Chapter Fourteen: You Want Me to Pick a Side?

Sirius,

I want to respect your wishes, so if I don't hear from you on this letter, I'll stop writing. I will always love you, and there will always be room for you in my life if you want it.

Andy

It's not fair that Sirius is having such an outsized reaction to such a short note. He has to have known this was coming: it's been a solid year since he's seen Andromeda, and although she's been writing to him consistently—at first every week, then every month; this is now her first attempt to contact him in two months—he hasn't replied to a one of her letters. This is what he wanted, isn't it? If he'd wanted to keep up a relationship with his cousin, he would have written her back on any of the opportunities he'd had to do so—could have asked her to do a head Floo into the Gryffindor common room or to meet him in Hogsmeade on any of the weekend outings they've had there this year. If he'd managed to forgive her—

But he hasn't forgiven her. He hasn't even tried. There will always be room for you in my life, she says—is she kidding? There's so much to unpack in that short sentence that he doesn't even know where to start. The last time Sirius needed her to make room in her life for him, she turned him away—and yet here he is, flustered and emotional at the thought that she's going to stop going out of her way to reach out to him.

Somehow, even though he'd thought that the last thing he wanted was to see or speak to her again, he apparently wants her to stop writing even less. As angry as he is—as much as he can't even imagine ever having another conversation with her—a part of him always assumed that they'd find their way back to each other eventually, that she'd always be around and trying to break on through. It's like he's been punishing her—like she's been unknowingly serving her sentence for abandoning him two Christmases ago—and now, before her time is up, she's decided she doesn't want to pay anymore.

"Sirius, mate, you okay?"

He crumples up the letter and stuffs it in his pocket. "Fine," he tells James, picking up his fork again. "I'm absolutely fine."

James can obviously tell that he's lying, that something is off, but he seems to catch on that Sirius doesn't want to talk about it. He settles for rubbing Sirius's knee above the bench with his free hand for a moment before he starts laughing at whatever story Mary's telling their stretch of the table.

Sirius tries to focus his attention elsewhere—on Moony, who's looking especially weak with the full moon coming up tonight—but it's no use: all he can think about is how pissed he is at Andromeda and how betrayed he still manages to feel after all these months. He keeps checking his watch: he's just got to get through breakfast, and then he can escape to Transfiguration and blast shit with his wand for the next hour and a half. He likes Transfiguration; he's getting an Outstanding in it; it'll be good for him.

And he actually thinks he's going to manage to make it there—until he bumps into Regulus on his way there.

Don't react, he tells himself, and he's steeling himself to give Regulus his best superior gaze and march away with his head held high when Regulus has to go and talk to him. "All right there, blood traitor?" he roars; raucous laughter floods in from the Slytherins surrounding him.

Don't react, don't react, rise above it—but it's no use. "Funny," Sirius bites. "You've changed your tune quite a bit since what you were saying just days ago over Christmas break, haven't you? I seem to recall you begging like a five-year-old girl for me to rescue you from Mum's clutches."

This, of course, is an exaggeration. Sirius and Regulus weren't even together over break: Regulus went back home, but Sirius stayed here at Hogwarts, and the only contact they had with each other were a few letters they exchanged during the first week. It's not like Sirius was expecting to hear from Regulus or anything, but when he got that first note—full of surface pleasantries and polite questions—he realized he should have seen it coming. Of course Regulus was going to get needy and lapse back into leaning on Sirius: that's his pattern every time he's with Mum and Dad. Sirius just hadn't realized it would be the same way without Sirius physically there at Grimmauld Place with Regulus to tempt him.

"I was begging you? Please. 'Regulus! Regulus! Please be my friend! Please don't let the mean, nasty Slytherins take you away from me!'"

Everybody around them as stopped to watch the fight unfold—including the other third year Gryffindors. "Sirius—" says James urgently, tugging on his sleeve.

Sirius ignores this. "You're a filthy hypocrite, you know that? I didn't see you complaining about my 'Mudblood' friends all the times you followed me to James Potter's house in the last year." All those times is really just three times—once two Christmases ago, then twice this past summer—but what's Regulus going to do, call Sirius out? If he's honest, he's still admitting that he's wasted precious minutes of his life buddying up to Gryffindors—and if he lies, Sirius has the satisfaction of knowing that Regulus is too much of a coward to defend his own actions.

They're caught in a trap: they avoid each other as much as possible at school, taunting each other on their occasional run-ins, only to hide behind each other whenever Mum and Dad are around. Sirius can only guess whether Regulus is doing it for the same reasons Sirius is doing it. For his part, Sirius finds Mum and Dad a lot easier to tolerate when he has a buddy, and it's not like he's stopped worrying about Regulus being around them just because Sirius is pissed at him: Regulus isn't a bad person; he doesn't deserve the kind of abuse that Mum puts him through. But then they go back to school, and Sirius hates Regulus for abandoning him all over again—hates himself for having caved in and allowed himself to feel close to him for the duration of their last break—and it manifests, well, like this.

