the voice in his head, a harry potter fanfic

Written for butterflygirly99's Pick A Card, Any Card challenge on HPFC, for Two of Hearts: write about soulmates.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything.

Enjoy!

Since he could remember, Sirius had always heard it - that voice in his head.

Whatever he did, it was just there. Sometimes, it comforted him after those long, endless sessions of his father's remonstrations against his excursions with the next-door Muggle children. Other times, it jokingly berated him for doing something stupid and getting into unnecessary trouble, like putting ink in Bella's shampoo.

Whatever he did, it was always solidly, dependably there.

It didn't sound quite like his own.

Regulus had gone with Andromeda to visit some distant cousin. Father and Mother were out doing whatever Pureblood adults did, leaving Sirius alone with the elves.

They had locked the windows and doors with their own magic so Sirius could not sneak out to play with the muggle neighbours. They had even sealed the kitchen shut so Sirius couldn't steal food.

Sirius sighed and stared up at the ceiling of his room, absently twitching his toes. He was bored.

The voice was there again.

Go get a life, Sirius. Honestly.

Sirius whined.

"They've locked all windows and doors. They've even locked the kitchen! I'm bored."

Oh, you're pathetic. Come on, think. Might they have forgotten something? Anything?

Sirius frowned. After a moment's pause, he sat bolt upright, grinning.

"They don't know about that secret window in the attic!"

What are you waiting for? Let's go!

When he was seven, Sirius attended his first piano lessons.

Classical music was an important element of traditional Pureblood culture, and Sirius' parents wanted to cultivate artistic grace and mannerisms, or whatever else they had talked endlessly about. Sirius had tuned out the lecture.

His teacher was a starched, powdered up old witch with a voice like a shriveled up leaf who scowled all the way through his lessons. Try as he might, Sirius fingers just couldn't bend that way, and how was he supposed to not use arm weight, not finger strength, when his fingers were the ones doing the moving? Besides, the whole thing was a load of rubbish. What use was music when he went to Hogwarts in four years' time?

At the end of three weeks, his teacher dropped him off at Grimmauld place and pronounced him talentless.

His mother raged for a whole hour. She curled her hand around his collar and pulled him up to her, eyes livid and sparking. The ruby ring on her finger scraped across his cheek as she pronounced him a worthless failure with no Pureblood pride, and don't expect anyone to pity you, do you know what this can do to the family reputation, useless, ungrateful child, you.

She flung Sirius into his room as he began to cry. The door slammed behind her and Sirius curled against his covers, neck throbbing with a fresh bruise, a streak of blood from his face printed into the white sheets. He was worthless. He was a useless failure who deserved no pity. His mother's words were tossed round and round his skull, reverberating into high, screeching chaos, and Sirius buried his face into his pillow and tried to make it all go away.

Then, a new voice. That voice. It's alright, Sirius. It's alright. It's alright. You aren't worthless, Sirius. You aren't. Come on, now. It's alright. You're alright.

No, I'm not.

Don't listen to her. She's wrong, Sirius. She's wrong.

The sheets were damp with his tears, the wet cloth cold against his cheek.

Don't listen to her. Come on.

The fist clutching his pillow was still shaking.

Don't listen to her, Sirius. Really. Come on. Breathe for a while.

When he raised his head, though, Sirius found that he could breathe again.

He asked Regulus about it one day. Sure, Regulus was younger, but he read lots. Even Sirius had to admit that his brother was smart.

"Do you have that voice in your head?"

"What voice?"

"This voice in your head that talks to you. Tells you things. Comforts you and laughs and tells you that you don't have a life."

"Yeah. It happens when I'm reassuring or comforting myself, like I'm talking myself through things."

"What does the voice sound like to you?"

"Pretty much like my own. I told you. It happens when you're trying to talk to yourself about something."

"Oh, alright. Mine doesn't, though."

"Father, have you ever had this voice in your head?"

"Stop this, Sirius. Imagination will get you nowhere."

