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1. As a kid
Dad was at it again.
Regulus pressed his hands to his ears. Sirius had told him to hide away until Sirius found him. That had been nearly an hour ago, and Regulus could still hear the screaming, and he was so, so scared–
And then, the screaming stopped.
Regulus sagged with relief. It was done, then. Sirius would come into his room, or Regulus would go into Dad’s office and help him over. Then, Regulus would bandage him up as best he could and ask Kreacher to do the rest. Kreacher would decline, if he thought Sirius wasn’t sorry enough, or accept if Regulus pleaded nicely.
Regulus would give it five minutes, and then sneak over to Dad’s office.
He waited. Five minutes, six to be sure, because Sirius had said to wait until he found him.
But–Regulus had a bad feeling about this. He was worried that Sirius would be really, really hurt…
So he snuck out. Dad’s door was ajar, but Dad had left. Regulus opened it, peeked around the corner, and tottered on his feet.
Don’t faint, don’t faint…
“Don’t faint,” Regulus commanded himself feebly, and went further into the room.
He gently touched his brother’s bare, bleeding back. “Sirius?”
Dad had–-some sort of lash–-he had something that he used on Sirius, sometimes, but never this much, never before… Sirius’ back looked torn apart, more blood than not.
His neck was especially bad. There was one long, harsh lash across it, that had Sirius’ head bent at an odd angle.
Regulus was starting to think he’d need to call his Mum in here to fix him up, and he hated doing that, but this was really, really bad…
“Sirius,” Regulus repeated, shaking him. Sirius didn’t stir. “Sirius! Sirius, why are you so still? Wake up–”
Regulus realized it in one frozen, horrifying moment.
He promptly lost his head. “MOM! MOM, COME UP HERE–MOM, YOU NEED TO COME UP HERE NOW, SIRIUS IS– MOM!”
Regulus was screaming his head off as Mom came up, because it couldn’t be true, it just couldn’t–
Mom came rushing into the room.
Regulus was crying, Regulus was screaming, Regulus was in hysterics–
And then, Regulus was obliviated.
For the rest of his life, it was just him.
Well. There were his parents, of course. But they just made him hurt.
Regulus was an only child. Andromeda insisted he used to have a brother, but Mum said she was lying, and Regulus would believe Mum, he did believe Mum, but–
There was just this, this feeling, like Regulus had lost a vital organ. He hurt so much, so often, just inside his heart. He spent most of his time crying and he didn’t really know why.
Until he was eighteen, and realized how much aunt Andromeda had been right about, and remembered how she'd insisted he had an older brother, and thought maybe she'd been right about that, too. And when the inferi were closing over his head, he wondered what it would've been like, to have an older brother. He wondered if they would’ve been friends.
It would've been nice, he thought, to someone to lean on.
Sirius never made his mark on Hogwarts. James Potter had good friends, but not a best one. They were mates, but they were not Marauders. Hogwarts was suffocatingly quiet in his absence, Remus was shyer, Peter was more scared… but it was Regulus who hurt the most.
2. After the prank
Slytherins were ambitious. Sirius was no Slytherin, but he had ambitions. They used to be big: travel the world, get arrested, get Regulus to bail him out, get arrested again. Every year they shrunk. For a few years, he had no ambitions at all: the Marauders were all he needed.
But even that was gone, too. And how could Sirius blame them? He had ruined it himself, with the stupid, hideous, horrible prank. Sirius ached and ached to be able to re-do that day. He would get out of dinner, go to his room, and sleep. He wouldn’t meet Snape in the hallway, and if he did, he wouldn’t let Snape get to his head. Snape would bite and snarl with his words and Sirius would keep his own snarls to himself. He would let Snape insult Remus, and Regulus, and Sirius himself, if it meant that Snape would not go poking and prodding in places he shouldn’t.
It was so, so easy in his mind.
But that time was far gone. The marauders were a dream. By now, Sirius’ ambition was only this: quiet, calm, no screaming and no crying. Nobody who needed to be protected. Nobody who he might hurt himself.
His ambition, when he looked at it closely, was death.
Summer break was coming. Sirius had sort of thought he might spend it with James, but that was before–well, before he ruined it all himself.
Regulus had the other Slytherins, and Mom and Dad never hurt him. He was the golden boy. It was Sirius who was the stain on their legacy. It was Sirius who got hurt.
Regulus was clever, perhaps too clever for his own good. He didn’t need Sirius to protect him anymore. The Marauders were certainly better off without him. So, really, what was the point?
No, really, what was it? Sirius would listen. If someone told him there was a point–that this would be over–that the Marauders would ever be the Marauders again–then Sirius would listen. He wanted there to be a point. He wanted there to be a happy ending.
But he knew there wouldn’t be, because that just wasn’t how life worked out for Sirius. Happy endings were for other people. He’d had these five wonderful, wonderful years at Hogwarts. He’d had best friends. But it never lasted, and even if they figured this out, Sirius felt certain something else would go wrong. War was coming. People would spy and die and be left alone and Sirius was the least safe of all. Distrusted by both sides. Only the Marauders had always been there, and they had always been all that he would need. But then he’d gone and forfeited that, too.
