#hes literally only alive bc of harry ykno

[padfootastic]

Sunday Snippet

(is that a thing? idk but i literally just wrote this for FoD and it wont be posted for a few chapters--so a couple months minimum--but i just. really wanted to share it so. enjoy)

He casually points a finger at the hideous vase behind their heads, levitating it wandlessly and wordlessly. If he was around other wix, they would’ve been amazed and perhaps, slightly awed. That it was Muggles--and this particular set at that--meant they were almost vibrating out of their skin in fear. 

Good. 

“Do you know,” he started with a pleasant smile, bringing the floating vase closer to them, enjoying the way Petunia’s mouth opened in a wordless scream. He didn't even have to Silence them. “they thought I could kill 12 people, just like that, with one word. Not one person, not even my closest friends, believed otherwise.”

Once upon a time that statement would’ve hurt, it had hurt him everytime he was conscious enough to think about it in Azkaban. But he’d made his peace with it now, had accepted that there was a part of him that was inherently repulsive, untrustworthy, broken. 

“There was a reason for why they did that. My brother--you know him, James--was murdered. They thought I lost my mind, and perhaps I did, a little bit.” 

Because James was the last--and only--person who’d never turned away from him. He’d taken all of Sirius’ ugliness, all those rough edges he’d tried so hard to hide, cutting himself and the world in the process, and kept those with himself. Sirius never had to worry about himself around James, because he knew he’d take care of him. Wouldn’t let him break. 

At least, that’s how it should have been. They should’ve grown old together, stuck at the hip until their hearts and their magic gave out. James shouldn’t have been buried in the ground at the age of twenty fucking one while Sirius still had to live without him, god, it was so unfair. 

It was--

He shouldn’t be living without James. He was nothing without James. 

It was that thought that sent a fresh wave of anger through his veins, anger he knew was very plainly visible on his face, reflecting in his eyes, because the moment he looked at the Dursleys, he could hear two distinctive whimpers at once. 

“So,” he said, voice rough like gravel, almost unrecognisable to even him. He knew his eyes would be closer to black than their usual grey, the Madness stirring within him, wanting out. “What do you think I’ll do to people, to vermin like you, who touched my godson?” 

His only response was a slow, trickling sound and a pungent smell filling the living room.