Soulmate AU: AU in which every time a person falls in love, a red line like a tally mark shows up on their wrist. When their love becomes requited, the tally will become black, and when their loved one dies, the tally becomes a scar.
Ephemeral Tallies, Sempiternal Scars
Ephemeral: Fleeting, and lasting for a very short amount of time.
Sempiternal: Everlasting, eternal.
Sirius had no tallies.
It wasn't particularly shocking—he didn't let himself love easily. But, he must admit, compared to the rest of his friends, his bare wrist looked lonely next to Remus' one, James' two, and Peter's three.
Remus' was black, James' were both red, and Peter had one scar, one black, and one red.
Sirius had none.
He had never really wished for one: near to no one in his family did, and love wasn't a concept taught in the Black family. He had watched as his mother's blank wrist and his father's scarred one argued through day and night.
Most of his cousins didn't have any either, except for Andromeda. She had gotten her's early, and ran away with it.
Sirius ran away without one.
He had watched with an odd fascination as small little tallies began to appear all around him. He'd noticed every one, and on every girl he's ever been with. None of them had ever had a black tally. Sure, there were lots of red, and a few scars, but no black.
Lily Evans had two. Both red, Sirius remembered her talking about it on a bright, sunny Hogsmeade morning. Marlene had three, all red. Dorcas had one—black. Sirius didn't fail to notice that its appearance was around the same time as Remus'. Mary had two, both red, and Emmeline had four; three red, the last a scar.
By the end of fifth year, Sirius' wrist was still blank.
He didn't mind, love wasn't something he was looking for.
Until, at some point, he realised that love was perhaps the single thing he had left with him. He was going to fight for it. He had to fight for it.
He had slammed the door with all the force he had, knowing for sure that his father was to come after him, either with his wand, or with his belt. But it didn't matter. As long as he got out of there—anywhere, but there.
The wind had slashed into his face as he sprinted to James' place, but when the knocker knocked thrice, it was not James who opened the door.
Not even Mrs. or Mr. Potter.
Marlene McKinnon stood in front of him, barefoot, clad in a skimpy nightgown.
"What are you doing here?" The question had sprung out of his mouth before he could stop it. He had expected someone at the very least, perhaps Blinky, James' house elf, but not Marlene McKinnon, of all people. Sure, he knew Marlene, she was friends with James, so they were both often guests at the Potters, but they were friends of friends—not really friends.
"What are you doing here?" she asked back, until she caught a better look of him.
A battered and bruised Sirius Black, clothes torn, gash trickling blood from his cheekbone to his chin.
It was her that ushered him in, treated his wounds with a gentleness Sirius had never experienced before. It was her who sat beside his raging self, keeping him from lashing out at his father in the Potter's house, Marlene McKinnon, defending him with such a ferociousness that managed to surprise even his father, and Sirius himself. It was Marlene who ended up getting his father to leave, and it was her that got him to open up.
That night he had fallen asleep on her lap, and when he woke she was gone, but left a little red tally on his wrist.
It was initial terror he felt, that morphed to excitement, and hope, and, dare he say, love—that then turned to fear again.
He brought up his wand and watched the red fade away, with a bit of sadness, but also the thrill of having a secret, despite a short-lived one—he wouldn't let himself get his hopes up. It was, after all, red. It would fade soon enough.
But after a few weeks at the Potter's, and, by extension, Marlene, the red tally stayed. And it stayed red.
And then they had gotten back to school, and Quidditch was on a roll, and there had been this rather exciting party in the Gryffindor common room. He had been a little more than a little drunk, and she didn't have a small amount of firewhiskey either, they had kissed, and slept together, and the next morning, Sirius left, heartbeat pounding in his ears, as the tally still shone red.
It happened a couple more times, but they never said anything about it. Sirius' little red tally remained a little red tally.
They had never said anything about their relationship being inclusive, but Sirius didn't date or shag any other girls when he was with Marlene.
Every morning, every time afterwards, Sirius would glance at his wrist, forcing himself to feel nonchalant about it, but when he saw the glaringly red mark, he couldn't help but feel a twinge of disappointment.
