A Grieved Birthday Party
-July 31 1991-
Sirius sat silently, his dark eyes never leaving the crackling fire. He’d been sitting on the age-old couch tensely for most of the night, only leaving it twice in the span of four hours so that he could refill his glass with the strongest whiskey he owned. He raised a trembling hand, ignoring the clattering of the ice against the glass, and took another sip of the burning liquid, his gaze remaining on the fire burning in the dusty fireplace.
“Sirius.”
Sirius didn’t look up at the reproachful call of his name. He did not tear his eyes from the fire, instead choosing to take another drag of the whiskey, wishing the drink would soothe his pain and burn away the memories.
“Sirius, look at me.”
Sirius didn’t. He continued to stare lethargically, not fully there, and wallow in his misery.
“Sirius bloody Black, you look at me this instant!”
Sirius sighed, regretfully turning his gaze from the crackling fire to the angry man standing behind him. His amber eyes shone with disappointment, his beautiful face set in a deep scowl. His hands rested on his hips, and he was staring down at Sirius with anger and… Sirius took another long sip of his whiskey at the sight of pity in his lover’s eyes.
“Sirius, give me that!” Remus snapped, stepping forward to wrestle the glass out of Sirius’s unyielding grip. “What are you doing?! It’s nearly one in the morning! How long has…” he trailed off, taking Sirius’s disheveled state. He frowned, his eyebrows pinching together as he took a deep breath. “Bloody hell Siri, how much did you drink?!”
Sirius shrugged, looking back at the kitchen that was just barely visible from his position with a sigh. “The bottle was full when I started.” he said. He winced at his haggard voice, and it only made Remus angrier.
“Full?! This… This bottle? That’s sitting on the floor by your feet? This empty bottle?!” Remus cried. Sirius looked down, and sure enough, there was the bottle that he’d been slowly drinking from. It had been his father’s favorite brand. Say what you will about the man, but his taste in alcohol was exquisite.
“Yep.” Sirius said, popping the ‘p’ at the end of the word. He sighed, leaning his head back against the stuffy couch.
“Sirius you---” Remus took a deep breath, calming himself before he continued. “That is a lot of alcohol. And you’re drinking alone, now? What’s gotten into you? You promised me you’d stop doing this! I’m really getting worried about you, Siri. You’re just sitting here, in this house, all day! That’s not good for you! Especially given the memories you have of this place---”
“He would’ve been eleven today.”
Remus’s breath hitched in the back of his throat, effectively silencing the man’s lecture. It was silent in the house, the only noise coming from the crackling fire by Sirius. Remus stared at Sirius and Sirius stared back, his onyx eyes holding no emotion. Finally, Remus sighed and walked over to him. He made a motion with his hands signalling Sirius to scoot over. He did. Remus sat down next to him and wrapped his arms around his trembling lover.
“He would have gotten his Hogwarts letter already,” Sirius continued, looking absently into the fire. “We would have had such a big celebration. I would’ve embarrassed him real good in front of his friends, maybe give him a huge hug and kiss him all over his face.”
Remus snorted. “I better he would have hated that.”
“He would have,” Sirius agreed. “But he would just laugh about it later. And we would’ve had a big cake. And I would have showered him with presents… And maybe I’d sneak him the map… And we would have sat around the fire way past his bedtime just talking about Hogwarts and what our years were like there… And… And…”
Sirius cut himself off then, because he knew if he kept talking, he would’ve broken down right then and there. Remus’s arms tightened around him and a choked back sob escaped through his clenched teeth.
“He would’ve been so happy---” his voice cracked. “---here with us. He would’ve…”
Remus buried his face in Sirius’s shoulder, probably wanting to stay strong for Sirius’s sake, but Sirius knew that he was crying. Sirius didn’t want Remus to stay strong for him. Sirius just wanted him to be there. Because Sirius knew that Remus was grieving too.
“I miss him…” Remus’s whispered admission was almost lost to the folds of Sirius’s tattered sweater, but he heard him.
And Sirius couldn’t hold it back anymore. Tears ran freely down his cheeks, and Sirius bit his lip to keep the horrid sounds silent. His grip on Remus’s arm tightened to the point where Sirius could see his tendons sticking out against the white skin.
