Chapter 28: Sirius, Trying
Dear Mr. Moony,
It is my duty to warn you that my darling mini-cousin Nymphadora appears to have fallen prey to your alleged charms. She asked me today about your dating history and sexual inclinations. She seems to think that I was unaware of what she was asking and why, but she is as subtle as a swelling curse to the face.
I understand that her attentions are not reciprocated in light of your having a secret not-wife. However, please be very, very kind to her. After all, she is an Auror and could probably feed you to the giant squid.
If the opportunity arises, I will explain to her that she is capable of doing much better.
Regards,
Mr. Padfoot
Dear Mr. Padfoot,
I have no intention of being anything but kind to your darling mini-cousin. I am very fond of her and always look forward to seeing her.
I quite agree that she is capable of doing much better, but I don't recommend telling her something so obvious. It would only make her dig her heels in harder— insist that she doesn't want someone young and rich and handsome and healthy.
Regards,
Mr. Moony
Dear Mr. Moony,
As you have a secret not-wife and an un-conceived child, I am a bit perplexed as to why you would explain to me that you are not good enough for Tonks using stupid and untrue arguments.
If you were interested in my cousin, I would tell you that young and rich and handsome and healthy are none of them guarantees of anything. I was once all four, and would have made a terrible boyfriend. Did, occasionally.
I would also tell you that I love Tonks and that I couldn't choose anyone better for her than you. I was, in fact, pleased by the thought when I first saw her swooning over an old photograph of you. (You know the one. The four of us, end of fifth year, all of us looking at the camera like normal people for once.)
It's time for a little honesty. Tell me yes or no.
Regards,
Mr. Padfoot
Dear Cousin Padfoot,
Yes. Do not interfere. Please.
Regards,
Cousin Moony
Dear Mr. Moony,
I have so many things to tell you.
Don't worry. If all goes well, you'll both be old eventually. No one will snicker when she's 100 and you're 113.
Try not think about how she was born during the winter holidays our third year at Hogwarts. You know, the year that we snuck out to that Muggle movie with all the sex in it. When she was an infant.
Also try not to think about how I used to dance with her mother at Very Exclusive Pureblood Events when we were children.
Really, really, really try not to think about how her father was a prefect when we were at school and at least once let us out of detention when he shouldn't have.
Try not to remember that Severus Snape was her Potions professor when she was at school. Your classmate was her professor. I do not suggest that you ask him to tell you about all the times that she was a very bad girl.
Do not suddenly start spelling the gray out of your hair. It won't make people think you're her age.
Also, do not start wearing flannel shirts and oversized trainers. That won't make people think you're her age, either.
Don't try giving her a curfew. She's a Metamorphmagus, she'll find a way around it.
Regards,
Mr. Padfoot
Dear Mr. Padfoot,
Are you quite through?
Regards,
Mr. Moony
Dear Mr. Moony,
I haven't even started yet. Can't wait to see you in person. December 18?
Regards,
Mr. Padfoot
Dear Mr. Padfoot,
Don't you have something productive you could be doing? Meeting with Félicité?
Yes, December 18. December 18 is also the last day of the term. If Harry wants to spend the winter holidays with you, visiting with me that night may not be practical.
Regards,
Mr. Moony
Dear Mr. Moony,
Do not attempt to get out of the conversation we are going to have. Has Harry not decided whether he is staying at school? I thought almost everyone would stay for the Yule Ball.
Regards,
Mr. Padfoot
Dear Mr. Padfoot,
I don't know what Harry has decided. Take out your mirror and ask him.
Also, I noticed that you ignored my comment about Félicité.
Regards,
Mr. Moony
Dear Mr. Moony,
If you won't walk over to Harry to ask him if he's staying over the holidays, you'll have extra time to walk over to the Beauxbatons carriage and ask Félicité yourself.
Regards,
Mr. Padfoot
Dear Mr. Padfoot,
Félicité won't/can't talk to me about you—thinks it would be disrespectful of your privacy.
