✔️ 𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐕𝐀𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐄 → 𝑠. 𝑏𝑙𝑎𝑐𝑘

15 | E V E R G L O W

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     Sirius Black sat on the front porch, his dark hair had turned white, but had lost nothing of its length, just like he used to wear it in his mid thirties. There was not much left of the dark abyss in his marble grey eyes, that had constantly reminded Margo of the cruelty her man had witnessed in his younger ages. With the decades passing by, Sirius had returned to the man he used to be, before Azkaban had shattered his soul.

    Margo was beaming brightly at him, as her little grandson tucked on the sleeve of her robe, small index finger pointed at a butterfly passing them by and landing on one of the rose bushes next to the porch, where their daughter sat in a rocking chair, her baby girl in her arms sound asleep.

     Their family was growing fast, and in moments like that, Margo could utterly forget about the war and all the losses, about the throbbing numbness that still caught her off guard every once in a while, and the flashbacks of her own trauma.

     The sun was settling behind the soft hills surrounding their home, and soon their children and grandchildren were heading home. Sirius laid his arms around Margo's waist from behind, watching their loved ones getting smaller in the distance, until the curvy path leading through the up- and downfalling landscape swallowed them.

     All was well.

     ... at least it would have been.

     There was no funeral, for there was no corpse. The only thing left of Sirius Black were memories on her mind, and his scent still lingering on the sheets, and while Margo knew the latter would slowly fade and vanish as well as the love of her life, she wouldn't dare to ever forget about a single second of the short period of time they were allowed to spent with each other.

     No, not even the moment the spell hit Sirius; not his laughter still hanging in the air, when everything else turned silent; not the light in his eyes slowly dying, as he gracefully fell into the veil; not even the moment she realised he wouldn't reappear on the other side.

     Margo still dwelled in her beautiful daydreams of all the things that could have been: the small house, the growing family, the rose garden and the soft hills, the smell of summer breezes and bonfires, and autumn nights, and Sirius with his white hair and mischievous glint in his wrinkled eyes.

     But instead of grandchildren, there were gnomes running through garden.

     Margo had turned her back on No. 12 Grimmauld Place, after Molly and Arthur Weasley had offered her to stay with them for as long as she needed. Staying at Grimmauld Place hadn't been an option, as well as returning to her father, so she gratefully took the Weasleys' offer and moved into Charlie's old room.

     She wished her old diary back, just to read Sirius words all over and over again, but it was gone as well, burnt to ashes, just because of her own defiant behaviour. How much more time could they have had together, if she hadn't acted like a stupid girl?

     The first weeks passed by in a haze of despair and sadness. Margo barely ate, felt sick and unhealthy, but couldn't bring up the energy to change anything about her miserable condition. Not even Molly's delicious meals could persuade her to eat more than two bites. The shadows under Margo's eyes grew darker than her thoughts, and the Weasleys' worries about her didn't touch her in any way.

     Now, Margo was standing on the Burrow's front porch, smiling as she sat down into the old rocking chair. A cold wind announced that autumn was on a hurry to sway over the lands, and she was wrapping a patchwork blanket Molly had given to her around her shoulders.

     Though the past had been devastating in so many ways, and the pain she felt was still so real, Margo watched the sun set behind the hills, that covered the Burrow from the rest of Ottery St. Catchpole, with a new found feeling of bliss.

     Sirius might be gone, but he had left her something to go on. Her appetite had returned as well as her ability to smile without having to force it, and laughter and joy no longer felt wrong.

     With her hands placed on her belly, that was growing as the weeks passed, Margo closed her eyes, her lips curled up, her heart beating in the very same rythmn of the unborn life that was slumbering inside her, and she couldn't wait to finally hold her son, their son, and wake up to watch his amber eyes and wavy black hair.

     All would be well.

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— THE END —

finished: O6/22/2O2O