Chapter Four: Echo
The halls of Hogwarts are lined with ancient stone, candle lanterns, and secrets. Each crack in the foundation is filled with a tale of remorse, of how it began as a hairline fracture and its growth into a dark and deep slash.
When Lily strode down these corridors, she took diminutive steps, head cast down and arms usually wrapped around two or three tomes. She walked slowly, sometimes straying a hand across the walls, occasionally snagging on a crack. When she was alone, she'd peer into the tiny dark alleys. Of course she knew that they just went into the stone and on the other side, there'd be a classroom of sorts. But recently, she's been wondering if they actually lead into a different universe altogether, which was why Filch was always so stuffy about filling the cracks – he didn't want anyone to go off into a happier place.
And then she'd scoff at herself and wonder when she became a three-year-old again.
Yet the one thing she could make herself believe was that the halls knew about her. She heard them talking to her, whispering hushed bittersweet nothings into the emptiness when she walked down, echoes bouncing off wall after wall. When she closed her eyes, she could hear her footsteps magnify into ten, imagining a group of friends around her, maybe giggling about nothing at all. Other times, her throat wrenching with sobs, the halls would cry with her and surround her, protecting her with their strength and –
"Lily."
She stopped, along with the echoes. The voice was a quiet one, not quite a tenor, not yet a bass.
"Yes, Remus?"
He shifted his weight to his left foot, loosening up his tie with the other hand. "Er, we need to meet for McGonagall's project."
Lily nodded. "I know, I was going to look for you, but I had absolutely no idea where you were. I tried looking around, but to no avail, unfortunately."
"Did you ask James or Sirius?"
She blushed a slight red. "Well…no, I didn't really feel like bothering them about our project. Anyways, it doesn't matter now, you've found me already. So, when are you free?"
"Hold on." He knelt down and placed his knapsack on the floor, unzipping it and rummaging around. He pulled out old bits of parchment that looked like it had gone through the wash a couple of times, a few Gobblestones, some Zonko's products, the Potions essay assigned to them two days ago, and then a handful of what looked like furry rat hair. "Don't ask," he grinned, catching Lily's confused glance.
"Aha! Here it is. James tried to steal it, but I happen to have a security charm on it."
It was a leather-bound calendar, and when he flipped to the right month, Lily was shocked to find it actually used. She sat down next to him on the stone floor.
"I didn't know boys also used calendars. I thought it was only girls who did because…well, because…yeah, you know."
Now it was Remus's turn to blush. "Well, I don't suffer from that ailment, in case you're wondering."
"Thank Merlin, or else I'd be questioning your gender and reporting you to the nurse." Lily smiled and looked down on his calendar. "Let's see, are you free on Mondays and Wednesdays for the next three weeks? We can meet then."
"Um, well there's one Wednesday next next week when I can't meet, but other than that, everything's fine." He scratched his neck uncomfortably.
"That's fine." Glancing down, Lily saw that indeed, that Wednesday was circled several times in a silver pen. "Got a hot date?" she joked.
"Hmm?" Remus looked up, startled. "Why would you say that?" he asked, a tinge too suspiciously.
She raised her eyebrows and pointed down. "Well, you'd have to be blind not to realize that there's obviously something happening on that day."
Remus coughed, reaching over with a hand to slam the book shut, and stuffed it back into his knapsack. "Well, if we're done here, I'll see you next Monday in the Library then." He hitched up his backpack and almost ran down the hall, calling out a "See you later, Lily" over his disappearing shoulder.
Lily, brow furrowed in puzzlement, listened to his flustered footsteps run out. Why was that Wednesday so particularly special to him? Knowing the kind of shy person that Remus was, it probably was a hot date, and he was just too bashful to admit it next to him womanizing best friends. This was so like her, always concentrating on trivial things that had no want of her concern. Let it go, she told herself. You've got your own share of secrets.
Sirius's room at home (if you could call it that) was filled with stars.
Charts, drawings, notebooks, and of course, the ever-standing telescope, all bursting full of the heavens. Whenever his mother or brother came into his room, he'd hastily shove everything under his bed and put an Obscuring Charm on his telescope.
It wasn't that Astronomy was a bad subject. It was a Hogwarts subject that they had to take, after all. It was just…well, Muggles did the same thing. They too watched the movements of the vast expanse above them, questioning why and how. If his family ever found out that he actually wasn't spending his time in there studying up future Death Eater techniques, it'd be hell to pay, even when he was named after a star.
A few years ago, around the time he was six or seven, his mother had sneakily walked in on Sirius standing immobile next to his window, gazing out. "Stupid boy," she had admonished. "Why aren't you studying on the books I bought for you yesterday?"
He glanced down at the volumes strewn on the floor. Even from his faraway position, he could read the titles of some. The Art of Power: How to Wield it and Control Others. Why Pure is Just Better. The Difference Between Us and Them.
Sirius had snorted silently, thinking that over his dead body would his mother finally peel open his eyes and force him to look inside them. "Mother," he had argued, still thinking that he could win an argument with her, "I'm named after a star. I believe that I should know about my origins. Studying the skies would help me understood where I come from."