Regards,
Mr. Moony
Dear Mr. Moony,
That's quite nice, really. It's entirely possible that Félicité is working for the Ministry or Voldemort or any of the myriad people who hate me and so she's trying to lull me into a false sense of security by telling you how much she respects my privacy.
I have met with her. I found the whole thing very silly and it doesn't help, but I'll do it a few more times if it shuts you up and means I tried everything it's reasonable for me try to be what Harry needs.
To be sure, she did not ask me to tell her anything about what I was thinking. She only asked me to tell her how distressing the memory was at any given time. She asked me to focus on a terrible memory while she made a vibrating ball jump back and forth between my hands. She claims that Muggles call it le trouble de stress post-traumatique when you've experienced something terrible and can't stop thinking about it. (According to that definition, shouldn't everyone we know have le trouble de stress post-traumatique? Including Harry and his friends?)
The Muggles call this treatment EMDR, meaning Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing. Of course I refused to move my eyes because if hypnosis is real I don't want it to happen. So instead of the eye movement she's doing this buzzing thing.
She's interesting. I don't mind the entertainment value of seeing her every so often. Her belief that Muggle EMDR might be effective is right up there with Arthur Weasley and his collection of Muggle technology.
Regards,
Mr. Padfoot
Dear Mr. Padfoot,
I talked to Harry today. He can't decide whether to put his name down to stay at school or not. This is the first time he's had a valid alternative to staying, but also the first time that there's a reason to stay.
I told him that he could see you either way (as if he needed telling to go sneaking around with that invisibility cloak) and that he could attend the Yule Ball either way (easy enough for you to take him up to the school for one night).
How completely are you planning to spoil him? You showed remarkable restraint on his birthday.
Regards,
Mr. Moony
Dear Mr. Moony,
Thank you for the godson update.
I bought him a gold cauldron.
I don't know why.
He doesn't need a gold cauldron. No one needs a gold cauldron. I grew up hating those showy, ostentatious things that no one needs. You know I'd rather have a glass I stole from the Three Broomsticks than a goblin-made silver goblet.
But the cauldron was shining in the window and I wanted Harry to have the best.
And you must admit that Snivellus seeing it and knowing who must have bought it would be wonderful.
Other than that I have behaved myself. A knife, sweets, owl treats for Hedwig, clothes, Quidditch books. (If I were going to get him Defense Against the Dark Arts books, which ones? I'll put your name on that present if you tell me.)
I went to Grimmauld Place and managed to find a few very old pictures of James. Regulus must have taken them from my room after I left and then forgotten to have a ceremonial burning before he got himself killed.
I had the best of the pictures— the only one of all four of us— copied for you. See enclosed. I leave it to you to decide whether to spell Pettigrew out of it.
Do you have any photographs of James or Lily for Harry that you didn't already give him? I assume that most of the pictures in that album of his came from you, but they're all of Lily and James as adults.
Regards,
Mr. Padfoot
Dear Mr. Padfoot,
When I see you in person, I'll tell you why it's funny that you suggest the Defense books as a Christmas present. For now, I'll just tell you to get the set by Mizrabel Nieminen.
Thank you for the photograph. I think my old school trunk is in my father's cellar and I think there are photographs in there. After you went to Azkaban I couldn't look at pictures of you but I don't believe I destroyed them. Almost every picture of James when he was younger was also a picture of you. I can't get to them before the holidays, but you have my blessing to go and look. I'll write my father to warn him.
Regards,
Mr. Moony
Dear Mr. Moony,
Your dad likes me now, remember? You didn't need to "warn" him.
I had lunch with Lyall today. There was nothing of note in your old trunk. None of us were very good about holding onto those things. I don't suppose many teenage boys are. Harry may be the exception because for most of his life he had so little.
However, your mum was good at holding onto those things and your dad found her albums for me. She had the entire set of posed photographs James' parents had taken of all four of us right before seventh year. I remember sitting for them, but I don't remember ever seeing them after they'd been developed. That year went by so quickly. There are also some from when James visited you one summer. I think Harry will like those.
