House: Horned Serpent

Arithmancy

Task 2 - If Sirius in his dog form had come out from the alley he was watching Harry from in the beginning of Prisoner of Azkaban.

[Character] Sirius Black (main)

[Action] Sneaking around

[Quote] "We must all learn not to sink beneath our anguish but battle on." - Albus Dumbledore

WC: 1238

TW: None

⁂

He had to remember.

Every day it grew a little harder, the Dementors sapping his strength during the brief periods of time when he was human — the shape felt strange, biting sea spray from the ocean hitting unprotected skin, stone rough against his hands when he wandered around the cell as he waited for the guards to pass. But he had to remember.

He remembered James' laugh, infectious and as bright as the sun, filling up the room; the way his nose crinkled up when he thought, his glasses pushed up and precariously balanced until he worked through his problem; the way he ran his fingers through his hair to mess it up even further, much to his parents' exasperation.

He remembered the particular copper shine of Lily's hair; the flat unimpressed look she would give him after a prank only for it to be ruined by the twitch of the corner of her mouth; the way she would stretch after working on a difficult problem, almost tipping backwards in an attempt to work out the kinks in her spine.

He remembered Harry, just a baby and yet, he could picture him on a broom, chubby hands clinging to the wood and urging it to go faster, fly higher, cheeks pink with delight. He held the scent all babies did: milk and soft talcum powder but the acrid scent of Lily's potion ingredients clung to him, making him unique. His love for his godson burned bright, a constant flame throughout the years.

He remembered Peter, turned all their interactions around and around in his mind until he could no longer tell them apart. It was a tangled mess of his high voice, and constant shadow at the edge of their group — something had changed but he couldn't tell when, or had that resentment always lingered like rot in Peter's heart?

He remembered Remus. He could live a thousand lifetimes and he would still remember how Remus kissed: as if they were both drowning and, in one final moment, he chose this. He remembered the softness of Remus' jumpers whether beneath his hands or against his skin, a symbol of their relationship and a cozy one at that. He could remember the exact way Remus took his tea, an art form completed in under five minutes, tongue clamped beneath his teeth as he concentrated.

On the day Sirius Black escaped from Azkaban, bones protruding through his skin and waves threatening to pull him under to the freezing depths, he could remember all of those things.

But he couldn't remember the placement of the freckles on James' face, or the cadence of Lily's laugh, or the tint of Harry's eyes — he would never see his godson grow, an empty timeline of memories that had been stolen before he could make them — or how Peter's face lit up when he was happy. He couldn't remember how Remus felt when he settled onto his lap, how it felt to have his face rest in the crook of his neck.

Sirius Black crawled onto a rocky beach in Scotland, and lay there, ears pricked for any pursuit even as he considered never moving again, and letting them catch him. He shook off the anguish — sea water flicking away from his fur — and began to move south, mind set on finding his godson.

⁂

The boy was too thin. Sirius knew he couldn't comment — ribs visible through his skin as he pulled a stolen t-shirt over his head, skipping over the jumper as it hurt too much to consider — but he knew. He took a cautious step forward, paw knocking against a bottle, and the boy — so much like James, but there was Lily there too in the brightness of his eyes, the way he held himself — stared into the depths of the alley. Harry took half a step forward, gaze searching the gloom, passing over Sirius unknowingly and he couldn't fight back the low whine in his chest.

"A dog?" Harry whispered, a slight furrow developing between his eyebrows before it was washed away. "Here, boy!"

Sirius slunk back into the shadow, heart beating too fast, terror gripping him in a way the Dementors had never managed. He'd imagined this a thousand different ways, and now it was here, Sirius couldn't move. But he had to. He had to see for himself.

Stumbling, Sirius forced himself to walk forward — uncoordinated as if it was his first transformation, limbs weak and unfamiliar — and Harry's face lit up with joy, followed by concern as he looked over Sirius' matted coat, the missing patches and press of his bones.

Harry stretched out and scratched behind Sirius' ear — the same spot he would unnervingly find even as a baby, James and Lily laughing as Sirius' tail knocked against the floorboards — and Sirius pressed his head further into Harry's hands. It wasn't joy, but it was relief, weight slipping from his shoulders as Harry continued to murmur quiet words — soft words of praise interspersed with scraps of a plan that reminded him so much of James.

"Come on then," Harry said, stepping away and patting the side of his leg, glancing nervously around the quiet residential street. He relaxed slightly as Sirius trotted over to him — how could he ever have thought leaving his godson alone was a good idea? — and the pair made their way towards Number 4, a nondescript house identical to the rows of houses that stretched all around it.

Harry's shoulders relaxed when he saw the empty driveway, grinning down at Sirius and heading towards the side of the house. The lawn was immaculate, a bright green that hurt Sirius' eyes and he focused on Harry's mess of hair as he retrieved a small key from beneath a brick to unlock the shed.

It was quiet and dark inside and Sirius hesitated in the doorway before following Harry, the hair on the back of his neck prickling.

"It's just for a little while, until I can try and take you to a vet to see if you have an owner," Harry explained, beginning to rearrange bags of fertilizer and bottles of strange brightly coloured chemicals that burnt Sirius' nose when he took a cautious sniff. "And then, if you don't, I can take you to school with me. I think. Lee Jordan brought a tarantula and you seem really well trained."

He turned — just enough to check the door could be opened from the inside — then moved forward at Harry's urging into the small opening he had made.

"I'm going to get you a blanket," Harry said, once he was sure Sirius couldn't be seen from the front door ("Not that they ever come in here," he told Sirius, rolling his eyes, and Sirius felt his heart break anew).

The moment Sirius was left in darkness, he shifted back into human form, unable to keep the tears from rolling down his face, hands shaking as he bit down on a knuckle to keep himself from screaming. He had found his godson. He had found Harry. Sirius had to trust that everything would work out, he had to keep hold of the spark of hope in his chest that Harry didn't hate him. Because if he didn't, then Sirius Black had no reason to carry on.