six; golden.
ainslee.
I can't seem to recall a better week in my life than the one following my conversation with a certain Remus Lupin. It's awful, I know, but my freedom is at hand and I charge the chance to fit my fingers around it.
And nothing has made me feel as free as becoming acquainted with the Marauders.
It's strange, don't doubt that. It started with Remus – a simple exchange in which loneliness vanished and I had obtained simple peace of mind; one night, without due injury to my heavy skin.
Directly following that encounter, I was approached by James Potter. This in itself was odd; thankfully, we spoke of things I could relate to. I enjoyed the mainly Quidditch-based banter (I've always wished to be on the team but, as an outcast, my hopes were dashed). I offered condolence for the game I missed recently, in which Gryffindor lost. Unfortunately, I could not tell him that my arms had been bleeding that night so I had been a bit held off by that.
After James, shy Peter Pettigrew requested help with his Potions homework and I enlisted gladly. While much quieter than the other three boys, Peter still shares the same good nature and amiability.
Lastly, I was familiarly accosted by Sirius Black, who was less rude than he'd been the first time we spoke. He adored showing off and telling me stories of past pranks. The brilliance behind each plan was unmistakable; how a boy that came across as haughty and selfish could come up with such things…I'll never understand the logic in any of it.
Though I'm currently by my lonesome, I feel incredible compared to how I've felt for the past sixteen years of my life. I love sitting by the lake, beneath the proverbial oak tree. The sounds of students yelling and laughing creep through the air in the distance.
A twig snaps from behind the tree and I place my journal on the dirt, glancing up.
"Oh, lo there," Sirius says, hovering on the opposite side of the tree.
"Hullo," I greet, grinning warmly. "What are you doing, sneaking around?" I pick up my journal, closing it and binding it with the attached leather strap.
He smiles in a sheepish manner. "Something like that," he replies in a carefree tone, and I raise a brow in suspicion. "Mind if I sit with you?"
"Not a bit," I motion to the ground beside me. "It's only ten o'clock on a Saturday morning. I'd think that someone like you would sleep until all hours of the day."
Sirius shrugs resolutely, waving a hand. "I would, if James hadn't gotten revenge on me for waking him last Saturday. So I was up an hour ago, with the imprint of a galleon in my forehead."
"You have interesting methods to wake one another up," I laugh.
"You have no idea."
I throw him a sidelong look, scrutinizing his behaviour. He leans back against the tree, one eye open and trained on me.
"What?"
"You were watching me first."
I punch him in the arm. "How mature, Mister Black."
"Do I strike you as mature?" He flicks my cheek in an affectionate way but I pull back, a little unsettled. I have only been familiar with him for one week; before that, I was not used to human contact. I'm still growing accustomed to being around others more often.
"Actually, I never thought 'mature' and 'Sirius Black' could be placed in the same paragraph together," I snicker.
"Well, that's a controversial statement. I can be quite mature if the occasion calls for it." He slyly opens his other eye, grinning lightly.
"I refuse to believe it," I say with candor.
"Would you like proof?" Sirius sits forward, pulling his knees up and resting his elbows on them. He inspects me with a slightly reproachful look on his face.
I frown, thinking. "I suppose it depends on your definition of proof."
"Don't tell me that the idea of my proving to you that I can be mature is intimidating."
I glare at him; somehow, he knows that he has hit the mark. He's watching me surreptitiously, rubbing his hands together. "Intimidating? Never." I lower my voice into a mock dangerous tone, "Let's hear this proof."
The atmosphere changes almost immediately, from playful to sinister in a split second. It seems that even the sky has darkened exceptionally, and the birds have grown quiet. Anxiety sets into the lining of my stomach, churning it with queasiness. I whirl back to Sirius.
The look on his face is hard, lines showing and destroying the youth in his attitude. Stone-cold grey eyes fall to the turmoil stirring in the lake; it suddenly appears as if the sun never existed and a storm is coming our way.
"Look, I know something about you that I shouldn't know," he admits under his breath.
I stare at him, startled. "Like what?"
"Like your scars."
My heart plummets; I tear my eyes away from him, harshly watching a few first years on the shore of the lake. They're splashing one another and trying to push each other into the lake. "I've no idea what you're talking about."
"You lie terribly."
"Funny thing, I'm not lying," I shoot back, twisting to scowl at him. He returns the anger with a knowing look.
"I don't know you that well, I understand. But I'm not the only one who knows about your little…how shall we say…addiction?" He taps his fingers on his knees, awaiting a response.
I twitch with boiling fury; addiction? Merlin, I haven't become a bloody drug buff. "It's not an addiction. It's a release. People like you have never understood the difference," I say before realizing exactly what had slipped out.
