June 9th 1994
Sirius landed by the ruin of the Potters' home in Godric's Hollow. He dismounted the hippogriff, fighting against the urge to get back on and continue flying. The hippogriff snorted and backed away, heading towards a nearby puddle of water for a drink. There had been no clear destination in mind when Sirius had flown away from Hogwarts but something had pulled him to the Potters' old home.
The house was a crumbling wreck, shrouded in darkness. The cottage had been a wedding present from James's father to his son, an acknowledgement that unlike times of old, the newly married couple were not expected to live at Potter House with James's father, his mother having died when James was seventeen. Sirius could see in his mind's eye the way it had looked in its prime; the outside walls covered with ivy with the whitewashed stone peeking out in between the green periodically; the tidy front garden with its lavender and honeysuckle; the gleaming windows underlined with their boxes of flowers and herbs ā Lily's pride and joy.
He let out a shuddering breath, a sob catching at the back of his throat. He shouldn't have come back, Sirius thought tiredly, but where else was there to go when there was nowhere else to go but home. And the cottage with its bright blue door with the griffin knocker had once been his home as much as James's and Lily's. He had always been welcome there; had lived there for a time while he recovered from tangling with Death Eaters and almost dying. Of course when James had lost his father, he'd moved himself, Lily and Harry to Potter House, but they had soon moved back when they'd needed to go into hiding.
Sirius closed his eyes against the wave of memories; the bright sunny rooms, Harry in his crib gurgling with laughter, James grinning about some prank, Lily teasing them both with a glint in her eyeā¦
He rubbed at his forehead. It felt like years of fog were beginning to clear. Twelve years in Azkaban had left its mark, Sirius determined, that and his own blind rage at Peter. And that had started right where he was standing.
The memory of that night cut through his mind; sharp images of loss, the overwhelming panic when he'd realised Peter was missing; the shock of grief and terror at the sight of the house, and James deadā¦James, his best friendā¦
The grief sent him to his knees again just as it had on that terrible night.
Then, there had been Hagrid with Harry and orders to take Sirius's godson to Dumbledore and Lily's sister, Petunia. In hindsight, Sirius should have gone with him and told Dumbledore about Peter. He shouldn't have let Harry out of his sight. But he'd truly believed Harry would be safe with Dumbledore, and he had been fiercely pleased that it left him free to go after Peter. He'd been so stupid.
He opened his eyes and took in the sight of the battered house again. "I screwed up, James. I suggested Peter as Secret Keeper and he knew I'd come after him for betraying you. He was ready for me."
He shook his head. He could remember the confrontation as though it had happened the day before; the cold of the air, the smell of rain, Peter's smug expression as he'd made his accusation and the heat of the explosion.
He'd been blown backwards, landing in a heap, blood pouring from a wound on his head. Had he actually been concussed? His thoughts had been cloudy and muddled, all over the place. He couldn't remember much of anything eitherā¦couldn't remember his trial ā had there actually been a trial? ā couldn't remember anything except waking up days, weeks, maybe months later in Azkaban with no way of contacting anyone who might have helped him. He'd taken refuge in the knowledge that he was innocent and the small comfort that Harry was safe. And he'd lost track of time after that untilā¦until the Minister had stopped by and actually given him a newspaper. After that, his only thought had been to protect Harry from Peter.
Sirius paused for breath, realising belatedly that he'd continued talking out loud. "Talking to yourself ā first sign of madness, isn't that what you always told me, James." He said softly. He sighed and stared blankly at the ruined house. He could feel the urge to leave nudging at him again; to get back on Buckbeak and head for somewhere warm and sunny where he could recover from Azkaban. But that would mean leaving Harryā¦
"Harry's living with your sister, Lily," Sirius said, "I went to see him there when I got out of prison." It had been the first thing he'd done ā he'd wanted to check on his godson before heading North to wait for Peter at Hogwarts. Seeing Harry running away had changed his plans. "He'sā¦he's not happy. I mean, he's brilliant, James; really brilliant ā he saved my life! But he'sā¦he's too thin and small. He wanted to come and live with me straight away! Who wants to live with someone they don't know unless they hate where they are? I think your sister and her family treat him badly, Lily. I need to get him away from them. Of course, I can't until I'm cleared and no longer on the run, and that's not likely to happen any time soon."
He got to his feet, crossed his arms over his chest and pushed the urge to leave away again. He frowned, his brow lowering as he mulled over the issue.
"The problem is that, as much as I hate to admit it, I've been acting too much like a Gryffindor." Sirius said with a huff of exasperation. "I went running off after Peter when you died, and this year all I've done is try and get to Peter again even if it was so he wouldn't hurt Harry. And I failed both times." He sighed heavily. "If I want to protect to Harry properly, I need to start thinking and stop reacting."
The niggle at the back of his mind to leave Britain, to leave Harry, shivered and disappeared abruptly. He'd shaken off a compulsion spell, Sirius realised. Probably Dumbledore. The old coot had no doubt thought compelling Sirius to get as far as possible was for his own good so he wouldn't get caught by the Ministry. Or maybe so that he wouldn't stay too close to Harry.
That thought arrested him for a long moment.