Heavenly Waters||Sirius Black

Prologue

"Don't do this. Please,"

The woman begs, her voice shaky, her pale eyes glassy with tears. White fog rises off the asphalt, shrouding an old man in silver robes and his weeping companion in a blanket of silence. Little Whinging was cold, damp. She didn't seem to care. Maybe she didn't notice. She didn't notice much anymore.

Her hair shines like pearl underneath the dim light of the lamp posts, the constellations the only other offer of light. They're painful to look at, harmful to think about. She used to love the stars, the families of images across the sky. She grabs the man's arm, tries to reach for the basket he's clutching. He takes a step away, saying sorrowfully, "You know what we must do."

"You can't leave him here," The woman whispers, shaking her head rapidly. "He's just a baby."

"No harm will come to him—"

"Harm will most certainly come to him! These people are horrid, abusive, despicable human beings. They nearly broke Lily and they will crush him. They will make him small."

"Petunia is his kin. She shares his blood, his mother's blood. This will protect him from Voldemort, this must be his refuge until he is of age," He insists quietly, sadly appraising the woman before him.

She sucks in a shaky breath before rushing out angrily, "I am his—"

"You have no claim to Harry, no written record of him being your godson exists. And the ministry would never allow an appeal with your status as a being...and your previous relationship."

She clenches her fists, a desperate sob wracking her body. This was it. This was the end. She had nothing left. Her eyes look on the brink of lifelessness when she meets his gaze and says hurriedly, "Don't do this. Don't do this to him. Don't do this to me. Let me take him, let me run with him! I can keep him safe!"

The man smiles sadly, shaking his head as he replies, "You aren't safe either. Neither of you are safe for now."

"There has to be something more," She pleads, her eyes clenching shut for a brief moment. "There has to be more we can do."

"This is it. We can do this for him. When the time is right, you will know him. But until then, we have to keep Harry safe."

She snaps. Her voice is harsh, tone vile, "Why? So he can fall victim to your fucking games?! So you can use him?!"

He stares at her silently, not resisting this time when she reaches into the basket hanging on his arm. She weeps quietly, her finger gently tracing the scar that decorates the cooing baby's forehead.

"Harry," She murmurs, sniffling and wiping away her tears on the sleeve of her other arm. Her heart aches, the hurt visible from miles away. She brushes back some of his dark hair, his eyes a painful reminder of his mother.

"I love you, Harry," She whispers. "Je t'aime."

"It's time."

She raises her gaze and stares at the man blankly, her feet frozen to the pavement as he walks to the door and gently sets down the basket, tucking a note inside with the innocent child. Her godson, one of her last ties to her past life. Grief consumes her like tidal waves, crashing in her mind until she feels like she may drown. She wants to drown. She wants to greet the ocean like an old friend, succumb to its promise of rest.

He returns to the woman's side, opening his mouth to speak. He's cut off, her voice cold as she says flatly, "Promise me."

He peers at her over his glasses, avoiding looking down at her glowing palms. She takes another audible breath in and says firmer, "Promise me that he will know me. As soon as possible. As soon as it's safe."

"As soon as it's safe for the both of you," He starts, ignoring her the flare of irritation in her eyes. He continues, voice unwavering, "I swear, you will know him."

He extends his arm for her to take, just as he has many times before. She merely backs away, shaking her head. She holds his gaze, her tears having dried. Her eyes shine only with anger now, unbridled rage.

She doesn't say anything more, she'd always been a woman of few words. But her intellect was sharp, nearly as sharp as her tongue, even when not in use. They'd relied on each other's wit, on each others council. Though now he doubted they would share a conversation for some time. He doubted his old student's forgiveness. He doubted his deserving of her forgiveness.

He stares sorrowfully as the Veela of Hogwarts disappears with a loud 'crack' sound that disturbs the fog on the quiet street.

Gwenyth Whitlock was gone, and for the first time that evening, Albus Dumbledore feels a prickling of fear.