"An Understanding"
Windows fogged and closed against the cold December night, two boys lounged comfortably in a bedroom on the second floor. Christmas was drawing near, and these wizards had returned to me to pass the holidays away from the school where they spent most of the year. One of them belonged to me – Sirius, the slightly taller, dark-haired boy – the other was obviously his friend. Light-haired and thinner than should have been allowed, this boy seemed to calm Sirius with his mere presence. I had long grown accustomed to the curses and sullen demeanor of the eldest Black son, but in the company of this other boy, whom he called Remus, Sirius was somewhat subdued, even jovial.
The boys lay side-by-side on the bed, shoes piled messily on the floor as their legs extended beyond the heavy coverlet. The one called Remus had been quietly reading a tattered book for nearly an hour, while Sirius pretended to concentrate on a sloppily-drafted essay he had titled "Safe Practice and Common Misconceptions of the Animagus Transformation." For many minutes, however, he had been passing furtive glances to the frail-looking boy on his left. Finally throwing his quill to the floor, he rolled onto his side and spoke.
"McGonagall is mad if she thinks any of this homework is going to be worth reading once we've turned it in."
His friend said nothing but smiled slightly.
"Hey Remus, let me have a look at your Animagus essay?" prodded Sirius.
The other boy lifted his eyes from his text, furrowed his brow and said, "No."
Sirius bristled in mock indignation, then flailed dramatically onto his back.
"Fine. I'll fail Transfiguration. Hope you're satisfied." He peered at his friend from the corner of his eye.
"You know as well as I do that's not true," said Remus, lowering his eyes to his book once more. He chuckled noiselessly at his counterpart's frustration. He turned a page.
"What are you reading?" asked the Black after several more minutes' silence. His tone had softened into that of curiosity bordering on reverence.
"Poe," responded the other simply.
"What's that?"
"Edgar Allen Poe," Remus elaborated. "He was an American writer in the eighteen hundreds. Mostly short stories. Barking mad, this guy." He shook his head in astonishment. "These stories are really bizarre."
"Read to me," demanded Sirius, turning abruptly to face his friend.
"Excuse me?" said the other in mild surprise.
"Read me a story," repeated Sirius, his voice becoming increasingly animated. "Look mate, I'm bored and you're reading. That's really rather selfish of you —" his friend rolled his eyes "— but you could read to me and make us both happy!"
"How is that supposed to make us both happy?" Remus asked coolly.
"Aren't you supposed to be the smart one?" Sirius enunciated each word as he spoke, "You get to keep reading, keeping me entertained in the process. It's a win-win situation, mate." He smiled coaxingly at his friend, who stared back at him, eyes twinkling.
"Will you promise to keep quiet and not interrupt?"
"I swear to behave as if you were a real Hogwarts professor."
Remus laughed and hit Sirius on the shoulder with the flimsy book. "Oh, that's nice! I thought you liked me!" He arose from the bed and strode across the room, nearer to the waning fire in the grate. With a flick of his wand, the flames roared back into life.
Sirius, looking disgruntled at his friend's abandonment, rolled onto his stomach and folded his arms, resting his head on them, his sharp eyes following the other boy's movements with rapt attention. Remus began pacing the floor before the fire, cleared his throat, and read, "Right then. I've just started one called The Fall of the House of Usher." His soft voice carried clearly across the room, leaving a satisfied, hypnotized look on Sirius' face.
"'. . .found myself, as the shades of the evening drew on, within view of the melancholy House of Usher. I know not how it was – but, with the first glimpse of the building, a sense of insufferable gloom pervaded my spirit. I say insufferable; for the feeling was unrelieved by any of that half-pleasurable, because poetic, sentiment, with which the mind usually receives even the sternest natural images of the desolate or terrible. I looked upon the scene bef—'" the boy ceased his pacing. "Whoa! Sorry mate, didn't see you."
He lowered the book to his side, looking into the face of the Black, who had suddenly arisen from his place on the bed and deliberately put himself in the path of his friend.
Sirius shook his head, his dark hair swaying carelessly. "D'you realise what that sounds like?" he asked his friend. The other didn't move. "It sounds like Grimmauld Place." He removed the book from his friend's hand and scanned the pages, reading aloud as he went.
"'Although, as boys, we had been even intimate associates, yet I really knew little of my friend. His reserve had been always excessive and habitual.' That sounds like you," he murmured distractedly, not noticing that his friend had stepped closer to him, closing the space between them to less than an arms-length. He continued, oblivious to his friend's perplexed frown.
"Blah blah blah . . . 'An air of stern, deep, and irredeemable gloom hung over and pervaded all.'" He clenched his jaw and closed the book, brushing his friend's robes as he dropped his hand to his side. When he spoke, it was directly into the other boy's face, now even closer to his own. "This bloke, Poe. Sounds like he's been here," he said flatly.
I took great offense to this statement, though I could not help but acknowledge the truth behind it.
"We don't have to read anymore if you don't like it," suggested the boy called Remus. "I didn't know what that story was about," he added apologetically.
Sirius pushed the worn book back into Remus' hand, though maintaining his own grip on it. He seemed incapable of speech but shrugged off his friend's apology. Remus opened the book once more and flipped though its yellowed pages until he landed on the story so recently abandoned.
With one fleeting and significant glance at the Black, he tore the pages until the story had been completely removed from the book's collection. Handing half of the pages to his friend and retaining half of them for himself, he smiled grimly. Neither spoke, but they moved as one, each and both turning to the fire, extending their arms, and letting The Fall of the House of Usher flutter into the flames. As they watched the paper curling and smoking, Sirius folded his arms. The other boy put a firm hand on his friend's shoulder, saying calmly over the crackling logs and smoldering pages, "Just think, mate. Someday, you'll never have to come back here."
Sirius hung his head and laughed softly. He then turned to his friend and said threateningly, "If you're wrong, Remus, I'm bringing you with me. No way I'm going to be stuck in this place alone!" The other boy smiled broadly, apparently relieved that the tension had been alleviated.
"Whatever you say," he grinned, turning away from the fire and striding back to the bed, where he lay once more. Sirius flung himself beside him, letting his head hang over the edge of the bed.
"I hate this house," came his voice, muffled from his awkward position.
"I know you do," acknowledged the other.
They fell into a comfortable silence. Remus watched the Black with passive concern. Sirius eventually slid his head onto the bed and matched his friend's stare. Neither spoke.
I moaned against the bitter wind whipping around me, hurt by the Black's comparisons and wishing for all the world that I was the house I wanted to be. Warm, inviting . . . and perhaps, even loved.