FIC: "Still LIfe" (Anthony-centric, PG)
This is something that's been nagging at me to be written for a few months now and I've finally finished it.
This is my Anthony... and his story and this one is clearly indebted to communiquills and trickster_gryff. So an abundance of love and thanks to sethkyne_blue, written_doodles, fleshdress, and cynicalpirate in particular. And snogs to marilla82 for the beta!
Title: “Still Life"
Author: pre_raphaelite1
Characters: Anthony Goldstein plus 5 others.
Rating: PG
Warnings: slight AUness, one OMC
Summary: The tealeaves never changed, until the day Anthony fell.
I was lost in the pages
Of a book full of death
Reading how we'll die alone
And if we're good we'll lay to rest
Anywhere we want to go.
Audioslave’s “Like a Stone"
He groaned, trying to remember why he was laying on the ground but no memories surfaced. He reached immediately for his throat, but couldn’t remember why he needed to. It was smooth and narrow, circled by a silver chain as always, nothing out of the ordinary.
“Are you alright there?”
The voice floated down to him, soft and lyrical and he opened his eyes finally. The bright sun half-blinded him, showing him a shadow with red hair.
“Ginny?” He blinked a few times trying to clear the spots of light from his sight.
“No. Not Ginny. She’s not here.”
“Oh.” This made sense to him, somehow, and he finally focused on the figure crouching next to him. She was older than he was by only a few years, pale skinned and red haired like Ginny, but taller than Ginny’s petite form, her hair long and unbound rather than Ginny’s preferred braids. Her lips had something of a DaVinci curve to them and her cheekbones were high, graced by a few freckles that drew attention to her eyes. Green. Warm. Familiar.
She smiled before asking, “What’s your name, love?”
“Erm… Anthony.”
Laughing, she stood and offered him a hand. “Well, Erm Anthony, would you like to stand or were you planning on lying down all day?”
He blushed and sat up, shaking his head. “No. I’m sure I should be- that is I had things I was doing?” Anthony took her hand with his right and stood up, immediately glancing around. He was in a field along a small road, a field bordered by a low gray wall, blue and yellow flowers growing out from between the stones. A few sheep were grazing in one corner of the field, in front of a row of trees that seemed familiar. In fact, there was something naggingly familiar about this whole place, but he couldn’t sort out what it was.
“Pretty place, isn’t it? You’re lucky, I think, to be here. Talked with another boy from a cemetery a few years back.”
“A cemetery? He was from a cemetery? How-“ She was smiling gently at him, a look of quiet calm that he remembered seeing on his Mum’s face whenever he was worrying needlessly.
She offered her hand again. “I’m Lily, by the way. Lily Potter.”
He must have heard wrong. He shook his head. “Pardon?”
She grinned at him. “You heard correctly. I expect you knew my son, Harry?”
Anthony nodded slowly, growing more perplexed. “Yeah. He’s great. Not that close but we were together… sometime… Taught a bunch of us spells and charms. The Patronus. And he had to fight. We had to fight.”
Lily caressed his arm. “I know it’s a bit confusing at first. It will come back in time. But it’s easier this way. Not remembering it all straight away.”
Rolling his shoulders, he tried to make sense of what she was saying, but his confusion must have been apparent for she spoke again, “What do you remember last?”
Closing his eyes, he tried to remember, to find the series of images that were the most recent. “I was with some of the other members of the DA. We were in a house with blue walls, talking about You-Know-Who. Fred Weasley was there. And we-“ But there was nothing more. Just darkness until he woke. “Then you.”
She nodded. “Yes. Then me. I try to meet anyone who helped Harry or the Headmaster. He meets some of the older people, but worries that he might frighten any of his more recent students into thinking they were in a rather serious detention.”
Despite the reassurance she intended from her girlish smile, Anthony shoved a hand through his hair in aggravated confusion. “Headmaster? Detention? Meeting people?”
She met his gaze and he found himself unable to look away.
“Anthony… You died.” Her words were unbelievably soft but clear.
His stomach twisted, jerked painfully by her words. His eyes snapped wide and he stared at her. “I what?”
She let out a slow breath, keeping her hand cupped under his elbow; to keep him standing, he figured. “You died. Here. In this field. Well, not this one precisely, but its mirror. Fighting against Voldemort’s followers.”
He suddenly found himself sitting back on the ground, despite the hand on his arm. He rubbed at his throat again and she slid her fingers around his hand to pull it away.
“It will be alright, love. Part of you remembers what happened, but it doesn’t matter now. Nothing will hurt you like that here, and you’ve people waiting for you.”
Anthony shook his head. It was too much. He’d had dreams, read the leaves but now? He’d not said good bye to his mum or dad. Not thanked Cordelia for the last batch of biscuits or told Miranda she wasn’t quite as bad of a sister as he always thought. Even if she was. He’d not told Ginny- No. He had. He had said everything he could to Ginny. Given her the locket with his portrait. He hoped he had performed the Animus right.
When he looked back to Lily, she was still kneeling patiently next to him, as though she were used to this reaction, which from her words, she presumably was. Anthony rolled his shoulders, stretching them under the soft blue jumper he wore. He frowned down at it, certain he’d been in his grey fighting robes at the last m- well, at the Last.
“No sense in showing up here in something other than your favourite clothes, Anthony. If people came as they were when they died, there would be more than a few people running about starkers.”
His attention snapped back to her, eyes wide. She laughed, standing up once more and giving him her hand. “No. Not me. I was in a skirt and flowered shirt. But you might want to ask Geoffrey Godivar what he was wearing when he had his little accident.”
Blushing at the insinuation there, Anthony rose to his feet, hastily brushing the grass off his trousers, frowning slightly at their tight fit over his hips. “So… erm… now what?”
Lily slid her arm companionably through his and tugged him forward. “Now we go for a walk. I told you that you had people waiting. Best not to make them wait any more. Some of them are rather impatient.”
She winked at him and led him out of the field and onto the narrow road that ran in front of it. They walked in silence for a bit, heading up the small rise of the hill. Anthony had to squint against the light that seemed far too crisp, but perhaps he just needed to adjust to this place.
“Look sharp!”
The cry came from somewhere above Anthony’s right shoulder and he looked back in time to see something large and dark hurtling towards him. He ducked instinctively, and it passed by him with a whoosh of air before disappearing behind a small corpse of trees.
“James Potter, you come back here this instant!” Lily’s voice, so soothing before now sounded like the crack of a whip. “And bring which ever miscreants you’ve got back there with you.”
There was a loud, deep laugh and a moment later, the figure flew back, the broom he was riding seeming more a part of his body than a mode of transportation. He was broad shouldered, athletic and dark haired, and had a broad grin on his face as he stopped in front of Lily.
“Singular.”
“What?”
James spoke again, “Miscreant. Singular. Only got one lad who’s up for the game today. Young Cedric.”