"Yeah, because I felt sorry for your pathetic arse, desperate for me to be your brother again," says Regulus. "I shouldn't have bothered. All you Gryffindors are the same. You pimp yourselves up as so brave and noble, and then you hex the shit out of any Slytherin you can just because you think it'll make you look good."

"At least Gryffindors don't do Dark Magic to Muggle-borns," Sirius fires back. "They haven't done anything to anybody, and all we're doing is going after the sick bastards who think it's their birthright to rule the world. You want to talk about pathetic? Look to yourself, arsehole."

Alice is shouting over him, but honestly, Sirius can't even make out the words she's saying. James and Moony are each holding one of Sirius's arms, pulling him back, but when Regulus lunges forward, there's nobody to stop him. Sirius takes one right in the face—Regulus's fist is stronger than it looks—and Sirius yells to James and Moony behind him, "Get off me!"

James lets go—it's not like he's just going to watch Sirius get pummeled without letting him put up a fight—and with the full moon coming up tonight, Moony is no match for Sirius when he elbows him hard in the ribs. Sirius gets his wand out quick, but not so quick that Regulus doesn't get in a few good blows first, and his nose is spurting blood by the time he bellows a Stinging Hex.

Regulus falls back and curls in on himself, clutching his puffy cheeks, the skin around his eyes swelling up and closing over them—and that's when a less familiar voice cuts through the din. "Enough, Blacks," snaps the Head Boy, Sturgis Podmore from Hufflepuff, who's got his wand out and a Shield Charm in between Sirius and Regulus in an instant. "Twenty points each from Gryffindor and Slytherin for—"

"Twenty!?" cries Sirius, but Podmore has no sympathy for him.

"And I'll make it thirty if you don't clear out of here and get to class. Go on." Podmore turns to Regulus and mutters, "Do you need the Hospital Wing? Madam Pomfrey might have a potion that can help with the pain, but I'm afraid your face is going to be stuck like that for a while…"

The crowd starts to dissipate as Regulus's little Slytherin friends flee and Emmeline drags Sirius by the hand around Podmore's shield and down the hall.

"You have to stop this," she tells him when Regulus is out of earshot. "Why do you insist on acting like you hate him? If you really hated him, you wouldn't keep letting him back in."

"She's right, mate," says James, who casts Sirius a look of—disappointment? "Keeping up with you two and your feuding is exhausting."

"You want me to pick a side? I've picked one. You just wait until the next time he comes at me—"

"I'll take this," says Alice, and she takes Sirius by the hand and drags him into the next empty classroom they cross.

He glares at her, but he doesn't try to leave. "It's none of your bloody business what kind of relationship I have with my brother, Abbott."

"Anything that hurts you is my business," she insists, "and what you're doing to each other is hurting you, whether you want to admit it or not. Besides, you're costing Gryffindor house points, and—"

"Who gives a shit about house points?"

Alice frowns. "You're right: it's not the points that matter. It's you, Sirius. I'm worried about you."

He rolls his eyes. "I'm fine, Alice."

"You're not fine. How long have you two been at this? Seven months?"

Eight, actually—the first time he and Regulus got into a public fight was right after Easter break ended last year, and Sirius is sure that the reason Regulus started it was that he was resenting Sirius for not coming home with him over the holiday. It's like Sirius said: Regulus is a filthy hypocrite. Two Christmases ago, he was full of apologies for what happened with Andromeda, adamant that he hadn't intended for Sirius to put himself in the line of fire, too—and then when Sirius wouldn't when the next break rolled around…

"It's not sustainable," Alice says now, a little more gently. "I don't want to see you crack up over this."

"I'm not going to crack up. Can we get to Transfiguration now before we lose Gryffindor even more points? We're going to be late."

Alice sighs. "This isn't over."

But Sirius has nothing left to say about it. When they leave the classroom, James is waiting loyally at the door, but Sirius just mutters, "Don't," as they race toward McGonagall's classroom.

Along with McGonagall, most of their classmates are already inside. Moony claims his usual seat beside Alice, and with a last look of concern toward Sirius, James plops down in the seat next to Peter's. Emmeline is looking at Sirius—but Sirius doesn't think he can stand to be near her and her stupid, patronizing stare right now, and he hurls his stuff onto an empty desk and himself into one of the seats behind it.

He comes to regret this a minute later, however, when Evans turns up. He's expecting her to sit with Emmeline—she hates Em a far sight less than she hates Sirius, he thinks—or maybe to grab another empty desk. But instead, one second he's sitting alone, deep in thought and fuming, and the next, Evans is pulling out the chair next to him and settling down in it.

Startled, Sirius looks up at her, but McGonagall calls the class to attention then, cutting off before he can get out a word. After a second's reflection, he decides that that's fine with him: he's not in the mood to listen to Evans's admonishments, anyway.

When the lecture is over and it's time for them to practice turning ferrets into stone, Sirius and Evans get to it separately, and he's starting to think he's going to get away with going the whole period without talking to her when Evans breaks the silence. "I, uh, saw your fight with your brother after breakfast," she says in a monotone.

She's impossible to read, even when he takes a long moment to scrutinize her impassive face. "So did everybody," he says finally as he sticks the tip of his wand into one of the holes poked through the glass cage containing his ferret.

