The gift from nowhere
Sirius was sat by the mouth of the cave, watching the rain pounding down and coating everything in sight. It was close to midnight and the sky was inky black.
Sirius sighed and stretched out his legs. He was tired of being cooped up, hiding away. He was desperately trying to reach Harry, to tell him the truth and to check on him. But it was such a lonely task. He would never admit it to anyone, but he shook with fear at the thought of returning to Azkaban. Or worse, the Dementors' kiss.
He had no choice but to escape though. He had made a promise to James.
'I can't believe how tiny he is.'
'You've done good mate, he looks healthy and happy. He's already got your hair though! Poor lad' Sirius smiled at his best friend.
'He has Lily's eyes though.' James stared down at his son in wonder. 'Sirius, will you promise me something?'
'Anything.'
'If anything happens to me…'
'No, don't talk like that.' Sirius went white at the thought of his best friend being harmed.
'Sirius, we have to be realistic. Please, this isn't easy for me either.' James ran a hand nervously through his hair. 'If anything happens to me or, God forbid, Lily. Would you look after him? Make sure he's safe and loved and protected.'
Sirius didn't want to say yes. Doing so felt like admitting aloud that things might not be okay, that he might lose James. But he knew he had to. 'Absolutely. No question about it.'
James hugged him. For a moment, Sirius froze, taken aback. Then he returned the hug firmly, hoping he would never have to make good on that promise.
Sirius thought about that now. He heard a Church clock strike midnight in the village below him. He realised with a start what the date was. Christmas Eve. His Birthday.
'Happy Birthday me.' He whispered.
His Birthdays used to be the stuff of legends; raucous parties in the Gryffindor common room, piles of presents from Mr and Mrs Potter, James by his side …
James…
A sudden fluttering roused Sirius from his reverie.
'What the-' a large owl landed at his feet, holding a long parcel in its beak.
'Who are you?' He asked. He should have been afraid. An owl finding him at a time like this… He was supposed to be lying low. He didn't need any trails leading to him. But there was something about this owl that intrigued him. He took the parcel from it, knowing it could be a trap, but not caring enough to back out.
The parcel was a broom made of ebony wood. Sirius recognised this from the snippets of news he had gathered on his travels. A Firebolt.
A small, yellowing note fell out. He picked it up gingerly.
Hello Padfoot,
If you're receiving this, then I'm dead. Which is too awful to think about, but I know you'll be finding a way to survive and look after Harry. I trust you beyond anything.
I asked a friend of mine to do one thing for me if I passed away – I gave him a pot of gold and told him that, if they ever make a broom capable of getting from 0 to 150 mph in 10 seconds he was to buy you one and send it to you on your Birthday.
Happy Birthday pal. I'm finding it really hard to write this. Just know that you are the best friend I've ever had. Please give Harry and Lily my love. Don't miss me too much – there's mischief to be done yet.
Prongs
Sirius held the paper in his shaking hands, reading and re-reading it. He began to sob, barely able to breathe. He had held this grief inside for so long, buried just beneath the surface.
He laid like that, in a haze of pain and fear, until the sun rose over the horizon. The owl stayed by his side, watching him with a sadness that seemed human.
He composed himself, he needed to keep moving if he didn't want that owl's journey giving away his position.
He looked down at the Firebolt and knew what James would want him to do.
He wrapped it up, passed it back to the owl and added a scribbled note.
Harry – your father would want you to have this. He and your mother loved you very much. They would be so proud of you.
Minerva McGonagall turned the note over in her hands, unable to believe what she was seeing. She knew Sirius Black's handwriting a mile away. How dare he write about James, after the way he'd betrayed the boy?
She scrunched the note up and threw it into the fire, then looked back at the gleaming Firebolt sadly. She had checked it for all known curses. It seemed completely innocent. She exhaled slowly, thinking of James and Lily. They had been her favourite students. They had such potential. And she saw so much of them both in Harry.
What would James have wanted?
Harry's passion for Quidditch was one of the only things keeping him going. And it was Christmas, after all.
What would James and Lily have wanted?
She took the Firebolt in her hands and knew without question what her prized pupils would have chosen for their son.
He needed to fly.
But she could never tell anyone where this gift had come from. It had to be a gift from nowhere.