For the first time in 9 years, Sirius Black can finally see the sunrise, breathe in open air, and meet a pair of deeply loving eyes staring back at him.
Stepping out of the Ministry feels like a dream. Like one of those wonderful dreams he used to have in which he was back at Hogwarts with his friends, laughing without a care in the world. Or wrapped in Remus's embrace, hidden under the covers, giggling like mad. Those dreams usually turned to horrible nightmares that would claw at his heart and tear screams from his mouth until he awoke in cold sweat, surrounded by that awful cell and the dreadful guards, his heart pounding like fist against his ribs.
Remus puts a hand on his shoulder and smiles. He looks haggard, more so that he did nine years ago. His hair is starting to grey and his skin is pale and gaunt. Sirius knows that what has aged his friend is a burden much heavier than his condition. But right now that smile is genuine, and Sirius lets go of his horrible memories to wrap his arms around the werewolf's neck.
Remus embraces him, too, tightly. It's the second hug they've shared in nine years. The first one was right after the verdict had been pronounced, the chains had fallen away from his body and his friend had rushed down the stairs to leap at him, crying.
"Boys," Dumbledore says behind Sirius, and the word sounds odd. Sirius hasn't felt like a boy in ages, "we need to get going."
Sirius looks back at the man and smiles slightly, but there is a mixture of emotions inside of him, bubbling and blending in his stomach like sludge. He is extremely grateful, of course. Dumbledore had preceded his defense and it had been him who had fought for Sirius to have a second trial. The man had gathered evidence that it had not, in fact, been him who had cast the exploding spell that killed those people and had even given a rather convincing speech of the possibility that Pettigrew was still alive somewhere - they were wizards after all. Peter could very well have stolen James's invisibility cloak or simply disapparated.
But it had taken the man nine years to make up his mind, and Sirius could not forget how he had remained silent, cold and apparently unbothered during the first trial. He hadn't even looked him in the eye as he begged and cried and tried to plead his defense.
Knowing his dear old headmaster, Sirius can't help thinking that there is an ulterior motive as to why Dumbledore suddenly changed his mind regarding his freedom.
But he doesn't want to give it much thought. Not with Remus smiling widely, patting his shoulder, turning tired but caring eyes towards him. He has dreamt of seeing Remus in person for nine long years. He is not going to let his emotions ruin this moment.
So, for the first time in nine years, Sirius Black sees the sunrise, breathes in open air, and turns to meet the a pair of deeply loving eyes staring back at him.
.
On the other side of Britain, unfortunately, little Harry Potter can't do any of those things.
His aunt bangs on his door, calling his name with disdain and ordering him to get up and cook breakfast. Harry sighs softly and puts his glasses on, flinching a little at the last bang against his door before his aunt's footsteps fade away.
His back complains, the welts from his uncle's use of his belt in his latest punishment making themselves known. But if he wants to avoid those welts aggravating and the cuts re-opening from a second thrashing, he needs to hurry. So he pulls off the oversized shirt that serves as pajamas and pulls on another one along with a pair of jeans that he needs to tie with a rope several times around his waist.
To Harry's immense relief, his uncle seems intent on ignoring him as he walks down the stairs and starts eating, so the little boy busies himself with the long list of chores his aunt has left on the kitchen table. His stomach growls, a heavy weight inside of it making him feel nauseous. He is aching for some food. He hasn't eaten since yesterday's lunch and that was only half a yellowed apple and slice of burnt toast, but he refuses to plead. He refuses to address his relatives at all. He doesn't want to do anything to increase the pain his sore body is already in.
As he prepares to leave to the garden to tend to it, Dudley sprints past him and pushes him to the floor. His ribs and back scream as he makes contact with the dirt, and the palms of his hands scrape against gravel and stone. Anger flashes inside Harry, obliterating his sense of self-preservation as he glares at the fat boy who is stomping around the garden, damaging his mother's flowers as he kicks around a new football he got from his Aunt Marge. Harry sees red, knowing he will be the one to get blamed for the ruined garden and hating his cousin so much he can feel his blood boiling inside his veins, his head pulsing until it feels like the rage will seep out of his eyes and nose.
In the next second the ball turns to stone, and Dudley can't pull back his already aimed kick. He wails as his foot slams against the solid rock and falls to the ground in misery, screaming and clutching his toes.
Anger gets replaced by amusement for a split second, but before Harry can giggle, fear stabs at his soul. An iceberg slides down his spine and lands with a thud in his belly, and his throat closes up with dread. Petunia rushes out of the house, screaming to comfort her baby, placing kisses on his head and rocking him back and forth as her wide, scared eyes look at the round, smooth stone. But Vernon stays back, looming over Harry like the embodiment of pain itself has cast a foreboding shadow on him.
"Inside. Now." Vernon growls, but before Harry can get up, he is pulled by his hair and dragged inside the house, into the living room.
"I-I didn't..." Harry tries, his eyes brimming with tears of terror as he stays on his knees before his uncle. One tear slides down as he looks up and sees his mustache trembling, his face purple, his fists clenched.
"SILENCE!" the man roars. "You are an ungrateful, little wretch. Not only do you hurt my precious son, you dare to do it with your freakishness and abnormality. OUTSIDE, IN THE MIDDLE OF THE DAY!"
"I didn't hurt him." Harry squeaks, his voice small as he raises his hands in an attempt to look innocent or shield his face. "I didn't do anything."
"Close the curtains." the man orders.
Harry trembles even more. His uncle wants the curtains closed so the neighbours won't see the terrible things that are about to happen to him. He swallows hard and shakes his head.
"Please, uncle... I'm sorry." something inside him screams in outrage. What are you apologizing for? But he doesn't dare voice his indignation. "I'm sorry, it won't happen again. Please."
