AN: So, another short chapter but the segment simply doesn't belong with these scenes. Hope you enjoy! Thank you, Sakkiko!

P.S. Up next, Sam will be recording Chapter 8. But we haven't had Chapter 6 fully funded yet so we are having infrequent readings. Thank you to everyone who was able to make it last week!

Chapter 27 - Starless Sky

Sirius had been in prison for too long. He definitely had never been a morning person before, but he felt compelled to get up to see the sunrise.

His cell had been facing the south, he had seen nothing ever, just a patch of grey or a patch of black from an air hole in the top corner of his cell that had made the room cold.

It was a taunt, a cruelty upon endless cruelty.

Seeing the sunrise reminded him that he was free, that he was alive.

Malcolm sat beside him and handed him a cup of coffee.

Sure, Sirius liked tea, but he needed something stronger to start the day.

Sirius could stop the groan at the first sip.

Chocolate, coffee with melted chocolate and cream.

Malcolm smiled as he settled beside him, drinking his own tea, providing a wall of warmth against the morning breeze. Sirius leaned toward him as gravity beckoned the rain to earth.

Far from discouraging him, the metal charmer laid a blanket over their laps.

James and Remus told Sirius they loved him with words, with worry and caution.

But Malcolm rarely used words. He used words as if they were precious, meant to be used with intention and as if syllable was to be weighed and measured and paid for.

Or maybe it only seemed that way to Sirius who came from a family where words were thrown like daggers, pulled back like whips, lashes delivered without fear of scarring.

Malcolm knew the cost of words, and unlike James who loved nothing more than the emotionality of words, or Remus who valued the intellect of words, Malcolm understood their danger yet wasn't misled by other's babble.

By Sirius's babbling.

Malcolm was perhaps the only person on the planet he didn't feel compelled to talk to, to humour, nor did he feel guilty for his silence or his emotions.

That didn't mean they ignored each other in quiet, they just… didn't need to be anything more than they were.

Like right now. Sirius had asked once why Malcolm made Sirius's coffee so sugary.

Because you are barely maintaining weight; I'll get you the calories any way you'll take them. Besides, chocolate heals the soul and coffee raises the spirits.

They had never talked about it again, but it remained true for every morning and every meal; and every night, when Sirius wanted whiskey, he instead reached for hot cocoa and waited on the sofa for the promise of coffee.

Whiskey was used to drown the soul, but coffee raised it.

"Sirius," Malcolm began, looking down at him as the sunlight painted them in pink and orange.

Sirius didn't say anything, just leaned into him further.

Malcolm raised a hand to touch his cheek, "I am not a man of words, but action, I know. So let me share this and you tell me if it is unwelcome.

Sirius shut his eyes as the sun finally crested the mountain ridge.

The brush of lips was not a surprise, but it was welcome.

Sirius didn't hesitate to kiss the gentle giant back, life was too short and he had been alone for too long.

Sirius was used to roughness, he wasn't at all used to being treated like he was worth something.

He was worth much, he knew that better than anyone, but he did nothing to discourage him. Malcolm was nearly two decades older than Sirius, he knew what he was getting into.

Sirius couldn't ruin him, no more than wind could fell a mountain. This man made him feel like a person as their beards got tangled together.

He had always taken it as a point of pride that he was bisexual, that he didn't care what was in someone's pants or beneath their skirts so long as he got in or they got into his.

His father had been appalled by their French relations in their flippancy about sexual relations.

Sirius had always found that rich, considering his father had married a truly awful woman who shared his last name.

No, as far as Sirius was concerned, everything his family loved was amoral and everything they hated was something to aspire to.

Yet even those thoughts fell away as Malcolm tucked Sirius against his chest before the light of dawn.

This was better than he had ever deserved and it broke him to think he could have this moment and maybe tomorrow, and if he was very lucky the day after before this wonderful man would have enough of him.

Malcolm chuckled.

Sirius looked up at him, "Yes?"

"My sister was right," Malcolm said, kissing the side of his forehead. I always wanted a dog.

Sirius barked his laugh, his heart soaring as a terrifying mixture of love and hope took flight.

oOo

She was as beautiful as ever, but he knew that memory could only be a disservice.

Lily huffed, brushing his hair away from his face, "How can you still be such a silly romantic?"

"Because," he said. "I married the woman of my dreams."

