Unforgiven: July 1994
Disclaimer: I own nothing except any OCs.
Summary: What do you say when the Father you've long learned to hate finally returns? Is it too late for forgiveness now that the truth has finally come out?
Part of 'The Lost Years' series, set in July 1994 just after Sirius escapes the dementors and the Ministry at Hogwarts. Imagine he somehow found a way to reunite with the family he hasn't seen in twelve years, after all the truth has come out, at least to those who matter most, surely the first thing he'd do now is go to find them?
He's back.
Somehow you know that should mean something to you, should matter. You should feel some connection to those words, some joy, but you don't.
It echoes around in the hollow places of your soul, but it means nothing. This man is not your father; you will never accept that. You are never going to forgive him. Such forgiveness is too much to ask, even for him and you know he recognises it. Merlin knows he should.
He chose this, made a decision twelve years ago to leave. Chose his dead friends over his still living family, let vengeance for them become more important than you. You are never going to forgive him for that.
In fact this new truth seems worse than the betrayal you long believed to be the truth, because if everything were a lie, you could almost understand that, could almost live with that. You could hate him in peace and feel no guilt because he deserved it, but it's not true, you know that now and somehow you're going to have to find a way to live with it. You almost hate him more now.
It seems almost worse like this, because it was real. He was real, everything was real and it was still destroyed. He chose them over you. You were his daughter; it's you he should have run to, not Harry. And yet he did, not once but twice.
When all hell broke loose it wasn't you he rushed to protect, it was Harry. First on that Halloween all those years ago, and then later when he escaped from Azkaban, it was thoughts of Harry in danger that gave him the strength to escape, not thoughts of you. You shouldn't care, but you do.
You try not to hate him for it, not this man, this stranger, but Harry, the boy you've come to think of as your brother. It's not his fault, you know that, you do, but it's easy to want to blame him when it seems that every time your father runs to him instead of you. You try not to let the fury (not jealousy, never jealousy) taint your soul but know you fail. He's connected to Harry in a way he may never again be connected to you.
He understands Harry, loves him, and that love and understanding is reciprocated so obviously that it's almost nauseating. What does he even need you for anyway when he has Harry? The son you know that he secretly always wanted. Harry won't hold his absence against him because he never knew that he should have been there, but you did, so you will, and he knows it… You can't deal with this! You're only thirteen, and yes, you're a Black, heir to their fortune and all that implies but you're still just a child…and yet not….
A thought that makes you ever more furious, you're thirteen, fourteen in October, can you even really still be called a child? He's missed it, all of it, everything. First day of school, first flying lesson, hell everything after you turned one…and you needed him then. You don't let him see that, try to hide the vulnerability in your eyes but you know…it's true; you needed him.
You needed a father, desperately, someone to protect you, to help you navigate these perilous social waters. You and your mother have had to do that alone all these years, had to deal with the scorn of being linked to him. Had to survive alone and you know...it destroyed her, tore her down inside until she couldn't stand the pain and eventually just shut down altogether. You remember how she was when you were young. Remember listening to her crying as you sat helplessly by her door. He did that, and you hate him for it. That terrified child who sat listening to her mother sob into the darkness still lives in you, and you won't forget, you can't forgive. Nothing he says can ever change that.
He's destroyed her, and in so doing he destroyed you as well, for what use was that broken cold woman to her young daughter, what support could she ever offer you? Especially since all she ever saw when she looked at you was Sirius come back to haunt her. Some days she could barely even stand to look at you, though she tired valiantly to hide it. You never blamed her, it was always just his fault, it was easier that way, less messy but it still hurt. It still wreaked havoc with your psyche, but you tried to see it for what it was, and pull back so that you didn't cause her yet more pain with your presence. More often than not you were left to fend for yourself, left with Anne or Draco who you've always adored…but still you needed a mother too, and because of him you never really got one.