"I'm waiting. The more you disobey, the worse it will be for you, boy."
The shade of purple on his face grows deeper, but the terror running through Harry's veins like ice freezes his entire body in place. His mouth is numb, his hand shaking even more.
"I didn't mean to." he whimpers.
"If I have to repeat myself one more time, you won't be able to walk for a week. CLOSE THEM!" he screams.
Harry grabs every bit of courage he has left, which isn't much, and stands on shaking legs before walking to the windows and pulling the drapes closed. Before he pulls on the last one, he gets the sight of his cousin sobbing as Petunia massages his hair and kisses his face, her other hand caressing his ankle. Jealousy tugs painfully at his heart. He knows Dudley isn't even in half the pain he is in at that moment, and he's not feeling even an inch of what Harry will have to endure, yet Petunia treats him with so much love... he shoves his yearning down and pulls harshly before turning to his uncle.
A slap collides with his cheek, sending him to the ground.
"Remove your shirt, lower your pants."
Harry has half a mind to plead again, but he decides against it. Nothing will keep his uncle from hurting him far beyond what's fair. He leaves the shirt and rope neatly folded next to himself, pulls down the pants, and kneels down, his teeth chattering, his eyes drowning in tears.
The first strike hurts much more than he anticipated, and he realizes with a pang of dread that the man is using the buckle end, tearing and re-opening a previous welt. He bites back any sounds of pain except the harsh gasps that he can't help.
He should've known. Anything to do with abnormality or his cousin are the biggest offenses. He wasn't going to get a light punishment.
After five blows, Harry's whole body is shuddering. He hasn't cried out yet but he cannot suppress the sobs. At the tenth strike, a small moan finally escapes him, and his uncle seems to like it, because next he says.
"I want you to count."
Harry clenches his fists, already feeling blood dripping down to his pants, but there is nothing he can do.
The belt rips through the soft flesh of his thighs. "One." he gaps.
When he reaches ten, he falls to his hands, tears dripping steadily down his face and landing on the carpet. Droplets of blood are also dripping down, and he knows he will be blamed for it later and be forced to scrub them off. He can't stop sobbing, especially when he looks up minutely and sees Dudley walking inside, smiling in evident delight, and his aunt walking after him completely ignoring the situation. She is also mad at him, because she doesn't even try to look concerned.
There is no rythim to the blows, no chance to get used to a pattern. The man will sometimes hit him in rapid-fire, so hard and fast that Harry is barely done pronouncing the number before the next blow lands, and sometimes he waits for a stretch of time that makes the boy tense so hard in agonizing anticipation that his muscles are cramping.
"T-t-twenty...ah...five!" he yells hoarsely after screaming out in pain. He has been screaming for the past few lashes, losing that battle of wills. Another lash sends him face first into the ground, and he knows his uncle wants him to get back up on hands and knees but he can't. His body has taken too much and his vision is already fading. "T-twenty six." he sobs. The man says something, but Harry's head is so busy trying to survive each lash that he doesn't make out what it is.
A kick to his sore ribs followed by a crack makes him attempt to curl into a ball, but a hand grips his arm and roughly pulls him up to his knees. Harry sways and cries, but another lash makes him land on his face again. "T-twen...twenty-seven. P-please, sir. Please, it hurts too much. Please." he begs. He can't take anymore.
The man stops for a long while, and Harry foolishly hopes he has decided to grant him some mercy, but after a minute three lashes land against his battered flesh in rapid succession, and he can't count them fast enough, so another three are delivered again.
"Please..." he sobs, "please, I'm sorry."
His uncle ignores him, and the blows seem to get harder but Harry can't tell if it's just the fact that his older wounds have all been reopened. He can't get up anymore, and broken pleas and screams are the only thing he can do to try to make it end.
He fades for a second, but the lash to the back of his neck pulls him back. He has stopped counting, but the lashes don't stop. His lungs give up, and he can't scream anymore.
Then one lands exactly where he was kicked just minutes ago, and with the pain his eyes are finally blinded from the world and his brain fades to nothingness.
Vernon huffs when we realizes that the kid has passed out. He leans down to grab his hair and drags him to his cupboard, knowing how Petunia hates it when her carpet gets stained. A few droplets are easy enough to clean, but a puddle would probably ruin the fabric and he doesn't want to upset his wife. He shoves to boy inside, along with his belt so the freak can clean it once he wakes, and walks back to the kitchen to check on his own boy.
.
Sirius absolutely hates the idea of spending even a second in Grimmauld Place, but as Dumbledore has explained to him, his fortune won't be immediately accessible to him and there is nowhere else to go. His heart tears upon learning that Remus is basically homeless, so he accepts not only for himself but for his exhausted-looking friend as well.
They sit down at the kitchen table. Sirius has sent Kreacher to fetch Remus's things from the raggedy hotel he has been staying at, so the three sit in silence for a while before Remus speaks.
He is aching to apologize to Sirius until his vocal chords bleed, he wants to explain over and over that he couldn't possibly have known that Peter was the secret keeper, he wants to break his chest open so his old friend can see for himself the thorns of guilt and pain and regret that are wrapping around his poor heart and tearing at it.
Ever since Dumbledore contacted him to tell him about his theory that Sirius was actually innocent, his while existance has been crushed with guilt, each heartbeat feeling like a stab to his chest. He can't believe how he didn't think to look for all the clues and proof that Dumbledore came up with - he didn't lift a finger to help Sirius after he was told that the man had betrayed them. Turns out he had been the one to betray Sirius, apparently.
"Sirius -"
But his friend interrupts him.
"I want to see Harry."