Title: Quagmire of Dreams
Author: Curious Forgotten Lore
Rating: PG-13 for angst
Pairing: gen
Summary: A moment of introspection- Sirius reflects on how Azkaban changed him. Set at Grimmauld Place during OotP
Sirius Black, contrary to popular belief, really has quite an excellent memory. True, Azkaban had stolen his happy memories, but slowly freedom had returned them to him. The small details, the facts of the past were oddly comforting after so long of being separated from the past. It was not uncommon that he would spend his time reviewing what he remembered.
He could still remember staring at Hogwarts for the first time. Or seeing the grand old castle again, perhaps not as a free man, but nevertheless with the wind against his face and the sounds of the forest at his back. It was more freedom than he'd felt in a long time.
He remembered a whirlwind series of events, leading to his being saved from the dementors' kiss and taking flight on the very creature sitting opposite of him now.
As the hippogriff, Buckbeak Harry had called him, carried them both to safety, his powerful wings slicing through the night air. Sirius, though grateful for his source of salvation, felt an odd twinge in his stomach; something bitter and sad and heavy. Somehow the creature's strength irked Sirius, what right did Buckbeak have to be so powerful when Sirius was so weak?
He thinks he might have once called this uncomfortable twinge envy.
The thought made Sirius blink in confusion. He shouldn't be envious, not of a fellow fugitive; so perhaps this feeling was something else. Only after a long moment of serious thought did Sirius make the horrifying conclusion.
He doesn't remember envy.
This was, indeed, unsettling, so Sirius quickly thought back on other things. Envy he could live without—it was the green-eyed monster, after all. This feeling might not even be envy, anyway. It could be nausea, he reasoned. People got nauseous when flying.
But did he?
Sirius couldn't remember feeling ill during first year flying lessons, nor any other time on a broom. He remembered playing Quidditch and owning a flying motorbike. Surely flying hadn't had adverse effects on him.
But, Sirius realizes, he only knows that by logic. There was nothing in his memory to tell him so.
Sirius sat and pondered, trying to pinpoint any sort of feeling. He savored the wind on his face; that was nice. But he couldn't figure out if he had liked the sensation before Azkaban, or if the feeling was new. The stars, in his opinion, were beautiful; but perhaps once he had despised those stars as deeply as he despised the members of his family who shared those names.
Sirius remembered running away from his family. He remembers running to James. He remembers the date, and what he packed to take with him, and that there had been fog that evening.
If only he could remember how it felt to hate and be hated by family. To look back on your childhood home and honestly believe, and maybe even hope, that you never return. To strive to belong in James' family, because he knew he'd never belong in his own.
Later, a few months at Order Headquarters would take care of one thing for him. He remembered now with great clarity how he had hated his family. Constant reminders lay at every turn.
There was nothing wrong with Sirius Black's emotions; he could feel the full gamut of emotions. He could be angry at Snape for his treatment of Harry and frustrated with Dumbledore's certainty that Harry should be kept in the dark. He knew what it was to be happy, he felt it when Harry hugged him in greeting, or the twins laughed at one of his jokes. He felt serenity listening to raindrops hitting the roof, after so many months of being at the mercy of nature's elements. He could feel it all.
The problem lie in wondering which emotion should be attached to which memory. Photo albums would seem the best starting point, but truthfully provided more than a fair share of frustration. Sirius was smiling at Hogwarts graduation; was he happy to join the real world, happy to be part of such a large celebration, or happy to not have potions with the Slytherins any longer? He had been laughing at James' wedding; was he laughing merrily because of the occasion, or did he think James looked stupid in his dress robes?
It was times like this, Sirius thought miserably, as he sank down into the dusty bed at 12 Grimmauld Place, that he was glad Harry didn't ask him much about James. How was Sirius supposed to tell Harry that no matter how he tried he couldn't remember any emotions tied to James Potter? That any stories he relayed would be a dry list of events, like a lecture from Professor Binns.
He must have felt something. Some loyalty, some affection, some respect. There should have been compassion and trust and concern. But none of those thoughts stirred anything in Sirius. None of it was familiar. He knows that with James dead that Remus should be his best friend, but he can't bear to give him that title. Remus deserves better than being best friend to a man who no longer remembers the full implications of the words. Deserves someone who remembers, who understands, what friendship really means.
All Sirius felt now was some tired sense of duty, some distant and hazy idea of honor, some vague realization that if what he felt for Harry was any indication then James must have meant the world to him. All that kept him going was the knowledge that even if he couldn't remember it; he must have known once that was worth everything. That friendship-- that these friends in particular-- were worth any sacrifice.
Sirius wished he could feel why. He knew why— because James was his best friend. But he wanted to feel why.
Molly wondered why he latched on to Harry so firmly. Sirius couldn't excuse it, not really. All Sirius knew was that he felt an attachment to Harry; something strong and illogical, something emotional. Maybe, just maybe, being Harry's godfather was not so different from being James' best friend. Maybe, if only he could figure it all out, maybe somehow spending time with Harry would unlock the rest of his lost emotions.
It hadn't happened yet. Maybe to ask for it to happen at all was to ask too much.
But, Sirius thought unhappily, looking at the pictures on his dresser, he wasn't sure he could live a whole lifetime, not remembering how it felt to love these people, only to know that once, he had indeed loved them all.
A pretty girl in Hogwarts robes; Sirius' lost chance at a family of his own. No one knew how it hurt to forget falling in love.
A handsome young man; Sirius' long deceased little brother. No one knew how it hurt to forget watching a little brother enter the world, to see him fall into the darkness their family reveled in, to watch him be torn away too soon.
A happy young family, with a bespectacled father and a redheaded mother and a happy little baby. No one knew how it hurt to forget caring for the people who had entrusted you with their lives.
Perhaps the worst part of the whole thing was that no one could fix his problem. If your memory fades, friends could remind you of dates and events. Pictures could show the color, the expression, and the faces.
No one can help you when the memories have returned fully intact, but the emotion that once accompanied them is gone.
And all Sirius can do now is sit silently in his room and wonder if those feelings will return one day, just as his memory had. Perhaps all he needs is to exercise some patience.
It is a pity that Sirius Black doesn't remember patience.
Author's note—I posted this in my livejournal about a million years ago as an unfinished character study. It could probably still use some polish, to be honest, but I think I like it the way it is.