Escapism
Sometime in the summer of 1975;
It was raining, a terrible evening for a stroll, Sirius reckoned even a dog could drown in the long puddles that flooded the road.
If there had ever been a moment Sirius wished he could apparate, it would be now. But no matter how many times he'd uttered an impervius charm he was still soaked to a sod, at this point, Sirius wasn't sure he'd ever be dry again.
He had long ago lost count of how many blocks he’d walked but the streets were less populated now, with rows of residential lots that all looked the same.
He’d grown up in London, but he didn’t know it well, Walburga operated Grimmuald Place with the isolation of a gated community, outings into the muggle world had been limited and at best fleeting.
Even if there had been anyone around to ask for directions Sirius wasn’t entirely sure where he was going, or what he planned on doing once he got there.
But there was a mechanical righteousness in moving his legs, and in leaving.
So, Sirius kept walking past lines of cars parked against the curb, and the streetlamps as they began to flicker on, their cheery orange light reflecting in the sheen of rippling water across the road.
He moved with the agility of a sleepwalker, clothes sagging from his shoulders and stumbling on ahead of him skirting past the closed faces of black doors that shut him out of lives he’d never known.
He had only ever gotten this far in his dreams.
It wasn’t that it was hard to leave, it never had been, there were no locks on Grimmuald Place, and it was guarded solely by its reputation alone, no one in their right mind would willingly walk into a viper’s den. No one in their right mind would willingly walk out.
Yet that had been the easy part, slipping out of his bedroom window, and sliding down the drainpipe, Sirius had done all of that before.
It was untangling himself from its branches that he had never managed, never quite dared, he had wanted to of course, or at least most of him had.
And yet here he was trudging through the rain, eyes wide open with no intention of turning around. Unsure if there was a singularity that had finally driven him over the edge or a life of constantly being disappointed over and over again.
On the corner the ill-filtered light of a telephone box bent through the rain, it was all Sirius could do to blink the water from his eyes. Remus had taught him how to use one last summer, now that felt more like forever ago. Somewhere in the distance, a dog barked at the wail of sirens.
Sirius felt like a stranger in someone else's dream, a shadow of a boy in the reflection of unlit windows, observed by nobody.
He thumbed his wand in his pocket, a reassurance that it was still there.
It was the only thing he had and the only thing that had been worth taking. And it served as a reminder of who he was.
Perhaps it was a childish comfort, but Sirius withdrew it from his pocket, holding it out in front of him.
“Lumos” he whispered, watching as tendrils of light gathered around the tip, with it he could see how his hands trembled.
He stopped in the middle of the street next to an old rusted out letter box.
Beads of water spattered down his cheeks, rolling down the collar of his neck. Falling just like he was.
Sirius wasn’t sure what was so funny about that, but he laughed anyway, despite himself.
He imagined his mother, furious, with an aim to kill and nobody to hit. What the snakes would say and how that would set her catatonic, it was practically hilarious. Lineage was a song Walburga Black cried, and Sirius had gone and spoiled it all.
Sirius heard it first, his sudden glee giving way to confusion, the roaring of an engine in his ears, a phantom motoring towards him.
It had the hairs on the back of his neck standing on edge. He took a cautious step backward, yet the street remained empty.
The sound grew louder and nearer, Sirius shivered at how the air crackled and warped around him, and a trail of steam hissed away in the rain, how the two beams of light that strobed down the street belonged to nothing and no one.
Then materializing before his very eyes, accompanied by a low pop that he felt all the way in his ears, was a bus throttling towards him.
Sirius let out a bark of surprise as the triple-decker creature almost ran him off the concrete, brakes screeching to a halt, tires churning up water out of the gutter.
There was a beat of silence, the bus purred and Sirius gawked.
Then the door squeaked open on its hinges, casting a doorway of light across the curb; a broad figure leaned out,
"Hello there!” the man cried through the rain, “My, you been for a swim lad?”
Sirius stood with his wand limp in his hand, unable to find his voice.
“Not to worry. Let me introduce you to the Knight bus, the finest mode of transport for the wayward witch or wizard like yourself!” he said happily.
Fine was not a word Sirius would use to describe the bus, one of its headlights flickered and sparked, and the violently purple-clad body was riddled with countless dents and scratches as if it had been popped out of shape so many times it could never quite set back correctly.