“I’m so sorry, Moony,” Sirius whispered over and over again. “It’s all my fault… I’m so sorry.”
And despite Remus denying it, Sirius knew deep down in his heart that it was true. It was all his fault. If Sirius had just ignored Dumbledore, if he had just remained stubborn, if he had just kept Harry with him.
But he didn’t.
He had relented after several long hours of debate with Dumbledore about where his godson should go. He was still grieving over the loss of his best friends, and he was just so damn tired. He had argued for so long with Dumbledore, insisting that he was in the right place to take care of the baby.
But Dumbledore won the argument, saying that Sirius needed a few months to grieve and mourn for James and Lily, and that he couldn’t do that with a baby to watch over. He had conceded and allowed Dumbledore to place Harry with his maternal Aunt for a few months so Sirius could wrap his head around everything.
It was only supposed to be for a few months.
When Sirius had passed all the tests from the mind-healers, Sirius went to get him. Dumbledore had stopped him, claiming that Sirius couldn’t take care of Harry because of his job. Sirius had agreed with him to a small extent---being an Auror was a very dangerous job. It required long hours and dangerous missions and cursed objects. All things that Sirius was very vehement about keeping away from Harry.
But Sirius was with Remus, and Remus could watch Harry when Sirius couldn’t. And Sirius would be there during the full moons so Remus wouldn’t have to. They had the whole thing worked out already, and they already had a room ready for Harry to move into.
But Dumbledore said it would be cruel to take Harry away from his new family after letting him get used to it. Said it would hurt Harry because he was so happy there. And the last thing Sirius wanted was to hurt Harry. He had reluctantly agreed to speak to Harry and the Dursleys before he did anything, just so that he could get to know Harry, when the order went out.
A month or so before Harry was born, the Dark Lord took over the Ministry. It was an embarrassingly quick defeat that left the Dark Lord in control. It took a year or so for Magical Britain to settle after the long and bloody war, but once it settled, life seemed to be going good. Far better than Sirius expected, what with having a mad man running things.
The Order of Phoenix went underground after the Ministry’s defeat. Sirius and James, however, were order-bound to continue working as Aurors under the New Ministry. Everything was going fine until the rebellion started.
It took almost two months for it to be fully stamped out, and in the process, Sirius lost everything. His lover was sent away for protection because some of the Rebels were werewolves. People were overly suspicious of werewolves before the attacks, but once it got out that some of the rebels were werewolves, suddenly all werewolves were rebels. Sirius insisted that Remus leave until everything calmed down after he was attacked in broad daylight outside Gringotts.
And James… James and Lily were innocent bystanders when the Death Eaters raided Diagon Alley. James wasn’t even on duty that day, they were just out shopping for books when Lily was caught in the crossfire between the Death Eaters and a handful of rebels that had been taking refuge in one of the shops there.
James had tried to save Lily, and when he realized it was too late, drew his wand at the man who had cast the spell. The Death Eater did not hesitate to strike him down, too. Just like that, Sirius had lost his best friends and his lover over the span of a week.
Little Harry was orphaned, and Sirius was named Godfather. And he never got the chance to do what Lily and James had wanted because right when he was going to retrieve him, he was sent out on a two-year mission undercover in bloody France to find the supposed benefactor of the rebels.
(Sirius did not doubt that the only reason he was chosen was because of his association with the Order of Phoenix during the war. A convenient excuse to send as many possible spies out of the country for as long as possible, while the Dark Lord strengthened his hold on the country.)
And when Sirius was finally allowed back into the country, when he finally sorted out his job, his home, his soon-to-be-husband, and his expenses, it had been nearly three years since he’d last seen his godson.
This time, when Dumbledore tried to convince him to stay away, Sirius told him to stuff it. Sirius went to Harry’s Aunt’s house, expecting to find his beautiful godson playing outside with a smile on his face.
Instead he found an abandoned house with no sign of people having ever lived there.
