To Fall

    “It seemed to take Sirius an age to fall. His body curved in a graceful arc as he sank backward through the ragged veil hanging from the arch. . .

    And Harry saw the look of mingled fear and surprise on his godfather’s wasted, once handsome face as he fell through the ancient doorway and disappeared behind the veil, which fluttered for a moment and then fell back into place.”

                        -Harry Potter, book 5, chap. 35, pp. 806

~

    I can truthfully say that…I hardly remember it anymore. Honestly, and for once I wish I could remember every ounce of pain and terror, but I can’t. Do you hate me too terribly, Sirius? Wherever you are, are you looking at me with disgust and odium, do you hate me for ever forgetting a moment I spent with you?

    Somehow, I don’t think you do. I have not spoken to you in ages, in so long, but I remember your voice, and the way your lips moved, and the oddities about you and the strange things you did with your hands when you were anxious, or sad, or ecstatic, or had missed me or needed me, or just couldn’t stand it, any of it, anymore.

    You’re laughing at me Sirius, I can hear it now. I must seem quite contrite and pathetic, marooned down here on Earth, and in these moments of self-pity your laughter is the loudest thing I have ever heard. Have I ever told you how wonderful your laughter is? I don’t think I have. It is harsh, raucous and strident. Once, though, once before you changed, it was rasping, and as cool as red wine, and vociferously brassy, but I try not to think about those times.

    Sometimes, when I am missing you particularly, I will think, and try to recall every molecule in that room, but I hardly can.

    The things I do remember. I remember the way you fell, the elegant curve of your back, and everything that arch represents for me. Not the stone arch, no, but the bend of your flesh, creamy smooth under my hands, and all the tears it brought.

    Do you know what I speak of? You must. I speak of the first time we made love.

    We were in seventh year, do you remember? We were out on the grounds, spying on Lily and James, and then - out of nowhere, it seemed - you kissed me.

    I can still feel the hotness of your skin, taste the metallic blood in my mouth when you bit my lips once too hard, feel the soreness of my bruised lips afterwards. It was in the Quidditch stands, remember? I do. The sun set slowly, and then it started to rain, light rain, but I did not notice until afterwards.

    I remember the look on your face as you fell, remember it perfectly, and I also remember the times before it that the same expression twisted your perfect skin. I can count them all on one hand; the time you found out about Snape’s near death experience with me; the look on your face when you received the owl that your brother had died; the moment they put you in your holding cell, and you stared out at me from the bars, screaming until the sound was noiseless.

    What a day that was. The crowd outside the Ministry was monstrous, remember? I pushed my way through all the people, right up to the restraining rope, and there you were. They pushed you into your cell, the secure one, but you went without a fuss. While the Aurors and officials blithered about, you gripped the thick bars until the knuckles of your hands went white. You were screaming, a harsh, cutting noise on the air, and I could not do anything. You tried to explain, but maybe the bars were too thick, or perhaps the crowd was too loud, or maybe there weren’t enough minutes. Then you relaxed in the center of the cell, and stared at me, until I cried. You didn’t cry, but I saw the instinctive way you blinked, which meant you wanted to but dare not, and the habitual twitch of your hand, a reach to dry my hot tears.

    You shrieked once more, and then they Apparated you away, and I hated you with every ounce of my pathetic being.

    The look on your face. It was classic, your lusciously tanned skin twisting into a look of pain and anguish. You still managed to look handsome through it, do you know, with your raised, empty cheekbones and glimmering eyes. Your mouth was slightly open, lips parted perfectly, forming a small ‘O’. It seemed to last an eternity, that moment, and then it was over.

    You were still laughing, I remember, laughing but crying inside, and it killed me.

    Perhaps I remember more of that day than I thought. More even than that, I remember you, you before the fall, laughing, just laughing.

    It seemed to take you an age to fall.