“You are a wizard, aren’t you? Can’t tell beneath all that hair.” The man queried loudly, leaning further out to peer at him through the rain.
“That’s right.” Sirius pushed the wet strands out of his face. He’d heard of the Knight bus before, but he hadn't quite expected it to look so, well beaten.
"Great! Hurry up then lad we haven't got all night!”
Sirius took a moment to look around the desolate street, the windows of the houses remained empty, and no one came to see what all the racket was, perhaps they couldn’t hear it at all. The dog barked on.
“Got a case of cold feet?” The man chuckled at his own joke as he said it.
"No, no," Sirius muttered, “I’m coming.”
He scrambled up the rain-slicked stairs, and shambled onboard.
The man followed in after him, grinning at the obvious surprise on Sirius's face.
He was startled by the lack of seats, buses had seats, or at least that’s what muggle studies had said.
There was a multitude of beds in their absence, sheets pristinely pressed.
Sirius was sure there shouldn't have been enough room for that, pretty damn certain of it.
Sirius turned back down the steps to stick his head out the door, and even with the rain in his eyes, he could see where the bus ended, yet inside the bus stretched on much further.
“How?” He said in awe more so to himself, turning back to the man.
Sirius couldn’t tell if he was young or old or somewhere in between, everything about him was wrinkled from his clothes to the lines around his eyes, but there was an ease in his shoulders only brought about by youth.
“Clever ain’t it? Told you, best service on the market!” The man barked proudly.
Sirius winced realizing that it was not the rain that caused him to yell, he simply spoke in uppercase.
“I’m Bobby Loonhill and I’ll be your conductor tonight. Name a location and a price and we can take you anywhere you want to go!” Bobby waved a happy hand as if to demonstrate the bus's grandeur. Then with less extravagance, “Tickets start at eleven sickles.”
“That’ll be fine,” Sirius conceded. Digging around in his pockets glad for once that he never bothered to empty them, while Bobby whistled patiently to himself.
Sirius offered the pile of coins to him and cringed when the man cried, “Joy! Now who did you say you were again?”
“I didn’t,” Sirius frowned holding out a hand, “Sirius Black.”
Bobby's eyebrows shot up, “A Black? Blimey you’re one of them ‘eirs! What’s an uppity fella like you doing out here?!”
Sirius shrugged, so much if he knew, “Leaving.”
Bobby gave him a toothy grin and proceeded to shake his hand roughly, “It’s the direction that counts, where are we headed then, lad?”
Sirius opened his mouth, then closed it again. Warring with himself, Blacks didn’t ask for help, words he’d been raised on.
He’d been practically spoon-fed on the notion that pity was powerless and weakness was poison. Things only had merit if they were ancient, and his tears had always been too young.
“Godric’s Hollow,” He finally decided forcing his hammering heart out of his throat with a dry swallow.
His head swam with fear or freedom Sirius couldn’t be sure, reality had begun to set in and there was nothing that could be done about it now.
“Take a bed boy, any bed. Don’t mind the sheets,” Bobby called over his shoulder, “Hear that Monty, we got a Black?!”
There was a quiet grunt of confirmation from the small man who sat behind the wheel at the front of the bus, as the engine clunked into gear,
“Do yourself a favour boy and find something to hold onto,” Bobby said rather calmly.
Sirius would have appreciated even a slither of urgency as he stumbled to grab the nearest bed by its railing when the bus bucked forward, he had never been on a bus before, but he didn’t think such a speed was appropriate, how three stories swerved so fast between traffic was beyond him, and how the witch three beds down stayed asleep was even further.
It was all Sirius could do to hold on as the bus pulled into oncoming traffic, and proceeded to lurch sideways down an alley it shouldn't possibly be able to fit down, yet it did with ease, the bus and its passengers shrinking and expanding with it, the journey proved increasingly more distressing the longer it went on, Sirius hadn’t thought he was claustrophobic, but it seemed tonight was a night full of surprises.
Soon the crooked buildings of London fell away to green pastures as the bus steamed on towards the west country, Sirius tried to control his breathing as he sat down on the bed, around him the bus creaked and groaned, the lanterns that hung from the ceiling flickered as they swung in confused circles overhead.
There wasn’t a clock in sight, so he had no way of knowing exactly how much time passed, instead, he counted the minutes.