He didn't just destroy his life, he destroyed yours too, and hers. He took away all you ever wanted with just one ill-considered action…and perhaps that's what terrifies you most. You and he aren't so different, you're both too impetuous, too reckless, you know it's one of your worst failings; what if you manage to do it too? The very thought of it terrifies you. You don't want to be like him, you deny that you are viciously every time someone makes the comparison, but you can't lie to yourself. It's what you fear most of all, that you might become like him...and you could, you know it, can feel it, like some horrible prophecy, though perhaps that's your imagination.
So you deny it, deny that it means anything that he's here, now, twelve years later and looking at you as though he's looking upon the face of his salvation…and yet not. Because you know that whatever he's seeing for that first split second it isn't you, it could never be you. You're no one's salvation, you're not that child he left behind and the sooner he realises that the better.
Of course he does and some of the warmth leaves that haunted grey gaze. It happens perhaps almost sooner than you'd like and though you'd deny it to your grave, some part of you you'd thought long dead mourns its passing.
He's interrogating you now, challenging you and part of you wants to flinch, to turn away and not have to look into those broken eyes of a man you are trying so desperately to hate. You owe it to your mother not to feel for him, to yourself too. Yet some long buried part of you does, feels for this skeletal man so recently out of the hell that is Azkaban, wants to recognise that just as you've been living your own worst nightmares so has he, and at least you weren't alone.
You don't look away though; you tilt your head proudly and gaze back at him, all of your self-assurance and confidence flashing in your eyes. He won't win that easily; you won't let him. You can't resist the impulsive smirk that crosses your face though you know you should be more careful. You won't back down, you can't, your pride won't let you.
You don't want to love him, don't want to give him a chance, it's too hard. Hate is easy; it's natural, like breathing. All you've done for twelve long years is hate and you feel safe in that hatred, it's comforting, normal, at least for you. Hate comes easily to the Blacks, it's love that's the challenge, love that's alien, for the Maycombs as well. Family loyalty, that's a given, but love, real love, the kind that asks nothing in return, that's unheard of, at least for you.
But it's not as easy as you thought it would be to hate the man in front of you. He's as broken as any of you, if more obviously so. He isn't the Sirius Black you expected, ridiculous you know, but you expected him to look like the only photos you have of him…but he doesn't. He's not that arrogant young man, so convinced of his own superiority that he would be easy to hate. He's old, looks even older than he really is, and so…lost…because he is isn't he, you know that, it's a good way to put it…he lost everything, his looks, his family, his sanity…
You study his face, compare it with your own, though you already know what you'll see, those razor sharp cheekbones are yours, that defiance you see lying almost dormant in those haunted stormy eyes, that's yours too…or perhaps saying that it's his is a better way to put it. You don't want to admit that, admit that the two of you have anything in common…you don't…and yet you do… Maybe you can't hate him after all…
And with the loss of that hate comes the loss of some of those walls that you spent such long years building. The pain is bleeding into your gaze, the fear, the uncertainty that growing up the way you have has caused. You don't want him to see; yet you can't look away. Like staring into the abyss, the abyss of madness…
But in tandem with your own weakening resolve you see his strengthening one, night and day, ying and yang. Opposites. You see the anger in his eyes, the recognition, the disappointment, the rising distaste for what you've become and suddenly the hate isn't quite so difficult anymore.
You smirk inwardly, he's broadcasting and doesn't even realise it, Azkaban really did destroy his mind…and suddenly you don't know why you find any of this amusing. You shouldn't be able to read him, you know it, he should be like mother, totally impassive, impossible to read, even if he always was too impulsive, but he isn't. He might as well be an open book, though you doubt anyone but a pureblood, or family could read him. That's not good, it's not right! And it's yet another brick in the wall between you.
How can you ever look up to this man? You can't. And you can't deal with the accusation in his eyes. Who is he to accuse you any way? He's the one who left! And if he doesn't like who you've become, well it's his own bloody fault!
