In Memory of Sirius Black

Dusk was falling, turning a cloudy day to a cloudy night, as a man stood over the stone set in the cold October ground. He re-read the inscription, and couldn’t help hating it. It was so … boring, so clichéd. In other words, nothing like Sirius.

“I’m sorry it’s taken so long for me to visit,� murmured the man, awkwardly. He hesitated, before continuing, “I guess it’s taken me a while to accept the fact that you really are … gone.� He stopped speaking, and stood, staring at a squirrel that was dashing through the other tombstones, clearly trying to locate a previously buried acorn.

A cool breeze blew through the cemetery, making the robes that the man was wearing billow around his tall, thin body. He shivered slightly, his eyes returning to the memorial stone. This was not a grave that the man was standing upon, there was no body buried here.

Of course there’s not, the man thought, there was no body to bury.

His thoughts drifted, against his will, back to the Department of Mysteries, which lay deep inside the Ministry of Magic. It had been in the Death Chamber where Sirius had fatally fallen through that ancient veil. There had been a few brief moments when the man had been hoping, praying that Sirius would somehow reappear, or that he hadn’t really fallen through at all, and it had all been some twisted hallucination.

But it wasn’t. That had been the last time he had seen Sirius, the last time he had seen one of his best friends in the entire world. Actually, Sirius had been more than just a friend. He had been like … a brother and, even more than that, sometimes, Sirius had been a guardian. Someone who cared about him, someone who was willing to do anything to help him.

The man’s gaze fell back to the stone.

“Why did you have to come to the Ministry that day? Why the hell did you come?�

A hot anger towards Sirius that he had not realized he had been suppressing suddenly flared up, strongly, inside of him. He knew that Sirius had been given orders from Dumbledore, to stay hidden at headquarters; orders which he had promised to obey. He thought about how much different life could be right now, had Sirius not betrayed Dumbledore’s trust. The man himself would not be standing in this cemetery, for one thing, and many others would have also been spared the pain of losing Sirius. Why had Sirius felt that he needed to break his promise?

And, as he thought this, the man’s anger betrayed him. It was, he thought, very much his own fault. He had stupidly made a big deal about Voldemort and many of his Death Eaters being in the Ministry. Sirius wouldn’t have wanted to miss the chance to take part in a duel like that! It was, from the reckless point of view that Sirius Black possessed, a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.

Tears fell down the man’s tired face as he realized that, for Sirius, it truly was once-in-a-lifetime. More appropriately, the end of a lifetime.

The sound of rustling leaves from overhead caused the man to look up; he saw the squirrel from before, now scampering up and down the tree’s branches.

Sighing heavily and sinking to his knees, the man reluctantly let a sob escape him. It echoed through the empty cemetery, and the sudden burst and termination of sound left the man feeling more sad and lonely than he had been just seconds before. He ripped a few blades of grass from the earth, and threw them forcefully at the memorial. They settled gently on top, reminding the man that he never in his life had truly wanted to hurt Sirius. Not even after he had escaped from Azkaban and they had encountered each other in the Shrieking Shack. Of course, at that time, he had thought Sirius to be a mass murderer, and, although his amount of hatred towards Sirius had been enormous, deep down, he had doubts. Doubts, because Sirius and James had been best friends …

Night was falling quickly; the cemetery was getting darker as every minute passed.

“Why are you gone?� groaned the man, his voice breaking as he tried to keep it from wavering, tears falling steadily from his eyes. “So many of us are gone … Kingsley, Mundungus, Emmeline Vance, Dawlish and,� he hesitated, not wanting to continue, still in denial about this last name, “… and Dumbledore.�

The man got to his feet again, wiping his eyes with unnecessary force as he did so, as though if he pressed hard enough, the flow of tears would cease, as a cut would stop bleeding if applied with enough pressure. This theory did not seem to have much effect; the man’s eyes filled with salty water and spilled over again within seconds. The man resigned himself once more to the fact that he would have to endure his own silent sobs, though his body shook with each breath he took.

“I hope that you’re happy, Sirius. I really hope that you’re happy wherever you are. You deserve to be happy after all those years of being locked up. There were – are – a lot of people who care about you. Who miss you. … I miss you.� The last three words were barely louder than a whisper, and at some point while he had been talking, the man’s tears had finally stopped. He glanced around the cemetery, surprised at how dark it had gotten. Seeming to decide that it was time to leave, he pulled a wand from inside his cloak and conjured a small bouquet of red flowers. Kneeling down again, he placed the flowers upon the stone set in front of him. Arranging them so that they covered the dull inscription, he looked up at the sky and seemed to say a quick prayer before standing once more and looking back at the stone one more time.

High above the man’s head, the dark clouds that had been covering the stars and moon parted, revealing a beautiful, round, white orb. The squirrel, now huddled against the almost bare branches of the tree, terrified and perfectly still, watched as the wolf that stood where the man had been only seconds before, turned and raced though the cemetery, leapt over the black iron gate, and disappeared into the darkness.