There were so many times he'd wanted to come here: the day he'd escaped from Azkaban; after Harry and Hermione had set him free; when he got the letter from Dumbledore to lie low at Remus's place. It was only when he was told, quite firmly, that he'd have to stay completely trapped in the old childhood home he'd hated his entire life, that Sirius finally made up his mind. He would visit the grave of his dearly departed friends, his family; he'd finally pay his respects to James and Lily Potter.
The air was chilly and the wind bit sharply at his exposed cheeks, but Sirius didn't tighten his scarf. Middle November was rolling around. Harry was probably enjoying a hot chocolate at lunch, or laughing with his mates, or maybe cursing that Umbridge cow for whatever new daft thing she'd decreed. He couldn't let himself think about where he was headed, even as the graveyard loomed like a barren wasteland in the distance. It looked well-cared for, could even be described as a lovely sight, if Sirius were in the right mind to really notice its charm.
He didn't need to search for long; somehow, instinctively, he could feel that he'd reached the right one. He approached the headstone from the back, slowly circling it — pausing to take a deep breath, letting it out, and shutting his eyes for a moment to calm his trembling hand, before he started again — till he was facing it head-on. The stark chiselled font of the names stood out first. Clear grey eyes roamed over each letter, spelling out his friends' names softly with his lips.
'James Potter… Lily Potter… James. Lily…' The trembling started to get a little more pronounced.
'Born 27 March… Born 30 January…' A hint of clouds swirled in the grey depths, reflecting the white of the headstone as he stared, unblinking, his hand tightening in his pocket as he stood there, as silent as the graves surrounding him.
When his gaze passed over the next line, he had to shut his eyes. Something twisted in his gut and turned inward, lashing round his insides and making him feel suddenly burning hot. Memories flooded his brain and the heat ramped up.
Eventually he forced his eyelids up and he tried to focus on the dates.
'Died..' the word was so quiet, so solemn, that it might've been a dream. '…31 October…' He read the final line in his mind, going over and over it at least five or six times, before he heard his voice break on the word 'Death'.
And before he knew it, his knees were digging into the hard earth before the headstones, both hands touching the name of first James, then Lily, a fingertip lingering on the 'y' of her name. What had once been a tremble was now a shaking so violent that he let out it out the only way he knew.
The scream tore through his throat and echoed violently in the village. A nearby tree shattered from the strength of his magic running rampant, and the tears refused to stop once the floodgates were set free.
Hours later, when the silence once again settled over the small graveyard in Godric's Hollow, the dying light settled its last rays over the Potters' grave. At its base, a single yellow rose, everblooming, sat solemn vigil.