I'm running a little late and chasing multiple multiple MULTIPLE deadlines at the moment, so I am a little frazzled. I almost forgot to publish this. Don't worry, though, I have all of the chapters for the foreseeable future written if not betaed! On that note, thank you to my beta junieyes, and I hope you like this chapter? I am doing something of what JuggernautJJ had wanted, but there is actually a To Kill a Mockingbird chapter in the works. In the meanwhile, we will all have to settle for Miller.
Guest Reviewer Jorja: Sarah is indeed the love of my life too!
And Guest Reviewer 1: Thank you! I love Sarah/June conversations too :D
Guest Reviewer 2: I think the thestral line was my personal favourite too! Thank you for your review.
Death of a Salesman by Arthur Miller
"Here," said Hagrid, handing her a mug. June gripped it, smiling as Hagrid sat down on one of his armchairs. "Yeh haven't been 'round a lot."
"No," said June regretfully. "I've been a little busy."
"It's good," nodded Hagrid, throwing Fang a biscuit. The puppy yapped it up within seconds.
"Treats are wasted on that one," said June, being the one who had brought Fang this treat. "He doesn't taste it. He just swallows it."
Hagrid laughed gruffly. "'Ee's a dog, June. It was good of you to bring 'em, but that's as far as it goes."
June sighed. "I should have known. I'm sorry I've been away for such a while, Hagrid."
"S'alright," said Hagrid. "I'm kind of glad, if I'm honest. I like seeing you with people. Even that Sirius Black."
June went pink.
"Just don't forget me, eh?" he said.
"No one could forget you," she said.
Hagrid smiled a slightly watery smile. "You and Black good friends now?"
"Um," said June.
Hagrid had said it nonchalantly, but she had her suspicions. She knew Hagrid well enough to know he didn't just… ask.
"Sort of," she said.
He was determined to cut up the fruitcake, but even she noticed the slight gleam in his eye.
"He's not – we're not." She took a breath. "We're friends."
"O'course."
"You might have – seen us –"
"Sometimes." The gleam was now a glitter.
"Not lately, though!" she continued digging her grave.
"No," he shook his shaggy head.
"He's in a bad mood," said June irritably. "I don't – we're not that close."
Hagrid looked at her now, with the slightest hint of amusement in his eyes. She sighed, burying her face in her hands. "Oh, Merlin."
"Careful June," said Hagrid. "Tea's still hot."
She trudged up the castle, her mood a mix of feelings. If Hagrid was beginning to notice things…
She tugged her cloak when it got caught in a thorny bush. The sound of something tearing just a little bit was very distinct. She sighed and prayed to God to deliver her from the world. It was exhausting, the mortifying ordeal of being known. Why did Hagrid have to know how much time she was or wasn't spending with Sirius Black? How was Hagrid clued in to the fact that Sirius was not happy?
That last one wasn't really Hagrid's doing, thought June with reluctant charity. Practically everyone knew Sirius was in a… a bad place?
Whatever uneasy sort of middle ground they had found with each other after their fight was in jeopardy again. Although classes moved with a steadiness that provided comfort, something happened to Sirius as February's third week came to a close. He seemed moody, angry, and aggressive – and hadn't shown up at the library for half an age. On top of all that – she had no way of knowing whether he was reading her copy of Death of a Salesman.
June didn't want to have to think of this – but she was beginning to feel the problems that came associated with the mortifying ordeal of being known. It wasn't just that Sirius Black's bad mood and bad situation was something that held her copy of Death of a Salesman hostage, it was also the other, added problem: she was worried. She cared about him, so even as she walked to the castle after her tea with Hagrid, she fretted. She wondered whether he was alright, whether he needed an ear to speak to, whether he'd like some of her homemade fudge.
Unexpected, she knew. She hadn't ever considered what happened to you if there were people you could worry about. It was a novel experience, and one she didn't like replicating – but it also felt… like she could no longer do without it. She could not do without worrying for him, or for Sarah for that matter, and even for Lily and the rest. Therefore, even as she headed to the library, she wondered whether she ought to head to the kitchens and ask Robby for assistance and make some fudge.
She saw Remus leaving the library when she entered. Their eyes met, and he only nodded. It was an unsaid something between them.
The other three idiots he called his friends clearly seemed to know something was up – because she noticed them converging, preventing people from asking questions – and protecting him from the concerns of his fanclub. June, without any of these defence systems already in place, had to face a number of different "worried" girls who were trying to have her tell them whether he had okay. One of them ambushed her this minute, even as June made a big show of being wholly involved in the water plants section in the library.
Badgered though June was, she didn't give anything away. "I really don't know," she sighed, exasperated. "We aren't best friends, as you very well know."
This girl was particularly persistent. "But you must know something," she insisted.
"No, I do not!" June said, pulling a thick book on seawater plants from the shelves and heading to her corner. "And if I did, I'd hardly tell you."
With this, she flounced off, hopeful of having made her point. When she reached her table, she sighed again. She was missing him a little – but she didn't want to encroach on his space. She didn't know how to be there for him, since all of this was very new to her. But even she knew approaching him for conversation was perhaps the worst strategy when he didn't want to talk.
Time didn't pass as easily. She felt stuck on her essay, and she didn't like underwater plants enough to commit to them properly. She was collapsed on her parchment, her eye level with the second paragraph of her essay. He's have teased her, of course, which would have been nice.
A chill ran down her spine even as she imagined the conversation between them.
She knew he was nearby before he announced himself. She didn't have to look up to know he was standing next to the table. He looked tired, and sleepy – and like he hadn't eaten much.
She hesitated when she saw him. His eyes blazed, but he didn't immediately turn away. Instead, he… approached.