She had slapped him upside the head. "You are a Black, and that is where you come from. And as a Black, it is your duty to listen to your parents! Do not try to question where you come from ever again!"
Of course, he would continue to do so. How could he ever give in to her iron grip?
Late at night, when his brother's snores were consistent and the two separate doors of his parent's bedrooms finally closed, he'd crawl out of bed and gaze up. When he was feeling daring, he'd crawl out through his window and lay down on the wet grass beneath, staining his pajamas but feeling the happiest he could be in that wretched area.
If he stared long enough, he could block out the screams and shouts nearby, the shattering of glass and bodies thrown against the thin walls. He no longer was a horrid Black, he was out and independent, and he could make all the choices he wanted. The stars took him someplace far, far away in another galaxy. For a moment, he could connect with them, talk to them, and reach out, as far as his arms could stretch, trying desperately to grab onto a shooting meteor and fly with it to somewhere new.
He once tried to count how many stars there were in the entire sky. It was in the dead of winter, and he had stayed out there for five hours, until he could no longer feel his feet or fingers and the mists of breath began freezing on his face.
Seven thousand, three hundred fifty-two.
That was how far he had gotten. The next day, he woke up with a fever and a sore throat. Amidst his mother's growls at being so vulnerable to disease (although this was the first time he'd been sick in two years), he stared up at the dark canopy of his bed and told himself that if he had counted all the way to ten thousand, some angel from above would've swooped down and wrapped her shimmering wings around him and flew with him up and up until he finally did reach the homes of his beloved stars.
Other times, he'd pretend that he was adopted. Oh, one look at Regulas and the rest of his family told him that physically, he was one hundred percent genetically related to them. But he'd close his eyes tightly, hands clasped over his ears to block out his father's dinner guests and imagine that somewhere, a mother and father were sobbing, clutching onto to each other, wondering when they'd get their son back. "I'm right here," he would whisper. "Come get me. I'll be waiting near the front door. I'll be ready, I promise."
And even though he knew that they would never come, his irrationality then clouded over his mind and at midnight, he found himself at the front door, grabbing a suitcase filled with his star observations and waiting, waiting, waiting.
They never came for him.
That was the last time that he allowed himself to think about being saved.
The other boys in the dormitory always wondered why during the dark of the night, a whisper would come from Sirius's bed, mumbles of angels and stars filling the impenetrable difference between the four.
"Then in 1439, right after the historical Goblin Wars of 1431, Gindledook decided that the problem had gone far enough and formed the Order of the Risen, guarding against the next great battle. Incidentally, three weeks after it was first established, an army of…"
Extreme. This was extreme boredom.
Binns' voice droned through the class, a dry, hacking lullaby. Although it was not yet April, the classroom seemed to be stifling. James Potter would even take the freezing Potions dungeons over this
Everything seemed to move a little more sluggishly in this classroom. Students even blinked slower. His own body felt like it had turned into molasses overnight, and he could not even bother to move a hand to loosen the tie around his neck. It felt like a nook, about to choke him.
It would suck, he thought, to die from heatstroke in school.
"Prongs."
He tried to ignore it, feeling too lazy and hot to turn his head around and glance back.
"Prongs," the voice hissed again.
James managed a pathetic grunt, but kept his body slack and his head forward.
"PRONGS!"
Professor Binns looked up, jolted from his filibuster. "Mr. Blane, why are you going about my classroom shouting random nonsense?"
Sirius sat back into his seat, folding his hands and replacing the look of frustration on his face with one of demureness. "My apologies for bothering you, Professor. I had only wanted to ask whether or not Gindledook actually used tongs to decapitate his victims, or was it with his bare fingers?"
"Neither, Mr. Block. If you had been listening to my lecture earlier, you would've known that Gindledook used elven knives for the job. Now, continuing on to the 1441 Rebellion…"
The note had appeared suddenly before James, resting on top of his History of Magic textbook and his doodled notes. Curious at the loopy handwriting with his name in hearts, he finally gained enough strength to lift up his arms and open the note.
So, you're too lazy to turn around and talk to your best mate, but can still open a love note?
Don't be stupid Sirius. You know that girls are more important than you on any day. In fact, if there was no such thing as girls, you wouldn't be here right now, would you?
You really consider my mother a girl?
She was pretty hot when she was younger…
…
…
I think I'm going to be sick.
Well, if she wasn't a girl, then did you have two male parents or what?
I could have, for all you know!
Give up. You're not going to win this one.
Am too!
What did you need to tell me?
Er…forget it.
Aw, you can't leave me hanging. I'm going to be in suspense for the rest of the day.
Sirius?
Fine, fine. If you really want to know, I just wanted to ask you if you were gay or not. You know, being the dutiful MALE best friend and checking that our relationship is still the same.
…
Merlin. Sirius, have you been smoking illegal substances again? I hate it when your judgment is more impaired than usual.
