WiP Amnesty Day -- HP
Is it really a year since the last one? It's always cathartic to offload these bits of fic. I'm not saying this will never get finished, but I'm absolving myself just in case. So far it's up at 15,000+ words and still nowhere near done. An HP, seventh year, Sirius-comes-of-age fic.
In this bit, he's just had the latest in a series of bust-ups with his brother, this time in the middle of Hogsmeade, both are under threat of expulsion from school if there are any more repeats, and James has just got his first date with the girl of his dreams. So Sirius is feeling a bit bereft and battered, poor dear, and it all gets a bit much for him.
Unbetaed, unedited, possibly unintentionally uncanonical, gen(ish) and featuring Crying!Sirius -- enough incentive for the more delicate among you to flee now.
At first, Remus had argued that they should find James and Lily and Peter, and then round up any available prefects to walk back to school with, on the grounds that Lestrange and the others might have organised an ambush on the dark, long walk back to the castle. Sirius normally didn't mind taking on a group of Slytherins with the right backup, but found that tonight he wanted to avoid fighting with his brother again. Besides, he said, James would kill both of them, slowly and painfully, if they spoiled his first real date with Evans with a request for an armed escort. He overruled Remus's protestations about 'necessary evils', and instead hauled him off to Honeydukes before closing time so they could slip down the stairs and into the secret tunnel that ran from the village to the school.
The tunnel was familiar by now, and they walked in single file, lapsing into silence after the first few minutes. The firewhisky-induced mood that had warmed Sirius in the pub soon evaporated in the earthy cold and damp, and his lingering feeling of guilt over the incident in the street grew stronger.
Regulus was siding with the Slytherins, against him. He'd already gone that way, anyway, said a voice in Sirius's head. Nothing you could have done would change that. But he couldn't quite bring himself to believe that; because that would also mean believing his brother was beyond saving.
Sirius had no illusions about where many of the Slytherins who hung about with Lestrange were headed. He could have none, when most of his own family were among them. They all knew, all too well, what was planned. There's nothing you can do. It's too late, the voice insisted.
But that was another thing Sirius couldn't bring himself to believe. Because to believe it would mean writing off his little brother. Giving him up as a lost cause. His little brother. Whom Sirius had taken on his first broom ride when he was five and Regulus was three. Who had cried when their mother had taken away his favourite teddy on his eighth birthday because he was 'too big for that sort of nonsense now'. Who had always come to Sirius, not to his parents, when he had nightmares in that tomb of a house. Who had stood at Platform Nine and Three Quarters with unshed tears in his eyes on Sirius's first day at Hogwarts. Whom Sirius had now abandoned to his parents in Grimmauld Place.
His stomach clenched. This must be what it was like to be a parent, he suddenly realised. To feel this weight of responsibility for another person. Because God knew his own parents were no more fit to bring up a child than they were to organise a 'Be Kind to Muggleborns' campaign. It wasn't too late, he told himself; it couldn't be. He had to see Regulus on his own; talk to him, properly. Before he did anything stupid.
Sirius's face was hot and his skin felt too tight. He felt sick. He would have given anything to see Regulus now, to talk to him; to have a time-turner, and go back to warn himself not to do what he did in the street, or hex himself before he'd had the chance. Because he hadn't taken care of Regulus. He hadn't looked after his brother. What he had done, as usual, was the opposite of what he'd been trying to do. And this time, he'd driven his brother even closer to the Slytherins.
He'd fucked up again.
His head was bursting. Scenes from the summer, terrible arguments in Grimmauld Place were replaying over and over in his mind, along with pictures from last year, of James and Snape hurrying through the tunnel. Of a werewolf howling, and of Remus in the infirmary afterwards. An impulse to run shot through him, sparking into his nerve endings like a jolt of lightning; but the corridor was too narrow, and where would he run to? Over it all, his mother's voice screeched shrill and grating in his head. 'Vile! Abomination! No son of mine!'
He stopped abruptly. Remus barged straight into his back half a second later.
'Ow. My nose is broken.'
'Sorry, Moony.' His voice sounded different, like a stranger's, and he swallowed down an urge to giggle.
Sirius winced away as Remus's wand appeared just in front of his eyes, Remus's face just behind it, peering into his.
'You alright?'
'Yeah.' Sirius breathed deeply, exhaling shakily. Remus's presence was forcing a measure of calm on him. 'Want a fag?'
'Ok.'
Sirius pulled the packet from inside his robes and held it out, willing his hand to steady. Remus took a cigarette and quirked an eyebrow as he held the cigarette away from himself, waiting for a light. Sirius hadn't quite mastered consistency in what he called his Light-up Charm yet, and the first time he'd attempted it, he'd burnt off Peter's fringe and eyebrows with a flame that wouldn't have disgraced a wall-torch. None of them had the skill to grow the hair back magically, and Peter had suffered the indignity of frontal baldness until the blackened tufts started to regrow a couple of weeks later.
But the flame that flared from the wand this time was, at a mere candle-light size, small by comparison.
