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I don't think I will ever stop obsessing over loving the Black family. Ever.
Anyway, a Sirius and Andromeda one-shot that I wrote the other night and am rather fond of.
She hears the voice calling, desperate, outside her door, the frequent knocking and shouting of her name, and at first she’s afraid that the Death Eaters have somehow broken through the protective spells that she and Ted put up, but then she thinks about it and realizes that the voice is pleading, not threatening; vulnerable, not dangerous.
And suddenly, she knows exactly who it is. She whispers to a sleepy Ted that she’ll handle it, and that she’ll be all right, and goes to talk to her cousin.
He’s standing outside her door, a lock of hair dangling in his right eye. He is a complete wreck; all the bravado he must have felt when he left the house is completely gone now, probably vanished as soon as he realized that he had fled from prison into emptiness. The truth is that when you’re a Black your identity is assured, set in stone. She knows that now it has finally sunk into him that he’s not quite sure who he is anymore.
He forces a smile onto his face, brushing the hair out of his eyes as he steps into her house. “I finally did it, Andromeda,” he tells her as he laughs, a laugh that is somewhere between triumphant and bitter. “I’ve left.” He closes his eyes for the tiniest portion of a second. “I won’t be able to return.”
“I know,” she says, because she knows exactly how that feels: that emptiness that suddenly dawns on you when you realize that you aren’t a part of your family anymore, accompanied by that feeling that even if you want to, you can’t return. The lines have been crossed, and you can’t go back to the way things were. She places her arm around him, kisses the top of his head, and leads him to her dining room and helps him into one of the chairs.
“What set you off?” she asks him, unable to restrain her curiosity. It isn’t every day that a confident, arrogant cousin shows up on her doorstep broken and weary and unsure. “I mean, what was the final incident?”
Another bitter-triumphant laugh forces its way out of him. “You know what, Andy? There was no final incident. I don’t even know why I left, or rather, why I chose today to leave. I just snapped, and nothing set me off. Maybe I’ve been working toward this point for years. But there wasn’t any dramatic incident, I just…left.”
Without thinking she touches his shoulder comfortingly. He doesn’t even appear to notice, he is so enraptured in his own thoughts. She attempts to gauge how much he has considered this, how prepared he is for life away from his family. She knows from experience that the initial flight from the family is the easy, exhilarating part. The aftermath is harder, though he looks as if he is crashing harder than she ever did.
“Aunt and Uncle will have no idea…”
“Oh, they’ll have an idea. They’ll know. They’ll know I’m not coming back.” He relaxes back into his chair, crossing his legs. “I need something to drink, Andromeda, do you have anything?”
“I have some wine.”
“Can you get it out for me?”
Normally she might have glared at him and told him to get it himself; after all he does know her house fairly well, but looking at his slumped shoulders and weary eyes she remembers her own flight from the family, and how while there was some sadness it was mostly filled with joy, because Ted was there and she had a reason and a plan. His is very different. She gets out some wine, and pours him a glass. “Sirius, you know I don’t mind your company, but why didn’t you go to one of your friends’ houses?”
He rolls his eyes, and she’s glad to see some show of spirit, however small. “Do you think their families would respond well to me showing up after midnight, demanding spirits, looking like I’ve just killed someone?”
She nods, conceding the point. “So you don’t think it’s as big of a deal to bother me?” she asks, trying to lighten the mood. “Take a drink of your wine, Sirius, you asked for it, and I’m not going to waste it.”
He gives a half-smile at that, and does as she asks, taking a sip out of his glass. “You’re family, Andromeda,” he says softly, and she can’t help but be a little touched by his words. She stands up and throws her arms around him, and he hugs her back.
“I didn’t think it would hurt this much,” he confesses. She can tell that it is difficult, and that it is something he would only admit to her.
“What’s the hardest thing for you?” she asks. She knows that it’s not that he can’t ever go back, because truly she knows him, and she understands that he won’t ever want to.
He stares at the ceiling. “I miss knowing who I am,” he says softly. “I miss Regulus. I miss childhood.”
She looks at him suspiciously; this is not a mood that Sirius gets in on his own. “You’ve had something to drink earlier,” she accuses. The sentiments are true, but Sirius would never put them into words as plainly as he has just done unless he’s had his tongue loosened by alcohol.
“So what if I have?” he asks defensively, then settles down again. “I haven’t had that much, Andromeda, really, and anyway why do you care if I’m drunk or not?”
