A/N: Here's some more. In a bad mood, so torturing Lyria. Hope y'all can
deal.
October 31, 1981 is not a day anyone will ever forget, but Lyria and I spent it rather differently than the rest of the wizarding world.
I knew Sirius was supposed to come over, and I knew something was different about Lyria. I just hoped they'd work it out, he'd move back in, and I'd get back to my Sunday Fish while Lyria would stop being so upset all the time.
He never arrived.
At about 10 PM (he was supposed to arrive at 9), Lyria went temporarily crazy. She started throwing things and making a mess. I watched from on top of a high shelf as she began to sob and smash up old pictures.
"I hate him. I HATE HIM!" She screamed, throwing an old trinket against the wall. It shattered, bits of glass flying everywhere. She overturned tables, hollered some more, and eventually flopped out onto the bed and sobbed.
I only got down from the shelf at about 11:30 to curl up near her.
"I'm sorry, Crookshanks, I guess I'm scaring you," she said quietly. "I guess I'll get some ice cream and eat myself sick. Can't drink with the baby, now can I?"
A baby! No wonder she was so upset. That dirty biker type, leaving us by ourselves with a stinky baby! Poor Lyria. I still didn't really understand – I was sure she'd teach it not to pull tails and be otherwise unpleasant just fine – but if she was upset, then I supposed I was too.
At about midnight (or at least, I was licking up the last of the ice cream), an owl tapped on the window. Lyria let it in, much to my dismay, and rushed out. "I'll be back," she told me, and hurried out.
Lyria returned a very different person than she'd been when she left.
"He killed so many people, Crookshanks," she sobbed, stroking me softly. "His best friend. My best friend. My *sister.* Poor Peter. All of them, dead..."
It took me very little time to figure out what had happened. Sirius—the innocent, nice guy who'd fed me fish every Sunday, despite always smelling of dog—had killed thirteen people with one curse and betrayed his friends.
I'm usually a much better judge of character than that, and it scared me that I'd thought he was a good guy. Getting Lyria pregnant and killing thirteen people didn't qualify him as a good guy.
What if he'd hurt Lyria?
She changed, though. She was never quite the same as she'd been around him. All of a sudden, she was quick to anger, sharper, colder somehow. She was almost never home. One of her friends, a man named Remus, once said she was trying to work herself to death, or at least to insanity. Sometimes I agreed with him.
I suppose that's what happens when someone betrays you.
October 31, 1981 is not a day anyone will ever forget, but Lyria and I spent it rather differently than the rest of the wizarding world.
I knew Sirius was supposed to come over, and I knew something was different about Lyria. I just hoped they'd work it out, he'd move back in, and I'd get back to my Sunday Fish while Lyria would stop being so upset all the time.
He never arrived.
At about 10 PM (he was supposed to arrive at 9), Lyria went temporarily crazy. She started throwing things and making a mess. I watched from on top of a high shelf as she began to sob and smash up old pictures.
"I hate him. I HATE HIM!" She screamed, throwing an old trinket against the wall. It shattered, bits of glass flying everywhere. She overturned tables, hollered some more, and eventually flopped out onto the bed and sobbed.
I only got down from the shelf at about 11:30 to curl up near her.
"I'm sorry, Crookshanks, I guess I'm scaring you," she said quietly. "I guess I'll get some ice cream and eat myself sick. Can't drink with the baby, now can I?"
A baby! No wonder she was so upset. That dirty biker type, leaving us by ourselves with a stinky baby! Poor Lyria. I still didn't really understand – I was sure she'd teach it not to pull tails and be otherwise unpleasant just fine – but if she was upset, then I supposed I was too.
At about midnight (or at least, I was licking up the last of the ice cream), an owl tapped on the window. Lyria let it in, much to my dismay, and rushed out. "I'll be back," she told me, and hurried out.
Lyria returned a very different person than she'd been when she left.
"He killed so many people, Crookshanks," she sobbed, stroking me softly. "His best friend. My best friend. My *sister.* Poor Peter. All of them, dead..."
It took me very little time to figure out what had happened. Sirius—the innocent, nice guy who'd fed me fish every Sunday, despite always smelling of dog—had killed thirteen people with one curse and betrayed his friends.
I'm usually a much better judge of character than that, and it scared me that I'd thought he was a good guy. Getting Lyria pregnant and killing thirteen people didn't qualify him as a good guy.
What if he'd hurt Lyria?
She changed, though. She was never quite the same as she'd been around him. All of a sudden, she was quick to anger, sharper, colder somehow. She was almost never home. One of her friends, a man named Remus, once said she was trying to work herself to death, or at least to insanity. Sometimes I agreed with him.
I suppose that's what happens when someone betrays you.