Anthony was quickly feeling overwhelmed again. “C-cedric? Diggory?”
James turned to Anthony, tipping his head as he sized him up as though only noticing his presence when he spoke. “Yes. Diggory. Do you know him?”
Anthony nodded slightly, throat feeling dry. “Yeah. Was at school with him… younger than him but there when he- The Triwizard, yeah?”
James nodded curtly at Anthony then turned his attention back to Lily. “Anyway, he’s guarding the goals and I’ll be buggered by Merlin in plaid trews if he’s not blocking most of my shots.”
“Really James, that expression…”
“Is one of the reasons that you find me so charming.” James leaned down and kissed Lily, his mouth molding firmly to hers and Anthony looked away, blushing. He caught sight of Cedric as he flew from behind the trees, a quaffle tucked under his arm. Cedric pulled to a stop only a few feet from Anthony, eyebrows raised at the couple behind him who were now moaning quietly.
Cedric shook his head then spoke to Anthony with an easy smile, “If I had a knut for every time he’s stopped a game to snog her, I’d be a weal-“ He broke off abruptly, brows knitting in thought as he looked at Anthony. “Goldstein?”
Cheeks still hot with colour, Anthony nodded. “Yeah. Anthony Goldstein.”
Cedric dismounted and offered his hand in greeting. After a moment of hesitation, Anthony took it and shook it. “Tough luck. But things are good around here. How’d it happen?”
Anthony released Cedric’s hand and mumbled, “Death Eaters, I think. S’what Lily said.”
He nodded. “You’re new then. It will come back to you in a few days.”
He grinned at Anthony who helplessly returned the smile, face feeling too warm for comfort. “Only took me three, before I remembered…” Cedric sobered and met Anthony’s gaze directly. “Harry was telling the truth, you know. He tried to save me. But I didn’t listen and move fast enough.”
Anthony slowly nodded. This wasn’t new information, but the idea of having the details of a murder confirmed by the victim was a trifle unsettling. “Always trusted Harry about that.”
They fell into an awkward silence then, Cedric gently tossing the quaffle and Anthony memorising the deep green shades of the grasses growing along the road.
From behind him, there was a quick flurry of forced coughing and Anthony looked back. James was still grinning, eyes sparking and Lily’s cheeks were decidedly flushed.
“Feel man enough to throw a quaffle yet, Potter? Or do you need some further reassurance?”
Lily’s blush deepened at Cedric’s words but James laughed, a deep rich sound. “Touché, Diggory. We can go back now and leave my wife to-“ James looked to Anthony once more. “Who are you?”
Startled by the bluntness of the question, it took Anthony a moment to respond. “Anthony.”
James’ eyebrows raised. “Oh yes, and do you have a surname or are you like one of those Muggle popstars like Avis?”
“Elvis.”
“Whatever,” James dismissed Lily’s correction with a small jerk of his chin, dark eyes intent on Anthony.
“It’s Goldstein. Anthony Goldstein.” He only just stopped himself from adding ‘sir’ to the end of his identification, though James couldn’t have been more than a few years older than he was.
James stared in surprise at Anthony for moment then turned to Lily for an explanation. She sighed exasperatedly and rolled her eyes. “Yes. That Anthony Goldstein. But don’t start on him. He’s only just arrived and you’re in the middle of a game of Quidditch with Cedric.”
James didn’t look at all happy with these restrictions and turned a frowning face to Anthony once more. He urged his broom forward until he was hovering before and above him. He seemed to debate his words for ages, making Anthony want to either step back or draw his wand for protection. He settled for curling his left hand into a fist at his side.
With a tense smile, James spoke. “Right. I’m not starting on you. But I’m going to speak to you now. And we’ll speak again. I don’t know you. I don’t particularly trust you, but you died fighting with my son so that’s at least one point in your favour. Don’t look relieved by that. I’m not about to forgive you for being the one that Ginny cheated on Harry with. That I don’t understand and it had better not cause Harry any grief.”
“James…” Lily warned.
He seemed to ignore her for the most part. “But for here, for now, for him… I want you to remember that he’s my blood brother. A bond of strong magic and even harder heads, but I promised him that I’d give you a chance. I don’t want to find out that you’ve done something to upset him or hurt him. If I do, you may be dead already, but that doesn’t mean I can’t make your afterlife incredibly uncomfortable.”
“James Potter, stop scaring the boy.”
Between the two of them, good intentions and otherwise, Anthony was feeling seven instead of seventeen and incredibly sick to his stomach. Without looking up, he answered with a quiet whisper, “Yes, sir. I won’t. Promise.”
James said nothing for a few long moments, though Anthony could feel his gaze on him, fierce and critical. Finally he grunted then spoke. “Let’s go, Diggory. You’ve a goal to fail to protect.”
And with that he flew off. Anthony dared to look up then and a hand clasped his shoulder. Cedric smiled at him. “He’s not as bad as all that. Or at least I don’t think he is… Not been in your position before. Good luck, mate.”
Anthony blinked at the quickly diminishing figure of Cedric as he flew off to join James, then looked helplessly at Lily who after a moment of frank worry, smiled once more. “He’s a lot of pawing and antler shaking.”
He didn’t even know how to respond to that, not understanding the euphemism in the least. And that fact didn’t make him feel any better. He frowned. Heaven was supposed to be a place of joy and where one couldn’t be hurt, wasn’t it? The twist in his stomach certainly wasn’t joy.
“Ready?”
She was watching him a few paces ahead of him now, and for lack of anything better to do he nodded then walked forward. The top of the hill overlooked even more farmland, rich green pastures bordered by stone fences, a giant checkerboard dotted with sheep and the occasional tree or house.
Something rippled through the air like a breath of warmth, but was edged with the familiar tingle of magic and the world around him wavered, as though he were seeing it through water. A moment later it cleared and he found himself standing on a city street, the buildings around him tall and rich gray from age. He was too disoriented at first to recognize where he was, left hand moving for his wand.
Lily stopped him with a warm hand on his arm. “It’s alright, Anthony. You’ll get used to it when it does that. When it changes.”
Her voice was back to its soothing tones, a maternal gentleness that still showed her strength. He forced his hand to relax as she spoke again, “Do you recognize this place?”
Anthony glanced around and his heart clenched. He was outside Master Lazuli’s studio and he stumbled back a few steps from the familiar green door with the paintbrush handle.
“No. Not here… I don’t want to be here…” This had to be a dream. A nightmare. He wanted to run now, but his back was against a brick wall and his legs didn’t seem to be listening to his brain’s repeated commands to take him away from here.
“Why not?”
“Because he… that’s where they… No. I’m not here. I’m not going in. You can’t make me.” Panicked, he drew his wand and raised it at Lily. “I don’t know who you are or what this place is, but you’re going to tell me how to get away… I have to get away. Tell me. Please.”
