Style // Sirius Black

Chapter L

Losing something more personal to you than your own name is a feeling that isn't easily captured through words. That overwhelming wave of emotion that bubbles up deep in your stomach and ventures upwards until it's wrapped around your throat. It chokes you until your mind falls silent and your heart goes rhythmless. Sometimes, you can tell when something is nearing the end when that second to the last chapter slides across your thumb and the pages thin.

It's a strange feeling to be able to tell when the end is near. To know that no matter how hard you fought or how hard you continue to fight, it's frivolous. That shadow that lurks over the edge of a cliff or the thunder that rumbles a few miles away is unstoppable, creeping up behind the people that least expect it. Fighting makes it harder to accept—the fact that there may not be a happy ending waiting for you in your bed.

It's okay to let go of things, it's okay to feel sad about it, and it's okay to want to keep it for as long as you can. You don't have to be strong the entire time. You're allowed to mourn, to cry, to fight back tooth and nail until that inevitable light flickers off, and you're left alone in the dark. You're not wrong for hurting. Hurt is nothing but the combination of all of that love and joy opening like a wound.

Your heart isn't impenetrable, and that's what makes people strong.

—

Her knees slammed against the ground as the door hung open, the hot air of summer seeping into her skin.

It was July 3rd, 1981.

Sirius ran from the kitchen at the sound of his fiancee's first wail, a broken melody from a wounded bird. Her wings sagged at the side as Peter stood over them, his own body shaking as he delivered the news. There are no words to describe the shattered sob that tore through Lyra Potter's body as the knife sliced across her heart, lacerating it and letting the blood seep through her shirt. It felt like someone was twisting it further into her back, carving out the pieces they wanted to fit their puzzle.

Marlene McKinnon had died.

Peter had shown up just moments ago, his eyes sunken in and cheeks quivering as he stuttered out the words. He held the bloody knife that had taken the chunk from Lyra—but it wasn't his fault—he was just the unfortunate messenger sent to give the news. Lyra's entire body shook as the song of Marlene felt silent in her mind, disappearing from her grasp and taking away everything the two shared. Sirius's arms wrapped around her frame and tugged her deep into his chest, his own tears sliding against her cheeks.

"I'm sorry," Peter whispered as he fell next to the two, "I'm so sorry."

"It's okay, Wormtail," Sirius whispered, the sound of his hand clapping against the boy's shoulder shocking Lyra, "This is war—soldiers fall."

"Just wish it wasn't her."

"Me too, buddy...Me too."

—

Lyra stood over the wrapped birthday present that sat on her and Sirius's bed, admiring the bow that was tied on the top. She'd been trying to find small things that lit that candle in her heart and warmed her chest and focus on them versus that nagging voice in the back of her mind. It had started around when the entire McKinnon family had fallen, whispering venomous things into her ear with the lisp of a snake. It helped for the most part until those little things disappeared, and she was left with the gnawing feeling she'd let a killer into her house.

It was July 31st, 1981.

A knock at the door caused Lyra's shoulders to jump, tugging her out of her trance. Glancing over her shoulder, she noticed Sirius leaning on the door with a sideways grin. She returned the gesture, dropping her hands to her side and wandering towards the boy. Nothing was said between the two as he placed his ring-clad hands on her waist, drawing patterns through her dress and leaving chaste kisses on her cheek.