Almond Eyes

This was the last time he would ever do a favor for James bloody Potter, Sirius seethed, watching the harbor slowly shrink from his view. True, he owed the Potters a lot, but he just never saw this one coming. When Mr. Potter had mentioned the family had been invited to a huge up-do in Bulgaria, of all placesfor prominent stockholders in the Wizarding district, he'd thought nothing of it. When James had come down with a mysterious case of boils and refused to even leave his bed, he'd been concerned, but unsuspicious. But when Mrs. Potter had brightly suggested that Sirius go to the tux-and-tie deal in James' stead, to 'get his fill of the culture', it had all come crashing down like an enraged mountain troll. She'd known he couldn't refuse her, that tiny, sweet, deviously evil, soft-hearted woman who'd given him so much. James had set him up, it was obvious. As Remus would say; hook, line, and sinker, and Sirius didn't even understand what that meant.

So now Sirius sat, seeing James' shamelessly gleeful smile in his mind's eye as he waited for the ship to arrive at the Durmstrang Institute, plotting every possible vengeance on his best mate he could think of. It was either that or smash something. He balled his hands into fists, jumping up from the chair and pacing angrily in front of the porthole.

His parents would be there. The Potters hadn't known that, obviously, or they never would've pushed him into coming. But he'd asked the guy greeting guests on his way below-deck and it'd been too late to jump for shore. Not without morphing into his canine counterpart, an ability he wouldn't dare flaunt. Not surrounded by this company, at least. His mouth twisted in irritation. What he wouldn't give to be Padfoot right now. Life was so much simpler when you were a dog.

A soft knock on the door distracted him from his bitter musings. Mrs. Potter opened the door and stepped inside, her wide blue eyes full of remorse. Sirius sighed, shoving his hands into his pockets.

"Sirius, I'm so sorry about this. We didn't know your parents would-"

He cut her off, shaking his head quickly. "Don't worry about it, Mrs. Potter."

She bit her lip, looking so forlorn and apologetic. It was a heartbreaking expression coming from the tiny woman. "If you wanted to stay on the ship, I would understand," she offered.

Tempting. Sirius almost said yes, but the thought of his mother coming here if she knew Sirius was hiding out stopped him. There was no way he'd give the hag such a perfect opportunity. He shook his head. "No, that's all right, Mrs. Potter. I'm already here. I'll make it through."

She grimaced. "Well, I hope you like shellfish. That's all they seem to be serving here. I'd get dressed if I were you, Sirius. I packed your suit."

She opened her small clutch purse, rummaging around in it. The purse matched her frothy, shirt & skirt ensemble, which were pale pink slashed with gold. Orange-red curls were piled atop her head, adding another three or four inches to her miniscule height. Sirius smiled as she struggled to extract a bag of clothes way too big for the size of the small beaded purse, handing them to him. He threw them onto the bed. "You look nice, Mrs. Potter."

She grinned, a spark of humor lighting her wide blue eyes as she smacked him with her purse. "You know, Sirius, you compliment people far too much. Someday, some girl's going to catch your eye and you'll fall over your own tongue." Shaking her head at him, she glided out of the room so he could change, still chuckling musically.

Laughing was the last thing he felt like doing as he disembarked from the ship later that night. Rocks, weeds, and driftwood crowded the unkempt beach, it's sand slowly giving way to more weeds and scrawny grasses. The scents of sea brine mixed with decaying vegetation soured the humid air. The Durmstrang Institute was a few hundred yards ahead, light shining from every first floor window to greet the guests strolling up the stone walkway from the docked ship. People surrounded him, walking in twos and threes, all in some sort of formal dress. He'd refused to wear the dress robes that Mrs. Potter had lent him, he wasn't desperate to make a good impression here. Ahead of him, he could see Regulus striding toward the school beside his mother, her styled shining black curls barely reaching her gangly son's shoulder. He could hear her deep, braying laughter ringing out and gritted his teeth instinctively. Gryffindor through and through. Brave to the point of insanity.