She only took half a step to him before stopping as the tip of his wand began to glow an angry red. “Anthony. Put it down. You don’t want to hurt me. And you still can here.”
“I don’t… I don’t care!” But he did and his wand was already starting to drop.
“I’m not going to make you go in. But there’s nothing bad there. You’ll only go to the places where you were happiest… when you first arrive.”
Blinking too quickly he shook his head, looking everywhere but at the door before him. “I’m not… I mean, I was happy there. Here. But… before. I’ve not been back.”
She was standing closer now though he didn’t notice her move this time. She closed her hand around his wrist, pushing it down slowly, gently. “What made you happy here?”
Anthony only resisted her a small amount, halfheartedly trying to keep his wand up, but it was soon at his side and her thumb was brushing carefully over the back of his wrist. “I… He did…. Oscar.”.
“Bloody right I did.”
Anthony’s jerked at the achingly familiar voice, eyes wide in fearful disbelief.
Oscar stood in the doorway, blue robes splattered with paint, and black hair pushed haphazardly back from his face. And his smile… That smile…
Anthony slid down the wall, arse hitting the ground hard with an audible thump, his knees bent before him. It was impossible. This whole thing. A dream or something. Oscar was dead. Killed by Death Eaters in their attempts to find out how to perform the Animus Charm on magical portraits, how to reverse it to free the distilled magic of the subject. Lazuli had disappeared. Oscar had died. Here. There. In that studio.
He was dimly aware of a small hum of voices above him then a soft caress to his cheek. His lips curved in the faintest of reflexive smiles.
“Hey there, sexy.”
Anthony closed his eyes, not certain if he was going to throw up or throw himself at Oscar. The former was rather unappealing and the latter… he was afraid that he’d hit the street beyond him, fall straight through the body he had loved.
“I’m real, you know. And it’s really me. I didn’t really expect to see you so soon, but that doesn’t matter now. Hey, are you going to look at me yet?”
Anthony shook his head, keeping his eyes closed.
Oscar laughed. “Not going to get up then either, are you?”
He shook his head again.
“Well, then we can sit on the street if you want. That’s fine with me, though it’s much more comfortable inside, you know.”
“I don’t… I don’t want to see it.”
There was a low ah and after a moment something warm pressed to his side. Anthony inhaled deeply. He could remember the days he spent in the studio, painting for Master Lazuli and watched by Oscar. The smell of paints and turpentine and Oscar’s cologne. He saw the sunlight on Oscar’s bare chest, gold ring in his navel glinting. He could feel his lips brushing over his collarbone, over his fingers.
“You’re blushing, Anthony. Are you thinking about us?”
He exhaled raggedly, finally daring to open his eyes. Oscar was sitting next to him, mirroring his position and letting his arm rest against Anthony’s. And he smelled the same.
Anthony’s mouth worked uselessly for a few moments, and when he spoke, his voice was hitched with emotion. “You’re… you’re dead. You died. Weren’t supposed to die on me. Promised me…”
Oscar nodded, “I know. I didn’t plan on dying you know. And I got your letter and you had every reason to hate me.”
Anthony’s cheeks flooded with heat as he recalled the letter he had scribbled and owled in rage after being released from the Ministry in the day after his funeral. They sat in silence before Anthony could whisper, “I… I loved- love you.”
Reaching over his thigh, Oscar threaded his fingers with Anthony’s and squeezed gently. “I know. And I loved you. To the very end, you know. Now will you come inside? My arse is going to look like a Picasso if we stay here.”
Startled into a small laugh, Anthony looked at him, brown eyes meeting blue. “Yeah. Alright.”
They rose together, Anthony moving a bit more slowly than Oscar as they walked towards the door before Anthony came to a stop.
“Really. It’s alright in there, Anthony. Save the mess I just made on the canvas when you showed up.”
Anthony shook his head as he looked around the street. “No. Not that. Lily? She left?”
“Yeah. Whilst you were hiding with your eyes closed on the ground. Said she’d stop by in a day or two to see how you were settling in. She’s really lovely for a girl. Now stop stalling.” And he started forward again.
Anthony hesitated at the threshold, convinced still that he’d see bloodstains on the studio floor or the chalk outlines he saw on the telly. But at Oscar’s gentle tug, he stepped inside to the familiar warmth and scented cocoon of art.
It looked just as he had remembered, carefully arranged canvasses against the wall, paint tubes and pots scattered across the tables and shelves, and half-finished sculptures set on pedestals. The windows were large to let in as much light as possible though the ceiling was charmed like that of the Great Hall at Hogwarts so they could easily adjust the lighting through that and shading charms on the windows. The floor was clean, free of any evidence of murder, unless someone had attempted to murder a few dozen colours of paint. Anthony had asked when he first arrived at the studio for his apprenticeship why they didn’t spell the floors clean. He had been told, with a twinkling eye, that a messy floor was artistic. Afterwards, Oscar had explained in a whisper that Lazuli kept the floor messy to control the patrons. Commissions were easier to refuse if they appeared harried. Anthony just thought the streaks and splatters of crimson, ochre, lapis, emerald, and heliotrope were beautiful.
They still were.
“Amazing, isn’t it?”
He didn’t know what Oscar was talking about but he nodded anyway.
“How about tea? We could sit and talk? Like we used to? I’ll try to keep my hand off of you and you’ll try not to blush to death.”
Anthony stared as him.
“Oh. Right. Too late.” Then he grinned, “Always told you it wasn’t possible to blush to death. Though I reckon you got closer than anyone has.”
It started as a small crack in the ice in his stomach, a hint of warmth that started to build and spread. It bubbled up into interrupted snorts and finally washed through him in uncontrollable giggles. He continued helplessly as Oscar gathered him close, laughing along with him, the sound embracing him more solidly than his arms. But somewhere between giggles the tears started to fall. Maybe they began as liquid mirth but the soft murmurs in his ear and the gentle strokes to his back told Anthony that they weren’t any more.
Oscar led him to their- his bedroom, but Anthony didn’t have the presence of mind to care. He curled up against Oscar on the bed, fisting one hand in the front of his robes as he cried. Cried for Oscar who he had hated for leaving him, but held him now. Cried for Lazuli who was certain never to be found. For those he left behind. His parents who he could see standing graveside, Portia clinging to the thin strength of her husband and weeping for their youngest child. And for Ginny, his best friend who now wore him in a locket around her neck, a miniature by his own hand. And for himself. For all the foolish things he wanted to do and say and see and for feeling sorry enough for himself to want to cry.
He fell into a fitful sleep, cheeks streaked and dreams filled with flashes of red and green, looming skeletal masks before him and warm, damp earth under him. But they faded with caresses to his cheek and soft promises that the world was right again. He believed the whispers and lost himself to the comforting darkness of full slumber.