I did not destroy the ones from when Peter visited you, though I was tempted. I was also annoyed all over again that he got to visit you and I didn't. My parents wouldn't have stood for it, they barely tolerated my visiting James, and Lyall all but confirmed that he wouldn't have allowed me to visit if I had lied and told my parents I was elsewhere.
All of this reminiscing reminded me that I'd forgotten to check the flat where I was living in 1981. It was still there and the landlord had kept a record book that showed that everything in my flat was seized by the Ministry that November. When they closed my case, they returned everything to my last known residence, that building… and the landlord threw it in the basement and forgot about it. There wasn't much; I barely lived there. But I did find a letter Lily wrote to me thanking me for sending Harry a broomstick for his first birthday. There's a picture too.
It's horrible, Moony. Harry's flying around the room like he was born on that broom. James is chasing after him. Lily's laughing at them. In the letter, she talks about how "Wormy" visited and "seemed down."
I'll give it to Harry, but not on Christmas. It's a bit of a mood killer.
Regards,
Mr. Padfoot
That night, Sirius dreamed that he was fighting for his life. He was pinned down, wandless, frantic to push the knife away from his throat.
He was also the one holding the knife, scrambling to put an end to it all.
When he awoke, chest tight and heart pounding, he wished that he weren't alone. Then he was furious that he wished he weren't alone. He hadn't exactly been the sort of child who'd run to his parents when he'd had a bad dream. Even if he had been, he was no longer a child. He imagined, just for a second, telling Anna or Moony what he'd dreamed.
In his mind's eye, Remus and Andromeda stood side by side, perplexed that he would even ask for… what? Comfort?
Then they looked at him with disgust.
He wondered how long it would be before he could breathe properly.
He remembered the first night after he'd left Grimmauld Place for good. He'd stayed in James' room. There were plenty of other rooms in Potter Manor, and he'd gotten one of his own within the week when it had been officially decided that the Potters would keep him, but that night he'd been with James.
James had fallen asleep and stayed asleep as if nothing in his life had been upended. Sirius had grown more and more frustrated with James' snores and had finally slunk from the room on quiet feet. He was used to sneaking about Grimmauld Place without attracting the attention of his parents, or his nosy brother, or the nosier house-elf. He could certainly sneak about Potter Manor just as easily.
How he didn't notice the light in the front room of the house, he would never know. All he ever knew was that Euphemia Potter saw him before he saw her and that she didn't make him explain himself.
"Sirius, what's an 8-letter word that means 'flatly, without dissembling?' First letter is O."
That was the last thing Sirius had expected her to ask. "Are you doing a crossword puzzle?" he inquired stupidly.
"The new Daily Prophet will be here in a few hours," she explained. "I have to finish this one before that one arrives, don't I?"
His mind still muddied by the excitement of the day, Sirius couldn't help but find that explanation perfectly reasonable.
He looked over Euphemia's shoulder at the puzzle. "Outright," he answered.
She smiled at him as if he were very clever and filled in the boxes before they could shift.
He wondered what it would have been like to have been smiled at like that every day for all of his life. James knew, of course, and so did Remus and even Peter.
He wondered whether fate was having a laugh at him when the next answer turned out to be "acrimony."
By the time they'd finished the puzzle, he felt so much calmer that he thought he might make it through the night without doing anything stupid.
He'd always had a fondness for crossword puzzles after that. James made no pretense of finding them remotely interesting, and so Euphemia would tell Sirius about the clever clue she'd come across that day. And Sirius was the one who found a book of crosswords in his Christmas package every year until Euphemia's death.
Remus didn't know the whole of the story, but he had known enough to give Sirius a book of crossword puzzles when he'd been released from Azkaban.
Sirius found the book and a self-inking quill.
He did the crossword puzzle until he could read.
He read until he could breathe without pain in his chest.
He breathed until he could sleep.
He slept for two more hours until sunlight streamed through his window. When he arose, he was torn between pride and self-loathing that this was what now constituted a triumph in his life.
For the rest of the day, Sirius was too disoriented to do much of anything. He was considering going to the Hog's Head (he didn't need the looks Rosmerta would give him at the Three Broomsticks) when his mirror flared to life.
