Chapter 123: An Aversion to Spilled Ink

Sirius's fingers had pinched over his closed eyes. The clash between reality and memory was too much. He couldn't see it.

He left. He walked out. One foot in front of the other. Stopping once he'd shoved the front door blindly shut behind him.

There was nowhere to go. Now Sirius didn't want a run, and he didn't trust himself to ride the bike leant on its stand by the front steps. He felt sick. He'd more likely throw up on those steps than descend them. His headache was bad.

Way to make him remember just how fucked up his own head was.

Sirius's legs jittered as he sunk to sit on the top step. He was out of breath. Funny, considering how far he could run without feeling he was lacking air.

The square in front of the house hadn't changed that much from his old and less happy memories of it. It was less jarring to see. An overcast, cold day. Midwinter.

Like the season had changed. That was how Hermione had described feeling different one season ago. One season ago, Sirius had sat right here, staring out at autumn leaves, feeling very much as though a season in his life had changed; turned over to a new one.

It was a good thing he'd Vanished his cigarettes. A good thing walking off to buy more had become something no longer in his routine. Something easier to stop himself from doing.

The warmth of a burning ember near his fingers… A lungful, so easy to feel as contemplative. Making exhalations feel productive as he watched the smoke curl and drift before him. And the smell. The taste. The sense of slowing… the buzzing lightness of that first cigarette smoked after a time without. Something so easy to do: a feather-light roll of tobacco in paper, held between two fingers. That was all it needed.

Fingers devoid of nicotine stains… Sirius rubbed his hands over his face. It was easier to admit a craving now that he'd gone so long without. A craving now was something he could remember without too strong of an urge to get up and go fulfil it.

Behind him, the front door opened. Sirius didn't turn around to look. He knew Hermione from the small noise she made.

'You're not even wearing a jumper…' she said softly.

It was cold. Sirius had known that, he just hadn't really felt it yet. He nodded slowly. Even since the beginning of her living here, she hadn't liked him leaving the house without appropriate clothing.

'I can fetch you your jacket?' she offered.

Sirius did look up then. Hovering just behind him, Hermione was wearing a jumper. She had her arms crossed over her chest. And she was in socks. That, too, was better than Sirius. His feet were bare and going numb on the cold step.

Hovering… wanting to help him even though she was tentative about it… It was another past for Sirius to be reminded of. It gave him another reason to add fury at himself to the muddle of fury at others.

'I'm all right,' he said quietly. 'I'll be in in a minute.'

Hermione's lips pinched together. She glanced out at the square, then came a couple steps forward and sat down next to him.

'It's too cold, Mione.'

Hermione shook her head. She turned a small smile on him and leant against his side.

'I'm the one who's been too hot lately.'

She didn't look it right then. Her arms were clutched tightly across her chest. But it was another reminder. One that made Sirius wary even as it did that little bit to instantly warm his insides.

Copying Hermione, he took a closer look out at the square. No one was ever watching the house, not that Sirius had noticed. And it was only Yaxley who could see them on the step.

Sirius wrapped an arm around her, giving her arm a warming rub. She looked all right. Just cold. Whatever had happened between one season ago when Sirius had sat on this same step and now… she was mostly all right.

Turning the hand in his lap over, Sirius contemplated his palm. His fingers tightened, and he focused. Bluebell flames were warming, not destructive. It was a simple thing to grow them, blossoming out of nothing in the air above his hand. Probably too simple a thing to do, but no one yet had given Sirius a clear answer as to why that was.

Hermione cast him another little smile. She held both hands out, warming them by the merry flames. Sirius gave her arm another rub.

That memory. The one with the shower… He should probably deal with it. Both of the memories, in fact, though the first had at least been one he'd confronted before… admittedly only at the Dementors' behest. He'd done well to confront other memories since then. Some of them.

Sirius blinked, turning his gaze back out at the square. There was a lump in his throat. The cry that wanted to accompany it wasn't a nice one. It'd be more angry than just a simple bout of tearfulness. He wanted to smash things. Wanted to yell. Wanted to demand of the world that the shit end. Just end.

Hermione had rested a hand on his thigh. She gave it a squeeze that should feel reassuring.

But there wasn't a safe space to have that cry. Treating Hermione to that would be like letting Harry feel the full force of Sirius's restless irritation. It wasn't fair, and it wouldn't make Sirius feel any less guilty. It would just be another regret.

Pulling Hermione closer, Sirius pressed a kiss to the side of her head. That there'd be another baby, his baby, that he wouldn't turn away from – wouldn't leave for someone else to look after – wasn't a comfort, but it was something he could tell himself.