Thirty-three of them to be exact, they’d passed through Bristol and stopped briefly to pick up another wizard whom Bobby supplied the same tirade of introductions he’d given Sirius, and once the man had disappeared up the cramped flight of stairs to the levels above the bus had stuttered forward once more.
It felt like forever and no time at all when they finally skidded to a stop in an unassuming village surrounded by Moorland, one that Sirius's mind went to when he thought of the word home.
He waited for a moment to gain his balance; legs shaky from the change of speed as if his insides were aligning themselves back in place.
Bobby stood by the door, “Would you like to leave a review?”
“I’ll pass, thanks,” Sirius said wearily, but he pushed a coin into the man’s hand. An offering of gratitude of sorts.
“Well, how ‘bout that.” Bobby gushed to himself.
Sirius watched the bus spit away down the road, disappearing into thin air with a crack as if it had never existed at all.
Godric’s Hollow was a pocket of cottages arranged in L-shaped streets, in the center of it was an old stone-walled churchyard, James had told him it was haunted.
The Potters cottage was just down the way from it and Sirius eyed the windows of the chapel as he walked briskly, not keen on finding out the truth.
His clothes weren’t as sodden as they’d been, but his hair still clung to his face in desperate strands, Sirius pushed his hands deeper into his pockets to escape the biting cold that clung over everything in the hours before dawn.
The Potter’s cottage was a quaint two-story shoebox, the roof fashioned of weathered thatch, and the small gate that led up the porch creaked on its hinges between manicured garden hedges. The windows were occupied by the silhouetted shape of candles, and two complacent chimneys framed either side of the roof, James’s window was dark between them. He
Even lined with shadows the place looked welcoming, from the water bowl set out on the porch for strays which was quite fitting if Sirius regarded himself. To the way the windchimes that hung from the banisters clunked quietly in the breeze.
Sirius hesitated by the gate, watching the door as if it would open on its own by the sheer will of his desperation.
When it didn’t Sirius marched himself through the garden, avoiding the odd gnome statues Euphemia had a habit of collecting that were dotted across the grass.
Before he could allow himself to conceptualise, he was up the steps and grasping the grinning lion door knocker, rust falling away with his fingers as he wrapped on the wood.
For a moment he stood there in the dark, grasping his wand in one hand and the pieces of his life in another, hoping foolishly that no one would answer.
Panic was cold in his gut as someone shuffled down the hallway, a light flickered on through the crack under the door, seeping out across the toes of Sirius’s shoes.
There was the sound of a chain unlatching and the familiar creak of unoiled hinges had Sirius meet the tired face of Euphemia Potter, peppered curls displaced from sleep and donning a bright pink nightgown, with slippers to match.
Sirius wished he could muster something more convincing than a weak smile as he said, “Hey Effie.”
Her gaze was heavy as her eyes roved over him, taking in his dampened state, her expression was an uncomfortable mixture of surprise and concern, clearly lost for words,
“Oh dear.” Was what she finally decided on.
Her grip on his shoulder was tight as she steered him inside, letting the door close quietly behind them.
She led Sirius into the sitting room and eased him into the chair closest to the hearth as she fussed to nurse the evening's dying embers back to life.
Sirius watched in silence as she disappeared into the kitchen, allowing himself to relax at the sound of her putting on the kettle.
The Potter's house was everything Grimmuald Place was not, cluttered and open despite its size, a stark difference to the windowless monstrosity that had been Sirius’s childhood home.
Lamps were scattered across every available surface, Euphemia loved to read, it was a matter of convenience rather than aesthetics.
Numerous paintings cluttered the walls. A collection garnered of generations of Potters. Sirius’s favourite; was a faded blue canvas marked by a ship that rocked gently out on its framed sea; it filled the house with the sounds of a faraway ocean.
Tonight, it was storming, the water colliding with the walls of the frame, threatening to spill out across the rug.
When Euphemia padded back into the room she carried two steaming mugs, one was missing a handle, and the other was painted fondly with a mother goose and a trail of goslings.
Euphemia’s smile was thin and fraying but it was the friendliest thing Sirius had seen all summer. She kept the broken mug for herself and slid the other towards Sirius across the wooden coffee table. Settling into the armchair opposite him.
“Would you like a biscuit?” Euphemia said conversationally, nodding her head towards the communal tin that sat on the edge of the table, a reused sewing kit that was probably older than James.
Sirius eyed it for a moment before shaking his head, he didn’t trust himself not to throw up, his stomach queasy with something that wasn’t quite fear.
