front hurricane

goodbye

for bridgett, because she holds my whole heart.

*

He doesn’t like goodbyes.

*

The intrinsic prospect is placed into his palm at King’s Cross, dealt by his mother’s rakish nails, displacing the idea that he shouldn’t find any comfort in the sharp lines of her face. The train whistle blows, high and needled as her eyes narrow. She says three words to him, and they’re not ‘I love you’. She says three words to him, and they’re not ‘Goodbye, my darling’.

‘Slytherin isn’t optional.’

He doesn’t like goodbyes.

*

There’s a boy in front of him, of hurricane hair and untied shoelaces, scuffing the pavement. James’s eyes glint, and a year’s worth of memories fit in his callused palms. His own granite mask cracks at the clacking of heeled shoes, and when he looks up at his mother he can still hear the howler she sent ringing in his ears. His dilute carbon copy is beside her, hair combed over and bedecked in a Prince’s clothing. Sirius looks from his first brother to his second, who shrugs at him, an aloof smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

‘See you next year, yeah?’

He doesn’t like goodbyes.

*

At the crossroads, he tries to map Regulus with fingertips. His brother slips beneath a darkness that he claims is the family legacy, and it’s hard to watch him fall into step with snakes, dank and beady and coiling against a system they don’t know the shape of, but he can’t stop it. There’ll be another snake, soon, one on the pale skin of his kin’s wrist, the ink jagged and unfitting against the blue veins.

‘Leave me alone, Sirius.’

He doesn’t like goodbyes.

*

His father’s palm is red where it struck his face, bloodied and nettled with panes of glass. His mother cares more about the shattered vanity than her shattered son, weeping as the shards fall. A wall of euphoria coats his tongue, the bitterness of illicitness, alcohol and tobacco. The leather on his shoulders creaks as he moves, a third morbidity arcing from his lips. But he doesn’t say anything else as he walks down the entrance hall, slamming the door behind him.

‘Don’t come back.’

He doesn’t like goodbyes.

*

He spends the summer nestled in a kitchen of cinnamon and overworked pastry, fields of green alive and bright with the pulsing heat of the sun, fitful nights in a room spilling with moonlight, curtains adrift on the dulcet twilight and the sound of James breathing beside him. It’s the most he’s felt at home, but it last only for as long as the sun holds the sky, and in September he steps through brick and tendrils rip beneath his feet, the boughs he’s cultivated coming undone, but Euphemia holds on to him in a sea of smoke and concrete.

‘Goodbye, my darling.’

He doesn’t like goodbyes.

*

There’s a leaden war cry on the horizon, and he grasps the hand of the flaming girl next to him, feeling his voice go hoarse in his throat, cracking like vinyl. This isn’t the graduation he dreamt up with James; they are not triumphant, and their futures crumble beneath them. The trees bristle and whisper about their little army, and the silence becomes so stretched that it mingles with that war cry in the distance. Everyone is stricken and straight-backed and quiet.

‘Presenting the class of 1978.’

He doesn’t like goodbyes.

*

The war has gone stagnant and strained, nestled somewhere in-between sickening anxiety and erratic, short-lived euphoria. The world blares up in darkened clouds and boding horrors, and he knows what it is as soon as he nears the wreckage. From the sky, during the descent, he catches the smoke. He doesn’t fumble desperately through the shards of wood around the threshold, he doesn’t course through the entrance hall to find the broken marionette on the steps, he doesn’t see brother, with eyes glassier than his spectacles, staring at the ceiling without seeing. He doesn’t make it to the bedroom, he doesn’t see the watered flame in the corner, he doesn’t take his Godson out of the crib. Hagrid gets there first. Sirius plummets, feels his heart plummeting too, and it’s only once he’s there, and his blood mixes with something rank and univiting, like poison, that he knows that it wasn’t him. It was Peter. And he relinquishes his hold on the beautiful patchwork of his Godson, tears flooding down his cheeks, when he goes to repay the debt. Harry will be safe. Peter won’t be. Because James and Lily weren’t.

'Pettigrew.’

He doesn’t like goodbyes.

*

It was all too familiar, leaping from the threshold to run and join the amassing crowd, because the patchwork child needed him, needed his Godfather. Between now and then, a plethora lodged in his mind of dripping walls and the darkness that ached in gritted teeth, it seemed like everything had been lost, and yet he’s here. The light echoes out across the cavernous hall, and he can hear his cousin’s daughter firing more insults than curses, feel his Godson backed against him, see his friend unleashing skill like a sweeping tide. It hurt, to be thrown from one war into darkness into another, but now, with the light blaring and his curses as a shield for the patchwork miracle, the hurt is joined by exhilaration. But then his cousin throws her darkness, her wildness, at him, green and instantaneous and without inhibition. It hits him in the chest. It feels strange to fall into nothing. And the boy, his boy, is left, along with the golden friend who’s light is dimmed and flickering, and Sirius hits the ground. He feels nothing, then everything, as callused hands lift him to meet the hurricane hair and eyes that see, that look at him, and a stupid, messy grin.

'Hey, mate.’

He doesn’t like goodbyes, but at least this one is his last.

i’d rather be alone

/ cigarette daydreams cage the elephant / costume party two door cinema club / young hearts strange hearts / bad the cab / feel bombay bicycle club / off to the races lana del rey / my song 5 HAIM / luv hold me down drowners / little games st lucia / its not right but its okay CHVRCHES cover / when the sun goes down arctic monkeys  / chocolate the 1975 / lock me up the cab / bad blood bastille / voodoo doll 5 seconds of summer / funny you should ask the front bottoms / hurricanes MSMR / mr.brightside the vamps / elevate st lucia / glory and gore lorde / come together arctic monkeys / dear maria count me in all time low / laura palmer bastille / spank he naked and famous / social casualty 5 seconds of summer / lies CHVRCHES / head in the clouds forever ends here / $ting the neighbourhood / we must be killers mikky  ekko / bad habit the kooks / this aint a scene its an arms race fall out boy / pretty little girl blink 182 / you’re not the one sky ferreira / lights out words gone bombay bicycle club / aint no rest for the wicked cage the elephant /

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