Morning Melodies
The morning comes and I wake with the tingle of sunlight on my nose. I grunt deeply and sigh, before I open one eye and peek at the cellar ceiling above. Obviously, I left the trapdoor open, and now the sun is standing high in the sky and shining right down on me.
The light is warm and I am really comfortable. But then I remind myself why I am here and get up, fastening the old rug around my waist. I leave the lighthouse and take a deep breath, standing high up on the shore and inhaling the fresh wind blowing in my face. For once, I feel free. I know I am a free man, because the light said I should not fear justice. But then, I am no longer Sirius Black, the fugitive of Azkaban.
I turn my back on the roaring sea and walk land inwards. The green hills and corpses of wood here and there look like a huge emerald patchwork blanket. After some hours I reach the little white houses of the village whose lights I saw last night. The people are friendly, but Muggle, and cannot help me very much. One of the local women gives me a pair of old trousers and a shirt that belonged to her son, and her husband drives me to the next larger city, which is Plymouth. So I am in Cornwall.
I know a guy with a magic-shop in Plymouth, but last time we met I was a wanted fugitive and he kicked my bum out of his shop. Maybe he is more friendly today?
I thank the Muggle, his name was George Mayflower, for the ride and open the door to Fletcher's Fabulous Magic-Shop. Inside it is sticky and the smoke from the dragon statue in the corner obscures most of the shelves that line the walls. In the back of the shop, behind the counter, an old man sorts some papers, but when I approach him, he looks up and catches his breath.
"Mr Black?" he shakes his head in denial, "How can that be?"
"As in, how did he manage to regain life?" I inquire.
"Never mind. What can I do for you?" he smiles politely. I can smell his fear.
"Am I still a wanted criminal?" I ask, absolutely relaxed. Well, I appear to be, but my heart flutters in anticipation as he opens his mouth.
"No, Mr Black, you were found innocent after young Harry Potter fought You- know-who in the Ministry's atrium with Albus Dumbledore," he sighs faintly and breathes deep.
"So Voldemort is back and on the loose?"
"Yes, it appears so. The Wizarding World has been in big turmoil since Fudge hung himself and Dumbledore refuses his post. Amelia Bones candidates, together with Aurelius Honda, but most people are in favour of her, as she is on very good terms with Dumbledore and that Order. You know about it, as you are a member yourself, aren't you?"
"Yes, yes. Can you contact Al- Dumbledore for me? I need his help," I say.
"Oh, yes. He will be overjoyed to see you. Mr Harry Potter, too. In the newspapers they wrote that he had a big breakdown after your death. Erg – mind me, if I ask how you did come back? It's rather unusual for a dead man to suddenly turn up in my shop. Actually, you're the first to do that, and you aren't even a ghost!" He babbles, seeming more at ease.
"Fine. Can you just contact Dumbledore while I floo to Hogsmeade?" I ask impatiently.
"Sure, sure. But won't you need some proper clothing first?" he asks and runs over to a shelf with robes. He rumbles there and steals my time, but I know he means well.
"Here, here! Try these on!" he smiles and hands me a pair of plain red robes. Silken. They have to be expensive.
"I'm sorry. I don't have any money with me," I apologise. He grins.
"Don't worry about it, man!" he exclaims happily, "A friend of Harry Potter is a friend of mine! Take them, it's on the house. Now – there's the fireplace – Have some powder, there!"
He shoves the floo-powder into my hand and I smile thankfully. "Thanks, man!" I say and then, "Three Broomsticks!" and there I go.
~*~*~
The pub is just as I remember. Rosmerta still wears those blue stilettos she already wore when I came to Hogwarts. When she sees me she nearly faints, and when she regains her composure she falls into my arms and presses me hard.
"Merlin, Sirius! What did they do to you! How, how are you...?" she cries and I stroke her back.
"I'm all right now, Rosmerta. But I'm in a hurry, Dumbledore awaits me." I unwind her arms from around me and step back a bit. She nods and wipes away a tear.
"Sure, dear. But come down for a butterbeer sometime, will you?" she smiles sadly.
"Of course, Rosmerta. See you then!" I smile cheerfully and leave the pub.
On the street some people eye me wearily and others gape and rub their eyes. The first ones are those who have never seen me and do not trust strangers nowadays, the second ones think that they have seen a solid ghost. I can understand both, but it is getting on my nerves.
The path up to the castle is not long, but sometimes I stop to watch my surroundings before I resume walking. I missed these lands. They are more my home than Grimaulds Place could ever have been. The forest, the lake, the Quidditch pitch, the Gryffindor tower and even the Potions dungeons, though I do not want to think about the demon housing there. Snape and I never got along and never well; both too proud and stubborn to do so.
Then there is Harry. I love the boy like my own son. Well, I guess so, as I never had a son, but I love him more that I can comprehend and I suppose that is much. He is my world, along with Remus. I hope that they are all right, but from what Fletcher said I doubt it, at least in Harry's case. And Remus has his very own problems. I pray for them.
//Merlin, make sure that they are okay!//
I sound like a stupid child, but Merlin always took care of me and showed me the right path. I owe him, or at least, I like to pretend that I do. Well, Azkaban, and Lily and James' deaths were cruel, but without their sacrifice Voldemort might have been much more successful.
I hope death is as gentle to them as it was to me.