“We were expecting a visit from you, I believe not for another week, but that’s not to worry, James has missed you awfully.” She said filling in the silence.
Sirius grimaced, looking down at his hands, “I’m sorry, I know this is wrong of me. I didn’t know where else to go.”
“That’s nonsense.” Euphemia bit back “You’re always welcome here, I’m sorry if I’ve never made that clear enough.” Her words were riddled with regret. As if she blamed herself.
Sirius's head shot up and he shook his head, he wanted to tell her that there’d never been a chance, between fleeting moments at King’s Cross and days he’d been able to sneak away, he and Euphemia were practically strangers.
“It's not your fault, none of this is anyone's fault but mine.” He said firmly.
Euphemia worried over her lip as she studied him,
“Are you hurt?” She ventured, her voice wobbled as if she was afraid to ask.
Sirius sucked in a sharp breath.
“No,” he said too quickly, it wasn’t a lie, and yet everything hurt.
Sirius’s eyes tactlessly flittered around the room, anywhere but her face, anything but her pity.
Finally, when the sight of everything became too much, he settled for holding his head in his hands, he didn’t want Euphemia to see him come undone.
Sirius didn’t hear her move, but suddenly her hand was a presence rubbing circles along his back, waiting out the dry heaves that rocked his body, adrenaline had brought him this far, and now without it, he struggled to breathe.
“You’re safe,” She supplied over and over again, “You’re safe here Sirius.”
She said it as many times as it took, so many times that it was the only thing he could hear besides his own retching. Until the panic subsided to exhaustion and the tension in his shoulders fell away.
“That’s good Sirius, breathe, I need you to breathe.” Euphemia soothed.
Sirius focused on the light of the fire between his fingers, coals winking in and out like stars, the air warm against the backs of his hands, the sensation shooting throughout his body.
He took a moment to steal himself before looking up at her, breathing heavily, guilt rolling around his stomach at the expression on her face.
“You have to understand.” He managed, “I couldn’t do it anymore, do you understand?”
Euphemia ran a hand across his cheek, fingers gentle, touching him in a way Sirius could only imagine was motherly.
“Of course, I do.”
“I couldn’t.” He insisted, grabbing her by the wrist and willing his hysteria away, he was not a child as Walburga would say, he did not need her comfort.
“There's nothing shameful in that,” Euphemia said gently.
Sirius didn’t understand what it was about her words that made his eyes prickle, startled he turned his face away towards the hot kiss of the flames, cursing the wetness on his cheeks.
“Sirius,” Euphemia said against his ear, “We are not designed to live in cages.”
Sirius stared into the fire; he couldn’t handle seeing this version of himself reflected in her eyes.
“This is not.” he tried, “I am not.” But he didn’t know what he was.
“No.” Euphemia agreed, “I don’t need an explanation tonight, you’ll make yourself sick, we can discuss this in the morning, over a nice breakfast. I promise you it's no trouble, run upstairs to see James while I sort the spare bedroom for you, he’ll be angry with me if you don’t.”
She pulled away, pulling him with her. Sirius allowed her to steer him upstairs, legs feeling like lead as he stood on the landing that led to James’s bedroom, the door was ajar, just by a slither, and he gave his eyes a final paranoid wipe with the back of his hand before pushing it open.
James' room was just as Sirius had left it last summer, he shared the same sentimental tendencies as his mother, so it was every bit as cluttered as the rest of the house.
To say it was a shrine was an understatement, it was practically made up of newspaper clippings; bold quidditch headlines, player stats, team rankings, scandals, and feats that defied the laws of gravity. Recruitment leaflets littered the floor, moving pictures a blur in Sirius's peripheral.
James wasn’t nearly old enough to join a professional team, but that didn’t stop him from dreaming.
Fleamont had placed a broomstick in his hand at the early age of two, and that had been enough to cement his obsession, nothing could come between James and a quidditch, nothing.
Unsurprisingly James had made Gryffindor chaser in their third year, Sirius had followed him onto the pitch, perhaps with less raw talent, but it was easy to pick up what James put down.
A lonely telescope sat by the window, and on the sill left open to collect dust was an astronomy textbook, it must have been one of Peter's because James maintained an adamant refusal to study outside of school.
Sirius minded the broomstick discarded on the floor beside James’s bed, where the boy in question made a home in twisted sheets, hair as messy as the day Sirius had met him.