Then, one day, when they had kissed after a rather crazy party, Sirius had stayed the morning with Marlene.
As he left, almost automatically now he pulled up his sleeve and glanced at his wrist.
It was black.
The next class they had together, Sirius checked Marlene's.
One single, jet-black line stood out from the tidbits of red.
But they didn't say anything, as that was the mantra of their relationship: don't mention it.
Then Mrs. Potter died. James was distraught, anguished, but the next day, one of his little red tallies had became black. So had Lily's.
And Sirius gladly welcomed the burn of firewhiskey in his throat, and one bottle turned into two, then three, then blurred into something uncountable.
He had shagged a girl that night. And it wasn't Marlene.
But she saw, she saw the Hufflepuff brunette he was kissing, with a frozen look of disbelief, and Sirius had continued on. And Marlene kept on picking up for Sirius, and Sirius never seemed to grow up. It cycled around, and around, and around, until Marlene couldn't take it anymore.
She ended whatever they had the next day.
Long after she left, Sirius shook himself out of the blank daze he was in and pulled up his sleeve, preparing himself for the red tally. But it stayed black.
So did Marlene's.
Sirius started wearing long-sleeved shirts, and, when inevitable, glamoured it away.
So did Marlene.
Months had passed since they "broke up" and they both went on with their lives, as though nothing had happened. After all, that was their mantra.
Marlene earned herself another red tally, racking her up to four, but there remained that lonely black line. As for Sirius, the single black tally, startlingly alone, glared up at him every time.
Since then, Lily and James had said their vows, and Sirius was best man, and Marlene maid of honor. They didn't talk that night. Sirius grew a habit of absentmindedly tracing his single tally, back and forth.
Then the war broke out, full time, and Sirius grew up. It didn't happen in a matter of seconds, or minutes, or days even, but he grew up. Seeing death did something to you.
He had watched, helpless, as the entire Bones family was slaughtered before his eyes. As he just lay there, the blood making him choke, as five more lives were lost—and he could do nothing to save them—he knew what he wanted in life.
He knew he had more to lose than others. And he knew he was going to do everything he possibly could to keep it. This time, it was Sirius running after Marlene, and Sirius begging for another chance, and not because he couldn't live without her—because he could. It just wouldn't be a life worth living.
Sirius and Marlene were "together" again, and it was different. And they mentioned it.
One night, as they lay in bed, Sirius had forgotten about his wrist.
"What's this?" he remembered her asking, quietly, tracing the line. He had stiffened at first, but then relaxed slightly at her touch.
"It's my little black tally," he said teasingly, as he grabbed her wrist, and traced up her four.
"I've got one too," she said, and giggled a little.
"I know you do," he said, and kissed her on the nose.
And they left it at that.
Marlene asked again, a few days, perhaps weeks—Sirius didn't know—later.
"Who's this one for?" She pointed to the little black tally.
Sirius didn't reply.
"You don't have to tell me if you don't want to," she continued, a little embarrassed, remembering their mantra, however old and forgotten it was now.
"It's fine." Sirius tilted his head and looked at her. "It's you."
He gulped a little, and looked away, and looked back at her again. "It's always been you, you know? You were my first. And you'll probably be my only," he confessed, glancing at her four tallies.
She didn't reply.
Then, she kissed him. But this kiss wasn't like the other ones they had—hard, alcohol driven, and short—this kiss was different. It was soft, gentle—perhaps even sweet, and for the first time, Sirius really got a taste of Marlene. She tasted like coffee and mint, and her lavender perfume wafted in the air around him. He kissed her back too, at first a little tentatively, then with gut crushing passion. She kissed him again, and he was the first to pull back, a little breathless.
They pulled back, and in that dazed, dreamlike moment, he got a really good look at her. She had freckles splattered all over the bridge of her nose, and her blue eyes had little specks of gold in them. And for the first time, he let himself think,
Merlin, I love this girl.
"You know, my little black tally is for you, too," she murmured, and snuggled into his arms, and for the first time it seemed in endless ones, he stayed.