Anthony awoke to find the world moving and he whimpered, pushing against it. It pushed back and then spoke, “Wake up, Anthony. You’ve things to do yet.”
Groaning, he muttered a few curses under his breath but didn’t open his eyes. As the memories started to surface again, he pressed his face into the pillow then breathed a sigh of relief that they were but the visions of nightmares.
“Anthony. I know you’re awake.”
He wanted to tell the voice that it was wrong but the words died on his lips. That voice was part of the dream. And if he were awake and it was still there... Cautiously he opened one eye then slammed it shut again.
Oscar chuckled. “Was it that bad? Do I need shave again? Or have I grown a beak again?”
“Wasn’t a beak. It was a bill. And I didn’t mean to, yeah?” Slowly he turned his head to face Oscar and opened his eyes.
“I still don’t see the difference. But, we’ve ages to argue that. Tea now. Argument later. And no arguing about that either.” He gestured to the tea tray set on the bedside table. “A lot of milk and a little bit of sugar, as you like it.”
Anthony dragged himself up to sit back against the headboard, a worn quilt falling off the bed as he did. They left it there and Oscar sat on the edge of the bed after handing Anthony a cup of tea. They drank in silence, neither awkward nor peaceful, merely without words. After he finished the last swallow, he swirled the speckled liquid and upended it onto his saucer out of habit.
Oscar shook his head. “Won’t work.”
“What won’t?”
”Trying to read your tea leaves. I’ve done it.”
He shook his head, “Why not?”
Oscar set his cup aside and lifted Anthony’s cup from the saucer, his eyes locked on Anthony’s face. “It’s a circle. All of ours are now.”
The tea leaves had indeed formed a perfect circle on the saucer, all of the residual liquid held inside of its ring, and neither a drop nor a leaf out of place.
“Completion.”
Oscar nodded and set the cup down again. “Completion. Or well, near too it. Ready for another walk?”
Surprised, Anthony could only echo, “Walk?”
Tugging on his hand, Oscar answered, “Yeah. A walk. You know. One foot in front of the other. You repeat the process and you move forward. Only this we shall do outside. If you get your sexy, gay arse out of bed.”
Anthony rose to his feet at Oscar’s instance and followed him as he was pulled through the studio and into the bright light of the street. He squinted against the sunlight, “Where are we going?”
Oscar paused and turned back to him, his gaze soft. “Where you belong, Anthony.”
The ice in his chest was back, smaller than before but pressing against his heart.
“I know you’re not mine any more. And that’s the way it’s supposed to be now.”
”But…”
“Anthony. Go to him. Love him. Let him love you. There’s nothing stopping the two of you any more.” He smiled wryly then, “Unless you get Potter’s wand in a knot.”
Oscar released his hand then and stepped back. “I’ll be at the studio. And I’ve promised that your virtue is safe with me.”
“Oscar!” Anthony grabbed at his robes, pulling him close and kissing him fiercely, tongue driving into his mouth. Oscar cupped his head with one hand and returned the kiss with profound gentleness but without discouraging his aggression. Anthony’s hold gradually loosened, his desperation fading, before he broke the kiss. Oscar brushed his lips back and forth softly over Anthony’s. “Yes, I know. I know.”
When he stepped back this time, Anthony let him and smiled rather sheepishly at him.
Oscar laughed and turned him around to face a doorstep on a street that they hadn’t been on only seconds before. “You’ll get used to the changing. But go to him.”
He ruffled Anthony’s hair then walked away, disappearing around the corner as Anthony attempted to smooth his hair down.
Taking a deep breath, he stared at the red door before him, fearing the reception he would have. Would he be met with curled fists of anger? He would certainly understand that. Would he be noticed if he slipped away… went back to the studio to paint with Oscar. But Anthony’s chest tightened at that idea. He had loved Oscar, but there was something- someone more now. And as much as he feared the flash of rage in his grey eyes, Anthony knew this was where he belonged.
He raised his hand and used the lion’s head knocker to rap out two quiet clunks against the metal striker. Then he let his hand fall and waited.
There was muffled cursing on the other side of the door and a shout that he expected was either a request for his patience or a reprimand of the sofa for causing mischief. He crossed his arms over his chest, hugging himself protectively and hoping to calm the flutter in his stomach.
The door opened abruptly, swung fully open to reveal one rather harassed looking Sirius Black, hair disheveled, chest bare save a silver chain with dogtag and jeans slung low on his hips. Sirius blinked at Anthony, not saying anything.
“Erm… hello?” Anthony offered shyly with a faint smile that was more of a grimace if truth be told.
Sirius looked him over slowly, a shadow settling behind his eyes. “Already?”
Dropping his gaze to Sirius’ bare feet, Anthony nodded. “Yeah. Already. A few hours ago.”
The silence hung, Anthony’s heart beating against his eardrums, cheeks flushing. “M’sorry?”
Sirius laughed once, though the humor was largely forced. “Reckon you are.” Then he spoke more gently, “I’m sorry too. I hope- Was it- Fuck. It didn’t hurt, did it?”
It was Anthony’s turn for a nervous laugh. “I don’t think so? I don’t… I don’t remember. Yet…” He shifted his weight from one foot to the other then slowly looked up to Sirius’ face, needing to see him, needing some sort of answers to questions he didn’t dare to ask.
After a moment, Sirius smiled softly, tipping his head forward so his hair spilled over his shoulders. He looked almost shyly through his lashes at Anthony. “So, are you going to come inside? Or is the doorstep your choice for eternity?”
The giggle was quiet but real and Anthony smiled at Sirius. “Lovely doorstep, but I’d like to come inside.”
“Well then by all means, Mr Goldstein.” Sirius bowed, eyes dancing mischievously, and swept one hand out in exaggerated invitation. “Do come in, Sir.”
Grinning, he stepped through the doorway into the flat. “Thanks for the-“ his voice broke into a squeak as his arse was patted intimately.
“Hmm. Yes. You’re welcome for the eep. Whatever that means.” Sirius’ voice rolled with mirth.
Blushing, Anthony stepped into the sitting room. It was elegant but not overstated, though the discarded shirt over the bookcase and the tennis ball on the floor added some rather chaotic and decidedly comforting style. A red sofa sat opposite a pair of large windows that overlooked a treed park. A large comfy-looking chair in a darker shade of crimson flanked it. Both had streaks of black dog hair on them, and an aged book floated next to the chair, along with a cup of tea and a plate of chocolate-covered biscuits.
He turned back to Sirius, who stood behind him, hands shoved in his pockets and expression uncharacteristically fragile. Anthony’s brows knitted in question, “Sirius?”
“Are you staying?” His voice was barely more than a whisper. “With me?”
Anthony smiled. This was one answer, one thing in this entire disaster of a day, that he knew with complete certainty. “Yeah. Always.”
