Three O'clock in the Morning
In the real dark night of the soul, it is always three o'clock in the morning. – F. Scott Fitzgerald
Faith Exists
I show you doubt to prove that faith exists. – Robert Browning
Haggard, haunted blue eyes. A gash across the forehead. Pale skin, beneath with lurk a grayish pallor. Sweet gods above, he had not looked this bad, this hunted, since he had arrive in this forsaken world.
Sirius splashed cold water onto his face and watched it drain into the green-speckled basin, studiously avoiding his reflection. He saw the light reflect off the mica chips in the basin and how the water twisted the reflected light, but could not bring himself to look again into the mirror.
After his visit with James, Sirius had planned to rush home and have pleasant little emotional breakdown there. Sadly, he had rushed left when he should have rushed right and found himself on the other side of town, in a strange neighborhood. It then took one half of an hour to find a train that ran by the funeral home. Needless to say, Lily and Harry were worried and waiting when a wet and bedraggled Sirius grace the doorway to the flat.
When he entered the living/dining area where Lily and Harry were reading on the couch, Sirius immediately knew that something was wrong. The message was relayed in the tilt of Lily's head, in the way Harry kept his eyes firmly glued to his text, in the wary look in Lily's eyes when she glanced up from her bestseller, and, most of all, in the way Harry all too eagerly scurried into his bedroom when Lily from the sofa to make some tea for herself and her husband.
With his so-called wife and stepson suitably distracted, Sirius himself fled to the bath to view whatever physical damaged James had managed to inflict with his words in their very one-sided verbal battle. As far as that went, all Sirius found were his haunted appearance and the gash on his forehead, which had finally stopped oozing blood.
The very personal emotional damage Sirius suffered, though, was rather more severe. He had spent the afternoon dodging raindrops and trying to evade memories he had thought he had contentedly left behind him in the past. As Sirius sat in his car on the train, visions of Godric's Hollow on Hallowe'en Night of 1981 flashed before his all too frightened eyes: James' body laying twisted and broken on the floor, blood pooling around his head and dying his shirt an angry scarlet; Lily's body, still draping protectively over her precious baby boy; and, of course, baby Harry, wailing at the top of his rather powerful lungs. Several young women, out for a day of shopping downtown, had left the car prematurely when he began whispered apologies to the dead Potters.
But, during his wait at the nicely appointed train station, Sirius had also given himself a chance to mull over his troubles and their many and varied sources. Sirius' encounter with James Potter of a certain talk he had once had with the man's son in his world, the wonderful world of magic and wizardry. Harry had, despite the dangers, Firecalled himself and Remus, quite upset about seeing his father (and Sirius) as a teenager. He and Remus (mostly Remus) had explained to Harry that the four Marauders had matured over the years and eventually outgrown the pleasure of revealing their rivals underwear to the whole school.
Obviously, Sirius had then thought quite bitterly, the Marauders (though they had never taken that particular name upon themselves in this world) had never moved past the stage of petty grievances and cold, spiteful parting shots. Had the First War done so much to them? But, no, the wizard had realized in a quick, painful epiphany, that was not the most important question. It was an interesting question and Severus would, no doubt, desire to discuss it to death over tea some time, but it was not the most important question. That question, one that burned Sirius like coarse salt in an open wound, was this: Had James, his James, ever really been like that? And one that was nearly as awful – Had he, Sirius, ever been like that?
After Azkaban, Sirius, with a great deal of help from both Remus and Dumbledore, had tried to focus on the few happy memories he had left: the day he had become an Animagus for the boy he loved, James and Lily's faerie tale white wedding, babysitting an infant Harry with Remus, snowball fights on the Quidditch pitch, laughing in the Gryffindor Common Room when Frank Longbottom told a bawdy joke. He had purposefully and studiously avoided his bad memories – the Shrieking Shack incident, Hallowe'en Night in 1981, running away from home in his sixth form – because they had the alarming tendency to throw him into extended bouts of depression, marked only by periods of heavy drinking and weeping midnight confessions of his every real and imagined misdeed.