Sirius had stared at the remnants of 4 Privet Drive, eyes wide with horror. The house looked like it had been burnt down, it was old and rotted. The other houses on the street were perfect and pristine in comparison and it struck him a little odd that a neighborhood that held aesthetics to such high esteem would leave a rotted, burnt down, husk of a house in the middle of the neighborhood.
He approached it wearily, and second he entered the front yard, he passed through strong wards. Muggle-Repellents, Notice-Me-Nots, and a strong glamour all layered on top of each other covered the perimeter of the property.
At first Sirius had been elated. That meant Harry was still living here! But then the elation turned to fear in the blink of an eye, because the wards were meant to keep muggles from approaching the house. (Or what was left of it.) And not for protection of what was in the house.
The after effects of strong dark magic passed over him like a wave. Sirius stopped dead in his tracks at the sight of a half-destroyed ritual circle. And Sirius knew.
He fell to his knees and screamed. He screamed until his voice gave out and all he could do was curl up and cry. And he did just that. He wept until the sun went down and there were no more tears left to give.
Because Sirius knew, without a doubt, that Harry wasn’t here. Because Sirius knew that his sweet, innocent godson, the final connection he had to his deceased friends, was dead.
And Sirius grieved.
He grieved for a very long time.
And as he looked at the fireplace once more, the fire slowly dying now, Remus asleep on his chest, dried tear tracks on his cheeks, Sirius continued to grieve for the godson he loved and lost and never had the chance to raise.
-August 31 1991-
Voldemort sat contently on the ground, his dark robes splayed out on the grass while his legs were crossed together. He watched with a fond smile on his face as Little One played with Nagini, letting out the softest peals of laughter that made Voldemort’s heart swell.
He watched as Little One booped his familiar on the head before running away. Nagini hissed before she gave chase to the toddler. Little One opened his mouth in a silent squeal and smiled wide, darting out of the serpent's reach.
Little One was distracted, though, when a butterfly fluttered past him to land on a flower. Little One stopped to coo at it, and that was when Nagini struck. She quickly coiled around the giggling Inferius and scented his face, causing Little One giggle silently at the ticklish gesture.
Voldemort felt a wave of possessiveness course through him at the sight of two of his things getting along together. Voldemort knew that Nagini considered Little One as a hatchling, and Voldemort had heard the adorable whispers of Little One referring to the snake as his ‘snake-momma’. He was grateful that the two were so close because he knew that Nagini would protect Little One.
Voldemort could not lose Little One.
Unbidden, an image of Little One covered in blood, his wide emerald-eyes slowly draining of life popped into his head. He shivered at the unwelcome feeling of fear coursing through him. He was Lord Voldemort and he was above such feelings, yet somehow Little One was always the exception.
The toddler had managed to worm his way into Voldemort’s nonexistent heart, and now Voldemort would never let him leave.
Voldemort motioned for the toddler to come to him, and Little One smiled brightly at him and waddled over to where he sat. Voldemort felt some of the fear lessen at the sight of his child standing in front of him. Voldemort let his affection show on his face when Little One presented him with a red Spider Lily.
Voldemort took the flower, holding it tightly with one hand, and with the other, he maneuvered Little One so that he was sitting in his lap. Little One sat contently in his lap, only squirming slightly so that he could reach over to pet Nagini.
Voldemort felt another rare moment of weakness flow through him as he held Little One. He could have lost this… He could have been too late… And Little One would’ve been gone from this world forever.
Dull green eyes staring up at the ceiling lifelessly. Blood spattered on the floor around him. The bright, happy smile did not decorate his face and Voldemort did not feel the bright wholeness he usually felt when he was with him. Voldemort felt nothing. He was numb. Voldemort was numb and he was dead.
Voldemort shuddered, forcibly removing himself from the memoriesthoughts. Voldemort detested the weakness he felt in that moment, but he detested the numbness he felt tenfold. Voldemort refused to feel such a thing again, just as he refused to let the world go on without Little One’s bright light.
Yes, Little One was his one and only weakness. But the Great Lord Voldemort was powerful enough to sustain such a weakness. He would not lose Little One, and he would be stronger, more powerful because of it.
He hugged Little One’s pliant body closer to his chest and pressed a tender kiss to the crown of his head.
He would never lose him.
Not again