You let the fury rise, let it boil your blood and use it to reinforce all those shields you've been building and let your own accusations burn brightly in your eyes. You want him to know what you feel, at least this much.
You know he understands, can see the pain burning in those eyes. He gets it, but then you knew he would. He recognises the mask, and his own part in this drama and you see the scenarios flashing through his eyes. He's lost for words, imagining your life and his own part in your obvious pain. You long to speak, to throw something vitriolic at him, show him just who you've become and how much everything he never wanted has come to pass but you don't, you bite your tongue instead. You won't be the first to speak, if he wants to he'll have to make the first move, he owes you that much, but you know he won't. Yet another let down; yet another brick in the wall.
This man means nothing to you…and everything. Will your life mirror his; are you doomed to his mistakes? Did his life pass him by and will yours do the same? You long to ask, but even if you wanted to speak, the words won't come. This must be what hell feels like, an eternity full of words never spoken and deeds never done. You hate it, you hate all of this and everyone...and yet you don't, to say such a thing would be childish and stupid, two things you can never afford to be. You let the hatred subside.
You turn once again to him and glare back, interrogating him with your eyes. He's done this, destroyed your equanimity and thrown you so completely off balance that you don't even know what you feel anymore, let alone what he feels. He looks away, as if scorched by your anger; can he feel it you wonder?
Frustrated your eyes flick away from him almost of their own volition; you look to your mother. What the hell are you supposed to do now? You don't know him, don't know how to deal with this, you never thought he'd actually come back. Come here, now. He must be crazy to risk it; somehow you don't doubt that he is.
He flinches, though you can't imagine why, you're too frustrated to even bother trying to figure it out. What does he want from you? You don't know, honestly you don't even know what you want from him anymore. You don't know him; don't feel any kind of connection to him. He's your father, but what does that really mean? Coldness and distance, like Draco's father, unconditional love, like Remus has for Anne. You don't know. How pathetic is that? Don't even know what it is you've been missing all these years, you knew you wanted something just not what and now that he's here…does it even matter anymore?
You don't need a father, not now; the moment's passed. You're not a child anymore; you don't need him. Don't feel anything real for him, its all just shadows and confusion…and it's hopeless. You can't make up for twelve years in five minutes. You can never make up for twelve years. You aren't the same people anymore; this relationship isn't real though clearly he expects it to be, perhaps you did to. But it's not. You never did have any patience for lost causes.
You catch his eye, your own thoughts practically burning in those crystal depths; the moment crystallizes and stretches until it becomes much more than a moment, and much less. For the first time you're both on the same wavelength. There's no hope left for this relationship and you both know it, recognise it. Perhaps this will be the only understanding you ever share. There's something faintly tragic about that, and yet there isn't. You had your moment once, a long time ago certainly but you had it, and you can't go back. It doesn't work like that. Years have passed and nothing's the same now as it was then. And then he blinks, and the moment's gone as if it never was.
You see his despair, reflecting back at you in his baleful gaze but you don't let it affect you, what's the point? It changes nothing. Perhaps he's sorry. You try to find some comfort in the thought, but can't because if he's sorry, yet all this crap still happened then you don't have anyone to blame and you're not sure you can live like that. Sorry won't make anyone feel better but him; you don't owe him that.
You finally realise that you don't understand him and the silence that follows seems to swallow you both whole. It's not like that other silence, of words unsaid, and thoughts swimming unbidden through two lonely minds. This is different; final. It's over and yet you both know that your journey has only just begun. Together and yet apart, it's oddly appropriate, all things considered. This isn't finished, and yet it is.
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XXXPS For other stories including Sirius' daughter Salena, check out the first chapter of 'The Flipside of the Coin', yet another off shoot of the 'Someone To Understand' universe, amazing how one story I haven't even finished yet can have so much other junk attached to it!
In other news as you may have noticed I've recently been reorganising 'Someone To Understand' and its various off shoots since my previous method has been thoroughly confusing and pissing off readers. Sorry for all that, I hope this is slightly less confusing.