For the first time in years, she was the first to leave in the morning. Sirius stayed in bed, savouring her lingering scent on the sheets.
He knew exactly when the little black tally had gone.
A thundering pounding had groggily gotten him out of bed, muttering incomprehensible words as he glanced at the clock, showing two AM.
He dragged himself to the door, only to have it banged down by Remus, who dashed forward and grabbed his arm, spun on the spot, and a uncomfortable hunch hit his stomach.
"What the hell Moony—"
They were no longer at his house.
The scent of ash and flumes immediately assaulted his nose, and he coughed several times, trying to keep it out of his lungs.
When he finally cleared his eyes of the smoke, all he could see was red.
And it was surrounding Marlene's childhood home.
High flickering flames of red-hot fire clambered up the walls of the manor. The roar was deafening, punctuated by the creak and cracking of weakening wood.
But Sirius didn't see a burning house. He saw Marlene, and her soft smile, and the tendrils of the flames wiping it away.
He had ran up, screaming every spell he could think of, even preparing to go in there himself, but the fire merely spread further, and he had barely jumped out of the way before it engulfed just where he had been standing, the ash and smoke leaving their marks on his body. He had tried, again and again, futile hope and desperateness propelling him on and on, until a figure pounded out of nowhere, and shoved Sirius back, knocked him down, farther away from the burning home, from Marlene.
"STOP!" he yelled, tearing himself from Remus. "MARLENE IS IN THERE!"
But Remus pinned him to the ground, face stoic and determined, and Sirius felt a tear slip down his face, washing away a sliver of the ash.
"MARLENE—" his voice broke off into a sob as he stared at the burning fire.
"Sirius—" Remus exclaimed, voice hoarse and pleading, as he wrenched out his arms, but Remus nearly strangled Sirius, in his attempt to pin him back down. "Sirius—there's nothing you can do—"
Sirius ignored him, and relentlessly lashed out against Remus, trying to drag himself away from him.
"Sirius—there's nothing you can do, nothing you could've done—that was Fiendfyre—" Remus gasped, and scrambled to stop Sirius once more.
"No one—no one, could've, survived that."
Sirius screamed with anger, shaking in Remus' arms.
"I should've kissed you goodbye—" he gasped, as the house began to crumble. "I should've told you how much you mean to me."
"I should've told you how much I loved you," he sobbed, and Remus still held the tightest of grasps on him.
"She's gone, Sirius," Remus whispered, and choked back a sob.
They watched helplessly as the house began to crumble, bit by bit, and once there was near to nothing left, just the dwindling flames starting to disappear, Sirius went limp.
He just stopped, stopped struggling, stopped yelling—stopped feeling.
He watched, wordlessly, soundlessly, emotionlessly, as the flames died away, leaving behind their destruction of Marlene McKinnon.
A prickle of pain flashed on Sirius' wrist.
The little black tally was now a little black scar.
The little scar had stayed with him, and no new tallies showed up—he didn't let himself love easily anyways.
If Sirius ran his fingers over the scar, if he closed his eyes and tried hard enough, he could almost see her, her blue, gold speckled eyes, her splattering of freckles, the blonde hair tumbling down her shoulders, and if he tried even harder, he could almost, just almost, hear her laughter ringing through the air, along with an exasperated, "Oh, Sirius," a ghost of a hand on his cheek, and her lips on his.
But then he shook himself out of it, and he was facing the broken, tarnished wall of a cell, with little tallies scattered across it.
Some were red, some were black, and too many were like scars.
Sirius took one of the slightly breaking links of his chains, and slowly began to carve a small little scarred tally into the wall, joining many others before him. He didn't know what to expect—perhaps the little scarred tally would leave, or perhaps something, just something, would happen.
The little scarred tally stayed.
Author's Note: Thank you very much for reading, and please review! It means a lot to me, and also, if you have any prompts that you would like me to write for any ship, just PM me! Tell me what you thought of it, and improvements that I can make.
Love you all,
Zigostia