'You're almost getting the hang of this,' Remus mumbled as he bent to light his cigarette.
They leant against the same wall of the tunnel, light spilling around their feet from the lowered wands and two glowing pinpricks red in the gloom as they smoked.
'How're you doing?' Remus said.
Sirius shrugged. 'Alright.' He shuffled his feet, then cleared his throat. 'I never said thanks. For covering me this afternoon.'
'S'okay. You would have done the same.'
Sirius barked out a mirthless laugh. 'But you wouldn't have done the same. If it was your brother, I mean.'
'Maybe. Maybe not. I don't know.'
'I know you. You wouldn't.'
'Why did you?'
Sirius took a deep draw of his cigarette and held the smoke in his lungs. Its warmth spread inside him. He exhaled slowly, letting it drift slowly up into his face and eyes, making them sting. 'Do you know, I'm not sure? I think I wanted to punish him for being so stupid as to go about with Lestrange and his gang.'
'Maybe he wasn't.'
'What?'
'Maybe it wasn't as bad as it looked. Maybe they'd just met by chance in the shop. Maybe... maybe Lestrange was asking him if he'd like to join their gang, and Regulus was telling him to get lost. Maybe Lestrange was asking him if he'd like to take part in the annual snowball fight. Maybe he was asking his advice about what to get your cousin for a Christmas present.'
'And maybe he was asking him if he'd like to join them all at the Young Death Eaters' Christmas Recruitment Extravaganza.'
Remus sucked at his cigarette. 'Maybe he was. Maybe a million things. The thing is, we don't know for sure. Things are often not what they seem. You know that as well as I do.'
Sirius had a strong sense of Remus's gaze heavy on him, through the smoke. He kept his eyes on the wall by Remus's left shoulder, and inhaled again. 'Yeah, I know. I just don't seem very good at remembering that, sometimes.' He laughed bitterly. 'Ever, actually.'
Another laugh reared up unexpectedly in his throat, and Sirius swallowed it down with a gulp that sounded horribly like a sob. He slapped a hand over his mouth and stared with wide eyes at the floor. To his horror, his chest and shoulders shook as another huge, gulping sob tore through him, wracking his frame; then another, and another. Both hands moved to cover his mouth, trying to shut the sounds in and stifle the noise. But nothing he could do seemed to stop them.
There was an impression of scuffling and quick movement, then wands and cigarettes fell forgotten to the floor as Sirius buried his shaking head against Remus's shoulder and his friend cradled him in his arms.
Other stuff: word has it that Dougray Scott (Warren Cochrane!) isn't going to be the new James Bond after all. Hmph. Well, God forbid that they actually get anybody good for the part.
In this bit, he's just had the latest in a series of bust-ups with his brother, this time in the middle of Hogsmeade, both are under threat of expulsion from school if there are any more repeats, and James has just got his first date with the girl of his dreams. So Sirius is feeling a bit bereft and battered, poor dear, and it all gets a bit much for him.
Unbetaed, unedited, possibly unintentionally uncanonical, gen(ish) and featuring Crying!Sirius -- enough incentive for the more delicate among you to flee now.
At first, Remus had argued that they should find James and Lily and Peter, and then round up any available prefects to walk back to school with, on the grounds that Lestrange and the others might have organised an ambush on the dark, long walk back to the castle. Sirius normally didn't mind taking on a group of Slytherins with the right backup, but found that tonight he wanted to avoid fighting with his brother again. Besides, he said, James would kill both of them, slowly and painfully, if they spoiled his first real date with Evans with a request for an armed escort. He overruled Remus's protestations about 'necessary evils', and instead hauled him off to Honeydukes before closing time so they could slip down the stairs and into the secret tunnel that ran from the village to the school.
The tunnel was familiar by now, and they walked in single file, lapsing into silence after the first few minutes. The firewhisky-induced mood that had warmed Sirius in the pub soon evaporated in the earthy cold and damp, and his lingering feeling of guilt over the incident in the street grew stronger.
Regulus was siding with the Slytherins, against him. He'd already gone that way, anyway, said a voice in Sirius's head. Nothing you could have done would change that. But he couldn't quite bring himself to believe that; because that would also mean believing his brother was beyond saving.
Sirius had no illusions about where many of the Slytherins who hung about with Lestrange were headed. He could have none, when most of his own family were among them. They all knew, all too well, what was planned. There's nothing you can do. It's too late, the voice insisted.
But that was another thing Sirius couldn't bring himself to believe. Because to believe it would mean writing off his little brother. Giving him up as a lost cause. His little brother. Whom Sirius had taken on his first broom ride when he was five and Regulus was three. Who had cried when their mother had taken away his favourite teddy on his eighth birthday because he was 'too big for that sort of nonsense now'. Who had always come to Sirius, not to his parents, when he had nightmares in that tomb of a house. Who had stood at Platform Nine and Three Quarters with unshed tears in his eyes on Sirius's first day at Hogwarts. Whom Sirius had now abandoned to his parents in Grimmauld Place.