Statues ranged the front courtyard, its centerpiece a stone replica of the Botticelli Angel, frozen for a millennia in mid-step, as if she were running in desperate haste toward the sea. He rolled his eyes. If any guardian angels were running, it would be away from this sorry spit of land. Long grasses inched between the cobblestones, infesting the grand entrance to Durmstrang. Igor Karkaroff didn't set much priority for upkeep, it seemed. The front doors to the school opened for the crowd, warm light flooding the courtyard. Sirius walked forward to endure his sentence grimly.

He supposed, looking back, it was stupid to think his mother would avoid him as carefully as he tried to avoid her. Bedecked in gaudy pearls and purple velvet, she stood waiting for him in the Entrance hall, standing on the second step with one hand fisted in her skirts and her expression like granite. He doubted she had any other facial expressions left in her, the old hag. He met her cold stone gaze as he approached, daring her to make a scene here in front of all these people. Walburga was a class A act in theatrics; the only genetic trait he'd ever admit to inheriting from her, apart from her gray eyes.

Those eyes were assessing him now coldly as he came to a stop in front of her. The people streamed around him, up the staircase. She sniffed dismissively. "I wouldn't think to see you here. Come back to beg my forgiveness?" There was a well hidden trace of hope in her question. Likely she'd been hoping since he'd left home on New Years Eve.

Sirius smiled grimly. "Never crossed my mind. I was invited here."

"They'll let anyone in these days."

"No doubt. How else would you get invited to parties?" he asked, still smiling. Her expression soured, broadening his smile to something like real amusement. These verbal sparring matches between him and his mother could never be called fun. After a few years, he'd realized the only joy she found in her eldest son was in cutting him down, and he'd met her head on with a bitter vengeance. It was kind of like sword-fighting with someone who threw rocks.

She threw one now. "Since you don't mean to return, you'll be relieved to learn you've been officially disowned." She smiled bitterly. "I blasted your name off the family tapestry myself." He flinched slightly and her smile widened. Hag. "Feel free to pick up the rest of your things at any time. I was thinking of giving your room to Regulus… as a trophy room perhaps."

"What, you didn't just burn it to the ground?" he muttered, finally shrugging past her and up the stairs. Her mocking laughter followed him.

The Great Hall was circular, ornate, glittery, Victorian, and boring. Karkaroff stood in silky dress robes on a small stage set in a corner, addressing the crowd. People were milling around the edges of the room, filling the seats of fancily draped dinner tables. He'd forgotten just how much he despised these parties. It made him restless, the axioms of England's finest. Everything here was choreographed; every conversation repeated a thousand times before it came up here, every compliment, gossip and scandal overused and dragged through the mud. They seldom got creative, and he was seldom interested in staying that long. He needed an escape. He couldn't go back through the Entrance hall, where his mother waited. His eyes cast around the room in agitation, finally settling on a small door leading outside. Escape. Hallelujah.

He twisted the brass handle and pulled the heavy door open, stepping quickly around it to leave before anybody noticed him, out onto the small second-story balcony. When he pulled the door shut behind him, a hand shot out, holding it. Sirius looked up, surprised, to see of all people, his great-uncle Alphard holding the door open. Alphard gave him a vague smile around a smoking pipe and joined him outside, shutting the door quietly. "Did you not want to try Bulgaria's finest cuisine, Sirius? There's sure to be something edible," his uncle told him matter-of-factly. Sirius shook his head.

Unlike most of the others in his family, Sirius actually liked Alphard. In his late nineties, with tufts of graying, wheat colored hair poking out from the hat he always wore, Alphard had the look of an elderly Sherlock Holmes, pipe and all. Most people thought the man was delusional, but Alphard was one of those rare men who walked the line between genius and insanity. Sirius knew he only prompted the misinterpretation of his mental state because it suited him. It was one of the things he liked about his uncle.

When alone with him though, Alphard's blue eyes lost their unfocussed expression and became the sharp eyed gaze of a man long in the game of politics. His piercing gaze assessed his young nephew minutely, leaving no detail unnoticed as he lit his pipe. "I hear you've spent your Easter break away from home this year," he stated around the polished wood.

Sirius shrugged. "I didn't want to stay at home."

"Your brother puts it more strongly." Hazy pipe smoke puffed away in the slight breeze as Alphard spoke. "I hear Walburga outdid herself with her histrionics. Though my niece always was one for tantrums."

