'Norwegian Wood (This Bird Has Flown)' (Sirius, Andromeda, R/S, R)
Meant to post this earlier, but forgot and spent the day mostly resting instead.
Norwegian Wood (This Bird Has Flown)
by ignited
Sirius, Andromeda, R/S, R. I once had a girl, or should I say, she once had me... / She showed me her room, isn't it good, Norwegian wood?
Supreme thanks to regala_electra for the beta. :)
When he visits, Andromeda is struck by how untidy he is. Sirius was never one for meticulous care of his appearance - it just happens, he’d say, and grin. In the Black household, cleanliness and pride is ingrained in the blood. Despite the filth Sirius would find himself in - or in company of, as his mother would say - he radiates this sort of flawless mask he’s come to acquire.
It doesn’t radiate though, now, when he is slouched against the door frame, hands in pockets, bed head and lowered eyes. There’s a smear of dirt on his cheek that Andromeda absentmindedly wipes off with a finger when she takes his coat and escorts him in. He lets her loop an arm through his, despite the small walking distance into the living room. In fact, his grip is tight, and he seems to twitch and lean into her embrace. She pulls away a few moments after, hanging his coat on the rack, turning to see his hand out.
Sirius flexes his fingers, staring at them, looking amused.
“I haven’t seen you since - what? It’s been a few months after you left the school. It seems longer,” Andromeda says, slipping into a love seat. It’s a lovely room, all warm tones, polished wood - “Norwegian, isn’t it?” he asks - just comfortable. She’s smiling at him, a smile that falters a little when he doesn’t do anything. He’s staring, as though waiting for some great revelation from his hand.
Sirius only stands in the doorway, a hand ruffling his hair, staring down at his feet. He does not say a word.
She sighs, an exasperated sound. “Is there something wrong?”
Canting his head, his hair falls in his eyes. Sirius frowns, fingers twitching before his arms drop to his sides.
“You cut your hair.”
Andromeda automatically touches her hair, moving a few strands behind her ear. She looks down, offering a slight shrug. “I did.”
“I liked it before,” Sirius says, his eyes suddenly wide, “Now you can’t run your fingers through it-” His fingers go up, down, a slight wave. “-down… your back.”
Her breath catches in her throat, pauses and flutters like the way his fingers move.
i once had a girl, or should i say, she once had me...
she showed me her room, isn't it good, norwegian wood?
“Take a seat, Sirius. You look like death, to put it mildly.”
“That’s exaggerating, isn’t it?” he finally responds, coughing before his eyes narrow. “That’s new,” he says to nothing in particular, finally taking in the surroundings. His hand darts into his jacket. It’s leather and worn out, as beaten up as his jeans, or the tired look in his eyes and his low voice. He’s dirty. Nervous too, the way his neck strains.
“We’ve had this furniture for months. You’ve been here before,” Andromeda reminds him, thinking there’s something wrong. Or that he’s- “Don’t be daft, Sirius. You okay?”
“I’m fine, I’m fine! All right?” Sirius looks down his nose at her, then around the room. She bites her lip at this outburst, the way his voice cracks, but says nothing. “...You haven’t a chair, do you?”
The room, while lovely, is rather modest - love seat, fireplace, coffee table, rug. It’s for a pair of newlyweds who haven’t much money to their name and not a care for putting on airs. Sirius, on the other hand, although he isn’t accustomed to rich tastes, has spent quite a long time in Hogwarts. Stone floors and four poster beds. Rich as you could get if you wanted away from a family of purebloods.
So he’s fidgeting a little, after he’s taken out a fag from his jacket pocket.
“How’s your friends? James? Is he still all in a daze and over the moon for his son?”
“I suppose.” It’s a throwaway answer, fag in the corner of his mouth. He looks passive. “I haven’t spoken to him in a while.”
“Oh.”