Needless to say, his lover and his mentor devoted a good portion of their spare time reminding Sirius of the good times. He and Remus had spent a great number of hours on Remus' couch, simply going through piles of photographs from their teenage years. Four exuberant young men (and sometimes a short-tempered red-head) waving up at them. And now, after two years of extensive conditioning, Sirius realized he would have to remember exactly what he had done – and his life had not just been fun and games. He could not depend upon Remus and Dumbledore, despite the love he carried for both of the men.
Steadying himself on the toilet, Sirius ran a turquoise towel through his still dripping hair and desperately tried to remember just who he had been twenty years previous. Had he really been as blindly and ignorantly hurtful as James? Had he been the person Remus and Dumbledore had so fervently assured him he was? Did he really deserve Snape's hatred? Had he earned James' devotion?
With a sinking feeling in his stomach and a clearing of his brow, the young wizard realized that he was both, shocked by the fact that he could be both. He slid to the floor, letting out a sigh that was both long and sad. He, in his better days, had been heartbreakingly devoted to his friends, especially James. But he had had his times of arrogance and bitter superiority, not necessarily to the younger students, some of whom he had taken on a sort of protégés, but all too often to his supposed rivals and to those beneath his notice.
As a young man, he had been a strange and often compelling mix of rebel and aristocrat, scorning his family's ancient, backwater values, but carrying himself with all of the poise, grace, and superiority of the young prince he had been raised to be. He had been beloved, hated, lusted after, and eventually near destroyed by it all.
Sirius buried his face in his now damp towel, breathing heavily. Despite the blessed reprieve this world had given him, Sirius' emotions still walked a delicate balance and sometimes the slightest bit of provocation could send him into reels of joy or fits of sorrow. Somehow he felt he should have known that this day was not going to be one of his good ones. He should never have even treasured the hope that his meeting with his late best friend had ever held the possibility of going well.
Sitting on the bathroom floor with a terry cloth towel draped over his head, as if to shield him from the outside world, Sirius, for what seemed like the first time in entire life, truly saw the boy he had once been.
He remembered the instance Harry had so worriedly asked after. He remembered being in such high spirits, laughing with his friends and the boy he loved. He remembered being bored under that stupid tree, tired of James trying to impress the girls and Peter squealing with admiration at his idol and Remus (who was acting like he did not really know that Sirius existed) reading his stupid Defense Against the Dark Arts text. He had only wanted to do something interesting and to impress Remus at the same time. At fifteen, he had not really thought of others' feelings unless they were in his immediate scope of interaction. That is to say, he had only thought of the egos and emotions of the Marauders and the people they had love and no further.
Like any other memory he had of pranks, whatever the outcome, Sirius and James had harbored no ill intent – but had only selfishly thought of their own pleasure and amusement. Remembering the pained look on Snape's young, greasy face and his own later laughter, mingling with James and Peter's, Sirius realized he had found the answer to his earlier question.
Yes. It was as simple and cold as that single word. Yes. He had once been just like James. Yes. James had once, long before his death, been like James. Once upon a time, in a reality not so far away, he had been a bastard. Not a complete bastard, like some people of whom he could think, for he had hidden a warm heart, but, yes, he had been a bastard: arrogant, cold, sometimes malicious, hurtful.
Oddly enough, he could only think of one thing: Why had no one reminded him? No one told him he had hurt people, however inadvertently. It really was not fair. They had only told him about the good times, told him to forget about his painful prison nightmares. Certainly, he had know he had not been a halo-bearing saint, but no one and nothing had prepared him for the memories he had locked away (been told to lock away) after Azkaban.
"Uh, Sirius?"
Sirius opened his eyes, seeing only the jewel-like turquoise of the towel that still covered his head. Lifting the end that covered his face, he could see Harry at the threshold of the bathroom, looking for all the world like a very disheveled and very nervous sparrow.
"Sirius?"
"Yeah, Harry?"
"Er... Aren't you going to talk to Mum?"
Sirius frowned. Talk to Lily? About what? He never told her he was going to visit James, had he?
"You know she gets like this when she wants to talk."
Sometime he would have to explain to Harry that he had never actually married the boy's mother.
"Very well," the wizard sighed.
