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She clutched at her sides as they started to cramp. It was difficult to keep her eyes open in this state. It was all his fault. But, as her abdominal muscles loosened, her eyes stopped tearing and opened fully, and her laughter subsided, she addressed him, "You've got to be kidding; there's just no way!"
I wouldn't lie to you, Sunshine, it really happened, he wrote back.
"That is absolutely inspiring. You know, one troublemaker to another," she responded.
We ended up getting a month's worth of detention for that particular stunt, mind you, but I still think it was worth it.
As she smiled to herself trying to figure out if she had any stories to top his, he wrote, you know what you haven't done today?
"What's that?" she asked.
You haven't said anything about my identity. No little comments asking me to reveal myself, no teasing that I don't know your name… nothing.
She nodded, her mind still deep in thought, not reminiscing over her past schemes, but instead, solemnly speculating how to respond. "Yeah…" she began. "I decided I'm not going to do that anymore."
Seriously? he asked in disbelief.
"Yeah. Don't get me wrong, I'm still dying to know," she began as her hand stroked down his back. "You said that I'm not ready, or you're not ready, or… whatever it is. Anyways, I've liked spending time with you these past couple weeks. It's been really great."
That last bit was unanimously felt. It had been really great. There had been the time they had done scarcely anything but deeply discussed the hierarchy of wizarding candy; they spent another liaison having a multitude of starling contests, after which the loser had to tell a secret off some sort; one afternoon was whittled away sharing the lies they'd told to get out of various things and to cover-up their past troublemaking.
The two did share quieter times together, but it was never due to a lack of things to say. They never seemed to run out.
"If or when it happens, I'll be delighted to meet you in the flesh, but until then I'm trying to just enjoy this for what it is," she explained further. "...besides no matter who you are, you'll always be Sparky to me."
As dusk lurked along the horizon, they parted ways. Now, as Sirius lay in bed, staring at the ceiling as he had become accustomed to, a murky dawn was already prowling around his curtains. He hadn't managed much sleep, and the rest he had managed had been haunted by her words.
No matter who you are, you'll always be Sparky to me.
At first that sentiment had made his heart soar even higher than he and Buckbeak had on their escape. After all, the name "Sirius Black" evoked some very different pictures depending on who you asked. Some of those versions of himself, however valid or exaggerated, he detested. Others he didn't bat an eye at. But the rendition of himself that he was at the pond, the side of himself that shown in the sunshine, with his Sunshine, was the best one. He was not guilty; he was not disowned; he was not forgotten; he was not hunted; he was not pitied; and he was not alone. He was acknowledged, appreciated, accepted. With her, he felt he was the best person he could ever hope to be. With her, he was himself.
But the bliss of that moment faded, as bliss often does, and the same avowal began to harrow and pester him. Because the truth can be cruel. And the truth was, he was not a cute, soft, wandering puppy with a magical notebook and pen who was just a little too shy to show his face.
The unfortunate truth was he was a lot of things he didn't want to be. He was a victim of circumstance. After all, circumstance is a brutal captor, and it seemed to have personal vendetta against him. All his life, it had never let up. And the truth was no matter how he felt with her, he was all of those things; he had been found guilty and disowned; he was being hunted, day and night, far and wide; he had been forgotten and left to rot.
The fact of the matter was he was letting her spend hours upon hours getting to know a man who was wanted, hated, in hiding, and thought to be a brutal mass murderer of thirteen innocent people. And now he was a fraud. His exterior hid the truth, but it was all there just below the surface. Was it really fair to keep letting her get so attached when he was basically a walking lie?
All this and more was what had let the night waste away with sleep yet to be seen. Still, that murky dawn had wormed its way between his curtains and was slowly slithering across the floor to mark Sirius' bedroom as its own. He didn't fight it. It seemed sleep had been scared off and was not coming back anytime soon, so he stood and sauntered over to the curtains, which he whipped apart to let the morning light bathe the room.
He looked out across miles of muddy clouds that seemed to invade one another with no regard for personal space. His brain was the same, thoughts all running into and messing about with one another. He willed his mind to give up on coming to any sort of conclusion or solution, and stalked off to the bathroom to splash some water on his face.