The morning comes and I wake with the tingle of sunlight on my nose. I grunt deeply and sigh, before I open one eye and peek at the cellar ceiling above. Obviously, I left the trapdoor open, and now the sun is standing high in the sky and shining right down on me.
The light is warm and I am really comfortable. But then I remind myself why I am here and get up, fastening the old rug around my waist. I leave the lighthouse and take a deep breath, standing high up on the shore and inhaling the fresh wind blowing in my face. For once, I feel free. I know I am a free man, because the light said I should not fear justice. But then, I am no longer Sirius Black, the fugitive of Azkaban.
I turn my back on the roaring sea and walk land inwards. The green hills and corpses of wood here and there look like a huge emerald patchwork blanket. After some hours I reach the little white houses of the village whose lights I saw last night. The people are friendly, but Muggle, and cannot help me very much. One of the local women gives me a pair of old trousers and a shirt that belonged to her son, and her husband drives me to the next larger city, which is Plymouth. So I am in Cornwall.
I know a guy with a magic-shop in Plymouth, but last time we met I was a wanted fugitive and he kicked my bum out of his shop. Maybe he is more friendly today?
I thank the Muggle, his name was George Mayflower, for the ride and open the door to Fletcher's Fabulous Magic-Shop. Inside it is sticky and the smoke from the dragon statue in the corner obscures most of the shelves that line the walls. In the back of the shop, behind the counter, an old man sorts some papers, but when I approach him, he looks up and catches his breath.
"Mr Black?" he shakes his head in denial, "How can that be?"
"As in, how did he manage to regain life?" I inquire.
"Never mind. What can I do for you?" he smiles politely. I can smell his fear.
"Am I still a wanted criminal?" I ask, absolutely relaxed. Well, I appear to be, but my heart flutters in anticipation as he opens his mouth.
"No, Mr Black, you were found innocent after young Harry Potter fought You- know-who in the Ministry's atrium with Albus Dumbledore," he sighs faintly and breathes deep.
"So Voldemort is back and on the loose?"
"Yes, it appears so. The Wizarding World has been in big turmoil since Fudge hung himself and Dumbledore refuses his post. Amelia Bones candidates, together with Aurelius Honda, but most people are in favour of her, as she is on very good terms with Dumbledore and that Order. You know about it, as you are a member yourself, aren't you?"
"Yes, yes. Can you contact Al- Dumbledore for me? I need his help," I say.
"Oh, yes. He will be overjoyed to see you. Mr Harry Potter, too. In the newspapers they wrote that he had a big breakdown after your death. Erg – mind me, if I ask how you did come back? It's rather unusual for a dead man to suddenly turn up in my shop. Actually, you're the first to do that, and you aren't even a ghost!" He babbles, seeming more at ease.
"Fine. Can you just contact Dumbledore while I floo to Hogsmeade?" I ask impatiently.
"Sure, sure. But won't you need some proper clothing first?" he asks and runs over to a shelf with robes. He rumbles there and steals my time, but I know he means well.
"Here, here! Try these on!" he smiles and hands me a pair of plain red robes. Silken. They have to be expensive.
"I'm sorry. I don't have any money with me," I apologise. He grins.
"Don't worry about it, man!" he exclaims happily, "A friend of Harry Potter is a friend of mine! Take them, it's on the house. Now – there's the fireplace – Have some powder, there!"
He shoves the floo-powder into my hand and I smile thankfully. "Thanks, man!" I say and then, "Three Broomsticks!" and there I go.
~*~*~
The pub is just as I remember. Rosmerta still wears those blue stilettos she already wore when I came to Hogwarts. When she sees me she nearly faints, and when she regains her composure she falls into my arms and presses me hard.
"Merlin, Sirius! What did they do to you! How, how are you...?" she cries and I stroke her back.
"I'm all right now, Rosmerta. But I'm in a hurry, Dumbledore awaits me." I unwind her arms from around me and step back a bit. She nods and wipes away a tear.
"Sure, dear. But come down for a butterbeer sometime, will you?" she smiles sadly.
"Of course, Rosmerta. See you then!" I smile cheerfully and leave the pub.
On the street some people eye me wearily and others gape and rub their eyes. The first ones are those who have never seen me and do not trust strangers nowadays, the second ones think that they have seen a solid ghost. I can understand both, but it is getting on my nerves.
The path up to the castle is not long, but sometimes I stop to watch my surroundings before I resume walking. I missed these lands. They are more my home than Grimaulds Place could ever have been. The forest, the lake, the Quidditch pitch, the Gryffindor tower and even the Potions dungeons, though I do not want to think about the demon housing there. Snape and I never got along and never well; both too proud and stubborn to do so.
Then there is Harry. I love the boy like my own son. Well, I guess so, as I never had a son, but I love him more that I can comprehend and I suppose that is much. He is my world, along with Remus. I hope that they are all right, but from what Fletcher said I doubt it, at least in Harry's case. And Remus has his very own problems. I pray for them.
//Merlin, make sure that they are okay!//
I sound like a stupid child, but Merlin always took care of me and showed me the right path. I owe him, or at least, I like to pretend that I do. Well, Azkaban, and Lily and James' deaths were cruel, but without their sacrifice Voldemort might have been much more successful.
I hope death is as gentle to them as it was to me.