Stepping over it Sirius settled on the edge of the bed; he shook James awake gently.
James was less than graceful as he shot forward, hands searching for the frames of his glasses. Sirius found them on his bedside. Offering them in greeting.
“Hey,” He grinned.
James blinked at him in surprise, “Sirius?” he rubbed harshly at his eyes, “Is this a dream?”
Sirius raised an eyebrow, “Do you often have dreams about me, Potter?”
James cracked a grin at that, “Always.” And then, “Bloody hell Sirius, I mean it's great to see you, amazing actually but what the hell are you doing here?”
Sirius surveyed him with a weary apprehension in the dark, the whites of James' wide eyes beneath his glasses catching the moonlight, his features creased comfortably with sleep. Sirius wasn’t exactly sure what he was looking for, James was no different from how he’d left him at the station barely a month ago.
It was a fear he usually had control over, one that grew only in the dark, during lonely breathless days spent hiding in his bedroom, where it was hard to imagine anything was real at all.
One that told him he’d crafted James in his head, that he was nothing more than a pipedream.
James moved to swing his legs over the edge of the bed alongside Sirius, bumping their knees together,
“Hey, has something happened?” He said softly, his breath was warm against Sirius’s nose.
His knee had taken to nervously bouncing up and down, “Sirius?” concern laced his tone.
“I left.” Sirius said flatly, “Had enough of their bullshit.”
There was a beat of silence, filled only with the loud sound of James thinking.
“Oh,” James said in awkward surprise as if they hadn’t fought about this countless times, as if this wasn’t what he had wanted.
“Oh.” Sirius agreed, falling backward on the bed, “Shit summer it's been.”
James was watching him closely now, recognizing the sharp edges within him, Sirius kept his gaze on the ceiling which was charmed endearingly to be a twinkling replica of the night sky, he was finished bleeding.
They watched the stars wink in and out of existence, behind false clouds. No doubt the pinnacle of James' childhood, Sirius was sure.
James kicked his heels into the mattress, and Sirius listened to him breathe.
“Sirius,” James tried eventually, “Are you staying the summer?”
Sirius thought of his mother, wand raised at his head. The tall shadows that seemed to hang in that house, even well after midday. His brother, eyes empty and head full of purist bullshit. His dying father who had wasted away to something almost lovable, somebody Sirius couldn’t bring himself to forgive.
“Yeah, reckon I might.” He said, afraid of his own words.
There was a moment where all Sirius could hear was his own heart, raw and feeble in his ear. And the constellations became blurred beads of light swimming across his vision as if the sky was falling in over his head, and then James found his hand in the dark, threading their fingers solemnly together,
“Good.” He declared.
And that was that.
It was a long while before Euphemia came to check on them, they must have fallen asleep because James’s hand was laced across the back of his neck, Sirius’s cheek pressed firmly into his shoulder, a familiar position reminiscent of their first year. When they had talked the nights away in James bed, eventually loosing themselves to sleep.
He turned his head to look at Euphemia in the doorway, James didn’t stir beside him.
“Sorry,” She said smiling fondly, “The bedrooms ready if you want.”
“Thanks,” Sirius said, but he made no effort to get up.
Euphemia hesitated at the door, a hand tightening on the handle, “You’re a brave boy, Sirius, I know you’ve been alone, and I know that it's been hard. But you're not alone anymore, I want to help you. Please let me help you." She whispered.
But the way her shadow twisted uglily in his head, like a snake slithering towards him, had Sirius recoiling in James’s arms.
“I can handle it.” Sirius croaked.
“I’m sure you can.” She sounded sad, “But that doesn’t mean you should.”
“I can handle it.” He repeated.
Blacks didn’t ask for help and Sirius didn’t want her pity. But she’d seen enough tonight to recognize his lie.
Euphemia frowned, “Then handle it here.”
Sirius understood what she was offering, an olive branch of sorts, the understanding shocked him.
“Okay.” He breathed tightly, and then breathed again and realized he could.
His smile was stiff from disuse, but it didn’t falter.
Euphemia nodded, her features relaxing “Sleep well, Sirius.”
And then she pulled the door closed and left Sirius in the dark, he lay awake and breathed until the sun peeked through James’s window, and the stars on the ceiling faded away with the arrival of dawn.
Sirius breathed for the rest of the summer, unable to stop once he’d discovered he could.