Meanwhile, miles away, the woman was too looking out her window at what she was certain was more clouds she had ever seen together in all her life. They seemed to fall apart and invade the air with a plenitude of fog right down to the grass. She hoped the impending rain would hold off until after she and her companion were to meet later.
It didn't, of course. As she Apparated to their clearing of shared solace, she opened her eyes to the sight of a nearly impenetrable curtain of water. She was drenched in a moment. Peering through the rain as best she could, her eyes fell upon a truly sad sight. It was a big black dog, sitting patiently, fur matted down and dripping, even in the small shelter of the beech tree. The edges of their precious notebook were puffy and swollen from being waterlogged, and even though he was positively shivering, his tail still managed to wag as she made her way over toward him.
He shoved the book into her hand and as soon as she opened it, trying her best to shield it from the relentless precipitation, he wrote out a sarcastic, way to bring the sunshine, Sunshine.
"How long have you been waiting to say that?" she asked with a smile and a roll of her eyes.
Long enough to be soaking wet.
"I noticed, you look freezing too. Do you want to meet up later? Or tomorrow?"
No, I want the damn rain to stop.
She smiled, "well I can't much make that happen." Then it dawned on her, "hey Sparky, do you trust me?"
No. Not since you said you don't like chocolate frogs anyway.
"I just said there's better chocolate out there than chocolate frogs," she corrected, "come on, do you trust me?"
I suppose I trust you, yes, he admitted, why?
She held her hand out to him as she prepared to Apparate them, "come on, we're going somewhere dry."
He hesitated. He hadn't been human around her since he had given her her birthday gift.
"Come on, I'll keep my eyes closed. We're getting soaked, let's go!" she urged him with her promise not to look already fulfilled.
He didn't protest further. Truth was, he was losing his edge around her. His original reaction to her had been to run. Now he was trusting her to go Godric knows where.
He slid his muddy hand into hers, after all, he had been waiting in the grass for quite some time, "sorry for the mud, love. You were late."
"Oh please, you know you were early," she answered. And before he could protest, he was standing somewhere new.
The first thing he realized, even before he opened his eyes, was that he was no longer being pelted by raindrops. Next he noticed they were in some sort of thicket which was rather rocky underfoot.
"Alright, before we start walking," she started, "I'm just going to warn you. I don't live in a mansion with house elves like you. My house doesn't have enough spare room to swing a Kneazle."
"I do not live in a mansion," he assured her. Far from it, he added in his head, "and I have one house elf, who is older than magic itself I'm convinced. He hasn't done anything helpful in about a decade. It's more like having a ghoul around."
"Likely story. I'm holding to the assumption that you're rich and famous." He chuckled at her determination before she continued, "I can't walk too well with my eyes closed."
"Right," he answered before he let go of her hand to change back into a dog. She could've sworn just before he removed his hand from hers, she felt him give a quick, light squeeze. It could have just been wishful thinking on her part, but either way she had to fight to keep the corners of her mouth from turning upwards too much.
They exited the thicket and as they followed the rock-ribbed path around the bend, his eyes fell upon her home.
She was right. Its size was nothing by which to be impressed. Seeing as the front held just five windows, and it seemed to be perfectly rectangular, his estimation held that it was probably just big enough for a handful of rooms in total.
But its lack of size didn't mean it wasn't striking. Constructed entirety of deep red brick (apart from a wood-painted-white front porch that seemed slightly out of place), with lush green vines intermittently gracing the facade, it stood alone in the countryside amidst wild fields. Far different from his own derelict dwelling smack in the middle of the city.
The building seemed perfectly balanced. The rectangular shape of the home was reflected in its congruence to the bricks and the windows. The ivy was the only thing to throw the balance to the dogs. It was far from uniform. Some areas were untouched by its leaves. Others were overcrowded with the plant, for example, the top left window looked as though it could scarcely open due to said ivy.
They made their way, wordlessly, up the three steps of the front porch. It was small, just large enough to hold a small, well-used rocking chair and an unmatched side table on one side, and a very large planter on the other, holding a variety of flowers and the like. What the first side lacked in color, the other side made up for tenfold.
