Black and Potter | H. Potter

61 ⋆*⋆:⋆ it's not a date.

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:✧*⋆.*:･ﾟ✧.: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆ ☾

| IT'S NOT A DATE |
song: close to you by gracie abrams

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:✧*⋆.*:･ﾟ✧.: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆ ☾

Grimmauld Place

"BEEN HERE LONG?"

The voice didn't startle Sirius from his position, nor did it make his grip on the photograph falter. He grunted, not taking his eyes away from the photo. "Long enough that I can't feel my arse."

Remus snorted good-naturedly.

The small room was steeped in shadows, with dark, peeling wallpaper and heavy, dusty drapes. A sliver of moonlight filtered through a narrow gap in the curtains, casting faint light across the room.

Sirius sat in a worn armchair and Remus settled into an equally battered one across from him. Between them, a scratched table held a nearly empty bottle of firewhiskey and two mismatched glasses.

"What are you looking at?" Remus dared to question, his tone gentle. He'd seen his friend carry that small square ever since he'd escaped, though he made sure to never do it in front of Ara or Atlas.

Sirius swallowed, his throat tight. He carefully passed Remus the photograph, his hand trembling slightly, his fingers lingering on the edges as if reluctant to let go. He quickly grabbed his glass of firewhiskey and took a long sip, as if distracting  himself.

Remus looked down and his heart seemed to slow as he took in the moving picture. Ava was sitting in the library at Hogwarts, wearing her usual Ravenclaw uniform and sporting her characteristic braids with slightly messy hair. She seemed to be concentrating really hard on her book until she looked up and gave a little scowl right before a small, reluctant smile made its way onto her freckled face.

"Her face started to blur after a while."

Remus' head shot up to Sirius, whose gaze was fixed on the floor. "What?"

"In Azkaban. . .I used to picture her every night before I went to sleep and every morning when I woke up. I saw her there so vividly with me in that cell, reading her books to me." Sirius' voice wavered, each word a struggle. "But then. . .imagining her started to get harder. Her features started to blur, her voice didn't sound right. I even forgot what her eyes looked like at one point. It drove me mad." He paused, gripping his glass tighter. "What kind of husband forgets what their wife looks like?"

Remus hesitated, choosing his words carefully, "Most husbands don't go through what you did."

Sirius shook his head, a bitter smile on his lips. "Ara kept me alive, y'know? I didn't know that Atlas was out there, but I knew she was. My daughter. . .I needed her more than she needed me."

"You're her father, Padfoot. She'll always need you," Remus said, his voice steady and reassuring. He knew Sirius had been struggling with guilt, he'd known him nearly all his life, he knew it'd only be a matter of time before he finally broke the silence of his struggles.

"Arthur's been more of a father to her than I have. What good have I been to her? To Atlas?" Sirius' voice cracked, the weight of his guilt pressing down on him. "She might've found a loving family, but she was and still is a target to the public. You've seen it yourself. The world hates her for simply breathing, and it's because of me. Atlas—he was taken right in front of my eyes, but I was so clouded with grief that I couldn't see it. And what happened? He ended up being raised with terror, cruelty, and judgement, just as I was."