3. Bruises, breakfast and fights
Kitchen in the Potter's house
Emilia's POV:
"A broken collar bone, a broken wrist, bruises everywhere. What kind of parents…" Mum was murmuring to herself while making breakfast rather aggressively. She'd been saying the same thing over and over again since last night.
I don't think I'll ever forget last night. The blood, the horror. I didn't know him very well, but he'd never looked so defeated, so broken.
I didn't have a clear idea of what exactly had happened, but I knew it was his family. I suppose being in Gryffindor and hanging out with Muggle-borns and Blood Traitors would come with its challenges seeing as his family infamously believed in pure-blood supremacy. But this- this was too much. This was straight up, unabashed abuse. I had no idea that his home life was like this.
James came in then. "He doesn't want to see anyone," he said, devoid of his usual over-the-top enthusiasm.
Mum shook her head. "Well, he has to eat." She loaded a plate with eggs and sausages and started walking up to his room.
"Mum!" James called after her.
"Mum, he said he doesn't want to see anyone," I said, but it fell to deaf ears.
"Did he tell you what really happened?" I asked James. He shook his head, looking rather upset. I smiled at him comfortingly. He actually smiled back.
The entire day, I saw very little of Sirius and James, which was fine by me. Sirius was still recovering and James was keeping him company. Mum and Dad went in and out of his room, seeing if he needed anything.
After lunch, I was going to go meet Eva (my friend from down the street. She's home-schooled, so I never see her) but Mum made me go grocery shopping. She gave me the longest list I'd ever seen, and it kept me busy till sundown. It also gave me a lot of time to think. I felt terrible for Sirius, I couldn't imagine what he must be going through. But after everything that had happened, all the promises that I had made to myself, could I afford to rework his image in my mind?
At dinner, everyone was silent. On most days, the dining table was filled with conversation, but today, no one had the strength to converse.
Sirius had not joined us at the table.
Seeing how much my family cared for him, I felt rather guilty about the train my thoughts had taken earlier in the day. Of course, he deserved compassion and kindness, he was going through a difficult time.
"How is he doing?" I asked James.
"He's better," he answered and that was that.
The next morning, after breakfast, I was walking across the hallway to my room to replace my book (The Prophecy- it was a cringy rom-com), when I noticed that the door to Sirius' room was open. He was sitting on the floor, contents of his bag strewn across the floor. His long fingers working swiftly through his stuff and his hair fell into his face as he looked down.
"You brought notes?" I giggled, picking up the rolls of parchment filled with messy cursive, dropping my book on the floor.
He looked up at me. He looked better, much better than the other night. Which wasn't much of an achievement, but Mum had done a good job. He looked well, but the mischievous and smirky quality of his features was nowhere to be found.
He looked resigned.
"Five years of work's gone into that. Couldn't possibly leave it behind," he said. When he spoke, his voice was scratchy and hesitant, almost like he didn't know how to speak.
I sifted through the rolls. Transfiguration spells, lists of charms, glossaries of potion ingredients, How To Be An Animagus. I narrowed my eyes at the detailed steps, but dismissed it as I saw Sirius start to fill everything back up.
"What are you doing?" I asked, handing him his notes.
He didn't answer. His hesitation made a light bulb go off in my head.
"Are you leaving?" I asked, softer now.
He still had no answer. Why would he want to leave? He's always here, and now he wants to go?
"Is Mum coddling you? You know there's ways to get her to stop doing that, which don't involve leaving. Cheat codes, if you will."
He shook his head. "She isn't."
"You can't go back there," I said, before I could stop myself.
He looked up so fast, I almost backed up. "What do you know? You don't even care. I don't need your pity, Potter. Leave me alone!" He said, voice reminiscent of his usual haughtiness.
Maybe I did cross a line. He's not my friend, he's James'. I don't know him, and there's a reason for that. This was probably the first conversation we'd ever had; I didn't have the right to go that deep.
"I'm sorry," I said, exiting his room, closing the door behind me.
His door was the only one on the floor that wasn't painted.
A few days ago, I'd been talking with Eva and she had asked me if I would paint her jacket. I did, and then got obsessed with painting on surfaces other than canvas, or paper. I'd had the idea to paint the doors to our bedrooms and spent a large part of last week seeing the idea through.
James had been hard to convince, but his door looked great. I hadn't thought to paint Sirius', but maybe I should. Maybe it will make him stay.
Why did I suddenly care so much?