If he went on living–things might get better–but it was infinitely more likely that they would get worse. Sirius would be betrayed or killed, maybe he’d be distrusted and sent to Azkaban for crimes that his family commited, somebody he loved would die because there was no way they’d all make it through, and eventually, Sirius would die too.
Maybe things would get better. But that wasn’t how life had worked out so far, and Sirius was just–tired.
He didn’t give up. He wasn’t the type of person to do that.
But, everyone’s got a breaking point, right?
The wind whipped through Sirius’ hair, and he stared down at the ledge below. He could vanish himself out of existence–fall through a veil–and perhaps people would think he’d ran away. He could slit his throat in the bathroom, and the Marauders would find him first. They’d know he’d killed himself, and they would be so very sorry. They would ask what could’ve been done differently.
But the thought of them being the ones to find him hurt too much to think about. Sirius wanted them to know, he wanted them to hurt, but–not that much.
So before he could stop himself, he stepped off the tower of Gryffindor, letting himself fall towards the ground. It could be passed off as a prank gone wrong, revenge by someone or other.
Regulus would think it was a prank gone wrong. He’d always been too innocent for his own good.
The Marauders would know the truth. Sirius hoped they’d understand that, well, it wasn’t really their fault. It was just the way it was.
3. Azkaban
It was the newspaper that informed Remus, quite matter-of-factly, that Sirius Black had killed himself in prison.
Good riddance, Remus tried to think. He finally went and killed himself, like everyone said he would, so good riddance to bad rubbish–
Remus hiccuped.
And then he was sinking to the ground, bawling his eyes out like he hadn’t in years, because all he could think about was the Sirius he used to know. Watch out for him, Dad had told Remus, first year. He’s of the house of Black, and they hate half-breeds. And Remus had tried so hard to distance himself, but the more he shrank in the more Sirius held on, because Sirius was a good enemy but an even better friend and when he saw how sad Remus was, all he’d wanted to do was help.
And Sirius had been the first to hug him, after they’d all found out about the wolf.
He’d been lost since he betrayed them, but now he was gone forever.
Later, Remus would finally agree to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts. He would meet the Weasleys, and meet their pet rat, and everything would turn over in his head. He would track the spells from Sirius’ wand and realize that Sirius had never killed anyone at all. He would understand just how wrong it had been, everything, everywhere, because Sirius Black had been trapped in Grimmauld Place for sixteen years, and Azkaban for six, and he’d barely ever been free and happy at all, and he had died alone and scared and in his own head and innocent, and Remus had believed him to be the spy because he had believed Remus to be the spy, but if something had changed–they could have been okay. If he had met Scabbers earlier, if Sirius had gotten a trial, if they had checked the wands. If, if, if.
Sirius Black, from the moment he came screaming and kicking into the world, was meant to live. He was meant to take every opportunity life threw at him, to jump off cliffs and feel the wind in his face, to dance at clubs and not care who watched, to do everything with fierce, fierce passion, to spoil kids and laugh at his problems and pop right back up whenever something beat him down.
It didn’t take much to make Sirius Black happy. People he loved and a bit of a thrill every once in a while. He didn’t need money, or a problem-free life, or any of the things that people wasted away trying to obtain.
It didn’t take much to make Sirius Black happy. Why couldn’t life have made this one thing work out, just this once? Would that have been so hard?
Sirius Black was meant to live. It was as true as the fact that James Potter was meant to be a father. It was a dream, and once, it had been a possibility.
But possibilities were pointless, and dreams didn’t come true. Not for Remus.
4. The kiss
James had been waiting. He’d been sitting, and watching, and waiting.
The worst part of being dead, by far, was seeing the people you love suffer and not being able to help them. And by God, he had seen the people he loved suffer.
Harry, sweet little Harry, growing up under the Dursley’s thumbs. Remus, alone and miserable and tearing himself apart every month, and stitching himself back together after.
And Sirius. Merlin, Sirius… twelve years in Azkaban, after sixteen years in Grimmauld Place, and it was just so, so unfair.
And James had been waiting. He didn’t want Sirius to die, of course, but he’d been waiting for it to happen, so that they could be together again. Padfoot and Prongs. And Sirius would forget all the misery like you always did in the afterlife, and even if he remembered anything, James would be there beside him. James had that, he always did. No matter how bad it got for them down there–it wouldn’t last, because everyone died and everyone passed on.
And then–
The Kiss.
“Come on, Harry,” James whispered, as his son cast his wand at the dementors. “Come on, please…”
Harry couldn’t do it. He tried and he tried and he failed, and the dementors came for Sirius, and Sirius’ soul was sucked straight out of him.
But. But that couldn't be right, because James had been waiting, and after everything else that James had had ripped away from him, he could not have Sirius ripped away from him too.
“I was waiting,” he told Lily, his voice a pained whisper. “I was waiting so long…”
Sirius should have killed himself in Azkaban. He really should have done it, because then he’d be here, he’d be home with James, and with Lily and Regulus and they’d all be together and it would be fine–
Sirius had spent twelve years in Azkaban for nothing, for worse than nothing, because Peter was not caught and nobody knew he was innocent and his loss had just hurt Harry more.
