October
By Oscura
Warning – slash.
Disclaimer – I do not own or make any profit from these characters. The poem is by R.S. Thomas – "The Bright Field".
Fifth Year
"I have seen the sun break through
to illuminate a small field
for a while, and gone my way
and forgotten it. But that was the pearl
of great price, the one field that had
the treasure in it. I realise now
that I must give all that I have
to possess it. Life is not hurrying"
Evans has so many bad habits, you think. She draws all the time, right now she's doodling a flower in the margin of her potions essay, in bright green ink. The scratch of her quill is infuriating, you want to rip it from her hand and tear it to pieces. Potions is not your favourite subject, it's hard to concentrate. When she's trying to understand something, when she's struggling, she always twists a strand of bright hair like a flexible flame round one of her thin-boned white fingers. She bites her nails (but you do this too, and so does Sirius, you bite them till they bleed). Evans is always humming quietly – anything, any music at all – she vibrates to the thrum of the Stones from her lips, the whisper of the pastoral symphony. She links arms with her friends as they walk upstairs, they sway at the hips in tandem. And she doesn't care about matching, the importance of symmetry – she'll link arms with anyone, even if they're far too tall or too short for it to be comfortable, so that the pair sways lopsided and clumsy. Which is different from you and Sirius, because you're perfectly matched for walking arm-in-arm, and occasionally you do.
Evans cries far too easily – although most of the girls seem to have these easy tears, they don't mind that particular weakness, they think it shows their sensitivity – she cries over a bad mark for Transfiguration, a headache, puppies, a row with one of her insufferable, giggling friends.
It really annoys you the way she tries to be so sweet and friendly to people like Snape. Hogwarts isn't a charity for pathetic creatures like him to find "comfort" and "support". The wizarding world isn't like that, things are hard these days. And you know she doesn't mean it – she can't possibly – it's a philanthropic pose. It's not as though he even appreciated it.
When Sirius bites his nails you slap him, gently, not hard enough to hurt (you have to be careful around Sirius, with things like that, but surprisingly it's easy, it's not a strain, because you really do like him a lot), and when he cries you don't say a word but hold him – hard, but gentle against you – keeping him close.
When Remus is in the hospital wing and Peter is downstairs raiding the kitchen; or they're studying together in the library (you and Sirius don't study much), you sometimes brush his hair. And this is the most gentle you can be, the most still that you think Sirius Black could ever be. It's not something you mention to the others, by tacit consent – not that it's a secret, or anything. You think it comforts Sirius, heals him, somehow.
When Sirius sings – open-throated, gyrating from the hips – you laugh hysterically because he's perfect, hilarious, he rips laughter out of you till your eyes are streaming and you're wheezing like an old man; he's all glam rock and his eyes smoulder, he flings back the mane of hair like a smooth, loose shadow lingering against waxen neck.
Sixth Year"on to a receding future, nor hankering after
an imagined past. It is the turning
aside like Moses to the Miracle
of the lit bush, to a brightness
that seemed as transitory as your youth
once, but is the eternity that awaits you."
In sixth year Sirius starts to wear eyeliner sometimes, and Evans puts on lipstick every day. Sirius's eyes are huge and the glam rock act is funnier than ever. Sirius has money from his uncle and he buys silk-velvet robes in scarlet and black, and you think he could be a rock star, his voice is good enough. He isn't having so many nightmares this year.
You don't seem to notice Evans' bad habits quite so much now, and she's finally given up on Snape, ignoring him, turning away from his greasy hair and lonely eyes. She's stopped linking arms as well, they all have, and they're less emotional, altogether more demure (which makes a nice change, you think, from Sirius's customary practice of flamboyant, indiscriminate flirting with everyone in sight).
You don't really act any differently to begin with – or you think you don't – but once or twice you catch Sirius looking at you strangely, and he seems a little sad or anxious. One day, you walk with Evans from Potions to Charms, and Sirius walks with Remus, his furious eyes meet yours while Professor Flitwick lectures them on the dangers of Memory Charms. In the evening Sirius is angry with everyone, and you don't hear him come to bed until the early hours. You wake up again at four, and you know he's dreaming, though all you hear is the faintest moan (but you've got a sort of sixth sense where Sirius Black is concerned). Just for a moment you're annoyed, you want to turn over and go back to sleep. You're not in the mood for a heart-to-heart. But it's Sirius, so of course you don't ignore it; you get into bed with him, whisper nonsense in his ear, (only a shade above silence but you know he hears) until he stops crying. You say what you know he wants to hear: "Nothing's changed, Sirius. Nothing's going to change." But you're not sure. Perhaps everything has changed, and you're only just starting to see the new way of living.