CANTO TWO
Sirius stands shocked at the scene he's witnessed, aghast at how quickly Voldemort has found Peter.
they'd been deliberating on whether or not to visit James or not – Remus was dead against it, as was Dumbledore, of course, so it wasn't exactly breaking the rules, just a secret. Godric's Hollow, just for one evening. Peter said he'd call him back, to ask about something, but there was an explosion and thrown out of sight.
he didn't need to see or hear everything Voldemort said.
summons the happiest thought he can manage, fires off his Patronus - a bear. the memory of the day the Potters let him stay. orders it to Godric's Hollow.
"Voldemort has found us. run. get abroad. we are discovered."
and then there's the question. what should he do? run, run to the sea, or fight? if he runs, he may end up in the same place as James; they are too alike. if he stays, Voldemort will torture and kill him. there is firewhisky in the cabinet, he needs to calm his pulse; he needs to live, he needs to live up to the promises he made to himself; he needs to live up to his reputation, he needs to live long.
what does Sirius Black really need?
he needs to wait for Voldemort, he needs to stay put, to buy James and Lily the time to get out. they can be in Paris a quarter-of-an-hour, or Canada in twice that. it's all they need; he doesn't matter any more. fuck Dumbledore for leaving them like this; fuck the Ministry for fighting them, fuck the Order for fielding them in battle. he's twenty years old, and he wants to see Marlene, and he wants to tell his father he's sorry, and he wants to know his youngest brother Regulus is okay.
'what will you do?' Marlene asks him, following each question with a kiss.
'we have to hide, Maz' he tells her. 'it's our only option. Dumbledore says so.'
'here? how long? why?'
he kisses her again, long and low. that long.
'this war won't end; this government won't want it.'
i could come with you, she looks at him. she can't, he knows it, and she knows too, and he knows she knows. but it's sweet and devoted nonetheless.
'i just want you to be happy,' he whispers nonsense. and she comes with him.
by July, she's dead with her whole family. it makes him think of his own, and the high-backed armchair, next to the cabinet, next to the whisky, that he's nicked from his father's study. to ec tou patros ecporevomenon. it's nothing that he could know. did his father ever say 'i just want you to be happy' to his mother? could he?
there's nothing giving. so he sits down again, and drinks, and waits.