Feedback is loved forever.
This is my Anthony... and his story and this one is clearly indebted to communiquills and trickster_gryff. So an abundance of love and thanks to sethkyne_blue, written_doodles, fleshdress, and cynicalpirate in particular. And snogs to marilla82 for the beta!
Title: “Still Life"
Author: pre_raphaelite1
Characters: Anthony Goldstein plus 5 others.
Rating: PG
Warnings: slight AUness, one OMC
Summary: The tealeaves never changed, until the day Anthony fell.
I was lost in the pages
Of a book full of death
Reading how we'll die alone
And if we're good we'll lay to rest
Anywhere we want to go.
Audioslave’s “Like a Stone"
He groaned, trying to remember why he was laying on the ground but no memories surfaced. He reached immediately for his throat, but couldn’t remember why he needed to. It was smooth and narrow, circled by a silver chain as always, nothing out of the ordinary.
“Are you alright there?”
The voice floated down to him, soft and lyrical and he opened his eyes finally. The bright sun half-blinded him, showing him a shadow with red hair.
“Ginny?” He blinked a few times trying to clear the spots of light from his sight.
“No. Not Ginny. She’s not here.”
“Oh.” This made sense to him, somehow, and he finally focused on the figure crouching next to him. She was older than he was by only a few years, pale skinned and red haired like Ginny, but taller than Ginny’s petite form, her hair long and unbound rather than Ginny’s preferred braids. Her lips had something of a DaVinci curve to them and her cheekbones were high, graced by a few freckles that drew attention to her eyes. Green. Warm. Familiar.
She smiled before asking, “What’s your name, love?”
“Erm… Anthony.”
Laughing, she stood and offered him a hand. “Well, Erm Anthony, would you like to stand or were you planning on lying down all day?”
He blushed and sat up, shaking his head. “No. I’m sure I should be- that is I had things I was doing?” Anthony took her hand with his right and stood up, immediately glancing around. He was in a field along a small road, a field bordered by a low gray wall, blue and yellow flowers growing out from between the stones. A few sheep were grazing in one corner of the field, in front of a row of trees that seemed familiar. In fact, there was something naggingly familiar about this whole place, but he couldn’t sort out what it was.
“Pretty place, isn’t it? You’re lucky, I think, to be here. Talked with another boy from a cemetery a few years back.”
“A cemetery? He was from a cemetery? How-“ She was smiling gently at him, a look of quiet calm that he remembered seeing on his Mum’s face whenever he was worrying needlessly.
She offered her hand again. “I’m Lily, by the way. Lily Potter.”
He must have heard wrong. He shook his head. “Pardon?”
She grinned at him. “You heard correctly. I expect you knew my son, Harry?”
Anthony nodded slowly, growing more perplexed. “Yeah. He’s great. Not that close but we were together… sometime… Taught a bunch of us spells and charms. The Patronus. And he had to fight. We had to fight.”
Lily caressed his arm. “I know it’s a bit confusing at first. It will come back in time. But it’s easier this way. Not remembering it all straight away.”
Rolling his shoulders, he tried to make sense of what she was saying, but his confusion must have been apparent for she spoke again, “What do you remember last?”
Closing his eyes, he tried to remember, to find the series of images that were the most recent. “I was with some of the other members of the DA. We were in a house with blue walls, talking about You-Know-Who. Fred Weasley was there. And we-“ But there was nothing more. Just darkness until he woke. “Then you.”
She nodded. “Yes. Then me. I try to meet anyone who helped Harry or the Headmaster. He meets some of the older people, but worries that he might frighten any of his more recent students into thinking they were in a rather serious detention.”
Despite the reassurance she intended from her girlish smile, Anthony shoved a hand through his hair in aggravated confusion. “Headmaster? Detention? Meeting people?”
She met his gaze and he found himself unable to look away.
“Anthony… You died.” Her words were unbelievably soft but clear.
His stomach twisted, jerked painfully by her words. His eyes snapped wide and he stared at her. “I what?”
She let out a slow breath, keeping her hand cupped under his elbow; to keep him standing, he figured. “You died. Here. In this field. Well, not this one precisely, but its mirror. Fighting against Voldemort’s followers.”
He suddenly found himself sitting back on the ground, despite the hand on his arm. He rubbed at his throat again and she slid her fingers around his hand to pull it away.
“It will be alright, love. Part of you remembers what happened, but it doesn’t matter now. Nothing will hurt you like that here, and you’ve people waiting for you.”
Anthony shook his head. It was too much. He’d had dreams, read the leaves but now? He’d not said good bye to his mum or dad. Not thanked Cordelia for the last batch of biscuits or told Miranda she wasn’t quite as bad of a sister as he always thought. Even if she was. He’d not told Ginny- No. He had. He had said everything he could to Ginny. Given her the locket with his portrait. He hoped he had performed the Animus right.
When he looked back to Lily, she was still kneeling patiently next to him, as though she were used to this reaction, which from her words, she presumably was. Anthony rolled his shoulders, stretching them under the soft blue jumper he wore. He frowned down at it, certain he’d been in his grey fighting robes at the last m- well, at the Last.
“No sense in showing up here in something other than your favourite clothes, Anthony. If people came as they were when they died, there would be more than a few people running about starkers.”
His attention snapped back to her, eyes wide. She laughed, standing up once more and giving him her hand. “No. Not me. I was in a skirt and flowered shirt. But you might want to ask Geoffrey Godivar what he was wearing when he had his little accident.”
Blushing at the insinuation there, Anthony rose to his feet, hastily brushing the grass off his trousers, frowning slightly at their tight fit over his hips. “So… erm… now what?”
Lily slid her arm companionably through his and tugged him forward. “Now we go for a walk. I told you that you had people waiting. Best not to make them wait any more. Some of them are rather impatient.”
She winked at him and led him out of the field and onto the narrow road that ran in front of it. They walked in silence for a bit, heading up the small rise of the hill. Anthony had to squint against the light that seemed far too crisp, but perhaps he just needed to adjust to this place.
“Look sharp!”
The cry came from somewhere above Anthony’s right shoulder and he looked back in time to see something large and dark hurtling towards him. He ducked instinctively, and it passed by him with a whoosh of air before disappearing behind a small corpse of trees.
“James Potter, you come back here this instant!” Lily’s voice, so soothing before now sounded like the crack of a whip. “And bring which ever miscreants you’ve got back there with you.”
There was a loud, deep laugh and a moment later, the figure flew back, the broom he was riding seeming more a part of his body than a mode of transportation. He was broad shouldered, athletic and dark haired, and had a broad grin on his face as he stopped in front of Lily.
“Singular.”
“What?”
James spoke again, “Miscreant. Singular. Only got one lad who’s up for the game today. Young Cedric.”