She strode up to the door, opened it, and stepped inside, all without losing her stride. He on the other hand paused on the porch and whined.
She turned around. "What is it, Sparky? Not grand enough for you?" she teased.
He barked twice in response, their age old sign for "no," and whined again looking at the notebook that had ended up in her hand before they began their journey out of the rain.
"Oh," she replied and swiftly opened the notebook and uncapped the pen for him.
He immediately set to work, writing out, do you not lock your door? For someone who describes herself as a 'private person' that doesn't seem to track…
"Take a look at the door knob."
He turned his attention to where she had requested and saw that the door's handle was golden. In fact, it was a Golden
Snitch.
"Flesh memory. Only I can get in," she explained. "A couple people have a password too… But you wouldn't be able to get in if you came back, just so you know, so I'm not too worried about bringing you here," she answered the question he hasn't even asked yet.
As he stepped softly into her home, she shed her dripping jacket and her soaked shoes. "Well I'm going to go change my clothes. Do you mind if I dry you off?"
Not at all; I'd highly appreciate that.
She smiled, "let me just grab my wand."
She strutted away and he took in his surroundings. Immediately inside the door was a living room stretching the length of the home to the right, and continuing to the staircase on the left edge, filling the house's front half. It seemed to have been furnished over time with its furniture mismatched in both style and wear.
There was a piano wedged along the front wall, which the window shown onto, showing many scratches and a thin layer of dust. It seemed it had once been well-used but now drew less attention. As he turned towards the side wall, he saw that the room housed magical and muggle artifacts alike on its many bookshelves. In fact she probably could've skipped painting the room altogether seeing as the wall was covered almost completely in bookshelves, from floor to ceiling.
The center of the room played host to a mismatched couch and loveseat (holding a set of pillows which actually did match for a change), arranged in an L-shape framing a rug upon the otherwise wooden floor, with end tables at the corner and ends, housing muggle lamps, a stack of stone coasters (which seemed odd considering the many ring-shaped stains on the wood), and a large book, opened and upside down to save her page.
As his eyes scanned the room and lifted higher, he saw that the living room gave way to the kitchen. The two rooms were divided only by the counter jutting out from the right wall, parallel to the front and back of the house. As one walked through the house, they passed through the living room then into the kitchen, table and staircase on the left, kitchen on the right, and then directly out the back door.
She was in the kitchen, rummaging through drawers for her wand. He waited patiently on her doormat, though he was a bit confused. What kind of witch doesn't keep her wand with her? Or at least know where it is.
"Here we go," she said making her way over to him. "You may want to close your eyes."
He obliged and was soon enveloped in a warm gust of air from her wand. It tingled slightly as it dried and warmed him from head to tail.
After she thought he was dry she stopped and he opened his eyes. He blinked twice, then looked around to locate where she had put the notebook down. When he saw it on an end table next to the loveseat near the door, he strode over to it and began writing.
Thank you, Sunshine, she read when she came up behind him.
"My pleasure, Sparky. I'm going to change clothes. Make yourself at home," she bid him as she moved along the staircase.
He took the few moments she was gone to take a better look at the room. The bookcases held an assortment of books on the bottom shelves, but the top ones did not. Those were home to a variety of magical and muggle artifacts alike.
His eyes fell upon a piece of wood with two tubes filled with silver liquid in the center, along with what looked like two small clock faces and dials that seemed to correspond to them. Next was a set of muggle brass scales with multiple platforms. After that came a photograph that caught his attention.
It held two young girls, who looked a couple years apart in age, on some sort of coastline amidst a colony of funny looking birds. The older looking of the two was standing towards the edge of the frame, bundled up with her arms folded across her chest, eyeing the birds around her suspiciously. She didn't seem too thrilled with her position.
The younger of the two girls was just the opposite. It seemed she had shed her coat, hat, gloves, and scarf, as they were strewn haphazardly about the ground. She was crouched, coyly trying to sneak up and catch one of the birds. When that failed, she knelt down and held her hand out to coax one of the birds towards her. Once she was able to scoop one into her arms, she beamed proudly, and turned to show the older girl, who in turn took a step away and looked at the bird catcher as though she was crazy. The animal lover didn't care; she seemed she had conquered what she had set out to and grinned at the camera, showing it the bird instead.
