Kind of hurried, and sloppy since I'm incredibly tired, but I still like parts of this. Hope you do too.
The prompts were: A bonfire, 'Why do the leaves change colors' and a boy in a swing. (Does it show I'm trying to cover up as much prompts as possible?)
Swing Me To Heaven
By: Nekare
From his dusty room in the house that hunted his dreams for years, Sirius could see a playground, lonely and inviting to laughter and happiness; and having nothing but broken dreams and moldy slides. When he was little, and the idea of escaping Number 12, Grimmauld Place was far away while he run after it in dreams with his fingers never quite clasping it, he used to go and sit on one of the two remaining swings, (the other out of its hinges, the same as his shoulder after Bellatrix and decide she liked Sirius' toy broom and he wouldn't let her borrow it) and stare ahead of him thinking of nothing.
The swing was his sanctuary, a place to escape the nasty looks and uptight rules; his torturous cousin and the dreadful routine that was making his head cry out in need for something, what, he didn't know for sure. So he swung along with Regulus (sweet baby brother to cherish and protect, both failures on Sirius' part), back and forth, trying to reach a piece of deep blue heaven and wondering why did the leaves changed color anyway; reaching for the blood red and sunset orange leaves with one hand and feeling himself flying (higher, higher, until he wouldn't touch the ground anymore); eyes closed and stomach forgotten with the dirt, heart pounding with freedom.
These moments of overpowering ecstasies were short, though, and soon again he would be trapped inside the house as dark as its name, disapproval on all of the grown-ups gazes and his head planning already the next escapade, the next moment he would be able to fake being a normal boy, playing in a park with leaves and bonfires and illegal magic (Kreacher's blue ears, a frog singing in a high soprano, a puddle showing stags and wolfs and rats in a display of divination he didn't completely believe) and dreaming for himself a regular, loving, pair of parents.
(Too bad he was old enough to know happy endings didn't exist.)
Right before pulling out his wand to go to the Potters (kitchen full of sweet smelling pies and honest smiles) with a new scar courtesy of his mother and a such a deep identity crisis that he wasn't sure which way was up and down anymore, he sat again on the rusty swing, shaking and wishing the summer would be over already, welcoming autumn with open arms and heart and longing for the first pristine frost; wishing for the nightmare to be over. He swung once again and reached in the dark for his namesake, a security line that would never fail him.
(And not so much to his surprise, he found he missed the leaves that matched Remus' hair.)