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Word count – 1.331
Someone of His Own
Sirius Black had never once imagined, not even during the most deranged late night conversations with his friends at Hogwarts, that one day he would find himself doing this.
Sirius, of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, was splayed on a small boat off the coast of some forgotten paradise on earth, bathed by sunlight, sipping rum from a coconut shell, sporting a pair of sunglasses that had to have his mother turning in her grave.
Well, keep turning, Mother. This is the good life.
He raised his drink to the big winged creature flying above him. Buckbeak obviously agreed, for he shrieked up there, before diving into the sapphire sea and emerging with a large fish of bright scales on his bill.
He kept his feet dangling above the water on either side of the little boat's bow. There were sharks in these waters, but he felt like teasing them today.
He felt very comfortable like this, clad in shorts and nothing else. If he were honest with himself, there truly was no need for sleeves with these temperatures, so he had forfeited the use of shirts altogether. He had decided to wear swimming shorts because one couldn't do away with all the markings of civilization in just one week. And because Buckbeak had been put through enough in his life, he didn't deserve the sight of his pale bare arse in the morning.
He dangled his feet again, trying to gather the momentum to rise and check his fishing rod. Two splashing noises greeted his attempt at movement.
There goes another pair of those floppy things. That's like the third or something.
He should probably be more careful of his belongings, but he couldn't bring himself to care. Not today, not ever. He had lost so many important things in his life, so many important people, that loosing common things like clothes held absolutely no meaning to him. That was also part of his decision to get rid of shirts while here. He had lost all three of them on different beaches, and he suspected the rag Buckbeak liked to play with was actually the forth, and last, of his shirts.
I'll just conjure one when I have to.
He snorted, finally getting up, and feeling less steady than he thought he would be. The rum was getting to him, and though the swell was kind, a rocking boat was not the best option for him right now.
The thought made him snort again. Lily would be mocking him endlessly if she were here, laughing out loud at his inability to hold his liquor. James would be the one worrying about him not going overboard or splitting his eyebrow on the boards. He laughed a bit, a sorrowful laugh, made of equal parts of happiness and mourning.
James had taught him how to fish. Lily had mocked their sad attempts at bringing dinner to the table during those few years after Hogwarts. She always refused to cook the fish they caught, mostly because they were tiny things that wouldn't feed more than one. The cat always got them. The cat used to be very fond of Sirius when he smelled like fish.
The last time he had gone fishing, it was to cheer the Potters up. They had been in hiding for so long that he thought they deserved a good laugh, and it didn't bother him at all that it was at his cost. He failed in catching anything that could actually feed the party of five, but he had made it through the Potters' door with two shinning little daces still hanging from the hooks. He gave one to the cat, as usual, but he had been absolutely adamant that the other one was cooked for little Harry.
So Harry had had fish soup that day for dinner, that he had eaten as much as splattered all over him and his godfather, who had been trying his very best to be stern about his behaviour, and failing miserably. He had been giggling the whole time, even when Lily had pushed him into a bathroom to wash while she took Harry to the other one. He could still hear the roaring laughter in the dining room, where Remus, James and Peter seemed incapable of breathing.
With a smile on his lips, he sat at the stern of the boat, checking his rod. He hadn't caught anything yet, but something had stolen his bait and left him with nothing but an empty hook.
The smile vanished then. He missed them terribly. He even missed the Peter he knew, though his blood boiled with the mere thought of him now. How could he live when the Potters were dead?
But mostly, he missed the future.
The once sparkling future that had lay before them. They would win the war and go on living, but all they had in the end were empty hooks.
He missed her. He missed her waves of brownish-blonde hair, her kind light-green eyes, her crystal clear laughter. Marlene. She could have been the star to this sapphire sea; she could have been the only star for him to care about. He thought he would've liked sharing a life with her. Not immediately after the war, he would probably enjoy some time of his own, sort out a couple of issues. But he would have undoubtedly gone back to her.
He had wished for that future so many times over the years. He had dreamt of her so often while in Azkaban. He had dreams of her almost every night now. Because he was free. The impossible had happened for him. Why couldn't it happen another time? Why couldn't she have escaped somehow and be somewhere out there? Why couldn't they have a life together now?
He had dreams of her groggy voice in the morning, teasing him back to bed. She had a way of not being properly awaken for the first hour of a day that made her adorable. And very susceptible to his charm. In the dreams, he would always slid back into the sheets, into her warm welcoming body. Sometimes, he would wrap his arms around her and feel life growing inside her.
How he wished he had been smart enough to settle down back then. They would have been happy together, even if the war had still taken her. They would have had a little child of their own, he was sure. Marlene loved Harry as much as him, and children were in her plans for the future.
They were all so young, but the war was so vicious that no one dared point out their recklessness in building families during troubled times. They were building their futures, strengthening their resolve to fight. They had to win the war, because they needed a safer world, a better world, to raise their children into.
He loved Harry, he was the closest thing he had to a son, but how he wished he'd had a child of his own. Things would have been so different. He would love being a Father, he would love the feel and the smell of a baby of his in his arms. A beautiful baby, with the looks of Marlene, if the old gods were any good, with the name of something earthy and true, not some unreachable star. He would probably insist on the child taking Marlene's name and not his. This world had no need for more Blacks.
Yes, things would be very different if he had a teenager of his own now. He or she would be here with him, celebrating his freedom. He would let his child have a sip of the rum and earn himself a humorous slap in the arm from Marlene. Maybe he would never go to prison in that future, the one he had let slip between his fingers.
He checked his line again. The hook was still empty.
Prompts and Challenges:
Sex Ed Task 2 Write about an older person wishing they had decided to have children when they were younger.
Chocolate Frog's Cards (Silver): Shrake Incorporate someone fishing into your story
Geek Pride Stand 3 Mangas/Animes Fairy Tail: (plot point) character keeps losing his/her clothes
Geek Pride Stand 4 Goodies T-Shirt: (word set) wear, sleeves, comfortable
365 Prompts Challenge: 64 Colour - Sapphire