Lily rolled her emerald eyes, "I'm dead. And you still have so much to live for."

"But I don't have you."

She rested a hand on his cheek, warm and alive, "Harry needs you."

He blinked back tears, "I don't know how to do this without you."

"i carry your heart with me (i carry it in my heart)i am never without it (anywhere i go you go, my dear; and whatever is done by only me is your doing, my darling)," she recited E. E. Cummings as if beyond the grave she had finally learned to appreciate the romantic poets.

"I will never not love you," he said. "But I will never be whole without you."

"You must try. I will be here when the time comes, but that time has not come."

He took a breath and closed his eyes, pretending that the tears were not making a grand escape.

"Were all stars to disappear or die,

I should learn to look at an empty sky

And feel its total dark sublime.

Though this might take a little time."

Lily kissed him.

He woke with the memory of his wife on his lips and fresh tears spilling down his cheeks.

He was twenty-one years and a widower. He had survived a war only to wake up over a decade later in a new one, where his son was still number one on the terrorists' hit list.

James rolled back on the bed and looked up at the ceiling.

He looked up at his starless sky.

oOo

"I don't understand why I can't manage this," Harry said.

Sirius tapped his fingers on the table, "You know what your form is, you've seen it, and it's spoken to you?"

"As much as a bird can talk," Harry agreed.

His father frowned, exchanging a look with Sirius.

"What?" Harry demanded.

"You have a mental block," Minerva said. "That's why you can't transform."

"Maybe we should consult with another healer," James suggested. "The spurts of accidental magic were peculiar."

"Sirius said Mum had accidental magic happen to her too," Harry said, shying away from the memory of his interrogation.

"She did," James said. "But that was partly because she practised magic without a focusing object too often."

"A focusing object?" Harry asked.

"Wandless magic," Sirius said.

"Oh," Harry said. "I do that."

Sirius arched a brow, "You regularly use wandless magic?"

"Is that bad?" Harry asked.

James leaned back in his seat, "Not bad, but dangerous."

"Dangerous how?"

"As wizards and witches grow, the focusing object becomes a way to direct our growth. Without that direction, you have to discipline yourself."

"Discipline myself how?" Harry asked.

"Your mother chose ritual magic," James said.

"Are you serious?" Harry asked.

"No, I'm Sirius. And James and I are able to transform into our animagus forms without our wands. You're learning elemental magic, that type of advanced magic is what is necessary if you're using too much wandless magic, or your thoughts and emotions can manifest as magic without intention."

"Okay, but how is this solution preventing me from becoming an animagus?"

"Likely, your emotions are as much a help as a hindrance," James said. "Sirius and you were working on elemental magic."

"Luna already has it down," Harry sighed.

Sirius sighed as well, "Potter men and their taste for powerful women."

Harry raised a brow, "Including my grandfather?"

James snorted, "My mother was a Slytherin. Top of her year."

"She could have had my job if she wanted it," Minerva said.

"What did she do?"

"She was ambassador to the Indian Bureau of International Wizarding Relations," James said. "She retired when she had me."

"Retired?" Harry asked. "How old was she?"

"Never ask a woman's age," Sirius warned.

"Late fifties," James answered. "But it could have been later."

Harry's brows went up, "That's… um, I didn't think that was possible."

"Magical people age differently," James said. "Still, I was their miracle baby. They were so excited when Lily got pregnant."

Harry heard the implicit truth behind the phrasing.

Swallowing, he asked, "What happened?"

"Dragonpox," his father said.

"There is a cure now," Minerva said gently.

James's voice softened, "I'm happy to hear it."

Sirius, who looked as upset as James, changed the topic. "So Luna and I have a handle on water and fire, while your natural element is wind, correct?"

"Yes," Harry said.

Sirius grinned, "Then I think the best idea is to go flying, wouldn't you agree?"

Harry grinned back but it was Minerva who was the first to rise to get the brooms.

Racing through the Highlands was undoubtedly cold in winter, but with the aid of some warming charms, it soon became pleasantly warm. Harry was the fastest by far, but Minerva, James and Sirius still had loads of tips and tricks to assist him with.

While Harry couldn't control the wind, its song was louder in his mind than it had ever been before. If only he could understand what was holding him back.

oOo

AN: Thoughts, ivy, discord, or feedback, pretty please?