wand. I am so angry that I could curse her to pieces. I don't know what stops me. Maybe some sense of self-preservation, or some residual care for the parents who have made it clear that I am no son of theirs. Red faces, and raw throats, and packed bags, and slammed doors.
I am glad that this won't happen to the tiny baby in Lily's arms. Harry will never want for love, not with the two wonderful people his parents are, who they have become. They won't be perfect, but they will be honest, and kind, and firm. The officiant raises his wand. Beams of golden, glowing light link Lily, James, and Harry, uniting them.
"Who is this child that has been brought forward to be recognized in the eyes of the Wizarding world?"
"Harry James Potter," James says, as Lily looks down lovingly on the baby. Harry makes a burbling sound.
"Do you promise to love, guard, cherish and protect Harry James, to raise him in the ways of magic, and within the rule of law of our society? To guard him with all of your strength and courage?"
James opens his mouth with a smirk, clearly about to say something hilarious, but Lily threatens him with a dark look, so he changes directions at the speed of a rampaging hippogryph.
"We do," they speak together. Their voices create some kind of echo, a multifaceted, haunting sound that gives me a shiver. It sounds like the voice of some deity, manifest in these two people.
"Who comes forward to represent this child in the wizarding community, as his guardian, to ensure that he is kept and safe?" the officiant asks, gesturing to the boy while looking at me.
"I do," I say. My voice nearly cracks.
"Then state the words and become his guide and guardian."
I nearly forget them in the awe of what I am about to be to this boy. I'm his father's best friend, but I will become a second father to this child. It's scary to fathom, me teaching anyone anything.
"I, Sirius Orion Black, do promise…"
My father's name, my middle name, sticks in my throat like a burning coal, scorching me. I clear it and continue.
"... that I will stand by Harry James Potter, through sickness and health..."
My mind flashes to the time I got dragon pox. My mother sponges my forehead, looking as though she would rather ask someone else to do it.
"... in times of peace and times of trouble…"
Trouble. That's what these days are. I look at Harry, so fragile, clinging to this life with all the robustness his little body can manage, rosy and flushed from the warmth of his mother. There will be more trouble before we have peace.
"...to help to raise him in the ways of his parents…"
James grins at me. I can't help seeing his parent's faces, smiling, and welcoming me into their home. I have a suitcase and a heart with me, and both are heavy. They tell me I can put my things wherever I need. They all smile alike.
"... and to guard him with my life."
And I look at all three of them. Because what is my life worth, compared to this? I am a screw-up kid who gets into fights, because deep down, I enjoy them. I'm loud, and aggressive, and cynical. I have a terrible temper. I've done nothing of note, compared to the oath I just gave to this beautiful family.
I stand in awe of this strange bond that this small family has. They are more together than they are apart. They live, and breathe, and blossom for each other. They are literally inside of each other, inside each other's blood, and brains, and muscles. This is what blood family should be. And I am unsure, in this moment, that I am worthy to even stand here, in this cramped living room, before them. They've reached out and made me one of them in the most precious way they could. They are sharing their son with me, a son I might never have.
"To them I give my sacred oath."
The light joining the Potters grows tendrils that lovingly surround me, chaining me to them.
I won't lose this. I won't lose them. We will fight. And if in the end, I die, I know it will be in service of something more beautiful by far than my life has ever been.
James, and Lily, and Harry.
The family I choose.