"Yeah, I know." She sounds—almost bashful? But that can't be right. Evans has got the biggest superiority complex Sirius has ever seen.

"And why do you care again?"

Evans looks at him, finally, and lowers her wand. "Look, I know it's none of my business—"

"You're right. It's really not."

She bites her lip. "Okay," she mumbles, and she points her wand back at her ferret.

Immediately, Sirius starts to feel guilty for reasons he doesn't even really understand—but just to shut up the voice in his head, he says, "No, it's—what is it?"

"Black just reminds me of…" She shakes her head, waves of red hair swaying from side to side. "You shouldn't give up on him, that's all."

"And you're saying this because…?" But he knows why, and she must know he knows it. "You're wrong: if anything, I should have stopped trying with him years ago. You can't change a pixie's spots."

Evans takes a deep breath. "You did. You changed."

This admission is even more surprising than her choice to sit next to him—to bring this up at all. "Was that a compliment, Evans? Like, an actual, live—"

"Shut up. You're still a berk and a bully, and we're not friends, and we're never going to be."

"But?"

"But—you don't treat me or Mary or Pettigrew like Mudbloods. You could—easily—and you don't. You actually give a crap about becoming a better version of yourself—even if you do have a long way to go."

Sirius doesn't know what to say to this, so he does what he does best and deflects. "I think it's…" It costs him to admit what he's about to admit, but if Evans is being open here, he feels like he kind of owes it to her to be open, too. "I get why you're giving him a chance—Snape. I don't think he's who you think he is—or want him to be—but I get it. I… talk a big game, but I haven't let go of Regulus, either," he says in a big, mumbled rush. "When we're home, we still… I mean, I let him hide under the bed with me. I let him come to James's manor."

"You—hide under the bed at home?"

Whoops. "I… it's a coping mechanism of his. He likes my bed better than his, I think because it makes him feel…"

They're staring openly at each other now, ferrets forgotten, wands rigid in their hands. "You're wrong—Sev isn't who you think he is. He's not even pureblood, did you know that? His dad is a Muggle, and he's like your mum; he…" She swallows thickly. "Sev just doesn't like Muggles because he's afraid all of them are like his dad."

"Yeah, but he likes the Dark Arts, Evans. Everybody knows it, and so do you."

"He doesn't—"

"I know me and James… I know I take stuff out on him when I… but what we do to him, that's supposed to be a laugh, that's all. It's a mean laugh, I'll give you that, but it's still a laugh. He's the one who makes us bleed."

"Because you provoke him. He wouldn't need to retaliate if you'd just—"

"He called Pete a Mudblood the other day," Sirius breathes. "He does it whenever you're not there. I don't know what damage his dad's done to him, but it's not just about him. It's—"

"Black! Evans!" comes McGonagall's voice from the front, and they look up guiltily. "That's five points from Gryffindor, and I'll dock more if you don't wrap up the chitchat and concentrate."

That does it: the spell is broken. "Sorry," Evans croaks, and she scoots her chair away from Sirius's as they turn back to their ferrets.

They don't say anything else to each other the rest of class, and when the bell rings, Evans grabs her bag and dashes out of there before anybody can get a word in. Sirius, Peter, and Em have got a free period while everybody else is in Arithmancy, and he's cooled off enough that he joins them in the common room to work on their Divination essays. The next time Sirius sees Evans, it's at lunch, and she's eating her meal as fast as humanly possible, alone, at the end of the table like she always does before she bolts out of there to do whatever it is she always does with Snape before Defense Against the Dark Arts starts for the Gryffindors.

And he thinks that's the end of it—but of course it isn't. "What was all that about in Transfiguration earlier?" James asks in Defense as they're taking turns practicing their Freezing Spells. "I've never seen Evans lose points for talking out of turn in class—not even with Snape, definitely not with any of us, and certainly not with you or me. Since when does she even talk to you at all?"

Sirius has got no idea what to tell him. "She… wanted to talk about Regulus. She thinks he and Snape have some stuff in common," he says eventually.

"Your brother and Snivellus?" says James, barking out a laugh. "So let me get this straight—you were too pissed at all of us to talk to us all period, but you let Evans mouth off to you about your brother and Snivellus?"

"It wasn't like that," Sirius says helplessly. "She's all right, Evans. I think she just…"

James snorts. "We're talking about the same Evans, aren't we? Stuck-up, cocky, holier-than-thou Evans who jumps down our throats to defend her Slytherin best friend all the time?"

"Regulus is a Slytherin. Andromeda was a Slytherin."

"Yeah, and look how well they turned out."

"She and I aren't mates or anything," says Sirius quickly. "It's just—Evans and Snape have known each other since they were little kids, and I know how hard it is to look past that."

"That's not the only thing you're looking past," James grumbles.

Sirius doesn't think James is being entirely fair to her. It's not James's fault—he wasn't there; he doesn't know; he didn't hear her today, and he didn't stand next to her while she cried in that bathroom back in first year—but honestly, Sirius doesn't know how the hell he's supposed to make James understand. He doesn't know how to summarize their conversation, and he almost feels like he shouldn't share some of the details—like it would be some kind of betrayal.