“I have no aversion to getting drunk, but, well, if you’re drunk then your decision-making skills aren’t exactly in their best form, are they? I mean, they’re never perfect, but…”
“Oh, shut up,” he says, a trace of real laughter in his voice. She’s grateful for it; it lightens the mood, but she still has to know one more thing.
“Are you sure about this?” It doesn’t make any difference what he answers; once you’ve left you can’t go back, and even if he regrets it he can’t take it away, he can’t change history, but she still has to know the answer.
This makes him think, and she’s surprised that he didn’t automatically answer yes, and is consequently proud of him for actually being honest with her. “I don’t know,” he says after a time. “But I think so. I think I’ll be more confident about it later.” He runs a hand through his hair, mussing it up. “I’m glad I came here, rather than anywhere else. You understand, don’t you?”
“More than anyone,” she agrees.
“Was it like this for you?”
She hesitates; she is unsure whether to tell the truth or to tell a convenient lie. She decides on the truth. “No, not at all. I had plans, Sirius, it wasn’t as impulsive as your departure. But I was never as reckless as you were.”
“I know.” Then, quietly, “Do you think I made the right choice?”
She kisses the top of his head. “Oh Sirius, I don’t know. Most of the day I know I made the right choice, but sometimes at night, just for a moment, I have a doubt or two… Decisions aren’t straightforward good ones or bad ones, they have complexities to them, and you’ll never be completely sure. But I’m positive that most of the time, you’ll be happy with your choice. I am.”
He rises from his chair and embraces her. “Thanks for letting me in, Andromeda. I don’t know what I’d do if you weren’t here.” And it isn’t just for this moment, this favor of letting him in after he’s run away: it is for being the last connection to his family he has, so that he is not completely severed off. They are both outcasts, but they are still Blacks, and when he is with her he is reminded that he does still have some family left.
“Sirius, you need to get some sleep,” she tells him. “Please, you’ll feel better in the morning. Then you can get yourself to one of your friends’ houses and you’ll start feeling like yourself again.”
“You’ll be here, right?” He sounds so vulnerable, almost childlike, then, she can’t help but give a sad smile. His whole world has been turned around, albeit by his own choices, and he needs some things from his childhood to be certain, and she is one of them. She nods.
“I’ll always be here for you, Sirius.”
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Please review!
Anyway, a Sirius and Andromeda one-shot that I wrote the other night and am rather fond of.
She hears the voice calling, desperate, outside her door, the frequent knocking and shouting of her name, and at first she’s afraid that the Death Eaters have somehow broken through the protective spells that she and Ted put up, but then she thinks about it and realizes that the voice is pleading, not threatening; vulnerable, not dangerous.
And suddenly, she knows exactly who it is. She whispers to a sleepy Ted that she’ll handle it, and that she’ll be all right, and goes to talk to her cousin.
He’s standing outside her door, a lock of hair dangling in his right eye. He is a complete wreck; all the bravado he must have felt when he left the house is completely gone now, probably vanished as soon as he realized that he had fled from prison into emptiness. The truth is that when you’re a Black your identity is assured, set in stone. She knows that now it has finally sunk into him that he’s not quite sure who he is anymore.
He forces a smile onto his face, brushing the hair out of his eyes as he steps into her house. “I finally did it, Andromeda,” he tells her as he laughs, a laugh that is somewhere between triumphant and bitter. “I’ve left.” He closes his eyes for the tiniest portion of a second. “I won’t be able to return.”
“I know,” she says, because she knows exactly how that feels: that emptiness that suddenly dawns on you when you realize that you aren’t a part of your family anymore, accompanied by that feeling that even if you want to, you can’t return. The lines have been crossed, and you can’t go back to the way things were. She places her arm around him, kisses the top of his head, and leads him to her dining room and helps him into one of the chairs.
“What set you off?” she asks him, unable to restrain her curiosity. It isn’t every day that a confident, arrogant cousin shows up on her doorstep broken and weary and unsure. “I mean, what was the final incident?”
Another bitter-triumphant laugh forces its way out of him. “You know what, Andy? There was no final incident. I don’t even know why I left, or rather, why I chose today to leave. I just snapped, and nothing set me off. Maybe I’ve been working toward this point for years. But there wasn’t any dramatic incident, I just…left.”
Without thinking she touches his shoulder comfortingly. He doesn’t even appear to notice, he is so enraptured in his own thoughts. She attempts to gauge how much he has considered this, how prepared he is for life away from his family. She knows from experience that the initial flight from the family is the easy, exhilarating part. The aftermath is harder, though he looks as if he is crashing harder than she ever did.