His stomach clenched. This must be what it was like to be a parent, he suddenly realised. To feel this weight of responsibility for another person. Because God knew his own parents were no more fit to bring up a child than they were to organise a 'Be Kind to Muggleborns' campaign. It wasn't too late, he told himself; it couldn't be. He had to see Regulus on his own; talk to him, properly. Before he did anything stupid.
Sirius's face was hot and his skin felt too tight. He felt sick. He would have given anything to see Regulus now, to talk to him; to have a time-turner, and go back to warn himself not to do what he did in the street, or hex himself before he'd had the chance. Because he hadn't taken care of Regulus. He hadn't looked after his brother. What he had done, as usual, was the opposite of what he'd been trying to do. And this time, he'd driven his brother even closer to the Slytherins.
He'd fucked up again.
His head was bursting. Scenes from the summer, terrible arguments in Grimmauld Place were replaying over and over in his mind, along with pictures from last year, of James and Snape hurrying through the tunnel. Of a werewolf howling, and of Remus in the infirmary afterwards. An impulse to run shot through him, sparking into his nerve endings like a jolt of lightning; but the corridor was too narrow, and where would he run to? Over it all, his mother's voice screeched shrill and grating in his head. 'Vile! Abomination! No son of mine!'
He stopped abruptly. Remus barged straight into his back half a second later.
'Ow. My nose is broken.'
'Sorry, Moony.' His voice sounded different, like a stranger's, and he swallowed down an urge to giggle.
Sirius winced away as Remus's wand appeared just in front of his eyes, Remus's face just behind it, peering into his.
'You alright?'
'Yeah.' Sirius breathed deeply, exhaling shakily. Remus's presence was forcing a measure of calm on him. 'Want a fag?'
'Ok.'
Sirius pulled the packet from inside his robes and held it out, willing his hand to steady. Remus took a cigarette and quirked an eyebrow as he held the cigarette away from himself, waiting for a light. Sirius hadn't quite mastered consistency in what he called his Light-up Charm yet, and the first time he'd attempted it, he'd burnt off Peter's fringe and eyebrows with a flame that wouldn't have disgraced a wall-torch. None of them had the skill to grow the hair back magically, and Peter had suffered the indignity of frontal baldness until the blackened tufts started to regrow a couple of weeks later.
But the flame that flared from the wand this time was, at a mere candle-light size, small by comparison.
'You're almost getting the hang of this,' Remus mumbled as he bent to light his cigarette.
They leant against the same wall of the tunnel, light spilling around their feet from the lowered wands and two glowing pinpricks red in the gloom as they smoked.
'How're you doing?' Remus said.
Sirius shrugged. 'Alright.' He shuffled his feet, then cleared his throat. 'I never said thanks. For covering me this afternoon.'
'S'okay. You would have done the same.'
Sirius barked out a mirthless laugh. 'But you wouldn't have done the same. If it was your brother, I mean.'
'Maybe. Maybe not. I don't know.'
'I know you. You wouldn't.'
'Why did you?'
Sirius took a deep draw of his cigarette and held the smoke in his lungs. Its warmth spread inside him. He exhaled slowly, letting it drift slowly up into his face and eyes, making them sting. 'Do you know, I'm not sure? I think I wanted to punish him for being so stupid as to go about with Lestrange and his gang.'
'Maybe he wasn't.'
'What?'
'Maybe it wasn't as bad as it looked. Maybe they'd just met by chance in the shop. Maybe... maybe Lestrange was asking him if he'd like to join their gang, and Regulus was telling him to get lost. Maybe Lestrange was asking him if he'd like to take part in the annual snowball fight. Maybe he was asking his advice about what to get your cousin for a Christmas present.'
'And maybe he was asking him if he'd like to join them all at the Young Death Eaters' Christmas Recruitment Extravaganza.'
Remus sucked at his cigarette. 'Maybe he was. Maybe a million things. The thing is, we don't know for sure. Things are often not what they seem. You know that as well as I do.'
Sirius had a strong sense of Remus's gaze heavy on him, through the smoke. He kept his eyes on the wall by Remus's left shoulder, and inhaled again. 'Yeah, I know. I just don't seem very good at remembering that, sometimes.' He laughed bitterly. 'Ever, actually.'
Another laugh reared up unexpectedly in his throat, and Sirius swallowed it down with a gulp that sounded horribly like a sob. He slapped a hand over his mouth and stared with wide eyes at the floor. To his horror, his chest and shoulders shook as another huge, gulping sob tore through him, wracking his frame; then another, and another. Both hands moved to cover his mouth, trying to shut the sounds in and stifle the noise. But nothing he could do seemed to stop them.
There was an impression of scuffling and quick movement, then wands and cigarettes fell forgotten to the floor as Sirius buried his shaking head against Remus's shoulder and his friend cradled him in his arms.
Other stuff: word has it that Dougray Scott (Warren Cochrane!) isn't going to be the new James Bond after all. Hmph. Well, God forbid that they actually get anybody good for the part.