Acceptance

Rest — Green Day

Sirius's eyes "watered" occasionally over the next few days. But that, as all things must, passed.

Sirius woke in the middle of the night three days after he'd mourned and went up to a hill on the grounds. His confession to Drucilla had left him feeling horrid. So terrible he was convinced he deserved to die. He stared into the night sky, hoping for a sign that what he was about to do was the right thing. And then he realised he didn't care if it was right or wrong. He was going to do it, and to hell with the consequences. He went back inside and gathered his supplies.

Sitting on his bed while his friends slept peacefully, Sirius closed his eyes and found himself at Drucilla's funeral service. He was sitting much where he had been the first time round, and Dumbledore was at the front, speaking. As the old man prattled on, the lid to Drucilla's coffin lifted a half-inch then closed. It did this about a dozen times, shaking the heavy flower arrangement off the top. Drucilla opened her own coffin and sat up. She put her feet on the floor and, as if guided by some unseen force, wandered around the mourners, half-dancing. Sirius stood and approached her. He reached out to grab her arm, but he only grabbed air as she vanished into a puff of smoke. He turned back and her coffin was locked shut and undisturbed. Then he, his mates, Severus Snape, and Peter Pettigrew carried her casket out of the mortuary and placed it in a hearse. As the hearse drove away, Sirius saw Drucilla looking out the small back window, her hand pressed against the glass.

Sirius tore himself from the vision and felt the gun itch in his palm.

Maybe it would be easier for everyone if I was out of the picture, too.

Thickly and slowly, Sirius brought the gun to his face. He turned it and pointed it at himself. The end of the barrel touched his lips and he opened his mouth. He could smell the oil, taste gunpowder. He reached up with his left hand and cocked the hammer on the revolver. He wrapped his fingers around the trigger. On three, he would squeeze.

One…

Two…

Three.

Panic Song — Green Day

Sirius pulled the trigger. The hammer smacked down against the chamber, and nothing happened. Sirius pulled his eyes open and stared at his surroundings. He hadn't died. Sirius checked the chambers. The gun was not loaded. Sirius sighed. He chuckled mirthlessly.

Sirius felt like he weighed ten thousand pounds and was therefore rendered immobile.

The weight of all that has found your bones, said the calm voice, and sunk in deep. You can feel her coffin rising and falling, rise and fall, and so, by the time you put your daddy's gun back, you truly will be immobilised. Your bone marrow will fill with your dead and the blood will clot.

The calm voice chuckled.

Oh, God, Sirius thought, I have never been so tired. So tired, so sad, so useless, and alone. I'm exhausted from my mistakes and my rage and my bitter, bitter sadness. Wiped out from my sins. Oh, God, leave me alone and let me die so I won't do wrong and I won't be tired and I won't carry the burdens of my nature and my love any more. Loose me of all that, because I'm too tired to do it on my own.

"Please," Sirius whispered into the dark room as he hugged and rocked himself. "Please loose me of all this."

Padfoot, as Sirius could no longer deal with his human emotions, curled up on his bed and went to sleep. Remus shut the curtains around his bed before Frank Longbottom woke up.

The next morning, James found Sirius sitting on his bed, instead of being in Potions class. Sirius looked hung over, which was entirely possible, and was hunched over his bedside table. James took a silent step further into the dormitory, hoping to get a better look at what Sirius was fiddling with. It was a silver revolver and Sirius was spinning its cylinder with his left hand. James knew enough about Muggle weaponry to know that it could hold six bullets, and started a little when he only counted five on the table.

"What are you doing, Padfoot?" James asked in a gentle, playful tone, his voice sounded more scared than he'd meant it to. Sirius looked up at him. In one slick movement, he rocked the cylinder back into the gun, placed the barrel against his temple, and pulled the trigger. James shut his eyes and turned away. The loud click startled James, but he opened his eyes to see Sirius spinning the cylinder once again.

"Thinking, Prongs," Sirius sighed. "Just…thinking."

James later found out from a drunk Sirius that he had stolen the pistol from his dead stepfather before he'd run away. Claude had it in case the Muggles "invaded." James tried to understand Sirius's guilt, this horror at himself, but he couldn't. Because he hadn't pulled the trigger.

Whatsername — Green Day

Though Sirius missed Drucilla, his recovery from her death weighed largely on the fact that none spoke of it ever again. Death once again became a taboo. Unspeakable. And he was thankful. He knew in his heart he would grieve and miss her for the rest of his life. He felt this especially standing on the Astronomy Tower and recording yet another star chart with the wind swirling around him.

In his later years, he would regret not telling her about Peter Pettigrew and about the sadness he had anchored inside of him since he was seventeen and that loving her had been the sole admirable accomplishment of his otherwise useless existence, that being the Secret-Keeper for James and Lily—that seemingly insurmountable task—was the scariest thing he'd ever faced, and the only chore he'd never run from. He regretted never telling his Drucilla that loving her was the core of him, and when she had been taken, so had he.

We'll withdraw now, as Sirius looks to the sky in the south and stares at his namesake star. He pretends that that is where Drucilla is, and as long as that star is above the horizon, she is with him.

We can only learn so much and live.

—Fin—