testing something
A Sirius Black is a dangerous thing. It is dark and wild, it has no respect for the needs or feelings or desires of others. It flings itself about with an impossible energy, infused with some long-ago grace and eloquence. It is like Apollo, the god of the Sun; bright and beautiful. But also cruel, selfish, unbelievably persuasive. But in some strange way, all of his numerous bad qualities had a way of disappearing, of being forgotten. Because, for whatever reason, he was the glorious Bacchus to my confused and lonely Ariadne.
We were 17 years old.
It was that wonderful, glamorous time at the very peak of our youth. That time when every thing but death seemed possible. It was a foolish time, full of foolish choices and foolish mistakes.
A time which, though it is full of some of my deepest regrets, I would not trade for anything.
We were 17 years old.
"Are you even listening, Sirius?"
He looked at me, his eyes glazed over the way they often did when he was forced to sit still for more than a minute at a time.
I sighed deeply.
"Come now Moony, it isn't your fault. It was a valiant effort. But I simply cannot be made to learn any of this rubbish."
He gestured towards the giant, dusty History of Magic textbook with a flourish.
I nodded, giving him a look of mock despair.
"But Sirius, however will you succeed in today's world without an in-depth knowledge of goblin wars?"
He gave me a twisted little smile and closed the book.
"I'll figure something out."
At that moment, there was quite a commotion as Lily and James burst through the portrait hole, bellowing incoherently at each other.
Sirius raised his eyebrows pointedly at me.
"Well maybe if you weren't such a stupid, pig-headed berk!"
"Oh please! I'm not the one always hanging around Snivellus. That's what's really stupid!"
And at that, Lily stormed up into the girls dormitory, looking quite terrifying.
James threw his hands into the air with frustration, and the collapsed into an armchair, ignoring the frightened first-years who had leapt out of the way lest they be sat upon. Sirius got up slowly and then flung himself onto James' lap, taking his face in one hand rather sternly.
"Prongsie, when are you ever going to learn, eh? The way to a woman's heart is not through public nudity, and it is even less won through criticism. Woman are always right. And when you try to tell them otherwise, it tends to get ugly. Trust me."
James wrenched his face from Sirius' grip and stuck his tongue out before retorting,
"So, you condone her fraternizing with the greasy, do you?"
"Certainly not, darling. But you must let her do her own thing every once and a while. It is only fair."
"Oh come off it." James muttered, and he shoved Sirius to floor moodily.
"Fine!" Sirius cried, folding his arms and resting his head on some poor, flustered fifth-year girl's feet. "I'm only trying to help you, but what do I get, eh?"
"He really is talking sense, James. Funnily enough..." I said. It was a surreal thing to admit to, that Sirius might actually be right. It made me feel slightly queasy.
"Ha! Even Moony must admit, when it comes to women, I am infallible." He gave the girl a hearty wink, and she turned pink with giggles.
James only looked more annoyed.
"So I'm just supposed to... ignore it?"
Sirius nodded encouragingly.
"Thats the ticket mate. Let her think you don't even notice. It'll make her crazy. She'll come crawling back to you."
And with that, Sirius gave the girl's leg a pat and sauntered off, winking at me as he climbed the steps to the dormitory.
There was silence as James struggled with the idea, and the poor girl, who's name I thought might have been Emily, tried not to fall over with shock.
"Moony, what do you make of this plan?" He asked desperately, chewing on his bottom lip.
I shook my head sadly.
"James, you know I'm not the right person to ask. I don't know anything about women."
He sighed and nodded. "Ah yes. How could I have forgotten the fateful Valentine's of yesteryear?"
I laughed bitterly, trying desperately to suffocate terrifying memories of badly wrong hair styling charms, disturbingly fat cherubs, and searing hot tea in places it ought not be.
I didn't mind the unpleasant recollections however, because they seemed to have cheered James up immeasurably, and Peter's return from remedial Transfiguration seemed to empower him even further. Confident that he was safe from unrequited love-induced suicide attempts, I slipped off to the dormitory, to read in peace.
It was unfortunate, that I had decided to read. I could have played exploding snap with others in the common room. I could have taken a stroll around the grounds. I could have gone to the library. I could have gone anywhere but upstairs. I should have. And I wish, more than anything else, that I did.
When I entered the dormitory, Sirius was laying on his bed. I didn't think much of it, he was often napping during the day to facilitate his love of night-time excursions with James beneath the cloak. But when I sat on my bed, ready to open my book, he turned his head toward me.
"Bonjour." He said, his voice slightly muffled by the bed covers. I nodded in recognition, swinging my legs up onto the bed, after carefully removing my shoes.
"What are reading?" He asked. His voice was quiet, a fact I found seriously disturbing. And in it there was that implication of more important questions to come, almost as though he were my boss, getting through the small talk before giving me the sack.
I replied, slowly , cautiously, "Wuthering Heights."
He snorted, muttered something which sounded nastily like "more stupid girl books" and then buried his head in his pillow.
