There were arms sticking through the bars. Thin, desperate arms, reaching out. A cold kind of disbelief settled over Harry as they landed, the kind he had felt in a hundred different nightmares. He couldn't believe this was happening even though he knew perfectly well it was. He knew exactly what cell this was, even though he had only seen them in pictures, part of a larger mass or zoomed in so you couldn't see the details. Harry knew exactly who was in this cell, too, exactly what this all meant, but he didn't want to. He didn't want to believe that real life could be this neat and cruel.
Buckbeak landed unevenly on the ragged stones, broad wings flapping in annoyance at the spray of the waves around them. Harry paid little attention to him, but slid off his back and stumbled, dazed, up the few feet to the bars of the cell.
His eyes were as wide as saucers and his face pale. "Oh my God, Sirius," he breathed, before natural instincts kicked in again.
Dimly, Sirius is aware of how filthy his hands are. When it rained, he would stand beside the bars much like he is now and wash as best he could, but would never risk using what he collected for anything other than drinking water. His fingers leave smudges of dirt across Harry's cheeks, but he cannot stay them; he has to touch, has to confirm that this is real.
"Harry," he says, the name a rasp. The sound catches on a sob that rattles his thin chest, but Sirius isn't aware of the tears cutting clean swaths across his dirty cheeks. "Harry."
Harry couldn't cry, not when Sirius was. He wanted to, but what he really wanted was to throw his arms around the frail man and sob out his heartache, how much he had missed him, how he was never going to let him go again. And he very well couldn't do that when there were bars in their way.
Blasted, bloody, stinking island.
He grabbed one of Sirius' hands, squeezed his fingers tightly. "I'm here," he reassured him. "I'm gonna get you out, Sirius. Just.. stand back, okay?"
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Buckbeak landed unevenly on the ragged stones, broad wings flapping in annoyance at the spray of the waves around them. Harry paid little attention to him, but slid off his back and stumbled, dazed, up the few feet to the bars of the cell.
His eyes were as wide as saucers and his face pale. "Oh my God, Sirius," he breathed, before natural instincts kicked in again.
"I'm getting you out of there," he promised.
Reply
"Harry," he says, the name a rasp. The sound catches on a sob that rattles his thin chest, but Sirius isn't aware of the tears cutting clean swaths across his dirty cheeks. "Harry."
Reply
Blasted, bloody, stinking island.
He grabbed one of Sirius' hands, squeezed his fingers tightly. "I'm here," he reassured him. "I'm gonna get you out, Sirius. Just.. stand back, okay?"
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