He tore his eyes away from the scene to finish out the row. There was a stack of papers with a spatula on top to serve as a paperweight, a sleek black wooden box with a latch on the front, a crystal king from a chess set (though the rest of the set was missing), and a candle that had seen better days, though the stand was polished silver adorned with tiny emeralds (he quickly passed this one by, as it drew out his hatred for his family's love of Slytherin).
The next item caught his attention. He had never seen one in person but he was familiar enough with them in theory. It was a Foe-Glass.
Why does Sunshine have a Foe-Glass? he wondered. He was once again reminded and now painfully aware that he was in the house of a stranger.
She came bounding down the steps and skidded into the living room. She lifted the notebook from the end table that she had left it on and flopped onto the couch. "Sorry about that. Where were we?"
The pen began to move as he made he way over to her. I believe you were failing to defend your dislike for chocolate frogs.
She laughed and rolled her eyes at his words, "I like them just fine, I'm just saying that there is better chocolate out there." A questioning look came over her face and she peered into her kitchen. She held up a finger to ask him to wait, lifted herself from the couch, and glided into the kitchen.
For lack of anything better to do, he followed her into the kitchen and sat himself down next to the table. It was then that he took a real look at her kitchen. Once again, it presented a meld of muggle and magical parts. She had a muggle refrigerator, but just a stride away was a cast iron pot in her sink being scrubbed silly by a charmed brush.
The mix of muggle and magical parts however was easy to overlook when he considered the decor in this room. Every surface imaginable was covered by child's drawings and paintings. Some rather artfully done, others much more crude, but they covered the cabinets in their entirety. One cabinet however was void of the colorful paper. Though, to be fair, it had been painted on directly.
"Found it!" she exclaimed, drawing his attention back to her. "This is far better than chocolate frogs. It's muggle, too."
The pen and notebook that she had discarded on the counter came to life again. I doubt muggle chocolate is better than wizarding chocolate.
She ignored this, instead asking, "can you have chocolate? I mean, dogs aren't supposed to have chocolate… does that translate to you?"
No. And even if it did, I'd keep eating it anyways. I love it too much and I haven't been able to have much in a while.
She chuckled opening the package and rummaging through her cabinets for the appropriate dishes, "you've been on a diet or something?"
He had another small moment of panic and thought, oh shit, I need to be careful. Okay, keep it cool. He decided to keep it vague and wrote back, something like that.
She chuckled, "alright, Sparky. Well this is called 'tsokolate.' I had it while I was staying in the Philippines. It's the best hot chocolate on the planet."
The Philippines? I've never been. When were you there?
She thought as she boiled some water, then answered, "I spent some time there soon after I turned ten… or just before. I can't recall for sure, but then I was there again when I was sixteen."
Sixteen was the year you were almost killed by Quidditch and sea urchins, correct?
She rolled her eyes with a smile on her face, "more things happened that year than that incident."
Well enlighten me then, Sunshine. I'm all ears.
"Okay," she voiced her acceptance of the challenge. "Let's see… that is the year I perfected my grandmother's chicken soup recipe. I also was convinced that year that anyone creating music who wasn't either Freddie Mercury or Billy Joel was fighting a losing battle. Hmmm, I was in a mild motorcycle accident thanks to a boy who was unsuccessfully trying to impress me. I stole a cow for a few weeks, I wore a lot of rings, and I mastered and put to good use both the Jelly Fingers Curse and the Oppugno Curse. Anything else you'd like to know about that year?"
Yes, I want to hear the details of a fair few of those things. First off, you stole a cow?
"I did indeed," she began. "He was a pet cow. He belonged to someone I did not particularly care for. So I stole him, kept him for a few weeks, and then I put him back once I decided that they'd been missing their cow long enough. And I managed to take it and put it back without being caught. And let me tell you, cows are not very fast moving animals, so there was plenty of time for me to be caught."
