Chapter Text
Summer 2016 (Today)
Childhood and adolescence may be the dearest and most cherished things Sirius holds deep in his heart. He didn't grow up in a loving and nurturing home, but there were still his friends and an entire village, seemingly having an endless supply of love, so he never felt unloved.
Yesterday, he found a box under his bed containing a blue, worn leather picture book (a birthday gift from Lily for his 17th birthday), and he had to sit down while flipping through it with a gentle feeling of nostalgia.
One picture showed the sleepy, picturesque village of Godric's Hollow: it’s all cobblestone paths and pretty cottages covered in snow. They went ice skating on the frozen lake that day, while the early afternoon sun cast its golden light over the frozen water. As he looked at the picture, a familiar feeling shot through his veins: a feeling of recurring memories, almost that of longing, that of bittersweet acknowledgment that this is the past and the only thing he can do now is reminisce about those happy and carefree days.
Sometimes, when he sits at the table on Christmas Eve, he tells other guests about Christmas from childhood. He tells them about the gatherings on the day before Christmas with all the delicious food Mr. Meadowes had prepared, the many lights adorning every house, or the day James got drunk from accidentally drinking his father's wine.
The children at the table tell him he's gotten old, that everything back then was old-fashioned and nowadays everything is better. He laughs and jokes along with them about his age (he's only 42), but on the other hand, he suspects they can't really understand how it felt back then; that warmth, that contentment that came from having all families and loved ones together. From stories alone, they can't grasp why memories mean so much to him. At this young age, children don't yet understand that memories become a part of you, or that certain smells and sounds can suddenly catapult you into another time.
But even though they don't find the stories as captivating as he does, he will never stop talking about it. He will never stop being nostalgic and a little sad that childhood is over. He will always remember those glorious and wonderful days full of mischief and adventures, for as long as he can.
On this Saturday morning, he wakes up earlier than usual, his alarm clock showing a quarter to nine. He goes to the kitchen and makes himself a cup of tea. Afterwards he climbs the stairs and enters his study. He sits down at the desk where he left the picture book last night and opens it.
On the double page, three pictures are glued side by side, showing the lush green leaves of the trees in the forest. And the sky is of such radiant blue, as it only ever seems to you as a kid.
In the middle picture, two boys are seen from behind; they wear shorts and T-shirts, and their skin is tanned from the summer sun. They walk closely together, their posture is familiar and affectionate, as if they are engaged in an intense conversation. Around them, the branches hang from the sides, the knee-high grass snakes beneath them.
The caption announces the date: Summer '91 - You and Remus are once again in a completely different world.
Sirius can't help but smile. He remembers this summer. And the summer before that and the summer before that. And also every summer that would follow.
One summer, in particular, has stayed in his memory. It was the hottest in years, the news was full of new records, and everyone complained about the relentless heat. Throughout the whole holidays, he stayed with his friends down by the lake or on the Potter's rowboat, or went on explorations through the forest, with packed backpacks full of provisions and water bottles. In the evenings, they came home exhausted but happy, telling the adults about the things they had experienced.
They were fifteen, and it was the summer when Sirius began to grow his hair out in an act of protest, when James Potter was head over heels in love with Lily Evans, when Peter Pettigrew stood up to his big brother for the first time, and when Remus Lupin sacrificed all his precious free time to work at the Lovegoods' farm.
It was the year with the first signs of the events to come, the first big arguments, the first awkward declarations of love, the first recognitions that something was changing in their immature minds. At least that's how it was for Sirius. But back then he couldn't yet name these unconscious perceptions.
Or didn't want to.