Anthony was quickly feeling overwhelmed again. “C-cedric? Diggory?”
James turned to Anthony, tipping his head as he sized him up as though only noticing his presence when he spoke. “Yes. Diggory. Do you know him?”
Anthony nodded slightly, throat feeling dry. “Yeah. Was at school with him… younger than him but there when he- The Triwizard, yeah?”
James nodded curtly at Anthony then turned his attention back to Lily. “Anyway, he’s guarding the goals and I’ll be buggered by Merlin in plaid trews if he’s not blocking most of my shots.”
“Really James, that expression…”
“Is one of the reasons that you find me so charming.” James leaned down and kissed Lily, his mouth molding firmly to hers and Anthony looked away, blushing. He caught sight of Cedric as he flew from behind the trees, a quaffle tucked under his arm. Cedric pulled to a stop only a few feet from Anthony, eyebrows raised at the couple behind him who were now moaning quietly.
Cedric shook his head then spoke to Anthony with an easy smile, “If I had a knut for every time he’s stopped a game to snog her, I’d be a weal-“ He broke off abruptly, brows knitting in thought as he looked at Anthony. “Goldstein?”
Cheeks still hot with colour, Anthony nodded. “Yeah. Anthony Goldstein.”
Cedric dismounted and offered his hand in greeting. After a moment of hesitation, Anthony took it and shook it. “Tough luck. But things are good around here. How’d it happen?”
Anthony released Cedric’s hand and mumbled, “Death Eaters, I think. S’what Lily said.”
He nodded. “You’re new then. It will come back to you in a few days.”
He grinned at Anthony who helplessly returned the smile, face feeling too warm for comfort. “Only took me three, before I remembered…” Cedric sobered and met Anthony’s gaze directly. “Harry was telling the truth, you know. He tried to save me. But I didn’t listen and move fast enough.”
Anthony slowly nodded. This wasn’t new information, but the idea of having the details of a murder confirmed by the victim was a trifle unsettling. “Always trusted Harry about that.”
They fell into an awkward silence then, Cedric gently tossing the quaffle and Anthony memorising the deep green shades of the grasses growing along the road.
From behind him, there was a quick flurry of forced coughing and Anthony looked back. James was still grinning, eyes sparking and Lily’s cheeks were decidedly flushed.
“Feel man enough to throw a quaffle yet, Potter? Or do you need some further reassurance?”
Lily’s blush deepened at Cedric’s words but James laughed, a deep rich sound. “Touché, Diggory. We can go back now and leave my wife to-“ James looked to Anthony once more. “Who are you?”
Startled by the bluntness of the question, it took Anthony a moment to respond. “Anthony.”
James’ eyebrows raised. “Oh yes, and do you have a surname or are you like one of those Muggle popstars like Avis?”
“Elvis.”
“Whatever,” James dismissed Lily’s correction with a small jerk of his chin, dark eyes intent on Anthony.
“It’s Goldstein. Anthony Goldstein.” He only just stopped himself from adding ‘sir’ to the end of his identification, though James couldn’t have been more than a few years older than he was.
James stared in surprise at Anthony for moment then turned to Lily for an explanation. She sighed exasperatedly and rolled her eyes. “Yes. That Anthony Goldstein. But don’t start on him. He’s only just arrived and you’re in the middle of a game of Quidditch with Cedric.”
James didn’t look at all happy with these restrictions and turned a frowning face to Anthony once more. He urged his broom forward until he was hovering before and above him. He seemed to debate his words for ages, making Anthony want to either step back or draw his wand for protection. He settled for curling his left hand into a fist at his side.
With a tense smile, James spoke. “Right. I’m not starting on you. But I’m going to speak to you now. And we’ll speak again. I don’t know you. I don’t particularly trust you, but you died fighting with my son so that’s at least one point in your favour. Don’t look relieved by that. I’m not about to forgive you for being the one that Ginny cheated on Harry with. That I don’t understand and it had better not cause Harry any grief.”
“James…” Lily warned.
He seemed to ignore her for the most part. “But for here, for now, for him… I want you to remember that he’s my blood brother. A bond of strong magic and even harder heads, but I promised him that I’d give you a chance. I don’t want to find out that you’ve done something to upset him or hurt him. If I do, you may be dead already, but that doesn’t mean I can’t make your afterlife incredibly uncomfortable.”
“James Potter, stop scaring the boy.”
Between the two of them, good intentions and otherwise, Anthony was feeling seven instead of seventeen and incredibly sick to his stomach. Without looking up, he answered with a quiet whisper, “Yes, sir. I won’t. Promise.”
James said nothing for a few long moments, though Anthony could feel his gaze on him, fierce and critical. Finally he grunted then spoke. “Let’s go, Diggory. You’ve a goal to fail to protect.”
And with that he flew off. Anthony dared to look up then and a hand clasped his shoulder. Cedric smiled at him. “He’s not as bad as all that. Or at least I don’t think he is… Not been in your position before. Good luck, mate.”
Anthony blinked at the quickly diminishing figure of Cedric as he flew off to join James, then looked helplessly at Lily who after a moment of frank worry, smiled once more. “He’s a lot of pawing and antler shaking.”
He didn’t even know how to respond to that, not understanding the euphemism in the least. And that fact didn’t make him feel any better. He frowned. Heaven was supposed to be a place of joy and where one couldn’t be hurt, wasn’t it? The twist in his stomach certainly wasn’t joy.
“Ready?”
She was watching him a few paces ahead of him now, and for lack of anything better to do he nodded then walked forward. The top of the hill overlooked even more farmland, rich green pastures bordered by stone fences, a giant checkerboard dotted with sheep and the occasional tree or house.
Something rippled through the air like a breath of warmth, but was edged with the familiar tingle of magic and the world around him wavered, as though he were seeing it through water. A moment later it cleared and he found himself standing on a city street, the buildings around him tall and rich gray from age. He was too disoriented at first to recognize where he was, left hand moving for his wand.
Lily stopped him with a warm hand on his arm. “It’s alright, Anthony. You’ll get used to it when it does that. When it changes.”
Her voice was back to its soothing tones, a maternal gentleness that still showed her strength. He forced his hand to relax as she spoke again, “Do you recognize this place?”
Anthony glanced around and his heart clenched. He was outside Master Lazuli’s studio and he stumbled back a few steps from the familiar green door with the paintbrush handle.
“No. Not here… I don’t want to be here…” This had to be a dream. A nightmare. He wanted to run now, but his back was against a brick wall and his legs didn’t seem to be listening to his brain’s repeated commands to take him away from here.
“Why not?”
“Because he… that’s where they… No. I’m not here. I’m not going in. You can’t make me.” Panicked, he drew his wand and raised it at Lily. “I don’t know who you are or what this place is, but you’re going to tell me how to get away… I have to get away. Tell me. Please.”