Andromeda’s fidgeting herself, trying to be cordial. At the same time, she’s ready to burst because this? This isn’t right. This isn’t her Sirius, who’s always been hot/cold, but never so drastic. Something’s up his arse so to speak, and it’s disconcerting. It’s the strain in his voice and the darting movements, the way he even lights his cigarette - quick, too quick - it’s… it’s wr-
“And where’s dear old Ted, An?”
she asked me to stay and she told me to sit anywhere,
so i looked around and i noticed there wasn't a chair.
“He’s gone for a few days. For work,” she explains, jumping a little when Sirius bangs the cabinet door open, leaning to peak inside at the small collection of glasses and china cups. There’s one foot up off the ground, boot slamming down again when he lurches back, closing it shut. Sirius runs a finger along the wood’s edge, does it vertically, then horizontally. He rubs the dust between his thumb and index finger before looking at her.
His stare is very cold and very blank.
Sirius sits down on the floor abruptly, resting back on his hands. There’s a silence that seems to drag forever, no sounds save for her slipping her shoes off, legs going up on the loveseat.
“So, then, why are you here?”
“It’s Lupin,” Sirius responds without a moment’s pause, not looking at her, only examining his nails. “Something funny about him.”
“Funny? Like what, Sirius?”
“Like he’s… gone off. Doing things. Wicked things, you know,” he explains as though she does know, and he stares up at her from under dark and messy fringe. His tone is normal for once, though he looks unsettled. “James an’ Lily have their little one to be minding, Peter’s gone off, so’s Remus, and I’m by myself.”
Andromeda nods, a moment’s pause before she stands up, pointing to the kitchen. He waves a hand and she goes in, glass clinking after. “You’re lonely,” is what she says, before she brings wine - his fingers flinch before he takes the glass from her - and they talk - he sporadically, not looking at her. She listens, though it’s all small talk, and there are too many mentions of “Remus” to ignore.
“Something’s funny about him,” Sirius repeats when she asks, avoiding her gaze. “That’s all.”
There’s tension in his voice, his eyes darting about, gestures too quick, seeming to absorb his surroundings. Take it all in. He’s always been like that - surprised he hasn’t had his eyes pop out, the way he strains them, curious, but now he’s narrowing them and somehow talking about the recent string of murders in the area.
It’s two o’clock, and it is time for bed.
i sat on a rug, biding my time, drinking her wine.
we talked until two and then she said, it's time for bed.
They’re a terrible thing - the murders - both agree, both refraining to speak about who they believe to be committing them. Those Death Eaters, nasty sort, that Snape character in league with them. “As I’ve heard - not surprised he’d go that way, though Remus figured he’d get a job with the ministry. Shows you how much he knows. Remus doesn’t know everything.”
“He was a Prefect, wasn’t he?” She should know these things, but Sirius talks in short bursts, glancing to the door more frequently in the past hour. Andromeda chooses to leap in with questions, capture his attention for the time being. “The good one, out of your lot.”
“He’s always the good one, isn’t he?” Sirius cants his head, a scrutinizing gaze. “You have James as the prankster, Remus the good boy. Peter’s - I don’t know what he is, but he’s something. And me? I suppose I’m the cute one,” Sirius sniffs, fingertip tracing the edge of the wine glass.
Andromeda raises an eyebrow, a slow smile. “How modest of you.”
“It’s true, isn’t it? Everyone’s got to have their bloody label - something you’re stuck with. Like a profession. Mum always told me what I’d do; she wanted naughty things for me, things that’d make the family proud. And I tried hard enough, but lo and behold, little Sirius’s stuck in Gryffindor without a sign of support to his name. Black sheep, they said, and oh how they were right.”
Sirius looks too tired and old for his young age, Andromeda notices. There are frown lines, crow’s feet, lines that shouldn’t mar the skin, and didn’t, a few minutes ago. Now he looks older than he ever has, and just as sudden, he’s young again, staring with that grey gaze.
“Then we’re both black sheep.” She nods, standing up. Trips a little when she puts on her shoes again, body bending to reach and slip them on. “Nothing wrong with that.”
Sirius doesn’t blink at the movement.
“I didn’t say there was,” Sirius snaps, shoulders relaxing. He darts his head to look up at her, before grinning slowly. “We’re a pair, you and I.”