He left the flames to crackle away enough of his energy for Sirius to start feeling tired; to really feel the cold. Then he doused them in a closing fist and followed Hermione into the house.

Harry wasn't around to be seen. Gone up to his room, Hermione said. She let Sirius rest, lain across her lap on the sofa as she turned her attention back to reading. It was a position that Sirius could think reassuring and protective, to him if not her. And Hermione didn't press him for an answer as to what was going on in his head. She had a hand over his middle. Here and there she gave his side an affectionate rub. It let Sirius think he didn't need to say anything.

Sirius didn't rest. Not really. Rather than find a snooze, his mind went through things, landing again and again on the knowledge that he couldn't just leave it like that with Harry. Not after what he'd shown the kid.

So he got himself up, eventually. And just sat, for a moment.

'How's your head?' Hermione asked.

Big brown eyes… that saw right through him. But it was a question about his headache. That was easy enough to answer.

'Throbbing,' Sirius answered.

'Harry's is about the same,' she warned. 'And,' she said, 'I think he feels pretty awful about pushing you like that.'

If Sirius had had a ghost of decided determination to get himself up and go talk to Harry, that made his arse sit back more firmly on the sofa. His teeth found where they fit together in his mouth. Now he felt tired. Properly tired.

'Not that I don't think you should go talk to him,' Hermione went on. 'I just thought I'd let you know.'

She could look just as understanding as Remus could. Sirius eyed her.

'Do you know what he saw?'

'No,' Hermione answered. 'He didn't say a word about it.' She rested her book down on her lap. 'In that way, he's a lot like you, really, Sirius.' She paused a moment, then added, 'I've guessed.'

And quite possibly guessed correctly. Sirius nodded. Right now, he didn't want to talk about it. Later… he'd probably tell her. Maybe… in the quiet of their bedroom, when he had words he could find in the mangle the situation had made of his mind. When it felt less raw.

Right now… It hit Sirius then. Go upstairs and talk to a teenager who'd shut himself in his room after his once appointed guardian had let him down. That was what he was planning to do. It would be the most normal thing in the world, for someone of his age, if he was that teenager's parent, and if he wasn't being encouraged to do so by the gentle gaze of a wife merely months older than that teenager.

Fuck… Sirius thought, hauling his arse off the sofa.

The stairs looked like a taunt to climb. The problem was, Sirius thought, climbing them, it was just too easy to see Harry as the kid. Not Hermione. If that was an improvement over Molly's past indictments about him instead seeing Harry as James…

It wasn't. What it was was probably reactionary: a way to make his relationship with Hermione feel okay. She was older than Harry… Just.

Harry's bedroom door was shut. Sirius stopped before it.

He couldn't say his earlier ire was gone. It had just changed form. Now, at least, it wasn't something Sirius was itching to take out on Harry.

He hadn't, Sirius didn't think. But that he'd had to fight himself to avoid doing so… That was worrying.

And it made Sirius almost chicken out – made him want to turn away from the door and go sit, alone, elsewhere. Far from feeling like he was improving in any way… it felt like Sirius was tracking backwards over his own timeline. Able to trust himself…

A reminder, Sirius told himself. That was what today was: a reminder not to get complacent. And if he was going to avoid tracking backwards… Then he couldn't go hide.

Sirius knocked.

'Yeah?'

Sirius opened the door and looked in. Harry was lying on his bed. He'd had a pillow over his head; was lifting it off his face to squint, missing his glasses, over at Sirius.

'Oh…' he said, dropping his pillow aside. 'I thought you were Hermione.'

It'd be a fair assumption. Hermione had the stronger track record with going to talk to people who'd shut themselves in their room.

Still holding onto the doorknob, Sirius leant a little against the doorframe.

'How's your head?'

Harry had sat up. He was fumbling about on his bedside table for his glasses. He found them and shoved them on.

'Not too bad,' he answered, sitting back against his headboard. Leaning forward, Harry propped his forearms on his bent knees. 'How's yours?'

'… 'Bout the same.' Sirius hesitated, then asked, 'Mind if I come in?'

Harry started to shake his head, then stopped himself, his head obviously still quite sore, and just answered, 'Sure.'

Sirius stepped into the room. Unsure what to do with the door, he compromised by swinging but not latching it shut.

There weren't many options for where to sit in Harry's bedroom. Taking a seat on Harry's desk chair seemed far too… Monty Potter. Regardless, Harry's desk chair was piled with books, parchments, a sock, and an open bottle of ink. Sirius sat on the corner of the bed, absent-mindedly catching up the open bottle. The cap was on the small, cluttered desk pushed against the wall. Sirius recapped the ink, then just set it back on Harry's piled chair. He wasn't there to fix up Harry's room.