She only took half a step to him before stopping as the tip of his wand began to glow an angry red. “Anthony. Put it down. You don’t want to hurt me. And you still can here.”
“I don’t… I don’t care!” But he did and his wand was already starting to drop.
“I’m not going to make you go in. But there’s nothing bad there. You’ll only go to the places where you were happiest… when you first arrive.”
Blinking too quickly he shook his head, looking everywhere but at the door before him. “I’m not… I mean, I was happy there. Here. But… before. I’ve not been back.”
She was standing closer now though he didn’t notice her move this time. She closed her hand around his wrist, pushing it down slowly, gently. “What made you happy here?”
Anthony only resisted her a small amount, halfheartedly trying to keep his wand up, but it was soon at his side and her thumb was brushing carefully over the back of his wrist. “I… He did…. Oscar.”.
“Bloody right I did.”
Anthony’s jerked at the achingly familiar voice, eyes wide in fearful disbelief.
Oscar stood in the doorway, blue robes splattered with paint, and black hair pushed haphazardly back from his face. And his smile… That smile…
Anthony slid down the wall, arse hitting the ground hard with an audible thump, his knees bent before him. It was impossible. This whole thing. A dream or something. Oscar was dead. Killed by Death Eaters in their attempts to find out how to perform the Animus Charm on magical portraits, how to reverse it to free the distilled magic of the subject. Lazuli had disappeared. Oscar had died. Here. There. In that studio.
He was dimly aware of a small hum of voices above him then a soft caress to his cheek. His lips curved in the faintest of reflexive smiles.
“Hey there, sexy.”
Anthony closed his eyes, not certain if he was going to throw up or throw himself at Oscar. The former was rather unappealing and the latter… he was afraid that he’d hit the street beyond him, fall straight through the body he had loved.
“I’m real, you know. And it’s really me. I didn’t really expect to see you so soon, but that doesn’t matter now. Hey, are you going to look at me yet?”
Anthony shook his head, keeping his eyes closed.
Oscar laughed. “Not going to get up then either, are you?”
He shook his head again.
“Well, then we can sit on the street if you want. That’s fine with me, though it’s much more comfortable inside, you know.”
“I don’t… I don’t want to see it.”
There was a low ah and after a moment something warm pressed to his side. Anthony inhaled deeply. He could remember the days he spent in the studio, painting for Master Lazuli and watched by Oscar. The smell of paints and turpentine and Oscar’s cologne. He saw the sunlight on Oscar’s bare chest, gold ring in his navel glinting. He could feel his lips brushing over his collarbone, over his fingers.
“You’re blushing, Anthony. Are you thinking about us?”
He exhaled raggedly, finally daring to open his eyes. Oscar was sitting next to him, mirroring his position and letting his arm rest against Anthony’s. And he smelled the same.
Anthony’s mouth worked uselessly for a few moments, and when he spoke, his voice was hitched with emotion. “You’re… you’re dead. You died. Weren’t supposed to die on me. Promised me…”
Oscar nodded, “I know. I didn’t plan on dying you know. And I got your letter and you had every reason to hate me.”
Anthony’s cheeks flooded with heat as he recalled the letter he had scribbled and owled in rage after being released from the Ministry in the day after his funeral. They sat in silence before Anthony could whisper, “I… I loved- love you.”
Reaching over his thigh, Oscar threaded his fingers with Anthony’s and squeezed gently. “I know. And I loved you. To the very end, you know. Now will you come inside? My arse is going to look like a Picasso if we stay here.”
Startled into a small laugh, Anthony looked at him, brown eyes meeting blue. “Yeah. Alright.”
They rose together, Anthony moving a bit more slowly than Oscar as they walked towards the door before Anthony came to a stop.
“Really. It’s alright in there, Anthony. Save the mess I just made on the canvas when you showed up.”
Anthony shook his head as he looked around the street. “No. Not that. Lily? She left?”
“Yeah. Whilst you were hiding with your eyes closed on the ground. Said she’d stop by in a day or two to see how you were settling in. She’s really lovely for a girl. Now stop stalling.” And he started forward again.
Anthony hesitated at the threshold, convinced still that he’d see bloodstains on the studio floor or the chalk outlines he saw on the telly. But at Oscar’s gentle tug, he stepped inside to the familiar warmth and scented cocoon of art.
It looked just as he had remembered, carefully arranged canvasses against the wall, paint tubes and pots scattered across the tables and shelves, and half-finished sculptures set on pedestals. The windows were large to let in as much light as possible though the ceiling was charmed like that of the Great Hall at Hogwarts so they could easily adjust the lighting through that and shading charms on the windows. The floor was clean, free of any evidence of murder, unless someone had attempted to murder a few dozen colours of paint. Anthony had asked when he first arrived at the studio for his apprenticeship why they didn’t spell the floors clean. He had been told, with a twinkling eye, that a messy floor was artistic. Afterwards, Oscar had explained in a whisper that Lazuli kept the floor messy to control the patrons. Commissions were easier to refuse if they appeared harried. Anthony just thought the streaks and splatters of crimson, ochre, lapis, emerald, and heliotrope were beautiful.
They still were.
“Amazing, isn’t it?”
He didn’t know what Oscar was talking about but he nodded anyway.
“How about tea? We could sit and talk? Like we used to? I’ll try to keep my hand off of you and you’ll try not to blush to death.”
Anthony stared as him.
“Oh. Right. Too late.” Then he grinned, “Always told you it wasn’t possible to blush to death. Though I reckon you got closer than anyone has.”
It started as a small crack in the ice in his stomach, a hint of warmth that started to build and spread. It bubbled up into interrupted snorts and finally washed through him in uncontrollable giggles. He continued helplessly as Oscar gathered him close, laughing along with him, the sound embracing him more solidly than his arms. But somewhere between giggles the tears started to fall. Maybe they began as liquid mirth but the soft murmurs in his ear and the gentle strokes to his back told Anthony that they weren’t any more.
Oscar led him to their- his bedroom, but Anthony didn’t have the presence of mind to care. He curled up against Oscar on the bed, fisting one hand in the front of his robes as he cried. Cried for Oscar who he had hated for leaving him, but held him now. Cried for Lazuli who was certain never to be found. For those he left behind. His parents who he could see standing graveside, Portia clinging to the thin strength of her husband and weeping for their youngest child. And for Ginny, his best friend who now wore him in a locket around her neck, a miniature by his own hand. And for himself. For all the foolish things he wanted to do and say and see and for feeling sorry enough for himself to want to cry.
He fell into a fitful sleep, cheeks streaked and dreams filled with flashes of red and green, looming skeletal masks before him and warm, damp earth under him. But they faded with caresses to his cheek and soft promises that the world was right again. He believed the whispers and lost himself to the comforting darkness of full slumber.