She moves towards the kitchen, saying, “Ted’s off on assignment for work for a few days - I’m to work bright and early in the morning.”
A short laugh, as if the idea of being responsible may seem ludicrous to Sirius.
He doesn’t follow; merely remaining on the rug, twirling the glass in his fingers. It’s been an hour since she noticed the cuts and bruises on the back of his hands. That, coupled with his unkempt wardrobe told her something was wrong, very wrong, despite his denial. Sirius does not voice it, only using passing conversation in the meantime.
After she tells him about work, Sirius mentions that he misses Hogwarts, “the whole lot. Things were simpler then, you know? Nothing to do, nothing to say, you’d have your friends with you without all the other rubbish.”
When she turns, Sirius is there, leaning his palms against each side the door frame. There’s a scent of stale coffee and cigarettes, a faint hint of coppery smell. He’s moving, wavering, letting that scent move back and forth, coppery tang, like magic and blood. Only this time it isn’t some other person - it’s Sirius, family, making all the bad memories far worse.
“It’s strange, and frankly, I don’t like any of it. Not when he’s about. Doing Merlin knows what. It isn’t right. This isn’t right.”
It takes her a moment to realize he’s been talking. Sirius presses a hand to her stomach, and then lets those fingers trail along her jumper, hold her side. A bright smile.
He leans against her, bony hip brushing hers, lips brushing her ear.
“It isn’t so horrid, your hair. It could be worse,” he says, and she can see him smile out of the corner of her eye. He traces his fingertips along her ribcage, waits for her breath to hitch, release, before he adds, “Far worse,” with a wolfish grin.
Sirius slips past Andromeda, a flourish of hands. “I’ll take the bath.”
she told me she worked in the morning and started to laugh.
i told her i didn't and crawled off to sleep in the bath
Two ‘o clock in the morning and Sirius is taking a bath.
Andromeda can hear it, a soft, sloshing noise, the water displaced when Sirius enters the tub. There is very low, very soft music that she hears, an old instrumental tune playing on the radio inside. He soaks himself ‘til he’s a prune - Andromeda knows - and then he will stand stark naked and stand in front of the mirror. He’ll just stare. She knows this. She’s walked in on him, apologized, walked in again, settled herself near the bathroom door during those long summers just to hear those noises, the soft singing of his. To steal a glance of pale flesh through the keyhole.
She wrings her hands, grits her teeth when there’s a soft popping noise, another lurching, sloshing sound - Sirius will drain the tub with a flick of his wand, leave it sparkling clean and dry, and then he will go inside it and sleep. Andromeda remembers Sirius’s sleeping habits. He’ll be wrapped up in his duster when he falls asleep, and wrapped up when he wakes.
Eventually, she’ll sleep too.
Andromeda doesn’t know that Sirius hasn’t eaten for the past few days.
Or that he’s seen James and Lily, played with little Harry. Played with Remus too, sung and danced all the way to the dark alleys and white masks.
It’s funny that Andromeda doesn’t notice those little cuts and scratches on his fingers, or the gouges on the back of his hands. She would feel terrible for not being more polite to her cousin, taking his coat, where she might see the flash of white bandages that hold his cuts close. Muggle stuff, useful when charms couldn’t heal.
Antlers and werewolf claws are very hard to withstand. Or take their stains out of the rug.
She doesn’t notice these things, not until the Daily Prophet running headlines about the Boy Who Lived that morning. By then there’ll be a werewolf in prison, a dead rat, and one more Black on the Death Eater roster.
After all, Sirius is not particularly happy when changes come about. Especially if said changes involve people losing interest in him for silly reasons. Like dark magic.
She finds out later on when she arrives by Apparating and sobbing against Ted’s chest.
She left for work early that morning; Sirius waking up alone and having nothing better to do, lit a fire.
The wood burns quick, the house in ruins, and there isn’t a Sirius Black to be found.
and when i awoke, i was alone, this bird had flown
so i lit a fire, isn't it good, norwegian wood.
end.