He fell into his chair. She was sitting on his right, next to him. Hostility radiated off him, waves of anger and more anger. June didn't know what the matter was, but she knew the rumours. She knew that everyone was wondering why he was in such a – such a black mood, right now. She didn't know how to ask him anything about it, and she had a feeling he would bite her head off if she did.
So she did the only thing she knew how to do – she placed her palm on his hand. It looked small against his – dwarfed by the size of his hand. She clutched it a little, held on.
The anger began to recede.
He turned his hand over, and she laced her fingers into his. She dared not to look at him, only tracing the patterns of the creases in his palm.
"Thanks," he murmured.
"No problem," she said.
They sat there for a few seconds, a thrill running through her heart when he didn't withdraw his hand at once.
"It's my uncle," he said finally. "He died a few weeks ago. My family didn't have the decency to tell me. Found out because he left me money."
"I'm sorry," she said. She knew she sounded automatic.
He shrugged. "Even Regulus didn't tell me."
She continued tracing the patterns of the creases.
"He really frustrates me, do you know?"
"I know," she said, pausing her tracing of his hand. She gripped his hand tighter. "He's alone, Sirius. You have many people. He's not used to relying on anyone outside of his family."
"I'm family," said Sirius under his breath. "He could rely on me."
"You and I both know that's not always the easiest path to follow," said June.
Sirius didn't look very convinced. "Fuck, who cares about Regulus. I liked Uncle Alphard."
This June had nothing to say to. She allowed him to stew in silence for sometime, wondering how best to tackle the problem. Then, she had a burst of inspiration. "I have the Herbology essay to finish," she said out of nowhere. "But I wanted to get a snack, first. Will you come?"
He seemed surprised, but he agreed. He was still not meeting her eyes at all.
She stood up, gathering her things before circling the table to grab her bag. As soon as she left his hand, she felt an inexplicable sense of disappointment and relief at the same time. When she turned around, he was standing, too. He was looking at her, and she really couldn't place the look. He still wanted something – she really wasn't sure what it was.
She hesitated. Put her bag down. Put her arms around his neck.
He was stiff for a second, but so was she. She hadn't realised how – how unused to touch she was. She hadn't been hugged in years. But he melted, just as she did. He held her tighter, but she found she didn't mind. It felt like a – like a perfect moment, until she gently untangled herself from him. "Come on, let's eat."
It was just too much. Too much of a reminder of what couldn't be hers.
He followed her in silence as they both headed to the kitchens. Sirius showed her a shortcut she hadn't known, and they arrived in half time. She hesitated when they reached the portrait with the pear.
"What?" he asked her.
"Um – will you go along with something I do to feel better?" she asked with caution.
"How stupid is it?" he asked suspiciously.
"Not much stupider than reading Pride and Prejudice thrice," she shot back.
He laughed, his first laugh since she had seen him. She ignored the trill of her heart and smiled back. "Fair enough," he said. "Lead the way."
June entered the kitchen, and Robby instantly made his way to them. "Yes, Miss Williams?" he asked. "Would you like some food? An éclair for Mr Black?"
"Er – no," she said. "Could you – you remember that oven I used a lot a few years back? Could you bring all of this there?"
She surreptitiously handed him a small slip of paper. Robby nodded and dashed off, while Sirius crossed his arms and looked at her with amusement.
"Do this often, do you?"
She was pink. "I – erm, I used to come – well, you know, when you feel low…"
"I really thought we were beyond this, Williams."
She pushed him playfully. "I came here a lot when I was in my third year," she said by way of explanation. "I – you know."
His face turned grim.
"Anyway," she said, brushing past. She took him to the oven – it was in a small enclosure, away from the rest of the kitchens. The ingredients were assembled, as well as the pots and pans. She began separating everything, and handed Sirius a large tin.
"I like – making fudge, when I'm low. I'm not very good or anything, but it's calming. Did this a lot during my summers, too. Especially after third year, because then I was earning my own money so mum couldn't complain. And the exchange rate for muggle money is very good…"
He was listening intently. "Right," she said, with another blush. "Could you – the flour?"
He gave her the flour, and she snipped the packet with a scissor. She measured out far too much for two people.
"Who are you making all this fudge for, Williams?" he asked.
"Um – Lily and the rest?" she said. "I don't do it as often anymore, and I've never had any friends to make it for."
"You know, if you were less pathetic, this would be more fun," he said with a roll of his eyes.
She elbowed him. He flicked some flour on her face.
"Sirius!" she sputtered.
But he was laughing. June sighed. "Oh very well, whatever makes you happy."
"Does that mean I have a pass for anything?" he asked, his ears visibly perking up.
"No!" she said irritably, wiping her face off the flour. "Now, hand over the butter."
"Pity," he said, sliding her the butter.
June huffed, crushing the butter into another bowl. They began to cook in earnest, with June asking him to hand things over, mixing butter, sugar, milk, eggs – all the things that go into making a baked good. She chatted with Sirius about things as she went along – ("everyone loves biscuits, but I prefer fudge, you know?), and he told her some of the things he had been thinking of as well ("Never been that keen on the Bent Winged Snitches. Always felt like their music was a little derivative."). They didn't talk about his uncle much, except a few odd mentions ("I used to go to his place during Easter with Andromeda. She's my cousin – the only cousin I can bear." "You didn't go for Christmas?" "I always spend Christmas at the Potters."). June had to keep him away from the bowl of batter far too often, even as he pretended to listen to her opinions on the lack of a musical or artistic education in Hogwarts (why do we care so little about our cultural education? Just because the wizarding community has been so much more scattere– