The short walk from the apparition point to their apartment is spent in total, deafening silence. Sirius walks ahead of Guinevere the entire way, not sparing a single look back. She struggles to catch up with his brisk pace.
What the hell is his problem anyways?
She stumbles into the apartment after him, tripping over her own feet in the process. She only just manages to grab onto the doorframe to stop herself from falling flat on her face. Still, he does not turn around. He marches the short distance to their living room and starts pacing back and forth.
It's a tactic of his that Guinevere has only seen a few times. When he gets angry, he starts moving; pacing, bouncing his leg, tapping his fingers, anything that will occupy his body. It's almost as if he thinks he can somehow burn the anger out like calories. Guinevere has seen him do this because of anger at other people, but never at her.
"So…," she drawls out. "What is it you wanted to talk about?"
He finally stops his pacing and turns to look at her with a severe expression.
This is the beginning of their first fight as a couple. She can feel it coming, and dread bubbles up in her stomach. There's something about a fight as a couple that is far more intimidating than their many fights in their school years.
There's so much more to lose now.
Sirius runs a hand down his face, looking every bit as exhausted as Guinevere feels.
"When I found you in The Three Broomsticks, you were cowering in a corner," he grounds out. "You weren't even trying to fight back. That manky bastard was about to kill you, and you didn't even raise a finger to stop him. You just. Stood. There."
Guinevere flinches at the accusation. Still, she attempts to remain calm as she can feel herself slowly growing defensive.
Diffuse the situation, Guinevere. Diffuse it before it gets worse.
"The Killing Curse can't be blocked," she argues. "But I was blocking every other curse he cast."
Sirius lets out a frustrated groan and runs a hand through his hair.
"That's just it! Blocking isn't fighting back, Guinevere. You need to actually start defending yourself."
Guinevere feels her cheeks heat up; out of anger or shame, she can't tell.
"You know how I feel about curses and hexes," she whispers.
"Well, you need to get over it," he snaps back. "This is war, not Defense Against the Dark Arts class. Not that you were too terribly great at that either."
She recoils. His words feel like a slap across the face. Up until now, he's been nothing but understanding about her pacifism. He's comforted her after her hand shook too hard to disarm someone. He's gotten between her and angry purebloods glaring at her because he knows she won't do a thing to stop it. When she made it clear months ago that she would never be able to cast a spell with dark intentions, she thought that if nothing else, her own boyfriend would always be understanding of her decision.
"I'm not going to use dark magic ever, Sirius, war or no war. I get sick to my stomach if I so much as stupefy someone. I'm just… not capable of potentially killing another human being, even on accident. It's not in my nature."
He runs a hand through his hair again. His hand is so tightly coiled in the dark strands that she fears he's going to pull out a chunk of his beautiful, soft hair.
"These are Death Eaters, Guinevere!" he shouts. "They want you dead, they want me dead, they want everyone we care about dead! You just have to stop thinking of them as people. It'll make it loads easier."
Guinevere's reaction is instantaneous. She stumbles back, as if she's just been hit.
You just have to stop thinking of them as people.
All the darker memories from her Hogwarts years come flooding back due to the words.
"Mudbloods are worse than animals. At least animals have their uses."
"People like you don't deserve that wand."
"You're not a real wizard."
"You're practically sub-human."
Isn't thinking of others as non-humans what got them thrust into this war to begin with?
Anger bubbles up in her stomach with such force that it terrifies her. This isn't the kind of anger she feels when Sirius forgets to wash the dishes or leaves his jacket laying on the couch for the hundredth time. It's the kind of anger she hasn't felt since before they started dating, when they were still having frequent rows. If possible, this anger is even more powerful than that.
She can feel the words on the tip of her tongue, words she knows she'll regret, but she can't stop them from escaping.
"Is Regulus not a person then, Sirius?"
The accusation is cruel and completely uncalled for, but it has the desired effect. Sirius's mouth forms into a grim line and hurt flickers across his steel grey eyes, if only for a split second. He quickly masks it as he always does with sadness or hurt, his expression turning hard.
"Don't go there."
Guinevere gladly drops the subject that she regretted the second she brought it up. But still, her anger doesn't wane in the slightest. She's only getting started.
"I'm not a fighter like you and our friends, but that doesn't mean I don't care," she spits. "I joined the Order to protect you all."
Sirius barks out a harsh laugh.
"Some good that's doing, when you can barely protect yourself."
The words sting more than she thought possible. A distant voice in the back of her mind reminds her that this is the very least she deserves after her Regulus comment, but that reminder doesn't stop her ire from rising.
"And maybe I shouldn't have joined the Order!" she yells. "If I hadn't joined, then I wouldn't have to put my entire life on hold!"
"Put your life on hold?" he mocks.
"Yes, Sirius, put my life on hold. I wanted to work my way up to the head potions maker at Saint Mungo's after I left school. And I don't get to do that. Not now, and not for Merlin knows how long. Because I need to be at the Order's beck and call 24/7."
She gestures wildly around their drab flat.
"Look at where we're living! We barely have four pieces of furniture! And we haven't even had time to unpack our last box in all the months we've lived here. We're jobless, sleep-deprived, barely in our own flat for more than a few hours at a time, and surviving off the gold your uncle left you. All so we can be at the Order's disposal. So yes, my life - our lives - are on hold. And I hate it. I hate it."
Sirius has to know that this is true. He has to. Guinevere knows that despite his anger, somewhere deep down, he knows he's signed over his life to the Order as well as she does. It has to frustrate him at least slightly. So why are those words not getting through his thick head?
"No one's forcing you to stay and fight," he scoffs. "You can run away to your parents' house any time you want. I'm not stopping you."