He sat there, on her wooden kitchen floors, deciding what to make of her story, when she interrupted, "hey, I never said it was a good idea. I just said it's something I did. When I was sixteen, mind you. I bet you did plenty of dumb stuff when you were sixteen too."
Sure, I did, but we're talking about right now. So, motorcycle accident? he asked. After all, he'd once had a motorcycle.
She nodded, "a guy I knew was trying to get me interested in him, I think. Took me out on his motorcycle, storm came out of nowhere, we hydroplaned and fell. I had a lot of bruises and messed up my elbow a little. It's not a big deal it just cracks when I do this." She demonstrated by flexing her elbow and straightening it out again, which caused a small popping sound.
I see. Those curses… what's the story there?
"Dueling. Not advisable, but it happened. That's how I got that River Troll horn over on my bookshelf, I won it. I actually won quite a few of those items, come to think of it..."
Her eyes skimmed the shelf and he asked, which ones?
She exhaled, "that candle, that Ukranian Ironbelly scale… A bunch of stuff." She paused to finish the hot chocolate. "So I think I should pour this into a bowl for you…"
It was moments like these that pushed him further and further towards showing himself. His Animagus had always made him feel so free. After all, it was the way he snuck around the Forbidden Forest and Hogsmeade at school and how he had escaped his incarceration. But now… it just made him feel trapped. He was forced to be his second self around her, and it ate away at him.
Still, he answered, that's probably a good idea. And who are those people you mentioned?
A smile graced her face, "Freddie Mercury and Billy Joel? They're musicians. I'll put one on." And she did.
She had placed the bowl in front if him and prompted him, "it may be a bit hot but go ahead and try it whenever." She flipped through a few records, weighing then in her mind. She settled on Billy Joel's The Stranger.
She turned around to see a black dog beside an empty bowl. She laughed softly at the sight, "don't bother savoring it or anything."
I tried! he insisted. It was too good. There's no way that's muggle made. It's too amazing for magic not to be involved.
She shrugged, "muggles make their own magic sometimes."
I'll take your word for it. I have a question for you, and I hope you don't find this too personal… But, you have a Foe-Glass?
He was nervous to ask, but the foggy smoke seemed to be more concentrated. It almost seemed to be taking on a real form.
She turned to look at it. "I won that one as well."
In another duel?
"No, playing poker actually. Muggle-born wizard. Real jerk…"
It looks like you have an enemy near, he pressed.
"It's a little broken. Always has been." Nevertheless, she noticed the smoke too.
She went over to the Glass and flicked it in the center. The sound of hollow glass reverberated and echoed. A moment later, it turned red and started to billow and surge smoke seemingly out of nowhere.
"See?" she asked. "Just worthless junk..." Still she couldn't draw her eyes away from the odd behavior of the Foe-Glass.
"Would you excuse me for a second," it was more of a statement than a question. She tore the needle off the record and was quickly at her window, peering towards the thicket from which they had come earlier.
She heard the pen scratching along the notebook on the counter behind her but she ignored it.
Finally she turned around to face her guest. She was calm but alert. "Sparky, I need you to do me a huge favor, and I'm sorry," she said grabbing his bowl from the ground and swiftly depositing it in her sink.
She looked at the notebook. It read: Sunshine, is everything alright? Followed by: Sunshine, what's going on?
She opened her back door. "Everything is fine, I just need you to go in the back."
He looked at her but she had refused to make eye contact with him since the Foe-Glass began acting up. She looked… not nervous, as he would expect, just slightly agitated.
His head was reeling. He still didn't really know her, and wasn't sure how much he should trust her, but there they were. He could do what she asked, and wait in the garden, or he could take off despite the fact he had no idea where he was. He didn't know what was coming up the lane...
He took a breath and a leap of faith, and slipped out the door. He turned around once he made it down the steps. She finally met his eyes and gave him a quick smile, as if to say, trust me.
I do, he thought, as he settled himself into the grass.
If he crooked his head to the side, he could just barely see her. He watched her close the notebook and set the pen, still uncapped, on top. Then she scooted out of his vision.