Well, you were staring at me kind of strangely in the shower yesterday. I know that we have a close friendship, but there are limits…
I was NOT staring at you strangely! In fact, I was not staring at you at all!
Oh no? Then what were you staring at? The tiles right behind me? Good excuse, James…
As a matter of fact, I was staring at the tiles right behind you. I heard that someone made a peephole in there last week, and I wanted to know if Amber Tymerland was looking through.
Well, if she was looking, she would've seen my solid arse. Anyways, this is evading the question. You still haven't answered if you're gay!
The bell rang suddenly, and another History class passed by.
"I'm not gay! I'm NOT!" James shouted to Sirius.
Amber Tymlerland glanced back as she made her way out the door. "That you're not, James. Definitely not."
James grinned at Sirius, clapping him on the back. "See you later, mate," he called out as he dashed out after Amber.
Sirius, a frown on his face, watched James's disappearing back. How much was James hiding within that note? It felt good for a moment, to be able to banter back and forth effortlessly, before these dual personalities were pushed onto them.
For a brief flash, he had to resist the urge to go chasing up to James and slam him against a wall and hiss to him, "What is wrong with you recently? You spend half your time brooding around in the dormitory, and you can think that I don't notice it, but I do."
He knows that there is something big growing in James, something growing at an alarming rate. He can see the swirls of black in who he thought was previously pure white.
"You've got two special people living within you," he whispered to the empty classroom. "One when you're convincing the world that there's an everlasting light shining on you and another when you're trying to convince yourself that there's an everlasting light shining within you. You think that I don't understand your problems, but I do. And I would appreciate it if just for a moment, we could talk about it again, like we used to, late-night sleepovers leading into dawn while talking about what the Quidditch team would be like. How much different can Jimmy Potter and James Potter be now?"
He wants to be able to shout out to James, share with him his tales of sorrow too. Shit, they'd be like two teenage girls, moping around after a breakup, eating chocolates like they were going out of style tomorrow and gabbing until the world ended. Most of all, he wants to be able to tell James about himself, about these past memories that seem to be grudging up his life for the second time.
Lately I've been having nightmares, where I'm cut into so many pieces that there isn't enough of me to be put together again.
After a while, I couldn't remember whole pieces of you, as if part of the punishment was a recollection through a filter that grew hazier with time. On certain Sunday mornings when I dreamed you, I could not picture what your teeth had looked like, or the exact curve of your jaw where it fit in my hand.
I used to imagine us sitting down for a drink at a bright little restaurant, maybe one of those specialty coffee shops that have become so popular. I swear I could smell the blended beans and the starch of the white napkins, even the milled soap that you would have used that morning. I was able to see your easy smile, which always seemed to startle its way across your face – your smile, but not your teeth – the way your fingers tapped a light design against the mug.
I see us like we're in a movie, sometimes, except I'm not a participant, but someone watching the action. I'm tracing my forefinger down the soft skin on the back of your neck, and there's moonlight the color of cream on the terry-cloth towel you let fall from your body.
Did you know that I have a picture of you? It's not the one I took; it somehow made its way into my possession months later. You're in the background – someone was photographing something else and you just happened to be there. You're sitting under a tree, wearing a big sweatshirt, and your knees are drawn up to hold a book. But you're not reading, you're looking at the camera.
You're slightly blurry in the photo, but I like it anyway. You've got this little knowing smile on your face, like you realized you were going to be in someone else's photo, and you didn't give a damn. That smile – that's what gets me about the picture. It covers so many different things that I think of when I think of you. It shows that you're happy, that you're concentrating, that you're curious. I guess it mostly shows someone I loved.
I remember so much about you.
The crinkled corners were first – a molting black spread that ate it up then spread towards the center until it was once again part of the licks of gold and orange flames. They created shadows the reach out and do the work it could not do, to stretch across the room and settle onto a broken man, a glimmer of what he once was.
To the few and cherished who read my story, I apologize. Lots of stuff clouding my mind, and finally sat down and churned this out today. I felt really bad, because it's been a month and a half since my last update, so I ignored everything else and wrote, which is why this chapter may seem a bit messy.
Three review responses, because these people were just too cool(not that everyone else's wasn't appreciated, because they certainly were!). Also, I don't want to turn half the chapter into review response. If you want one and you didn't get one, email me and I promise I'll send you at least a half-page long response.
absolutely-morvellous: EEEE! You have no idea how excited I was that an author actually on my Author Alert reviewed my story. Your thoughtful comments had me smiling the rest of the day.
Fairy Dust-888: You are so turning into one of my favorite reviewer. Everything you say makes me elated and write knowing that somewhere out there, there are people who like what I write. Thank you so much!
FallenFlower: You rock my socks, babe. Pip + Katy + Linda teasing from the sidelines Where I want to be. :)
Also thanks to Shading in Grey, bellebuckbeak, May Liza, crescentmo0n19, the ORIGINAL meathead, Hello? Mary, Irish Silhouette, and cilverblood.
You have no idea how much your comments mean to me! hint hint