The words feel like an accusation. It makes her wonder if he's been waiting for her to run back to her parents in Antrim and forget all about the wizarding world, like some kind of coward.
"In case you're forgotten, I'm a muggleborn," she hisses. "I don't have the luxury of just "running away". Not like you."
Sirius inhales sharply.
"You think I can just run away?"
She raises an eyebrow.
"You think you can't? You're a pureblood, for feck's sake! Just run to your mummy and tell her you hate mudbloods now and boom, you'll be living like a prince again. They'll always want me dead."
Sirius thumps his fist against the kitchen counter, making Guinevere jump. She could have sworn they started arguing right as they walked through the door. They must have moved over the course of their fight, but she was too wrapped up in it to notice.
"Did you happen to miss out on the last seven years of my life and not know I'm a known blood traitor who was cast out from the House of Black? Or how about the fact that I'm dating a muggleborn? Do you think they wouldn't kill me on sight just for that fact alone?"
"Then just break up with me if you're so worried about getting killed over it!"
Guinevere's words hang in their air between the couple. Neither of them dare speak another word. Sirius just stares at her with his mouth half open, unable to keep the hurt out of his eyes this time. Only then, when she sees how much devastation her words have caused, does she start to regret what she said.
She desperately wants to reach into the air in front of her and snatch those awful words away, but it's too late. She can't take anything back.
After what seems like a lifetime, Sirius clears his throat and steels his expression again.
"I'm sleeping on the couch tonight."
He may as well have just told her he was moving out.
Guinevere swallows a lump in her throat and nods.
"Fine. See you in the morning."
… I hope.
She rushes into their - her - bedroom and throws herself down onto the mattress. It's hardly an appropriate hour to go to sleep for the night, but she can feel the exhaustion seeping into her bones. It feels like weeks worth of sleepless nights are all coming back to haunt her. She can't even be bothered to change into a pair of pajamas. She just throws the blankets over herself and presses her face down onto the pillow.
If she wasn't so tired, she thinks she'd be sobbing uncontrollably. She just had her first fight with her boyfriend, for Merlin's sake. But she doesn't have the energy for a fit. So, she contends herself with letting a few tears slip out and drop onto her pillow.
She'll just have to reschedule her impending emotional breakdown for some time after the war.
Within minutes of closing her eyes, she falls into a fitful sleep.
Sometime hours later, she is faintly roused back into consciousness by the feeling of the bed dipping under added weight. A shiver goes up her spine when the covers are raised, exposing her back to the cold air. However, this is quickly solved when the covers drape back over her and a warm body slides into the bed beside her.
A hand tentatively reaches out to grasp her own, interlacing their fingers. In her groggy, half-asleep state, she allows it.
Guinevere falls back asleep with a content smile on her face.
It's the morning light peeking through the tiny bedroom window that wakes Guinevere. It curls around her face, poking at her closed eyes until they flutter open in protest.
She awakes energized for the first time in weeks, maybe even months. Her bones aren't creaking and her head isn't foggy. She feels as though she could leap out of bed and go run a marathon. It's a miracle, and she can't help but think it might be because of the comforting weight of the hand in hers the night before…
Guinevere shoots up in the bed, her hand shooting out to grope the other side of the bed.
No Sirius.
She throws the covers off her body and jumps out of bed. The clothes she's been wearing since the day before are wrinkled and a tad bit sweaty, but changing them will just have to wait.
When she enters the kitchen, Sirius is already up and dressed. He stands at the kitchen counter, digging into a plate of poached eggs and toast. The couple still has yet to invest in a kitchen table to actually sit down and eat at.
He spots her standing in front of him and nods to another plate sitting on the counter.
"I made you breakfast."
His tone is terse, matter-of-fact.
Guinevere slowly walks over to the counter and picks up the plate he made her. The food looks appetizing enough, and there's still little puffs of steam rolling off of the eggs. It's fresh and it smells delectable. Still, she pokes at it with her fork, as if expecting bugs to crawl out from underneath the toast.
She can't remember the last time Sirius cooked for her, or her for him. And after their fight, she can't imagine why he would want to.
Hesitantly, she takes a bite.
Not the best she's ever had…
But he tried.
The two eat together in silence, the only sound between them being the crunching of the slightly-too-burnt toast. It's eerie. Usually, when Guinevere and Sirius are alone together, they fill the room with their boisterous conversations and laughter. But Guinevere wouldn't dare start a conversation now. She doesn't want to break the uneasy peace between them and potentially start another argument.
She wonders whether or not she should apologize for last night. Or maybe she should wait for him to apologize. After all, he did start it.
But Guinevere knows Sirius well enough to know he's not fond of the words "I'm sorry".
Besides, she's pretty sure he already gave her his apology in the form of some runny eggs and burnt toast. Which means it's her turn now.
She's snapped out of her thoughts by the sound of a plate clattering. Sirius has evidently already finished his breakfast and placed his dish in the sink. With his back now turned to her, Guinevere takes the time to scrutinize his appearance.
He's wearing that horrid denim jacket that she's tried to get him to throw out countless times before. That can only mean one thing; he plans to go out. Guinevere racks her brain, trying to remember if they had to do something for the Order today. Nothing comes to mind.
So he's going out for fun. Without her. On one of the only days they have off together in months.
"Where are you going?"
He whips his head around, narrowing his eyes in shock.
"I'm going to help James and Lily unpack."
What about the box still sitting in our bedroom? When will you get around to unpacking that?
Guinevere purses her lips to keep from voicing her bitter thoughts. He must have taken that as approval of his plans, or he just didn't care about hearing her response, because he goes to snatch his keys from the key rack and then walks out the door.
As soon as she can no longer hear his retreating footsteps, she tosses her own plate into the sink.
She'll just have to unpack that box her own damn self.