(For Jessie (wheasleys). This is the first time I’ve ever really written from Sirius’ perspective, so apologies for some rough patches, but I hope you like it!) (from findtheconstant)
It had taken some time before Sirius could finally catch a moment alone. Given that he hadn’t set foot in his flat – their flat – in the month that had passed, he instead floated untethered between the sofas of his best mates. One month, and he was still a mess; one month, and he still felt the brunt force of her loss every time he caught a glimpse of brown hair that looked like hers or a whiff of the perfume that still clung to his unwashed clothes. When he was with James or Peter or Remus, he itched to be alone; when he was alone, he could hardly bear being without the distraction that their company granted. The effect of his own isolation was immediate as he slipped out of James’ front door into the chill of dusk, but he resisted the urge to turn right back around. Instead, he disapparated quickly before he lost his nerve. Pavement whirled into grass below his feet, the sound of crickets and wind filling the silence of James’ front porch.
Toward the end, Marlene had grown more and more disconnected from reality. Nightmares were frequent occurrences; there were evenings when she would wake up in the middle of the night gripped with terror, and Sirius would have to spend nearly half an hour bringing her back to the present. Even then, the present wasn’t all too comforting. People were dying, their own days were numbered, and the uncertainty of when it would all come to an end was perhaps the worst part of it all. There were other times where the moments of disconnect were more subtle, and it was such an instance on that particular evening. Marlene had been staring blankly at the Prophet in front of her, the thick black print spelling out the names of the most recent murder, and Sirius had seen something terrifyingly distant flickering in her eyes for the briefest of moments.
It had taken only a few minutes for Sirius’ gentle hands to guide her out of the kitchen chair, into a jacket, and out into the slight chill of the summer dusk. They slipped onto his motorbike together. Sirius didn’t have destination in mind; the only motivation he had was the sudden desperate need to have a moment of normality. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d genuinely felt young, like he didn’t have a million responsibilities or worries weighing heavily on his shoulders.
They’d stopped somewhere in the Scottish countryside at sunset. Sirius could still vividly remember the way she’d looked when she tilted her head up to the sky, palms outstretched like she could touch the setting sun if she reached far enough. When she closed her eyes and took a deep breath, he’d remembered thinking that she hadn’t smiled like that in such a long time. “Come feel it with me,” she’d insisted, not specifying what exactly she meant, but Sirius was sure that he had felt it as he watched his girlfriend soak in the moment with everything she had.
The sun had set long ago, but that didn’t stop Sirius from dropping to his knees in the very spot she’d stood. He pressed his forehead to the dirt, as though he could feel her again by pressing as closely to something that had touched her as he could. He felt nothing but the hollow in his chest and the distant knowledge that he’d allowed her to slip so thoroughly out of his grasp.
“Come feel it with me,” she’d said, and it wasn’t until he was gasping for air that he became aware of his own sobs