vega rodriguez ☆ sirius black. (headbitch) wrote in dunhavenic, @ 2017-10-26 20:52:00 |
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Entry tags: | !narrative, * kit, r: vega rodriguez |
WHO: Sirius Black → Vee Rodriguez
WHEN: October 31, 1981 → October 31, 2017
WHERE: Godric’s Hollow → Vee and Remi’s Apartment
SUMMARY: Vee dreams about finding the Potters after Voldemort’s attack.
WARNINGS: Death :(
There was always something satisfying about the way the enchanted motorbike rumbled beneath Sirius, a constant reminder of how he'd found a way to piece together so many parts of himself--the wizard, the rebel, the boy who wanted more than to be stuck inside the suffocating bubble of his parents' world. Tonight, however, that satisfaction did not warm him the way it normally did as the headlight pierced through the clouds in the inky black sky, touched down far enough away so as not to garner attention, and came to a low purr as it stopped in front of the Potters' house in Godric's Hollow. Sirius had never been too far from the Potters. Far enough so as not to draw suspicion of their whereabouts, but close enough to be there in a moments' notice if they sent for him. And so it was that the whispers had reached him so quickly in the dead of night about an attack in Godric's Hollow. He'd been at a pub in the small town where he'd been staying, nursing the wound that Dorcas Meadowes' death had caused him. Their side had suffered so much loss in this war that, some nights, it was difficult to discern whether or not the war was truly worth it, or if they would have been better off packing up and moving to another country where the war could not reach him and the few people that he loved the most. That didn't matter now, though, because wishful thinking would not change the past months or bring back the dead. From the moment he'd heard the whispers from his corner of the pub, a tightly-coiled ball of dread had dropped into Sirius' stomach. In spite of it, he was certain that, whatever had happened, his best friends would be safe--after all, only Peter could tell their whereabouts and Sirius knew Peter would die before disclosing their location. But would he? The uncertainty that James, Lily, and Harry meant as much to someone else as they did to Sirius was enough to feed the ball of dread until it was gnawing at Sirius from the inside. With trembling hands, he'd downed what little had remained in his pint and slammed enough Muggle money onto the table to cover the cost of his tab. Within moments, his arms were shoved hapahazardly into his jacket and his motorbike was roaring to life, almost as if in echo to the monster that was roaring inside of him. He didn't know what he would find when he got to Godric's Hollow but, for the first time in his too short life, Sirius prayed silently to some higher being than himself. If they're fine, I'll never have another drink again. Let it be someone else and I will devote my life to charity when the war is over. He cringed at how easy it was for him to want to bargain with someone--anyone else's, life. How cold was he to value James and James' family's lives more than anyone else's without hesitation? Protect the Potters and take me. Just me. Take my life and spare theirs. The bargains kept playing like a bad record on repeat as he drove as fast as he could through the clouds, struggling to stay straight on course through the haze the drinks had left in his head. The bargains fell silent when Sirius was in front of the house where the second story was half ripped away. His hope that anyone could have survived the magic that caused the destruction in front of him flickered out and, in its place, a hollowness filled him. His heart raced and threatened to pound out of his chest as he barely remembered to flip out the kickstand to keep the motorbike upright. In ten seconds, he was bounding through the door that had been blown off its hinges. In fifteen seconds, he was falling to his knees at James' body, his forehead pressed against its cold cheek, his palm pressed desperately over the heart that no longer beat. For a moment, time suspended and all that existed was this unbearable grief that shattered Sirius' heart as surely as his whole world was shattering around him. James was his family, his brother, more than any other person in this god-forsaken world. The sight of James lifeless was nonsensical--a man with so much life in him that he could rarely contain it could not have his light snuffed out this easily. There was no logic that could make a world without that cocky smirk and infectious laugh and that bubbling energy make sense. Sirius could not process that this was it, that no light would flicker in James' eyes again. He reached up, shaking as he drew James' eyes closed. No. Merlin, no. Except his protest was not a thought but a strangled cry that sounded as if it belonged to someone, anyone, else. This was not a sound that Sirius Black made. It was all animal, all anguish...all wrong. But then