“Aunt and Uncle will have no idea…”
“Oh, they’ll have an idea. They’ll know. They’ll know I’m not coming back.” He relaxes back into his chair, crossing his legs. “I need something to drink, Andromeda, do you have anything?”
“I have some wine.”
“Can you get it out for me?”
Normally she might have glared at him and told him to get it himself; after all he does know her house fairly well, but looking at his slumped shoulders and weary eyes she remembers her own flight from the family, and how while there was some sadness it was mostly filled with joy, because Ted was there and she had a reason and a plan. His is very different. She gets out some wine, and pours him a glass. “Sirius, you know I don’t mind your company, but why didn’t you go to one of your friends’ houses?”
He rolls his eyes, and she’s glad to see some show of spirit, however small. “Do you think their families would respond well to me showing up after midnight, demanding spirits, looking like I’ve just killed someone?”
She nods, conceding the point. “So you don’t think it’s as big of a deal to bother me?” she asks, trying to lighten the mood. “Take a drink of your wine, Sirius, you asked for it, and I’m not going to waste it.”
He gives a half-smile at that, and does as she asks, taking a sip out of his glass. “You’re family, Andromeda,” he says softly, and she can’t help but be a little touched by his words. She stands up and throws her arms around him, and he hugs her back.
“I didn’t think it would hurt this much,” he confesses. She can tell that it is difficult, and that it is something he would only admit to her.
“What’s the hardest thing for you?” she asks. She knows that it’s not that he can’t ever go back, because truly she knows him, and she understands that he won’t ever want to.
He stares at the ceiling. “I miss knowing who I am,” he says softly. “I miss Regulus. I miss childhood.”
She looks at him suspiciously; this is not a mood that Sirius gets in on his own. “You’ve had something to drink earlier,” she accuses. The sentiments are true, but Sirius would never put them into words as plainly as he has just done unless he’s had his tongue loosened by alcohol.
“So what if I have?” he asks defensively, then settles down again. “I haven’t had that much, Andromeda, really, and anyway why do you care if I’m drunk or not?”
“I have no aversion to getting drunk, but, well, if you’re drunk then your decision-making skills aren’t exactly in their best form, are they? I mean, they’re never perfect, but…”
“Oh, shut up,” he says, a trace of real laughter in his voice. She’s grateful for it; it lightens the mood, but she still has to know one more thing.
“Are you sure about this?” It doesn’t make any difference what he answers; once you’ve left you can’t go back, and even if he regrets it he can’t take it away, he can’t change history, but she still has to know the answer.
This makes him think, and she’s surprised that he didn’t automatically answer yes, and is consequently proud of him for actually being honest with her. “I don’t know,” he says after a time. “But I think so. I think I’ll be more confident about it later.” He runs a hand through his hair, mussing it up. “I’m glad I came here, rather than anywhere else. You understand, don’t you?”
“More than anyone,” she agrees.
“Was it like this for you?”
She hesitates; she is unsure whether to tell the truth or to tell a convenient lie. She decides on the truth. “No, not at all. I had plans, Sirius, it wasn’t as impulsive as your departure. But I was never as reckless as you were.”
“I know.” Then, quietly, “Do you think I made the right choice?”
She kisses the top of his head. “Oh Sirius, I don’t know. Most of the day I know I made the right choice, but sometimes at night, just for a moment, I have a doubt or two… Decisions aren’t straightforward good ones or bad ones, they have complexities to them, and you’ll never be completely sure. But I’m positive that most of the time, you’ll be happy with your choice. I am.”
He rises from his chair and embraces her. “Thanks for letting me in, Andromeda. I don’t know what I’d do if you weren’t here.” And it isn’t just for this moment, this favor of letting him in after he’s run away: it is for being the last connection to his family he has, so that he is not completely severed off. They are both outcasts, but they are still Blacks, and when he is with her he is reminded that he does still have some family left.
“Sirius, you need to get some sleep,” she tells him. “Please, you’ll feel better in the morning. Then you can get yourself to one of your friends’ houses and you’ll start feeling like yourself again.”
“You’ll be here, right?” He sounds so vulnerable, almost childlike, then, she can’t help but give a sad smile. His whole world has been turned around, albeit by his own choices, and he needs some things from his childhood to be certain, and she is one of them. She nods.
“I’ll always be here for you, Sirius.”
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Please review!