Lyrics from "Norwegian Wood (This Bird Has Flown)" by the Beatles.
Norwegian Wood (This Bird Has Flown)
by ignited
Sirius, Andromeda, R/S, R. I once had a girl, or should I say, she once had me... / She showed me her room, isn't it good, Norwegian wood?
Supreme thanks to regala_electra for the beta. :)
When he visits, Andromeda is struck by how untidy he is. Sirius was never one for meticulous care of his appearance - it just happens, he’d say, and grin. In the Black household, cleanliness and pride is ingrained in the blood. Despite the filth Sirius would find himself in - or in company of, as his mother would say - he radiates this sort of flawless mask he’s come to acquire.
It doesn’t radiate though, now, when he is slouched against the door frame, hands in pockets, bed head and lowered eyes. There’s a smear of dirt on his cheek that Andromeda absentmindedly wipes off with a finger when she takes his coat and escorts him in. He lets her loop an arm through his, despite the small walking distance into the living room. In fact, his grip is tight, and he seems to twitch and lean into her embrace. She pulls away a few moments after, hanging his coat on the rack, turning to see his hand out.
Sirius flexes his fingers, staring at them, looking amused.
“I haven’t seen you since - what? It’s been a few months after you left the school. It seems longer,” Andromeda says, slipping into a love seat. It’s a lovely room, all warm tones, polished wood - “Norwegian, isn’t it?” he asks - just comfortable. She’s smiling at him, a smile that falters a little when he doesn’t do anything. He’s staring, as though waiting for some great revelation from his hand.
Sirius only stands in the doorway, a hand ruffling his hair, staring down at his feet. He does not say a word.
She sighs, an exasperated sound. “Is there something wrong?”
Canting his head, his hair falls in his eyes. Sirius frowns, fingers twitching before his arms drop to his sides.
“You cut your hair.”
Andromeda automatically touches her hair, moving a few strands behind her ear. She looks down, offering a slight shrug. “I did.”
“I liked it before,” Sirius says, his eyes suddenly wide, “Now you can’t run your fingers through it-” His fingers go up, down, a slight wave. “-down… your back.”
Her breath catches in her throat, pauses and flutters like the way his fingers move.
i once had a girl, or should i say, she once had me...
she showed me her room, isn't it good, norwegian wood?
“Take a seat, Sirius. You look like death, to put it mildly.”
“That’s exaggerating, isn’t it?” he finally responds, coughing before his eyes narrow. “That’s new,” he says to nothing in particular, finally taking in the surroundings. His hand darts into his jacket. It’s leather and worn out, as beaten up as his jeans, or the tired look in his eyes and his low voice. He’s dirty. Nervous too, the way his neck strains.
“We’ve had this furniture for months. You’ve been here before,” Andromeda reminds him, thinking there’s something wrong. Or that he’s- “Don’t be daft, Sirius. You okay?”
“I’m fine, I’m fine! All right?” Sirius looks down his nose at her, then around the room. She bites her lip at this outburst, the way his voice cracks, but says nothing. “...You haven’t a chair, do you?”
The room, while lovely, is rather modest - love seat, fireplace, coffee table, rug. It’s for a pair of newlyweds who haven’t much money to their name and not a care for putting on airs. Sirius, on the other hand, although he isn’t accustomed to rich tastes, has spent quite a long time in Hogwarts. Stone floors and four poster beds. Rich as you could get if you wanted away from a family of purebloods.
So he’s fidgeting a little, after he’s taken out a fag from his jacket pocket.
“How’s your friends? James? Is he still all in a daze and over the moon for his son?”
“I suppose.” It’s a throwaway answer, fag in the corner of his mouth. He looks passive. “I haven’t spoken to him in a while.”
“Oh.”
Andromeda’s fidgeting herself, trying to be cordial. At the same time, she’s ready to burst because this? This isn’t right. This isn’t her Sirius, who’s always been hot/cold, but never so drastic. Something’s up his arse so to speak, and it’s disconcerting. It’s the strain in his voice and the darting movements, the way he even lights his cigarette - quick, too quick - it’s… it’s wr-
“And where’s dear old Ted, An?”
she asked me to stay and she told me to sit anywhere,
so i looked around and i noticed there wasn't a chair.
