In his mind, they were laughing at something stupid he'd done, struggling to comprehend the rationale behind it even as big grins stretched across their faces like drawn-out elastic bands. Unbeknownst to them, their reaction was precisely why he'd done it; he'd known that it would amuse them and provide some relief from the constant stress that had plagued their lives for so long. The hint of dawn sneaking in through the gap in the heavyset curtains illuminated the different shades of red and orange hidden in Lily's vibrant hair and caught the mirth shining in James' eyes. In that moment, all of the fear and unease that had defined the past few years of their lives was gone, wiped out of existence as if it had never been there at all. It was like looking at seventh year Lily and James all over again, after they'd gotten together but before the tension they'd all known was building finally broke. James appeared to be hit anew with the hilarity of the situation, his laughter doubling as, tears in his eyes and off-balanced from the force of his amusement, he leaned against Lily, his head resting against her shoulder as they held one another for support. Sirius felt smug; this scene, this joy, was all because of something stupid he'd done.
He could almost see them standing in front of him in the master bedroom that had grown almost irreparably dingy despite Kreacher's best efforts to keep it clean. They would have been the bright spots that made being back in that house feel slightly less terrible. The fact that Harry needed him, and that he was Remus' only remaining friend, gave him the determination to get through the forced confinement, to rage against the dying of the light, as it were. But Remus was still lost in his own self-flagellation and Harry saw Sirius as an unquestionably perfect father figure, so neither of them had the gall or the presence of mind to challenge him or his actions.
Both Lily and James would have forced him to reckon with his self-destructive behaviours and pressured him to change them. They might not have been successful, but they would have persisted and given him distractions until they either wore him down or filled his constant emptiness.
He wished they really were there with him.
He wished they were alive.
Diverting his eyes away from the patch of floor where they most decidedly weren't standing, he sculled the remainder of the bottle of firewhiskey. It burned on the way down, like a constant stream of fire, but he welcomed the pain. Compared to the heartbreak he felt whenever he remembered his late friends or thought about how they would have reacted to who Harry or Remus or even Sirius himself was becoming, it was like a pleasant, ambling walk in the afternoon sun. He might get sunburnt, but at least it didn't threaten to melt him to his core until only the husk of a man was left.
It was all his fault. They all told him it wasn't, but none of them knew the truth.
As a child and even as a teenager, he'd approached stupid things as if he were experimenting with potions. Each ingredient caused predictable effects, and he would mix those things and those effects together, playing around with the quantity and order, until he got the outcome he wanted.
Sometimes, the results were brilliant and exciting and revolutionised the way he approached the world. Those were the things that had, despite how reckless the attempt might have been, endeared him to those around him. He embraced danger and lived on the wild side, but he was so utterly animated that they had felt alive just by being in his presence. His faults had been reasoned away. Blacks were always known for their temperamental natures, and it was impressive enough that he'd managed to elude his parents' influence; Gryffindors were almost invariably headstrong and foolhardy, so it was unfair to shed that skin like the snakes he'd barely escaped the clutches of.
At others, they were complete and utter disasters that would have embarrassed even the most amateur of potioneers. His prank on Snape had, after all, almost outed Remus as a werewolf to the whole of wizarding Britain. Snape could have died or been turned himself, Remus and Sirius could have both been expelled and had their wands snapped, and Remus could have been forever condemned as a lycanthropic murderer. Had it not been for James, their lives would have all been irrevocably shattered, and it would all have been due to an immature desire to do every stupid thing his mind thought up. As it was, Dumbledore had still had to pull a lot of strings to cover the incident up.
Even that paled in comparison to what he had unwittingly done to his friends.
His life had been vivid and intense but, from the day he was born into his particular branch of the Noble and Ancient House of Black, his story had always been fated for calamity. The Blacks flirted with tragedy, in their own lives and others', like teenagers playing with flames that they had just learned to conjure. It was a fascination and a power trip and a need all rolled into one. And he, with the mad brilliance of a Black and the relentless bravery of a Gryffindor, in the pressure cooker of a war against an evil tyrant and centuries of pureblood supremacy, was even more eligible for it than the rest of them.
