Life Floats By
'Tough times.' They say. 'Scary, dark.' They say. They talk about the evil in the world today. They speak of fear and they fear to speak. They who preach goodness. 'We must stand and fight,' and yet they flee. They damn well hide. But the elusive and formless 'they' is the least of my problems.
It's him that concerns me. So quiet. He was never quiet, never. The suspicion. Damn the suspicion. I hate looking at my friends, at my acquaintances and thinking 'are they on You Know Who's side?' My family, I don't need to question. He worries about his family, though. They'll be His to the end. And Regulus. Maybe one day he'll come around. Until then… well, until then.
England. Foggy and disgusting as ever. Not even a nice bit of scenery to keep me going in the city. At least at our country house I could see the fields and trees and the mountains. Have the illusion of freedom. Here, there are no illusions except those we create for ourselves. Here it's just buildings and roads and cars and powerlines reflecting that tiny piece of sunlight that seems to work it's way through. Now sunlight! Now gone. Yet another huge black cloud looking as happy as I feel.
He's tidying when I get home. I can't even say anything. I can't think of anything to say. I just stare. That grey jumper. My grey jumper. He always looked good in grey. He always looked good with me. Well, I am wearing his blue one, fair's fair.
If I knew what to say, I would very much like to speak to him. No, I know what I should say. But saying it, there's the real challenge.
'Sirius, I know nobody trusts anybody, but I still trust you with my life. I love you and always will, please don't suspect me of anything. Or do, if you have to, so long as you still love me.'
In my mind I say it. Before I can speak, he speaks.
"I'm going out. I have to check on Peter. See how the little guy's doing."
I nod. "Of course." I say. "I'll be going down to the shops shortly. Shall we go and see James and Lily this evening? See little Harry?"
"It's a little risky these days." He says. He's hiding something. He's their secret keeper, is he not?
"My, my, Sirius, how these dark times have changed us – I now have you counselling me on caution." He laughs and I feel like crying.
How these times have changed us, indeed. The way we act, it's not bloody natural. Why couldn't it stay as it was? Each time I consider what this war has done to Padfoot and me, I have a newfound hatred for He Who Must Not Be Named. His foolish war. Damn him.
The way we act is as if we have lived a fake life, or as if we're living one now. Two actors playing rolls on stage with no chemistry. If I could just convince myself I didn't love him, don't love him, can't love him. I imagine it would hurt less, then. Oh, Sirius, if I could convince myself I never really loved you.
He smiles and moves past me to the door, brushing a tender kiss on my lips as he goes by. He grabs his coat, his hat, and my novel-in-progress that he insists upon reading. I look down, ashamed that I could ever try to not love him. In the corner of my eye I see him smile. Then he slips away and I'm left smiling, left crying, and left loving him. Loving him always.