“He’s gone for a few days. For work,” she explains, jumping a little when Sirius bangs the cabinet door open, leaning to peak inside at the small collection of glasses and china cups. There’s one foot up off the ground, boot slamming down again when he lurches back, closing it shut. Sirius runs a finger along the wood’s edge, does it vertically, then horizontally. He rubs the dust between his thumb and index finger before looking at her.
His stare is very cold and very blank.
Sirius sits down on the floor abruptly, resting back on his hands. There’s a silence that seems to drag forever, no sounds save for her slipping her shoes off, legs going up on the loveseat.
“So, then, why are you here?”
“It’s Lupin,” Sirius responds without a moment’s pause, not looking at her, only examining his nails. “Something funny about him.”
“Funny? Like what, Sirius?”
“Like he’s… gone off. Doing things. Wicked things, you know,” he explains as though she does know, and he stares up at her from under dark and messy fringe. His tone is normal for once, though he looks unsettled. “James an’ Lily have their little one to be minding, Peter’s gone off, so’s Remus, and I’m by myself.”
Andromeda nods, a moment’s pause before she stands up, pointing to the kitchen. He waves a hand and she goes in, glass clinking after. “You’re lonely,” is what she says, before she brings wine - his fingers flinch before he takes the glass from her - and they talk - he sporadically, not looking at her. She listens, though it’s all small talk, and there are too many mentions of “Remus” to ignore.
“Something’s funny about him,” Sirius repeats when she asks, avoiding her gaze. “That’s all.”
There’s tension in his voice, his eyes darting about, gestures too quick, seeming to absorb his surroundings. Take it all in. He’s always been like that - surprised he hasn’t had his eyes pop out, the way he strains them, curious, but now he’s narrowing them and somehow talking about the recent string of murders in the area.
It’s two o’clock, and it is time for bed.
i sat on a rug, biding my time, drinking her wine.
we talked until two and then she said, it's time for bed.
They’re a terrible thing - the murders - both agree, both refraining to speak about who they believe to be committing them. Those Death Eaters, nasty sort, that Snape character in league with them. “As I’ve heard - not surprised he’d go that way, though Remus figured he’d get a job with the ministry. Shows you how much he knows. Remus doesn’t know everything.”
“He was a Prefect, wasn’t he?” She should know these things, but Sirius talks in short bursts, glancing to the door more frequently in the past hour. Andromeda chooses to leap in with questions, capture his attention for the time being. “The good one, out of your lot.”
“He’s always the good one, isn’t he?” Sirius cants his head, a scrutinizing gaze. “You have James as the prankster, Remus the good boy. Peter’s - I don’t know what he is, but he’s something. And me? I suppose I’m the cute one,” Sirius sniffs, fingertip tracing the edge of the wine glass.
Andromeda raises an eyebrow, a slow smile. “How modest of you.”
“It’s true, isn’t it? Everyone’s got to have their bloody label - something you’re stuck with. Like a profession. Mum always told me what I’d do; she wanted naughty things for me, things that’d make the family proud. And I tried hard enough, but lo and behold, little Sirius’s stuck in Gryffindor without a sign of support to his name. Black sheep, they said, and oh how they were right.”
Sirius looks too tired and old for his young age, Andromeda notices. There are frown lines, crow’s feet, lines that shouldn’t mar the skin, and didn’t, a few minutes ago. Now he looks older than he ever has, and just as sudden, he’s young again, staring with that grey gaze.
“Then we’re both black sheep.” She nods, standing up. Trips a little when she puts on her shoes again, body bending to reach and slip them on. “Nothing wrong with that.”
Sirius doesn’t blink at the movement.
“I didn’t say there was,” Sirius snaps, shoulders relaxing. He darts his head to look up at her, before grinning slowly. “We’re a pair, you and I.”