As loyal as an ox was stubborn, it was true that Sirius would have died before he betrayed any of his friends. He would have willingly submitted himself to a life of torture had his pain guaranteed their safety.
Apparently, however, inertia had been too much to ask for.
If he had to identify his own hamartia, it would be his unerring inability to sit at home while others fought for what he believed in. Lily had called it his best quality, admitting that it was the thing that had eventually charmed her and let her put aside all of the stupid, horrible things he'd done in order to befriend him. But, however true that might be, it was also his downfall; it was also their downfall.
The hippogriff who'd quickly become his closest companion squawked as he nuzzled at the man's shaggy black hair, and Sirius mechanically raised a hand to stroke the beast's downy feathers. Despite his physical acknowledgement of his friend, however, his mind remained in its place of endless self-recrimination.
There had been no need for him to suggest that they switch Secret Keepers. His purported rationale had been that, as he was the obvious choice, he would be Voldemort's main target and, such, the decision would put Lily and James in danger. Although he was willing to undergo torture for the couple, he knew that Voldemort would just have him killed so that the secret would be unleashed back into the void, relegating everyone who had once been entrusted with the location to the role of Secret Keeper and opening up all the links of the chains to the elements of his fury and manipulations.
Even as he'd waxed on about how it was a better choice for them, he had seen in their compassionate eyes that they'd know that the crux of the matter, the real reason behind his suggestion, was that he was already going stir-crazy and was desperate to get back out in the field.
While it was impossible to be the Secret Keeper of your own home – that barely satisfied the prerequisite of supreme trust and faith in another – it was entirely possible for the designated witch or wizard to also be in hiding. He could have very easily taken refuge as well; he could have hidden himself to protect his friends and the wizarding world alike. The Order would have been one wand shorter, but they would have made do, safe in the knowledge that Lily, James and Harry Potter were out of the enemy's reach.
But Sirius Black hadn't been satisfied with that arrangement. Sitting on the sidelines as others played the game for him wasn't his style, so he had begged his friends to let him back onto the pitch. He had been too blinded by his own wishes, too eager to push the burden onto Peter rather than to shoulder it himself, to seriously step back and consider the situation objectively. It had seemed like the perfect solution; he wanted to fight, while Peter wanted to stay safe, so the switch suited both of them. But, had he have had the clarity of mind to look beyond how it fit in with him, would he have noticed exactly how much it had pleased the other young wizard?
Perhaps not. In fact, probably not. Hindsight was warping his perceptions and making him give his past self a much greater power of perception than he actually had. In truth, the most that would have happened was that he would have stayed home and the opportunity for Peter to betray them would have come later.
Still, that was what he should have done.
He wouldn't have sold his friends out for any amount of silver coins, yet, somehow, without meaning to, he had done it for his own freedom. He had sacrificed their lives in his own quest to resist any shackles that life tried to fix to him.
That was what no one else knew. That was the thing that had him constantly running for the bottle. That was the thing that had him clenching his hand in Buckbeak's feathers as, even then, he uncorked the next bottle of firewhiskey and set out to drink himself into oblivion.
A/N: It's Camp NaNoWriMo time again! I'm not sure if I'll have the energy to keep up with it for the whole month as I did the April one and have been writing a lot since then as well, and as there's still a bunch of other stuff that I need to do, but I should be able to pull through it. NaNoWriMo is when normal people turn into the little engines that could. It's such a cool superhero form, isn't it?
'Rage against the dying of the light' was an allusion to Go Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night by Dylan Thomas. The essence of the poem seems to suit the Marauders; I can see teenage!Sirius reading Muggle literature and poetry in a show of defiance and then passionately quoting this to his parents when they try to get him to do – or, more likely, not to do – something.
Challenges:
If You Dare Challenge – prompt: Guilty Heart
Character Versatility Challenge – prompt: Sirius Black