Sirius heaved himself to his feet, begging the higher powers that Lily was not angry but nor would she burst into tears. He had never been good with crying women, and he knew he would not be able to fight an angry Lily when he was still reeling from the shock of James.
"Uh, Sirius?"
"Harry?"
"You might want to take the towel off your head before you talk to Mum."
Thank you to everyone who wished me a happy holiday. It was warm and it was sunny, but I still look like I've been living in a dark cave, so no one can tell I went away on holiday.
Also, thank you to Hillary (Toasterlicious) who did indeed beta this, but I cannot access the file at the moment, so you are not reading the beta-ed copy. I'm also something of a technophobe, so I don't know how to get around my server not granting me access to my own files.
Also, for any who finds this chapter to be a bit odd, it started out as an opening scene for the next chapter, but took on a life of it's own. I had not realized I could write a chapter about a man who washes his face and then puts a towel on his head while he sits on the floor. (That's the entire action sequence for the chapter.)
Finally, everyone seems to use the term bastard quite freely. Why?
Pam Briggs: Exactly. All of my characters are human, but some flaws are larger than others. Obviously James has some of the larger ones, eh?
Snuffles2: I update once a week, on Wednesdays, last week being the exception because I was on holiday. James spoke from his point of view, just as everyone else only sees things through their own schema. In James' worldview, that was exactly why Sirius wanted Lily. It is up to you to decide whether or not he is right. And canon!James did lose his bastard side (we think).
sierra: Thank you for taking the time to read this and I hope you did something for your neck, like put a warm wash cloth on it.
DarkOblivion316: Sirius has taken over Bastard Sirius' life, but Bastard Sirius is currently in a state of nonexistence. Have you ever seen the wonderful (but now off-air) SF show, Quantum Leap? If you have, Bastard Sirius is in something like the waiting chamber they have on the show. He is just kind of there, oblivious to the world and not really understanding what's going on around him.
Padmez: Yes, James is a bastard.
InsertRandomInsanityHere, queen-Sissy-star1, LittleGreenPerson, sunnysparkles: Thank you.
A Happy Little Bumblebee: I'm happy you like it, even if James is a bastard. I hope you liked this chapter.
Beth, that crazy fan type girl: Thank you! Flattery will get you everywhere, you know. In any case, I'm happy you liked those chapters, though you had to wait an extra week to get this one. How was Germany?
Samara-Morgan-101: He's his dead best friend! Of course, he didn't beat him up! You do not beat up dead best friends, however tempting it may seem. Just seeing him hurt Sirius.
Mr. Happy Java Man: See? You didn't use the term bastard once! Smiles Okay, interesting idea, interesting. But who said Sirius will ever leave?
NO NAME, lol: How long have you been away? I only post one a week. Assuming you are American (or Australian), what words are different?
Sailor Christian: Who said James was married? Sirius? How would he know? And there may well be truth in what James said to Sirius.
eruve tinwen: Of course, he didn't strangle himself. I can't kill people off half way through my story. Now that a frightening thought: ten or so chapters to go. Anyway, yeah, they're all screwed up. It's the spice of life.
Sabrina Weasley: Yes, this was partially to show what James is like. The other part is to show how Sirius has changed (as opposed to how he reacted to Wolfgang, much earlier in this fiction).
Lily Skylo: As I've told others, she may or may not be his wife. James may or may not care for Lily. Everything is subjectively viewed through different characters' eyes. Aren't I really annoying when I give non- answers like that?
Samhain Vampiress: Dumbledore is dead. He did of a heart attack after he retired from being headmaster, back in the forties. After all, in the magical world, Dumbledore is 130. Muggles don't live that long. Thank you.
LalaithoftheBruinen: I'm sure Paris cannot be all that bad. "The City of Light" and all that must come from somewhere (other than lying advertisement agencies).
Krylancelo: Thank you. I'm happy you like the quoted. I like it because it shows how everything you do reflects back to you (like it did to James).
chevalier Ryu: Fear not! I have not given up on the fic (far from it). I will complete this if it will be the death of me (and sometimes I think it will be). Fanfiction.net was being temperamental on Wednesday so I could not update until Thursday.
