Nothing's Etched in Stone
"Shed not for him the bitter tear,
Nor give the heart to vain regret;
'Tis but the casket that lies here,
The star that filled it sparkles yet."
It was perfect for the crumbling headstone of Sirius Black. Dumbledore had asked him if he had wanted to inscribe something on its rough surface, but he had been too shaken to think of anything suitable.
He could have written a lot of things on that stone. Memories rushed through his head.
The sky – inky with streaks of black and cloud – pregnant with a sagging full moon. Two boys discarding their human skins, morals and their mortality. Running like demons out of hell and never getting anywhere.
A different scene. Lovers with everything and nothing guaranteed to them. A little cottage by the sea. A shaggy black dog bathed in sand and saltwater, jumping into their bed too early in the morning just to make him curse and rant.
All those people lying dead and bloody, and the single thought that Sirius – crazy, loveable, funny Sirius – had blown all those people up as if they were cheap fireworks. A finger left. Just a finger. Even stars fall sometimes.
Azkaban.
I'm so sorry for that, Sirius.
We fucked in every room at Grimmauld Place to chase away bad memories. You laughed the entire time when we made love in Snape's chair in the room that served as Order headquarters. You laughed a lot. Always tinged with a bit of insanity.
We were always separated by more than just a veil, weren't we? It was never just us, together, completely at peace. There was always suspicion, hurt, unrequited love, separation, misunderstandings…
But I loved you. I know it bothered you that I never said so. Why? Why didn't I tell you?
It doesn't matter now.
I couldn't have fit all that on a headstone. I wouldn't have wanted other people to read it, anyway.
A/N: I'm seeing how many drabbles I can post in one night. Not my usual couple. This reminds me too much of an old relationship of mine for me to have any affection for it. In fact, I hate this stupid drabble.