They used to play in the snow at midnight, then go inside and bake cookies at two in the morning… they promised to be godfathers for each others kids, they did karaoke at muggle bars, they danced like maniacs together… they cried in each other’s arms…
And James was really, really never going to see him again. He was going to spend all of eternity never seeing him again. There would be no second chance, no hope, even though they had both been waiting, waiting, waiting for each other. Sirius was just… gone.
5. The Veil
You know this story. Sirius Black fell through the veil, because everyone was wrong about him, and everyone was right about him.
He had tried, he had tried so hard to be–to be different. To be not-himself. To be the dependable adult that Harry needed, to be the closest thing to a father that Harry had, but he just–didn’t have it in him. Not in the Place, not after all that time in Azkaban, not after everything.
But everyone was wrong, because he had stayed. He’d finally done it. There had been nights when he’d wake up and launch to his feet, ready to run out the front door, and then force himself back down. He’d packed up everything once, prepared Buckbeak, and then unpacked it all and cried. He had fought and fought and fought with himself to resist the urge to leave, get out, run while you can.
He was not going to have another Regulus. Harry was going to know that he was put first.
So Sirius stayed, in that old house of horrors. He did it sulking and moody, but he stayed.
Until Harry was in danger–and in danger because of Sirius, because Sirius had not been able to get Harry to trust that he wouldn’t leave–and Sirius would never forgive himself, if Harry got hurt for him, and the only thing keeping him in the Place was Harry, and so if Harry was in danger, Sirius was going to help. It was as simple as that.
Death was simple, too, it turned out. As simple as falling through a veil.
And in that second as he passed the veil, Sirius knew he was dying, and he ached for leaving Harry behind, but there was this horrible, horrible relief in him.
No danger of Azkaban. He was beyond the Kiss’s reach. No more screaming women in the horrible old house, no more cages.
No more Harry, and no more Remus. Sirius wasn’t happy to die.
But–well, he wasn’t exactly sad, either.
6. In bed
Sirius died in the dark of night, with buttery yellow light spilling over the bedsheets. They had all been expecting it, not because he was reckless, not because he was suicidal, but because he was seventy-five and very tired.
Seventy-five. A few more years would have been wonderful, but Sirius had always joked that he didn’t want to live to be old. There would be nothing fun to do, he’d said.
He had come down with Dragon Pox–and laughed when he heard the news–and Harry took emergency leave from teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts to be at his side.
“I outlasted the others,” Sirius had muttered to Harry. “Ha. They always said I’d die first…”
“I don’t want you to die at all,” Harry had replied helplessly, because Sirius had been there without fail for most of his life, now, and a world without him was a scary thing.
But Sirius had smiled. “Harry, it has to happen. And you know… the ones who love us…”
“Never really leave us,” Harry finished, tears in his eyes. “I know.”
Harry had crawled into bed next to Sirius, although they were by far both grown men, and they had both cried a little. It had been a long forty years since they’d met each other, but a good forty years. Sirius was undeniably the cool grandpa, taking the boys and Lily for motorcycle rides, buying Harry’s kids (and his friend’s kids) new broomsticks near-annualy, letting Lily and Rose braid his hair, watching all the Star Wars movies with the family…
It had felt impossible, for life to turn out well for them. And, impossibly, it had.
“Thank you,” Harry said, “for sticking around for me.”
Because he wasn’t stupid, and he knew how hard it must have been. Azkaban, the caves near Hogsmeade, Grimmauld Place–all of those horrid, lonely places, Sirius had endured for Harry. He knew it must have been hard for Sirius, to make himself keep going when the world was falling apart around him.
But he had done it. For Harry. And he deserved to rest now, didn’t he?
Sirius fell asleep in the arms of a man with messy dark hair and round glasses, and that's how he woke up, too.
"Hello, Padfoot," James whispered, threading his hands through Sirius' hair. He was young and healthy and smiling, and Sirius burst into tears.
"Prongs..." he whispered, scrambling up into James' arms, and they were clinging to each other again, finally, finally... Sirius sobbed. To be held by James was all he'd wished for, the only thing that he was certain would make everything better, and here it was. Here James was. Here they were.
"I've been waiting so long..." James said, pulling back with tears shining in his eyes.
"You look like you're seventeen," was--stupidly--the first thing Sirius said. "You didn't die at seventeen."
"Neither did you," James said, and Sirius looked down at his hands, which were smooth and unweathered. He was seventeen again. They were the same age. Sirius choked on a laugh. For the first time in years, he wasn't years older than James.
"I'm so sorry for trusting Peter," was the second thing Sirius said, because now James could actually hear it--
"Shut up," James said harshly. "Don't you dare apologize, not for anything, you've suffered enough and Merlin, Sirius, you watched Harry." James' chin trembled. "I saw it. You gave up so much for him..."
"I'd do it again," Sirius said, and they fell into each other's arms again, rocking back and forth. There was Regulus, Remus, Lily, and all the others to meet again...
But first, there was James. They had all of eternity to figure everything else out.