Sirius & Sirius: Act 3 Scene 2, harry potter - j. k. rowling fanfic

enbysiriusblack

Characters

Remus Lupin, Sirius Black

Act 3 Scene 2

April 20, 2025 at 07:59 AM

SCENE II. Black’s orchard.

Enter SIRIUS BLACK

Gallop apace, you fiery-footed steeds, Towards Phoebus' lodging: such a wagoner As Phaethon would whip you to the west, And bring in cloudy night immediately. Spread thy close curtain, love-performing night, That runaway's eyes may wink and Sirius Leap to these arms, untalk'd of and unseen. Lovers can see to do their amorous rites By their own beauties; or, if love be blind, It best agrees with night. Come, civil night, Thou sober-suited matron, all in black, And learn me how to lose a winning match, Play'd for a pair of stainless maidenhoods: Hood my unmann'd blood, bating in my cheeks, With thy black mantle; till strange love, grown bold, Think true love acted simple modesty. Come, night; come, Sirius; come, thou day in night; For thou wilt lie upon the wings of night Whiter than new snow on a raven's back. Come, gentle night, come, loving, black-brow'd night, Give me my Sirius; and, when he shall die, Take him and cut him out in little stars, And he will make the face of heaven so fine That all the world will be in love with night And pay no worship to the garish sun. O, I have bought the mansion of a love, But not possess'd it, and, though I am sold, Not yet enjoy'd: so tedious is this day As is the night before some festival To an impatient child that hath new robes And may not wear them. O, here comes my nurse, And she brings news; and every tongue that speaks But Sirius’ name speaks heavenly eloquence.

Enter SIRIUS BLACK, with cords

Now, nurse, what news? What hast thou there? the cords That Sirius bid thee fetch?

Ay, ay, the cords.

Throws them down

Ay me! what news? why dost thou wring thy hands?

Ah, well-a-day! he's dead, he's dead, he's dead! We are undone, lady, we are undone! Alack the day! he's gone, he's kill'd, he's dead!

Can heaven be so envious?

Sirius can, Though heaven cannot: O Sirius, Sirius! Who ever would have thought it? Sirius!

What devil art thou, that dost torment me thus? This torture should be roar'd in dismal hell. Hath Sirius slain himself? say thou but 'I,' And that bare vowel 'I' shall poison more Than the death-darting eye of cockatrice: I am not I, if there be such an I; Or those eyes shut, that make thee answer 'I.' If he be slain, say 'I'; or if not, no: Brief sounds determine of my weal or woe.

I saw the wound, I saw it with mine eyes,-- God save the mark!--here on his manly breast: A piteous corse, a bloody piteous corse; Pale, pale as ashes, all bedaub'd in blood, All in gore-blood; I swounded at the sight.

O, break, my heart! poor bankrupt, break at once! To prison, eyes, ne'er look on liberty! Vile earth, to earth resign; end motion here; And thou and Sirius press one heavy bier!

O Sirius, Sirius, the best friend I had! O courteous Sirius! honest gentleman! That ever I should live to see thee dead!

What storm is this that blows so contrary? Is Sirius slaughter'd, and is Sirius dead? My dear-loved cousin, and my dearer lord? Then, dreadful trumpet, sound the general doom! For who is living, if those two are gone?

Sirius is gone, and Sirius banished; Sirius that kill'd him, he is banished.

O God! did Sirius’ hand shed Sirius’ blood?

It did, it did; alas the day, it did!

O serpent heart, hid with a flowering face! Did ever dragon keep so fair a cave? Beautiful tyrant! fiend angelical! Dove-feather'd raven! wolvish-ravening lamb! Despised substance of divinest show! Just opposite to what thou justly seem'st, A damned saint, an honourable villain! O nature, what hadst thou to do in hell, When thou didst bower the spirit of a fiend In moral paradise of such sweet flesh? Was ever book containing such vile matter So fairly bound? O that deceit should dwell In such a gorgeous palace!

There's no trust, No faith, no honesty in men; all perjured, All forsworn, all naught, all dissemblers. Ah, where's my man? give me some aqua vitae: These griefs, these woes, these sorrows make me old. Shame come to Sirius!

Blister'd be thy tongue For such a wish! he was not born to shame: Upon his brow shame is ashamed to sit; For 'tis a throne where honour may be crown'd Sole monarch of the universal earth. O, what a beast was I to chide at him!

Will you speak well of him that kill'd your cousin?

Shall I speak ill of him that is my husband? Ah, poor my lord, what tongue shall smooth thy name, When I, thy three-hours wife, have mangled it? But, wherefore, villain, didst thou kill my cousin? That villain cousin would have kill'd my husband: Back, foolish tears, back to your native spring; Your tributary drops belong to woe, Which you, mistaking, offer up to joy. My husband lives, that Sirius would have slain; And Sirius’ dead, that would have slain my husband: All this is comfort; wherefore weep I then? Some word there was, worser than Sirius’ death, That murder'd me: I would forget it fain; But, O, it presses to my memory, Like damned guilty deeds to sinners' minds: 'Sirius is dead, and Sirius--banished;' That 'banished,' that one word 'banished,' Hath slain ten thousand Sirius’. Sirius’ death Was woe enough, if it had ended there: Or, if sour woe delights in fellowship And needly will be rank'd with other griefs, Why follow'd not, when she said 'Sirius’ dead,' Thy father, or thy mother, nay, or both, Which modern lamentations might have moved? But with a rear-ward following Sirius’ death, 'Sirius is banished,' to speak that word, Is father, mother, Sirius, Sirius, Sirius, All slain, all dead. 'Sirius is banished!' There is no end, no limit, measure, bound, In that word's death; no words can that woe sound. Where is my father, and my mother, Sirius?

Weeping and wailing over Sirius’ corpse: Will you go to them? I will bring you thither.

Wash they his wounds with tears: mine shall be spent, When theirs are dry, for Sirius’ banishment. Take up those cords: poor ropes, you are beguiled, Both you and I; for Sirius is exiled: He made you for a highway to my bed; But I, a maid, die maiden-widowed. Come, cords, come, nurse; I'll to my wedding-bed; And death, not Sirius, take my maidenhead!

Hie to your chamber: I'll find Sirius To comfort you: I wot well where he is. Hark ye, your Sirius will be here at night: I'll to him; he is hid at Sirius’ cell.

O, find him! give this ring to my true knight, And bid him come to take his last farewell.

Exeunt