"Hi, Harry," he said, hoping that Harry wouldn't be able to tell what kind of day he'd had.
"Hi, Sirius." No, Harry was distracted and nervous. He wasn't going to notice anything about anything.
"Harry?" Sirius pushed when Harry was quiet for far too long.
"Sirius, explain girls to me."
"If I could explain girls, I'd be rich."
"You are rich."
"I'd be richer."
"You're not helping."
He wasn't, it was true. "I might be able to help if you'd tell me a little bit more about what happened today."
Harry looked pained. Sirius remembered the expression well. It was the one James always wore when Lily called him an arrogant toerag. (The pained expression came after the furious expression and before the scheming expression.)
"Did a girl call you an arrogant toerag?" Sirius prompted when Harry remained silent.
"What? No. She asked if I wanted to go to the Yule Ball with her friend so we could all…" Harry made a frustrated gesture with his hand. "Do whatever people do at Yule Balls."
"They dance, I believe," said Sirius.
"I don't dance," said Harry firmly.
"They also eat and talk. You do those things."
Harry shrugged. "Not with Marietta Edgecombe, I don't."
"Who is Marietta Edgecombe?"
"She's Cho Chang's best friend." Harry sighed. "They're in Ravenclaw. They're a year older than I am. Cho is the Seeker on Raveclaw's Quidditch team. She's… pretty."
"You asked the pretty girl to the Ball, she told you that she already had a date, and she suggested that you go with her friend?"
"Because she's going with Cedric," said Harry. "She said that since Cedric and I are mates, it would be good if her friend went with his friend. It was horrible, Sirius!"
"What did you say?" asked Sirius.
"I said that I'd heard someone else fancied Marietta and I didn't want to get in the way of that."
"That's an excellent lie," said Sirius approvingly.
"It really was," agreed Harry. "I just wish I hadn't had to use it."
"What's the plan now?"
"I've always stayed at Hogwarts over Christmas before," said Harry. "I don't think the Dursleys would have picked me up at the train station if I'd tried to visit them."
"I would pick you up at the train station," said Sirius hastily. "But I suppose I wouldn't need to since the last night of the term is also the full moon and I'd be at the school anyway."
"Would it be strange? Me staying when everyone else leaves, and leaving when everyone else stays?" Harry didn't wait for an answer. "I just want a normal Christmas, whatever that is."
"I wish I knew," said Sirius honestly. "But I don't know that I've ever had one either. I mostly just think of what my mum would have done and then do the opposite." Harry laughed. "Unless, of course, I'm doing a permanent sticking charm. Mum's permanent sticking charms were excellent."
"Would it really be okay with you if I came to stay with you over the holiday?"
"Of course!" It's only the thing I want more than anything else in the world, but don't let me pressure you, Harry.
"You wouldn't care if I didn't go to the Yule Ball after you bought me dress robes?"
"You may not have noticed, but I hate dress robes." Harry laughed again. "I wouldn't blame you for refusing to wear them."
"I really don't want to go," Harry admitted. "I don't want to dance. I only asked Cho because…" Harry didn't appear to want to articulate why he'd asked Cho.
"I quite understand," said Sirius. "Tell everyone that it's your ailing godfather's first proper Christmas in years and that you need to take care of him, and that it's a good job you didn't have a date when you learned how terribly off the poor fellow is, because you'd have to cancel otherwise."
"I don't think anyone cares whether I go."
"Ron and Hermione?"
"Oh, Hermione has a secret date and Ron's angry that she won't tell who it is. They definitely won't notice whether I'm there or not."
"Well, if you change your mind we can always head back to the school on the night of the ball. Until then, we'll just try to do normal."
"Whatever that is."
Whatever that is, indeed.
To be continued.
Author's Note: I'm going to be traveling without my laptop for a week or two, and so there will be no regular updates for a week or two.
Also, thank you for the kind reviews to the last chapter. I didn't quite have the self-restraint to refrain from reading them. :)