"I was disowned, all right?" Sirius snapped. People who were disowned were never talked about, they were forgotten. It was like voluntarily orphaning your children. Though he'd expected it, it still shocked him a little.

The only response he got was a vague "Hmm, yes." Suddenly annoyed, Sirius looked out over the rail, leaning both elbows against it and folding his hands together, waiting for Alphard to get on with whatever he wanted to say.

Alphard spoke again. "So, how do you think to support yourself now? Obviously, you're almost finished with your schooling. You'll need a place to live, food to eat. Even wizards can't make something out of nothing." His voice was light and conversational, like he was asking Sirius's opinion on his dinner jacket.

Sirius shrugged. "I'm staying with a friend right now. I figured I'd start working after I leave Hogwarts. Save up my money for a place of my own."

"Hmm," his uncle said again. Smoke kept puffing from between his lips. "And if you were to receive some assistance in your endeavor… a starting loan, so to speak, would it help?"

Sirius gawked at him, his mouth falling open. "You mean, you'd lend me gold?" Sirius asked, astonished. His uncle nodded decisively. It seemed his plan had been laid out before he'd even followed Sirius outside.

"I find myself in a sticky position, lad. You and I both know the family's been waiting for me to lay down and die for years now and (as much as I dislike the idea) we also know these things have a way of springing up on people. Especially people with hoards of gold under their belt. So I'm trying to simplify the equation a bit. I lend you, say, a few hundred thousand galleons to start out your life, and we both benefit. I would rest easier knowing my grave wasn't about to be robbed by my own family.

"And besides, lad, I've always been fond of you. You have a much less jaded view of the world than some I see here tonight. It's refreshing." Alphard fell silent, staring out into the distance contemplatively. Sirius struggled to pull himself together.

"That would be… a huge help, Uncle Alphard. Thank you."

"Wonderful," Alphard exclaimed, his eyes fazing into the witless blue stare of lunacy he'd come to adopt. Smiling briefly at Sirius, he turned for the doorway, saying as he went, "I will arrange everything, lad. We'll be in touch." And Alphard was gone.

He leaned on his elbows against the wrought iron rail where Alphard had left him, breathing in the cool humid air. With Alphard's pipe smoke dissipating, he could smell the sea again. Wow, he thought. His grandfather must be rolling over in his grave right about now. Pollux had always disliked his brother, Alphard, even more than he'd hated Sirius. Sirius sincerely hoped he wasn't around when his mother found out. Ever since Walburga's father had written his will to her younger brother Cygnus to inherit the family fortune instead of her, her lack of money-handling skills had made them nearly destitute. Alphard had been right on the mark- Walburga was waiting for him to lay down and die so that she could inherit.

Damn it, he thought, closing his eyes wearily. He was tired. He was tired of a family who despised him. He should be relieved he'd been disowned from this family with their arguments and gold-digging and backstabbing, but it didn't ease the bitter exhaustion. It was too late for that. He was tired of all the pureblood politics that required you to walk this way, talk that way, or get disowned. He'd thought last New Years that getting away from that house would leave the painful tiredness behind too, help him get on with his life away from here. But even now he couldn't shake the fatigue that came with bearing a burden alone.

It was stupid, of course. He had James and his other friends to fall back on. They knew how it was at his house. They'd be there in a heartbeat if he needed them. And there were relatives like Alphard, on the fringes, barely noted in the family, who would help him out if he needed it. He wasn't universally hated. He tried to explain the tiredness to himself, but couldn't. He felt alone.

His eyes wandered along the outdoor courtyard and path leading towards the ship. He could barely see it, a black mass floating in the shimmering water, reflected firelight from the first story windows glimmering against it's portholes. Against the clouded twilight, it had a ghostly appearance, intensified by the angelic stone statues in the courtyard, their beautiful faces caught in various poses of worship or stress. Why don't you send me an angel? he thought sardonically. If anyone here needs one, it's me.

(A/N)

Any and all references to angels are from the inspiration engendered by Real Life's amazing song "Send me an Angel". If you like 80's rock, check it out. You won't be disappointed.