All the Young Dudes ( Sirius' Perspective )

Opportunity

When I was seventeen

I dreamed of being king and

Having everything I wanted

But that was long ago and

My dreams did not unfold so

I’m still the king of nothing

 

December 1993

It was a bad idea.

It was a very, very bad idea.

It would be foolish, and reckless, and downright stupid. Sirius was the most wanted criminal in all of Great Britain—if he made even the smallest mistake, he risked exposing himself and throwing away everything he had worked for.

Still, he found himself staring down at the newspaper ad for the Firebolt—the newest, fastest, most disgustingly expensive broom on the market. It was a mail-order advertisement; just send the money and the return address, and the broom could be yours by Christmas—or so the advertisement promised.

It wasn’t worth it. Sirius knew that. It was just…

Harry’s broom had been destroyed, after that dreadful quidditch match. Sirius had had to hide in the treeline along the edge of the Forbidden Forest, waiting for the willow to calm down after the broom was blown straight into its branches by the gale-force winds. The tree thrashed and smashed, splintering it beyond repair.

Harry himself was alright. Padfoot had seen him only a few days after the match, tromping out across the grounds with his friends—the Weasley boy and a bushy-haired girl. But the poor kid had looked utterly dejected, dragging his feet and slumping his shoulders even as both of his friends tried to cheer him up. Sirius could only imagine how he was feeling; he knew that if it were James—

(But it isn’t James, is it? Because James is dead, dead because of you, because you failed him—failed all of them—)

The cat jumped onto his lap, startling him, and Sirius nearly dropped the paper.

“Merlin—don’t sneak up on me like that!”

“Mrrow.” The cat blinked expectantly up at him, and Sirius sighed as he reached down to scratch its ears.

“Alright, alright…”

He relaxed, slightly, as he began to pet the little beast, pulling himself forcibly out of the dark spiral that his thoughts had begun to take. The cat would get fussy if he started shaking, now that it had gotten comfortable.

Sirius glanced down at the newspaper advertisement again, swallowing the lump in his throat. James might be…gone—but Harry was still there. And maybe this was one thing…just one thing that Sirius could do for him.

But it would take nearly all the money that he’d salvaged from that safe house…

He shouldn’t. He really shouldn’t.

*  *  *

Harry didn’t use the broom a single time for the entire month of January. Sirius would have known—he’d figured out all the best spots to lurk around the quidditch stands by then, places where he could sink into the shadows, where no one would see him. He spent quite a bit of time watching the Gryffindor practices, but Harry only flew on an old Comet model borrowed from the school’s supply—and Sirius had no idea why. Had the mail order ad been a scam? Had the broom never arrived?