He offers a sad half-smile. "I don't understand, no. But I've dealt with-with…," his voice drifts lazily, his eyes fluttering shut and opening wide again. "I've dealt with suicide before."
Stunned, I turn to him. His eyes are filled with a dull ache; he's staring distantly toward the lake. It's as if he's lost in a memory, no longer here with me. "You…you've tried to kill yourself?"
Sirius shook his head. "Not me." He shifts the subject quickly, "I understand that suicide and-and what you do – cutting – are two different things but don't think I've completely misjudged you."
I concentrate on this for a few minutes before saying, "There's a reason you mentioned it."
"There is," he says secretly.
"What is it?"
Sirius meets my gaze at length, chewing on his lower lip. "I want you to stop."
I gape at him; does he possibly think that it's that easy?
"I know, I know. It'll take time. But from what I do know about you – you're strong. Strong enough to control yourself."
I sigh wearily, rubbing my eyes. "What do you care? We're not that close anyway."
When he doesn't give me an audible riposte, I glance at him again. He's studying his feet with a fascination so intense that I knew it had to be feigned, I apprehensively inquire, "Does this have something to do with the person who attempted suicide?"
No reply.
"All right, fine then. Do you mind me asking who it was, at least?"
His mumble is so quiet that I have to lean forward and repeat the question; when I hear the answer, ice travels down my spine.
"Remus."
I can feel tremors contort my entire body; why would Remus, of all people…he seems so normal, so happy…
"I'm going to tell you this with the reliance that you will not breathe a word of it to any living creature again," Sirius mutters, raising his head up.
My heart throbs against my ribcage. No, no, no, no. Don't tell me, please, I'm begging.
Suddenly he starts to talk and I almost cover my ears, but my hands are frozen. My entire body is trembling; please, Sirius, no.
"It-it was second year. We didn't know where he was," Sirius swallows and I have the urge to put my hand across his lips.
I don't, though. I don't move. I barely even breathe.
He continues. "So we…we went to look for him, and we looked everywhere. At the last moment, James made a new suggestion and he was right…he was in the Shrieking Shack." He ignores the shocked glance I throw at him; why would Remus have been in the Shrieking Shack? "So that's where we went."
Before this moment, I hadn't thought it possible for the infamous Sirius Black to even frown. He was always joking, always smiling, always laughing. But here he was now – and quite unexpectedly, close to tears.
So I listen, as hard as it is for me to hear past the blood pounding in my ears. I listen, even though I am terrified of what I am going to discover.
"I was the one to find him. The door was open and the others were searching the rest of the shack – there's more to it than you'd think," his tone is rueful and hot salt pricks the backs of my eyelids. "Well-well anyway…when I walked in, and saw him on the floor, I was scared. Scared enough to be unable to move. And when I finally took a step toward him, I…I saw the blood…and it was everywhere…"
Sirius closes his grey eyes at this, and his body begins to tremble terribly. I want to put my arms around him but I know that that would be awkward. Besides, I am still in a state of shock and cannot budge an inch.
"You know that feeling, when you think you're dreaming and you feel like you're dreaming, but you're still stuck in reality?"
I manage a nod.
"That's how it felt. I just…started screaming. As loud as I could. I screamed and screamed and screamed until I was hoarse and I told James and Peter to get help. Then I held his wrists. I think he has scars on the front of his arms where I dug my nails in, trying to stop the bleeding," he sniffles and I know he's crying. I feel miserable.
We both cry for a while, silently, and without looking at each other. Finally, I lift my head to him, bleary-eyed. "How-how bad was it?" Those were the only words I could control without cracking into tears again.
His eyes are still closed and his eyelids twitch when I ask this. "There was blood on my hands and on both of our robes. I cried and tears ran with blood on my face. He…he has three long scars on the inside of each arm. They stretch from wrist to elbow. They are perfectly straight."
The detail with which he remembers this worries me; I could not recall any one of my scars if you asked me to, unless it was my most recent one. However, with that said, I always seem to remember what exactly I used to do the job…because it was the same stolen razor blade every time.
I scrape my hands across my face, scratching at the dried saline. "Why?" I breathe, shifting closer to him.
Sirius fiercely rubs his cheeks, swatting at the tears in his eyes. It seems as if he resents such a show of emotion. "To this day, I haven't quite figured it out."
author's note; yeah, this is a little later than i expected it to be (face flushes) but i did not have access to my story – or the internet, for that matter – for the majority of the weekend. but look, it's finally here, and the big secret is out in the open! ahaha. oh yes, and if you're wondering why the middle part is written much better than the rest of it, it's because i wrote that when i was still full of good words…which means, shortly after the prologue and chapter one went up. so here it is. sorry if it seems short. and go read my spoiler for chapters fifteen and seventeen in my journal, on my biography page. please. pretty please. with sugar and all that good stuff.