Rating:
PG-13
House:
The Dark Arts
Characters:
Sirius Black
Genres:
Angst Slash
Era:
Multiple Eras
Stats:
Published: 12/29/2003
Updated: 12/29/2003
Words: 1,411
Chapters: 1
Hits: 1,013

Where Did Daddy Go?

Draconn Malfoy

Story Summary:
OotP-AU fic. Sirius is dead. Severus cries in his husband's funeral, but has to get over it for their daughter. He remembers it all - Harry's death, Ginny's rape, Remus's suicide and Sirius's illness.``And he just can't forget.

Chapter Summary:
OotP-AU fic. Sirius is dead. Severus cries in his husband's funeral, but has to get over it for their daughter. He remembers it all - Harry's death, Ginny's rape, Remus's suicide and Sirius's illness.
Posted:
12/29/2003
Hits:
999
Author's Note:
SLASH (Obviously.) SB/SS. Mpreg.

It was raining.

Huge, cold drops fell down on a mop of jet-black hair. They moistened a long, heavy black robe, glueing it around it’s owner’s body like another skin.

The owner, however, didn’t even notice the rain. He only noticed a black coffin, a shining phoenix pictured on it’s cover.

Severus Black looked at the coffin as it was let down to the grave.

”Father?” asked a tiny voice. ”Where Daddy goes now?”

He turned around and looked down at his daughter. His heart melted immediately as he saw Stella. The poor girl had inherited his nose, but fortunately she had Sirius’s dark blue eyes - so dark that they were nearly black. She was wearing black dress robes, and she looked very tiny and vulnerable against the dark autumn ground, her natural frightened look on her deathly pale face.

He bent down and lifted the girl into his lap. ”To the Heaven, Stella,” he answered her question, motioning towards the gray sky.

”So he’s with Uncle James and Aunt Lily now?” Stella asked curiously. ”And with Uncle Remus, and Uncle Harry and Auntie Ginny?”

”Right,” he whispered. ”He’s with them all now. And they’re all waiting for us up there.” Tears mixed with raindrops on his cheeks. He didn’t try to wipe them off. He hadn’t cried in public after he had been five years old, standing in his mother’s funeral. Maybe it was the time at last.

”Will we go home now, Father?” Stella asked. ”Will Daddy come there later?”

”No, Stella, he won’t,” he sighed. ”Daddy’s in the Heaven now, and it’s much better for him up there. Daddy won’t come back anymore.”

”Why? Doesn’t he want to be with us?” Stella asked as he started to walk to the edge of the graveyard. She looked hurt at that thought.

”I bet he would,” Severus whispered. ”At least if he could be healthy. But Daddy was sick, Stella. Very sick. And he hurt.” He swallowed. He had seen how Sirius had hurt, how he had struggled against the death. And still his eyes had been full of love and warmth, still he had been able to smile and laugh and joke, to tell that he’d be all right. ”Daddy’s much better now, Stella. He loved you more than his own life, believe me, but he just couldn’t stay with us any longer.”

”Oh,” Stella said. She didn’t say anything else as they walked outside the graveyard before Portkeying home. It was easy to have Portkeys nowadays. The Ministry had been brought down during the War, and it still hadn’t fully recovered. Nobody could watch over everything. If Severus was able to charm a Portkey, why wouldn’t he?

Stella ended up with him to the hall of their home, landing on her feet and staying upright just as gratefully as Severus himself did. ”It’s empty here,” she whispered then. ”Empty and quiet.”

”Yeah,” Severus said, ”it is.” It was true. Even when he hadn’t said anything, when he had been too weak to raise his hand, Sirius had somehow filled the huge house with life and noises. It was never quiet when Sirius was around. Somehow his quiet, calm presence made them feel more lively than usually. Even Stella, who usually was just as thoughtful and restrained as Severus himself, had run around and shouted and laughed whenever Sirius had been in the room. When Sirius had been present, she had been like just a normal little girl, not a child with sulking and withdrawn character she had inherited from Severus. Just like they had always wanted her to be.