For a moment, there was a great, absurdly, hilariously shocked silence as Bellatrix dropped her teacup in surprise. Then, before everyone's eyes. She began to shrink. Her limbs shot into her body. Her torso shortened, and the top of her head descended downward. Barely a heartbeat later, a twenty-inch Bellatrix Black was sprawled on her chair, mouth agape and cheeks red as Quaffles.

"Sirius Black!" she shrieked, but the effect was ruined by how her voice was about three octaves higher than normal. Sirius could not help it. He burst out laughing.

Sirius' mother stood up, breath heavy with anger while Uncle Cygnus and Aunt Druella hurried over to Bellatrix, shooting scandalized looks in Sirius' direction.

"Go to your room! Now!"

Sirius laughed all the way back to his room. The voice was back, this timecalling him a silly sod, and didn't I tell you that Shrinking Solutions really mean business? but sounding amused all the same, and both of them (Sirius figured that the voice in his head is his friend, not just something nameless, bodiless, so yes, both of them) collapsed onto Sirius' bed together, shaking with glee. It had been worth it.

Night had fallen, the house quiet with the gently hum of it, and Sirius twisted the sheets around his fingers so that the fabric chafed against his skin, the friction burning and painfully cathartic.

"Stupid Rudolphus. Stupid, stupid, stupid. I hate him. Why? Just why? I thought he wouldn't be like the rest of them."

He might just have panicked, really. He apologized, afterward, didn't he?

Sirius rubbed his skin over the fabric of his pillow, the friction raw, his hands raw.

"He did it last time too. I told him not to tell Mother and she got it out of him anyway, and today his friends were taking it in turns to have a go at me, calling me dumb and he just stood there and watched from behind his father's back, and I didn't even bloody tell them that it was originally his idea and he used to be my friend, didn't he?"

There was a painful pressure in Sirius' chest. His hands were raw. He could not do this anymore. Couldn't. Couldn't. Couldn't.

But Sirius wasn't alone, and his friend was back before he even knew it, voice familiar and smoothed around the edges, and Sirius hung onto it, like a lifeline.

Breathe, just breathe, Sirius. So Sirius tried to. He honestly did. His chest was tight and painful, and his vision was swimming in liquid heat.

Please, just breathe for a while. It was insistent. Something in Sirius' throat seemed to clear and he gulped at the air as though drowning. Don't believe what they say. Please, just don't. I know you too.

"But who even are you?" Sirius hated trust, hated the fragile transparency of it.

I'm practically you. I don't think you're anything like what they say you are. Does my opinion count, Sirius? Please. Your sheets are comfortable. Just hold on to them for a moment. Squeeze your fists around them. Whatever.

Sirius didn't speak. He simply lay there, fists clenching and unclenching slowly. But in spite of everything, his muscles chest eased.

The voice was tentative when it spoke again.

I'm your friend, Sirius. You'll always have me.

Sirius bit his lip, feeling a fresh surge of something up his chest. "Are you really my friend?" The words came out more harshly than he had intended them to. "Or are you actually just me being the desperate lonely freak I am? Regulus and Father both as well said that you can hear a voice like this when you're actually just talking to yourself or going loony. Figures."

The voice took a while to answer. When it did, through, it is clear.

Does that change anything?

Sirius exhaled and lay back down on his pillows. Somewhere along the way, his anger had dissipated. His sheets were soft, the air warm against his skin.

"You sound different from me," he finally said. "Who are you? Why are you doing all of this for me?"

Whether I'm a part of you or someone else, it doesn't change anything, does it? Maybe I'm both. I don't know. I know that I care about you, Sirius. I always will.

The night was quiet, filled with the sort of silence and numbness that pressed into Sirius' ears. But the air was warm. The air was warm, and the sheets were soft and the pillow was delicately damp beneath Sirius' cheek.

"I should give you a name," he finally said. "You can't be 'the voice in my head' forever, can you?"