Harry didn't comment on it. Silence reigned. The mate to the chair sock seemed to be slung over a box stuck into a corner of the room. An unnatural urge to pair them had Sirius wondering idly whether he knew how to ball socks. He'd long been of the impression just folding a bunch of socks over each other into a thick sock sandwich was the most efficient way to go about pairing and storing them. It also had the benefit of not stretching out the ankles.

And that train of thought… didn't give Sirius any better idea of what to say. He sighed quietly out of his nose.

'What happened to Wiggy?'

Not Sirius who'd figured out how to break the silence, then, but Harry. The question trickled through Sirius's ears. He nodded slightly, once he processed the question, and found the courage to look over at Harry.

'I don't know,' Sirius answered. 'I didn't go look for her.'

Funny… funny it was this that had Sirius's eyes prickling. Another little detail to recall. Sirius looked away, his throat growing tight.

'I didn't see her,' he went on, 'and I didn't think of it. I don't know if Voldemort killed her, if she was killed or injured by the rubble, if she got out… She was old.' Sirius cleared his throat. Thoughts of James's beloved cat left to die, alone, on the streets… Those thoughts had found him in Azkaban. He hadn't remembered about Wiggy until then. James would have been very upset if that'd been her fate. 'I wish I had looked for her… I hope a neighbour took her in and looked after her.'

A new silence followed that. Sirius stared unblinking at the wooden cornice he'd polished, waiting for the constriction in his throat to clear itself. He hadn't come here to have a cry on Harry's bed.

'Voldemort didn't kill her.'

Sirius blinked and looked back at Harry. Harry gave a small shrug.

'I saw it,' he said. 'Voldemort's memory of it. He didn't see Wiggy either.'

'… Imagine that experience was worse than seeing what I showed you.'

Harry shrugged again.

'I don't know what was worse,' he said. 'But I'm sorry I pushed.'

Sirius found a small smile. It felt rueful. He shook his head.

'I shouldn't have gone through with the lesson,' he said. 'I knew that. Wasn't… in the mood for it… Word of advice…' Sirius trailed off. It seemed absurd to be giving advice right now. 'The memories you don't deal with,' he went on, all the same, 'are the ones hardest to avoid showing someone who's reading your mind.'

Hardest to avoid reliving even without someone else in your head. It was as though you developed avoidance fatigue. That'd been Sirius's deduction before. Until the memory was effectively buried deep, avoiding it got harder and harder to do.

Harry took it with a nod. Sirius rubbed his hands together. The palm he'd grown flames in felt tingly. His fingers found his ring, and gave it a bit of a wiggle.

'Were you angry,' he asked, speaking to his hands, 'when you found out about me and Hermione?'

It was the subject they didn't bring up. Harry took a moment to respond. Sirius waited for it.

'Yeah,' Harry said. 'For a bit.'

Sirius nodded, unsurprised. He'd wanted it admitted.

'Creepy?' he asked.

Harry made a little noise. It may have been exasperated, or maybe just uncomfortable. Now Sirius glanced to see his reaction.

'… I don't know, Sirius. It's not… something I have an interest in judging.'

Harry was having an easier time meeting Sirius's eyes than Sirius was his. And… It was an unexpected source of comfort: there wasn't a hint in Harry's gaze of someone who was looking up to Sirius. Not looking up to him, and not condemning him either. Just… eyeing Sirius more closely.

'Don't pull a Remus.'

Unlike the time Harry had planted himself before the front door, ready to bar Sirius an exit he wasn't taking, Harry didn't say it with any vehemence. In fact, Sirius thought the statement had begun as a joke before being thought better of. This time, Sirius's smile was definitely rueful.

'I wasn't going to.'

'Then don't add it to that lengthy list of regrets you bang on about.'

'I don't regret it,' Sirius said honestly. 'But it feels wrong sometimes.'

Sirius thought Harry had no response to that. It was Harry who looked away this time, and then, hesitantly, he said, 'I saw that last memory. Reckon she'd rather I hadn't, but… Look,' Harry said, more purposefully, 'I never saw any of that – not at the time. Wrong or whatever, I don't really know, and I don't really care, but I reckon you've helped her probably better than anyone else could. I'm more worried about the fact that she gets pretty upset when you're not around.'

Sirius questioned that one, and it seemed all Harry was talking about was the time Sirius had gone off to find Mundungus. Whether Harry was saying it as a concern for what would happen if Sirius did leave, or whether Harry's worry was a dependency on Sirius he saw in Hermione, Sirius only thought to question later, when Harry wasn't there to answer it.