It had to be his Marauder character, Severus decided. Even when he himself wasn’t able to do anything silly, he corrupted others to do so.

He sat down in an armchair, closing his teary eyes. Memories waved over him, memories of losing Sirius.

Those had been dark times to them all. Harry’s death in the Battle of Hogwarts had been hard enough; when Albus had died just a day after that to his injuries, the whole Wizarding World had went mourning.

It had looked lighter sometimes. When their daughter - a perfect little creature created of both of them - was born, they had been delighted. Severus had been exhausted after the pregnancy, but Sirius had supported him, taken care of both him and the baby. They had loved each other so much, and they had been happy.

Then it had begun. It had looked like a little flu at first. Severus had brewed him the proper potions, and they hadn’t worried about it.

When Sirius had thrown up the first time for now seeming reason, they had been alarmed.

Fast examination in St. Mungos had proved them right. Sirius had somehow got the Crawling Death - a wizarding disease that killed almost all it’s victims.

However, some had survived. And Sirius had decided to survive as well.

At first it had seemed that he’d manage. He had begun couching up blood - the next symptom of the disease - but otherwise the disease had seem to have stopped. They had been happy, happy and relieved. Sirius would survive. He wouldn’t leave them just yet.

Meanwhile, Remus Lupin’s transformations had begun to get worse.

Severus had brewed the Wolfsbane monthly for Remus for very long time. He had been startled when Remus had come to him, asking for a stronger dose. Remus had told him that the transformations were more painful than before, and it took longer from him to recover.

Severus had made him stronger potion. They had together decided to not tell Sirius about it.

It had been a year, and neither Sirius’s nor Remus’s condition seemed to turn to worse. Then two. Three.

When Stella had been four years old, Sirius had been very healthy. They all had dared to hope that he could be fully healed soon. That was when some of the remaining Death Eaters had attacked the Diagon Alley. Thirty-five dead. Seventy-eight severely injured.

And Virginia Weasley raped and slaughtered in front of her twin brothers, who had been unable to do anything to save her.

It had been the change to worse. Sirius had always liked the only female Weasley child. He had had long conversations with her, and they had kept contact nearly daily. Stella had also known her very well, and she had loved her ”Auntie Ginny” like the mother she never had had.

Sirius hadn’t been able to fight the disease for a while. Eventually he had got better of it, but he had already been unable to raise from the bed.

At the same time, Remus’s transformations had become nearly unsufferable. He would have to rest in bed for a week after the full moon, hurting the whole time. He was limping all the time, and he would wake up in the middle of night, paining all over. Normal life had become nearly impossible to the werewolf.

Remus had asked Severus for some ease, no matter how little. He had had no ways to help his old friend. He still remembered watching Remus’s back draw away from him. The now silver head had been bent down, his steps shaky as he limped away - the living image of a broken soul. Severus’s heart had been broken when he had realized that he couldn’t stop the inevitable from happening.

That night, Remus Lupin had commited a suicide - only five days before the Cure was found.

That had been too much for Sirius. He had given up fighting, given up everything. And once again Severus had been unable to help, unable to do anything but ease his mate’s pain and sit beside him, watching him slowly slide away from him.

And then, at last, Sirius had raised his fevered eyes at him. His voice long gone, he had mouthed a quiet, ‘I love you,’ before closing his eyes very, very slowly.

He had kissed gently the smooth forehead, tears in his eyes, and murmured, ”and I love you,” before going to tell everyone to get ready for the funeral.

He felt a slight touch on his hand. He turned his head around to look at his daughter.

”Does Daddy hurt, Father?” the tiny girl asked him, her deep blue eyes full of sincere concern.

”No, Stella,” he whispered. ”Daddy doesn’t hurt anymore.” He hugged the girl tightly, petting gently her smooth, black hair. ”Daddy will never hurt again.”