there was a cry that did belong to someone else. The wailing pierced through the silence of death and reached Sirius even in his place of grieving. He started and, though Sirius felt as though someone had drained all of the blood from is body and replaced it with iron and sharp edges that threatened to hold him in place and cut him apart, he fought to pull himself away and move toward what he knew were Harry's cries--cries that Sirius had not even let himself believe he'd be able to hear again. He stumbled through the house and up the stairs, half-running and half-pulling himself toward the nursery desperate both to find Harry and delay the confirmation that Harry was the only Potter left. He pulled up short in the doorway. What was left of his heart broke at the sight of Lily--precious Lily with her red hair spilling out around her as she lay on the floor at the foot of the crib--reunited with his brother in some other world beyond this one. Where was the fire that always burned so brightly in her? No. What have you done? It was everything in him to step over her body, to not fall apart beside it before he could reach into the crib and pull Harry up into his arms. His godson whimpered against him and Sirius didn't want to know what this child had been forced to witness this night. His child now, he thought, because the unthinkable had happened and now it was time for Sirius to fulfill the promise he'd made to James and Lily just over a year ago. He'd meant every word of his promise to care for Harry as if he was his own but never had Sirius spared a moment to believe he'd ever have to mean it. Harry was never meant to be Sirius' because James and Lily were supposed to be here to teach him to talk and fly and live in this world they were creating for him. How was he supposed to be the both of them for Harry? How was he supposed to be a father when he didn't even know how to survive tonight? How could he be strong for Harry when he felt like falling apart, like letting his grief swallow him whole? He was never meant to live in a world without the Potters. How could that be the world they lived in now? Somehow, Sirius made his way back to living room to be with James. He held Harry against his chest so that his godson wouldn't see his father while he cried into Sirius' shoulder and slid down the wall until he was sitting on the floor beside his best friend. With his free hand, he reached out and held tightly to James. He did all he knew how to do now and wept. Slowly, slowly, the thoughts began trickling in, too loud to be silenced by mourning. Peter. This was Peter's fault. Peter, that rat, had betrayed them all. But, no, that wasn't the entire truth. Was it? Sirius had been the one to convince James and Lily to trust Peter with their lives. This was Sirius' fault, too. Peter had aimed the wand that killed them. Sirius had been the one to give it to him. Sirius had killed his best friends. Sirius had as good as sentenced his brother to death. Harry was an orphan because of him. He hated himself for his part in this. He hated Peter for being a coward. As his own cries quieted, he filled the hollowness with a red hot anger--anger at himself, at Peter, at every single moment that had lead them to this. He hated that he hadn't seen it coming, hated that his best efforts to save them had failed. The anger devoured his grief and used it to form one pulsing, solitary thought. As soon as I have the opportunity, Peter will pay for what he has done. He strengthened his hold on Harry, and on James, and his own motivating hatred for a man he'd once called a friend. There would be no more death this night--there had already been too much--but tomorrow... Tomorrow was a new day. I will fucking kill him. -- Vee woke with a start, gasping for air, her fingers curling tightly around the fabric of her camisole. Her fist pressed against her chest as though she could keep her heart in place. The tears came unbidden and there was little Vee could do to stop them. The overwhelming terror and grief, anger and hollowness she’d felt in the dream felt so real to her now as though the emotions belonged to her in this life. Pull yourself together, Vee. It was just a dream. But was it? How could it feel so real and be just a dream? She pulled her knees up and pressed her head to them as her sobs trembled through her body. She had to get a grip or else she’d jump in her car and drive straight over to Jahan’s just to make sure that everyone was safe and sound because, in her heart of hearts, she knew that seeing James, Lily, and Harry was equal to seeing Jahan, Calla, and Dahlia. She couldn’t explain it. It made no sense. All she knew was that she needed some sort of confirmation that, regardless of how real that had felt, it wasn’t. Biting down on the back of one hand to stifle her sobs, she grabbed her phone from her bedside table and texted Jahan. J-- Call me when you wake up. --V. She glanced at the time on her phone. It was after midnight. Happy fucking Halloween. |