I opted to ignore this little remark, finding Sirius' sudden change in mood ominous and uncomfortable. What had happened to the boisterous, winking Padfoot who had just been flirting with silly girls in the common room?
When he resurfaced, he looked troubled. He was gnawing on his lip feverishly, his eyes full of some internal conflict I couldn't understand. I watched him carefully out of the corner of my eyes.
"I didn't mean to make fun of your books." He said, with obvious strain.
I simply nodded, and turned the page, though I hadn't really read a word.
"Moony, I... Shit! I can't fucking talk today. My brain feels like mud!"
I had to laugh, in spite of myself. He did not join me.
"I'm being serious Remus. I need to talk to you."
I put down my book now. He rarely ever called me Remus. The last time he'd done was after that night. It made the hairs stand up on the back of my neck.
He was pacing around the room now, running his hands through his hair maniacally. He sort of reminded me of James, until I saw his face. He looked tortured, torn, and strange. His grey eyes were like thunder storms, tumultuous and dark and frightening. Instinctively, I drew my knees up to my chest, fists clenching the sheets.
"Moony, do you know what it feels like when you're walking in the dark. And you have to go down the stairs? And you think there's another step, but then there isn't?"
I nodded, not entirely sure where the conversation was going.
He licked his lips and continued, "You feel like you're going to fall forever, like you've left your stomach up at the top. And then you hit solid ground and your head is spinning and you want to puke."
He turned away leaning against the window sill, forehead pressed against the glass.
"I think that's happened to everyone Sirius." I said, still confused.
He began to laugh, a short, nervous laugh, and he turned around again. His eyes fixed on mine until I finally broke away, looking down at my knees.
I still wasn't sure what point he was trying to make, but I felt suddenly naked, as though his eyes could see straight through me, see things even I wasn't aware of.
I made to pick up my book again, but he came toward me, sitting on the edge of my bed very carefully.
"Sirius...Is anything wrong?" I asked.
He looked at me again, and I wished he wouldn't.
"Girls love me, you know." He said suddenly.
I furrowed my brow. "Yes, I know that."
He was chewing on his lip again. "They think I'm so charming. All of them. Even the old ones. I'm bloody irresistible."
"Yes, yes, that must be quite awful, that." I said sarcastically.
But he nodded. "Oh, Moony, it is. Do you know why?"
I sighed. "Because you couldn't possibly pick just one?"
He smiled, but not in agreement. "No, no, no. I couldn't pick one, thats true. But then again, I couldn't pick any of them. Not really. I don't care about any of them. They're amusing, sure. They give me something to do. But I don't give a damn about them, Remus."
I said nothing. I didn't know why he was coming to me with this problem. As I'd already stated once that day, I knew nothing about women, or girls, or romance. My friends knew this.
"But I care about you Remus."
He said this so quietly that I almost didn't catch it. I froze, still unsure of what he actually meant.
"I shouldn't even be telling you this, because you're my best mate and you'll probably never want to talk to me ever again. But it's been eating me up inside Moony. And you're always going on about how me and James should open up with our emotions and then you're so quiet with your big jumpers and your skinny ankles. And I want to hurt you whenever you talk because your voice is so low and nice that it makes my hair stand on end. Every time you walk into the room, it all goes dark for a moment, and I miss that bloody step."
I sat quite still, trying to absorb the tangled mess of words which he had practically vomited onto my bed covers. I knew that any reasonable boy would have leapt backwards. Perhaps they would have hit Sirius. Or tried to laugh it off.
But all I could do was reach for my book, something solid to anchor me down, to connect me to the real world which I seemed to have left.
Sirius chanced a glance at me, and our eyes locked. For about a minute we sat that way, watching each other carefully, communicating without words, trying desperately to read the little plays of light in each other, gauging. I felt rather like I was falling. I felt all of those stupid things I had tried so hard to suppress. Stupid things I thought I had buried well beneath mad memories of girls in pink at the tea shop, and the night I had nearly become a murderer.
And there it all was at the surface.
That affinity for all things grey and black. Strange dreams, and funny feelings in the pit of my stomach.
His fingers wound around mine, prying them from the book to which I was so desperately clinging.
He ran his fingers over my hand, their tips dancing lightly across the bones, searching and wondering. They ran across my wrist, up my arm, searching for warmth and life. I didn't dare move.
And then I really was falling, as he leaned into me, pressing me against the base board, my fingers tangled into the perfect, black curls.
He pushed his nose into the base of my jaw, and I could feel his breath against me, even and slow. I could feel his insides against mine, shifting and moving with life.
His lips were warm, and soft, and tasted like chocolate.
Oscar Wilde once said, "There are only two tragedies in life: one is not getting what one wants, and the other is getting it."
And it was not until that day that I truly understood the meaning of those words.
To this day I still wish I had not chosen to go and read in my bed.
My life would have been so much easier if I had chosen a game of cards instead.
If I had, maybe I wouldn't be laying beside a woman I love, but am not in love with, praying to God that I may die before she ever has to learn the truth.
If I had, maybe my life wouldn't be so completely dominated by a lack of a Sirius Black.