In the real dark night of the soul, it is always three o'clock in the morning. – F. Scott Fitzgerald
Faith Exists
I show you doubt to prove that faith exists. – Robert Browning
Haggard, haunted blue eyes. A gash across the forehead. Pale skin, beneath with lurk a grayish pallor. Sweet gods above, he had not looked this bad, this hunted, since he had arrive in this forsaken world.
Sirius splashed cold water onto his face and watched it drain into the green-speckled basin, studiously avoiding his reflection. He saw the light reflect off the mica chips in the basin and how the water twisted the reflected light, but could not bring himself to look again into the mirror.
After his visit with James, Sirius had planned to rush home and have pleasant little emotional breakdown there. Sadly, he had rushed left when he should have rushed right and found himself on the other side of town, in a strange neighborhood. It then took one half of an hour to find a train that ran by the funeral home. Needless to say, Lily and Harry were worried and waiting when a wet and bedraggled Sirius grace the doorway to the flat.
When he entered the living/dining area where Lily and Harry were reading on the couch, Sirius immediately knew that something was wrong. The message was relayed in the tilt of Lily's head, in the way Harry kept his eyes firmly glued to his text, in the wary look in Lily's eyes when she glanced up from her bestseller, and, most of all, in the way Harry all too eagerly scurried into his bedroom when Lily from the sofa to make some tea for herself and her husband.
With his so-called wife and stepson suitably distracted, Sirius himself fled to the bath to view whatever physical damaged James had managed to inflict with his words in their very one-sided verbal battle. As far as that went, all Sirius found were his haunted appearance and the gash on his forehead, which had finally stopped oozing blood.
The very personal emotional damage Sirius suffered, though, was rather more severe. He had spent the afternoon dodging raindrops and trying to evade memories he had thought he had contentedly left behind him in the past. As Sirius sat in his car on the train, visions of Godric's Hollow on Hallowe'en Night of 1981 flashed before his all too frightened eyes: James' body laying twisted and broken on the floor, blood pooling around his head and dying his shirt an angry scarlet; Lily's body, still draping protectively over her precious baby boy; and, of course, baby Harry, wailing at the top of his rather powerful lungs. Several young women, out for a day of shopping downtown, had left the car prematurely when he began whispered apologies to the dead Potters.
But, during his wait at the nicely appointed train station, Sirius had also given himself a chance to mull over his troubles and their many and varied sources. Sirius' encounter with James Potter of a certain talk he had once had with the man's son in his world, the wonderful world of magic and wizardry. Harry had, despite the dangers, Firecalled himself and Remus, quite upset about seeing his father (and Sirius) as a teenager. He and Remus (mostly Remus) had explained to Harry that the four Marauders had matured over the years and eventually outgrown the pleasure of revealing their rivals underwear to the whole school.
Obviously, Sirius had then thought quite bitterly, the Marauders (though they had never taken that particular name upon themselves in this world) had never moved past the stage of petty grievances and cold, spiteful parting shots. Had the First War done so much to them? But, no, the wizard had realized in a quick, painful epiphany, that was not the most important question. It was an interesting question and Severus would, no doubt, desire to discuss it to death over tea some time, but it was not the most important question. That question, one that burned Sirius like coarse salt in an open wound, was this: Had James, his James, ever really been like that? And one that was nearly as awful – Had he, Sirius, ever been like that?
After Azkaban, Sirius, with a great deal of help from both Remus and Dumbledore, had tried to focus on the few happy memories he had left: the day he had become an Animagus for the boy he loved, James and Lily's faerie tale white wedding, babysitting an infant Harry with Remus, snowball fights on the Quidditch pitch, laughing in the Gryffindor Common Room when Frank Longbottom told a bawdy joke. He had purposefully and studiously avoided his bad memories – the Shrieking Shack incident, Hallowe'en Night in 1981, running away from home in his sixth form – because they had the alarming tendency to throw him into extended bouts of depression, marked only by periods of heavy drinking and weeping midnight confessions of his every real and imagined misdeed.