Anthony awoke to find the world moving and he whimpered, pushing against it. It pushed back and then spoke, “Wake up, Anthony. You’ve things to do yet.”
Groaning, he muttered a few curses under his breath but didn’t open his eyes. As the memories started to surface again, he pressed his face into the pillow then breathed a sigh of relief that they were but the visions of nightmares.
“Anthony. I know you’re awake.”
He wanted to tell the voice that it was wrong but the words died on his lips. That voice was part of the dream. And if he were awake and it was still there... Cautiously he opened one eye then slammed it shut again.
Oscar chuckled. “Was it that bad? Do I need shave again? Or have I grown a beak again?”
“Wasn’t a beak. It was a bill. And I didn’t mean to, yeah?” Slowly he turned his head to face Oscar and opened his eyes.
“I still don’t see the difference. But, we’ve ages to argue that. Tea now. Argument later. And no arguing about that either.” He gestured to the tea tray set on the bedside table. “A lot of milk and a little bit of sugar, as you like it.”
Anthony dragged himself up to sit back against the headboard, a worn quilt falling off the bed as he did. They left it there and Oscar sat on the edge of the bed after handing Anthony a cup of tea. They drank in silence, neither awkward nor peaceful, merely without words. After he finished the last swallow, he swirled the speckled liquid and upended it onto his saucer out of habit.
Oscar shook his head. “Won’t work.”
“What won’t?”
”Trying to read your tea leaves. I’ve done it.”
He shook his head, “Why not?”
Oscar set his cup aside and lifted Anthony’s cup from the saucer, his eyes locked on Anthony’s face. “It’s a circle. All of ours are now.”
The tea leaves had indeed formed a perfect circle on the saucer, all of the residual liquid held inside of its ring, and neither a drop nor a leaf out of place.
“Completion.”
Oscar nodded and set the cup down again. “Completion. Or well, near too it. Ready for another walk?”
Surprised, Anthony could only echo, “Walk?”
Tugging on his hand, Oscar answered, “Yeah. A walk. You know. One foot in front of the other. You repeat the process and you move forward. Only this we shall do outside. If you get your sexy, gay arse out of bed.”
Anthony rose to his feet at Oscar’s instance and followed him as he was pulled through the studio and into the bright light of the street. He squinted against the sunlight, “Where are we going?”
Oscar paused and turned back to him, his gaze soft. “Where you belong, Anthony.”
The ice in his chest was back, smaller than before but pressing against his heart.
“I know you’re not mine any more. And that’s the way it’s supposed to be now.”
”But…”
“Anthony. Go to him. Love him. Let him love you. There’s nothing stopping the two of you any more.” He smiled wryly then, “Unless you get Potter’s wand in a knot.”
Oscar released his hand then and stepped back. “I’ll be at the studio. And I’ve promised that your virtue is safe with me.”
“Oscar!” Anthony grabbed at his robes, pulling him close and kissing him fiercely, tongue driving into his mouth. Oscar cupped his head with one hand and returned the kiss with profound gentleness but without discouraging his aggression. Anthony’s hold gradually loosened, his desperation fading, before he broke the kiss. Oscar brushed his lips back and forth softly over Anthony’s. “Yes, I know. I know.”
When he stepped back this time, Anthony let him and smiled rather sheepishly at him.
Oscar laughed and turned him around to face a doorstep on a street that they hadn’t been on only seconds before. “You’ll get used to the changing. But go to him.”
He ruffled Anthony’s hair then walked away, disappearing around the corner as Anthony attempted to smooth his hair down.
Taking a deep breath, he stared at the red door before him, fearing the reception he would have. Would he be met with curled fists of anger? He would certainly understand that. Would he be noticed if he slipped away… went back to the studio to paint with Oscar. But Anthony’s chest tightened at that idea. He had loved Oscar, but there was something- someone more now. And as much as he feared the flash of rage in his grey eyes, Anthony knew this was where he belonged.
He raised his hand and used the lion’s head knocker to rap out two quiet clunks against the metal striker. Then he let his hand fall and waited.
There was muffled cursing on the other side of the door and a shout that he expected was either a request for his patience or a reprimand of the sofa for causing mischief. He crossed his arms over his chest, hugging himself protectively and hoping to calm the flutter in his stomach.
The door opened abruptly, swung fully open to reveal one rather harassed looking Sirius Black, hair disheveled, chest bare save a silver chain with dogtag and jeans slung low on his hips. Sirius blinked at Anthony, not saying anything.
“Erm… hello?” Anthony offered shyly with a faint smile that was more of a grimace if truth be told.
Sirius looked him over slowly, a shadow settling behind his eyes. “Already?”
Dropping his gaze to Sirius’ bare feet, Anthony nodded. “Yeah. Already. A few hours ago.”
The silence hung, Anthony’s heart beating against his eardrums, cheeks flushing. “M’sorry?”
Sirius laughed once, though the humor was largely forced. “Reckon you are.” Then he spoke more gently, “I’m sorry too. I hope- Was it- Fuck. It didn’t hurt, did it?”
It was Anthony’s turn for a nervous laugh. “I don’t think so? I don’t… I don’t remember. Yet…” He shifted his weight from one foot to the other then slowly looked up to Sirius’ face, needing to see him, needing some sort of answers to questions he didn’t dare to ask.
After a moment, Sirius smiled softly, tipping his head forward so his hair spilled over his shoulders. He looked almost shyly through his lashes at Anthony. “So, are you going to come inside? Or is the doorstep your choice for eternity?”
The giggle was quiet but real and Anthony smiled at Sirius. “Lovely doorstep, but I’d like to come inside.”
“Well then by all means, Mr Goldstein.” Sirius bowed, eyes dancing mischievously, and swept one hand out in exaggerated invitation. “Do come in, Sir.”
Grinning, he stepped through the doorway into the flat. “Thanks for the-“ his voice broke into a squeak as his arse was patted intimately.
“Hmm. Yes. You’re welcome for the eep. Whatever that means.” Sirius’ voice rolled with mirth.
Blushing, Anthony stepped into the sitting room. It was elegant but not overstated, though the discarded shirt over the bookcase and the tennis ball on the floor added some rather chaotic and decidedly comforting style. A red sofa sat opposite a pair of large windows that overlooked a treed park. A large comfy-looking chair in a darker shade of crimson flanked it. Both had streaks of black dog hair on them, and an aged book floated next to the chair, along with a cup of tea and a plate of chocolate-covered biscuits.
He turned back to Sirius, who stood behind him, hands shoved in his pockets and expression uncharacteristically fragile. Anthony’s brows knitted in question, “Sirius?”
“Are you staying?” His voice was barely more than a whisper. “With me?”
Anthony smiled. This was one answer, one thing in this entire disaster of a day, that he knew with complete certainty. “Yeah. Always.”
Feedback is loved forever.