Sirius peeled back the curtains and stared out. Lights winked in the distance, and Sirius could almost believe that they were stars. The moon hung clear and bright, a crescent diamond in the inky blanket of sky. Wisps of cloud floated, dream-like, across it, dying the area of sky a brilliant silver.

"I'm going to call you Moony. Is that okay?"

Of course, Sirius. Thank you.

"Thanks, Moony. For everything."

You should go to sleep now. You can't let someone like Rudolphus ruin your whole day.

In the distance, the stars winked and the moon shone on, and Moony would always care.

Regulus gave a piano performance one late autumn evening, fingers fast and fluid and expressive the way Sirius could never manage, ever. When he was done, everyone clapped and pronounced him a proper Pureblood artist and a true part of his noble heritage, all the while shooting Sirius dirty glances.

Sirius took a deep breath and told himself not to care. In his mind, Moony could play the piano better than anyone else in Sirius' world. Moony could do all the things that Regulus could and couldn't do. Sirius straightened his back and glared back at his father's accusatory stare.

"Hey, Sirius! I think I've found something out about your voice thing."

"You have?"

Regulus grinned and raised an eyebrow. "You say that the voice sounds completely different from your own? You can't really find any connection between it and any experiences you might have had?"

"No. Can't."

Regulus laughed. "According to this book about wandless and love magic, you aren't the only one. Some people have a separate voice in their head that comforts them and helps them through situations. That voice," he paused, "is that of the person's soulmate."

Regulus looked up at him, but Sirius only stared, mouth slightly open.

"Pretty romantic, don't you think? The book said that unconditional support and companionship are the most important aspects of love - magically speaking, anyway."

For a moment, Sirius just gaped like a dumb-struck goldfish. Regulus was looking at him, slightly amused.

"So that... That person," Sirius finally managed. "He's an actual person physically somewhere out there?"

"Yeah, he is. And you'll find him one day. Or he'll find you. Or you'll find each other. You know, all that romantic stuff."

"How does he know what I'm going through then if he isn't here now? How does he talk into my head?"

Regulus waved a hand. "Oh, he doesn't know what you're going through. As of now, he probably doesn't even know of your existence. It's not telepathy, Sirius. I guess the voice thing just works through the connection between you, like his spirit can somehow sense you and subconsciously reaches out to you and helps you through things, until it almost becomes part of you. That's the beauty, according to the book. Subconsciously, you become almost a single entity. Nothing can take you away from each other."

Christmas dinner was stiff and starched. Andromeda and her family had come to visit, and Bellatrix sat directly beside Sirius, calling him names and jabbing cutlery at his arm.

They had moved Regulus to the other side of the table, away from Sirius' "Muggle influences".

Come on, Sirius. Drop that rotten piece of potato into her plate - accidentally, of course.

You devil. Who's one who keeps telling me off for playing pranks?

Hey, at least mine are harmless.

Sirius smiled. They might be able to move Regulus away, but they could never take Moony away from him.

The Hogwarts Express was halfway to Hogwarts when there was a timid knock on the door of Sirius' and James' compartment. It slid open to reveal a boy their age, with a mop of tawny hair and bright amber eyes, dragging a heavy trunk behind him and looking slightly battered.

"Can I sit here? Sorry. I... I kind of got kicked out of my old compartment." He flapped his hand awkwardly, eyes darting nervously around.

It was as though Sirius' heart had stopped. For a moment, he just sat there, unable to breathe, unable to speak.

"Moony?" Because it was. It was. It was. That voice. That voice that had smoothed Sirius through thunderstorms. That voice that had laughed him through all his stupidity and recklessness. Moony. Moony who would always care.

James cast him a strange look, turned and grinned at the boy.

"Sure, sit down! Don't worry, we're nice."

But the boy was staring at Sirius, and Sirius' heart starting beating again, so fast, too fast. For a moment, there was silence.

"Padfoot?" Moony whispered.

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