Just something else I found lurking in my back catalogue.
It's been a week since Sirius fell through the veil but four days since anybody has mentioned it. It's like they've all forgotten already. Although I can't bear to think that Sirius has been pushed aside like he was nothing to be remembered, I'm also glad that nobody has said his name these past few days. I'm playing a deluded tug-of-war with my feelings: remembering Sirius is painful, but forgetting him feels even worse.
I can feel the pain niggling away inside of me like a constant cancer. Its a disease eating away at everything I had felt before. I never thought it possible to feel so tortured yet so numb, all at the same time. I'm somewhere in between grief and denial. Something is holding me back in this limbo. Something is prowling in the darkness, building up inside. It's anger. It's hatred. It's guilt.
I cried when James died. I cried when Lily died. I cried when I thought that Peter had died. But this time there is nothing, no hot tears welling up in my eyes, spilling down my cheeks, reducing me to a trembling wreck. Crying usually helps the pain subside, but this time that method of release will not suffice. I need to scream at someone, break something, destroy.
I get my chance when I see Severus Snape sat in Sirius's kitchen, resting in Sirius's chair, drinking from Sirius's tea cup. The cup is stark white in colour with a faded gold pattern trailing across it. It's chipped and cracked and the handle looks like it could snap at any moment. It's a perfect reflection of Sirius himself. It was never officially his cup, it was just the one that he always ended up with, the one that somehow everybody knew to give him.
I can hear Snape talking, chatting shit in his silky, drawling voice. I can hear him but I'm not listening. He's background noise. I'm too transfixed by the cup, too intent on watching it raise and kiss his filthy lips. Inside me the anger is growling like a caged tiger.
And then I hear one word, and suddenly I'm fully alert, listening to Snape's words like my life depends on it.
"...Sirius's family for generations, hasn't it? I assume that we will now no longer be classing this house as Head Quarters?" Snape is saying.
"We're hoping that's not going to be the case," Arthur replies, his voice tense because he can't stand the man sitting across from him.
I stare at Snape with burning eyes, my fingers curling in to fists under the table as he strokes around the rim of the cup with one long, lazy finger. He's slouched in his seat, sitting comfortably like he owns the place. Bastard. Suddenly he catches my gaze. I think he knows.
"Such a shame," He says slowly.
"What is?" I snap.
"Black's death, of course," Snape replies, his black eyes glittering with malice, "But still, he brought it on himself."
I can feel my fingers brushing my trouser pocket, ready to seize my wand shall I need it. Still holding me in his dark gaze, Snape continues.
"If only he would have stayed safely tucked inside his house like he was supposed to - a house which must, of course, have held so many loving, happy family memories for dear Sirius," Snape sighs, biding his time before he goes in for the kill, "Alas he approached death the way he did life - by being utterly... useless."
My chair flies backwards. My feet hit the ground. My fingers grip my wand. I've made all of these movements with no real use of my conscience at all. Arthur is on his feet too, and he snatches my wand from me before I can even mutter a spell. He turns furiously to Snape, "That was uncalled for, Severus. I think you had better leave now," He whispers coldly.
Snape calmly places the now empty cup on the table and gets to his feet. He pushes the chair roughly, carelessly back under the table and smiles at me as he goes to walk out the door. We both know whats going to happen, but I react faster than he does.
I have in my grip before he can even reach for his wand.
Arthur's yells are ringing in my ears but I ignore the cries as I throw Snape against the wall, drawing back my fist to aim it precisely towards his hooked nose. I hear our bones crunch together on the impact and Snape slides down the wall, hands cupped around his bleeding nose. He tries to crawl out of the doorway but I pounce on top of him, his black robes clutched in one fist as the other repeatedly smashes over every inch of his body I can reach. I'm pumelling him so fast that his head is flipping from side to side with every punch, like a fish begging to be returned to the sea.
All of the restless anger that has been torturing me since Sirius's death is quickly being released. I feel almost euphoric. I don't even see Snape or the blood anymore.
"Stop!" A voice is screaming. Molly.
Hands grab at my shoulders and I allow them to pull me up to my feet and push me against the wall. I breath heavily, watching as Arthur and Molly fuss over the crumpled figure on the ground that is Snape. I slip from the room and nobody notices.
Out in the hall I begin to laugh and cry, both at the same time. Its madness. Its manic. Its the perfect way to grieve for Sirius Black.