She moves towards the kitchen, saying, “Ted’s off on assignment for work for a few days - I’m to work bright and early in the morning.”
A short laugh, as if the idea of being responsible may seem ludicrous to Sirius.
He doesn’t follow; merely remaining on the rug, twirling the glass in his fingers. It’s been an hour since she noticed the cuts and bruises on the back of his hands. That, coupled with his unkempt wardrobe told her something was wrong, very wrong, despite his denial. Sirius does not voice it, only using passing conversation in the meantime.
After she tells him about work, Sirius mentions that he misses Hogwarts, “the whole lot. Things were simpler then, you know? Nothing to do, nothing to say, you’d have your friends with you without all the other rubbish.”
When she turns, Sirius is there, leaning his palms against each side the door frame. There’s a scent of stale coffee and cigarettes, a faint hint of coppery smell. He’s moving, wavering, letting that scent move back and forth, coppery tang, like magic and blood. Only this time it isn’t some other person - it’s Sirius, family, making all the bad memories far worse.
“It’s strange, and frankly, I don’t like any of it. Not when he’s about. Doing Merlin knows what. It isn’t right. This isn’t right.”
It takes her a moment to realize he’s been talking. Sirius presses a hand to her stomach, and then lets those fingers trail along her jumper, hold her side. A bright smile.
He leans against her, bony hip brushing hers, lips brushing her ear.
“It isn’t so horrid, your hair. It could be worse,” he says, and she can see him smile out of the corner of her eye. He traces his fingertips along her ribcage, waits for her breath to hitch, release, before he adds, “Far worse,” with a wolfish grin.
Sirius slips past Andromeda, a flourish of hands. “I’ll take the bath.”
she told me she worked in the morning and started to laugh.
i told her i didn't and crawled off to sleep in the bath
Two ‘o clock in the morning and Sirius is taking a bath.
Andromeda can hear it, a soft, sloshing noise, the water displaced when Sirius enters the tub. There is very low, very soft music that she hears, an old instrumental tune playing on the radio inside. He soaks himself ‘til he’s a prune - Andromeda knows - and then he will stand stark naked and stand in front of the mirror. He’ll just stare. She knows this. She’s walked in on him, apologized, walked in again, settled herself near the bathroom door during those long summers just to hear those noises, the soft singing of his. To steal a glance of pale flesh through the keyhole.
She wrings her hands, grits her teeth when there’s a soft popping noise, another lurching, sloshing sound - Sirius will drain the tub with a flick of his wand, leave it sparkling clean and dry, and then he will go inside it and sleep. Andromeda remembers Sirius’s sleeping habits. He’ll be wrapped up in his duster when he falls asleep, and wrapped up when he wakes.
Eventually, she’ll sleep too.
Andromeda doesn’t know that Sirius hasn’t eaten for the past few days.
Or that he’s seen James and Lily, played with little Harry. Played with Remus too, sung and danced all the way to the dark alleys and white masks.
It’s funny that Andromeda doesn’t notice those little cuts and scratches on his fingers, or the gouges on the back of his hands. She would feel terrible for not being more polite to her cousin, taking his coat, where she might see the flash of white bandages that hold his cuts close. Muggle stuff, useful when charms couldn’t heal.
Antlers and werewolf claws are very hard to withstand. Or take their stains out of the rug.
She doesn’t notice these things, not until the Daily Prophet running headlines about the Boy Who Lived that morning. By then there’ll be a werewolf in prison, a dead rat, and one more Black on the Death Eater roster.
After all, Sirius is not particularly happy when changes come about. Especially if said changes involve people losing interest in him for silly reasons. Like dark magic.
She finds out later on when she arrives by Apparating and sobbing against Ted’s chest.
She left for work early that morning; Sirius waking up alone and having nothing better to do, lit a fire.
The wood burns quick, the house in ruins, and there isn’t a Sirius Black to be found.
and when i awoke, i was alone, this bird had flown
so i lit a fire, isn't it good, norwegian wood.
end.
Lyrics from "Norwegian Wood (This Bird Has Flown)" by the Beatles.