Needless to say, his lover and his mentor devoted a good portion of their spare time reminding Sirius of the good times. He and Remus had spent a great number of hours on Remus' couch, simply going through piles of photographs from their teenage years. Four exuberant young men (and sometimes a short-tempered red-head) waving up at them. And now, after two years of extensive conditioning, Sirius realized he would have to remember exactly what he had done – and his life had not just been fun and games. He could not depend upon Remus and Dumbledore, despite the love he carried for both of the men.
Steadying himself on the toilet, Sirius ran a turquoise towel through his still dripping hair and desperately tried to remember just who he had been twenty years previous. Had he really been as blindly and ignorantly hurtful as James? Had he been the person Remus and Dumbledore had so fervently assured him he was? Did he really deserve Snape's hatred? Had he earned James' devotion?
With a sinking feeling in his stomach and a clearing of his brow, the young wizard realized that he was both, shocked by the fact that he could be both. He slid to the floor, letting out a sigh that was both long and sad. He, in his better days, had been heartbreakingly devoted to his friends, especially James. But he had had his times of arrogance and bitter superiority, not necessarily to the younger students, some of whom he had taken on a sort of protégés, but all too often to his supposed rivals and to those beneath his notice.
As a young man, he had been a strange and often compelling mix of rebel and aristocrat, scorning his family's ancient, backwater values, but carrying himself with all of the poise, grace, and superiority of the young prince he had been raised to be. He had been beloved, hated, lusted after, and eventually near destroyed by it all.
Sirius buried his face in his now damp towel, breathing heavily. Despite the blessed reprieve this world had given him, Sirius' emotions still walked a delicate balance and sometimes the slightest bit of provocation could send him into reels of joy or fits of sorrow. Somehow he felt he should have known that this day was not going to be one of his good ones. He should never have even treasured the hope that his meeting with his late best friend had ever held the possibility of going well.
Sitting on the bathroom floor with a terry cloth towel draped over his head, as if to shield him from the outside world, Sirius, for what seemed like the first time in entire life, truly saw the boy he had once been.
He remembered the instance Harry had so worriedly asked after. He remembered being in such high spirits, laughing with his friends and the boy he loved. He remembered being bored under that stupid tree, tired of James trying to impress the girls and Peter squealing with admiration at his idol and Remus (who was acting like he did not really know that Sirius existed) reading his stupid Defense Against the Dark Arts text. He had only wanted to do something interesting and to impress Remus at the same time. At fifteen, he had not really thought of others' feelings unless they were in his immediate scope of interaction. That is to say, he had only thought of the egos and emotions of the Marauders and the people they had love and no further.
Like any other memory he had of pranks, whatever the outcome, Sirius and James had harbored no ill intent – but had only selfishly thought of their own pleasure and amusement. Remembering the pained look on Snape's young, greasy face and his own later laughter, mingling with James and Peter's, Sirius realized he had found the answer to his earlier question.
Yes. It was as simple and cold as that single word. Yes. He had once been just like James. Yes. James had once, long before his death, been like James. Once upon a time, in a reality not so far away, he had been a bastard. Not a complete bastard, like some people of whom he could think, for he had hidden a warm heart, but, yes, he had been a bastard: arrogant, cold, sometimes malicious, hurtful.
Oddly enough, he could only think of one thing: Why had no one reminded him? No one told him he had hurt people, however inadvertently. It really was not fair. They had only told him about the good times, told him to forget about his painful prison nightmares. Certainly, he had know he had not been a halo-bearing saint, but no one and nothing had prepared him for the memories he had locked away (been told to lock away) after Azkaban.
"Uh, Sirius?"
Sirius opened his eyes, seeing only the jewel-like turquoise of the towel that still covered his head. Lifting the end that covered his face, he could see Harry at the threshold of the bathroom, looking for all the world like a very disheveled and very nervous sparrow.
"Sirius?"
"Yeah, Harry?"
"Er... Aren't you going to talk to Mum?"
Sirius frowned. Talk to Lily? About what? He never told her he was going to visit James, had he?
"You know she gets like this when she wants to talk."
Sometime he would have to explain to Harry that he had never actually married the boy's mother.
"Very well," the wizard sighed.
