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Hi y'all, I created this topic so I can put my Sirry drabbles in one place! You might recognise some, but others could be new to you. Who knows? Take a look and tell me if you like any of them (but don't tell me if you don't).
Here is a list of the fics I've posted. [will need to edit the urls when the site hits]
1. The Futility of Grief
Last edited by HopeForTheWitch on Tue Jan 28, 2025 7:26 am, edited 2 times in total.
What do these strangers know of grief, Harry thinks bitterly as another person walks by, avoiding his hard gaze. What do they know of losing Sirius Black? They might have lost loved ones, but none of them lost their godfather. The Ministry is trying to make up for all the wrongs by making his death into some kind of national disaster because their war champion cares, and the public ate it up eagerly, phantom distress at the loss of an unsung hero.
Even the lilies look down on the circus, nodding in Delft blue and side-eyeing the proceedings. Harry himself is torn, his expression caught somewhere between hilarity and grief; a theatre mask put on wrong. He decides on anger, because he has many things to be angry about. The fact that Sirius never stood a chance, that he was bathed in tragedy from birth, that nobody is willing to acknowledge that, that these people sit here and claim they had never believed it to be true, that they had known all along that it hadn't been him, that they--
Their whispering voices grate like nails on a chalkboard, like sand in his eyes when he can't lie down, and Harry is so angry and so tired and he just want to scream, wants to sit down in a corner and burst into tears, wants to open the casket and empty all the vases into it until the red interior is soaked, the velvet swollen with dirty liquid, stains forming as water seeps out from between the crevices in the worn wood, drip drip drip onto the flagstones below.
None of this matters, Harry reminds himself, and he sits down.