Sirius heaved himself to his feet, begging the higher powers that Lily was not angry but nor would she burst into tears. He had never been good with crying women, and he knew he would not be able to fight an angry Lily when he was still reeling from the shock of James.
"Uh, Sirius?"
"Harry?"
"You might want to take the towel off your head before you talk to Mum."
Thank you to everyone who wished me a happy holiday. It was warm and it was sunny, but I still look like I've been living in a dark cave, so no one can tell I went away on holiday.
Also, thank you to Hillary (Toasterlicious) who did indeed beta this, but I cannot access the file at the moment, so you are not reading the beta-ed copy. I'm also something of a technophobe, so I don't know how to get around my server not granting me access to my own files.
Also, for any who finds this chapter to be a bit odd, it started out as an opening scene for the next chapter, but took on a life of it's own. I had not realized I could write a chapter about a man who washes his face and then puts a towel on his head while he sits on the floor. (That's the entire action sequence for the chapter.)
Finally, everyone seems to use the term bastard quite freely. Why?
Pam Briggs: Exactly. All of my characters are human, but some flaws are larger than others. Obviously James has some of the larger ones, eh?
Snuffles2: I update once a week, on Wednesdays, last week being the exception because I was on holiday. James spoke from his point of view, just as everyone else only sees things through their own schema. In James' worldview, that was exactly why Sirius wanted Lily. It is up to you to decide whether or not he is right. And canon!James did lose his bastard side (we think).
sierra: Thank you for taking the time to read this and I hope you did something for your neck, like put a warm wash cloth on it.
DarkOblivion316: Sirius has taken over Bastard Sirius' life, but Bastard Sirius is currently in a state of nonexistence. Have you ever seen the wonderful (but now off-air) SF show, Quantum Leap? If you have, Bastard Sirius is in something like the waiting chamber they have on the show. He is just kind of there, oblivious to the world and not really understanding what's going on around him.
Padmez: Yes, James is a bastard.
InsertRandomInsanityHere, queen-Sissy-star1, LittleGreenPerson, sunnysparkles: Thank you.
A Happy Little Bumblebee: I'm happy you like it, even if James is a bastard. I hope you liked this chapter.
Beth, that crazy fan type girl: Thank you! Flattery will get you everywhere, you know. In any case, I'm happy you liked those chapters, though you had to wait an extra week to get this one. How was Germany?
Samara-Morgan-101: He's his dead best friend! Of course, he didn't beat him up! You do not beat up dead best friends, however tempting it may seem. Just seeing him hurt Sirius.
Mr. Happy Java Man: See? You didn't use the term bastard once! Smiles Okay, interesting idea, interesting. But who said Sirius will ever leave?
NO NAME, lol: How long have you been away? I only post one a week. Assuming you are American (or Australian), what words are different?
Sailor Christian: Who said James was married? Sirius? How would he know? And there may well be truth in what James said to Sirius.
eruve tinwen: Of course, he didn't strangle himself. I can't kill people off half way through my story. Now that a frightening thought: ten or so chapters to go. Anyway, yeah, they're all screwed up. It's the spice of life.
Sabrina Weasley: Yes, this was partially to show what James is like. The other part is to show how Sirius has changed (as opposed to how he reacted to Wolfgang, much earlier in this fiction).
Lily Skylo: As I've told others, she may or may not be his wife. James may or may not care for Lily. Everything is subjectively viewed through different characters' eyes. Aren't I really annoying when I give non- answers like that?
Samhain Vampiress: Dumbledore is dead. He did of a heart attack after he retired from being headmaster, back in the forties. After all, in the magical world, Dumbledore is 130. Muggles don't live that long. Thank you.
LalaithoftheBruinen: I'm sure Paris cannot be all that bad. "The City of Light" and all that must come from somewhere (other than lying advertisement agencies).
Krylancelo: Thank you. I'm happy you like the quoted. I like it because it shows how everything you do reflects back to you (like it did to James).
chevalier Ryu: Fear not! I have not given up on the fic (far from it). I will complete this if it will be the death of me (and sometimes I think it will be). Fanfiction.net was being temperamental on Wednesday so I could not update until Thursday.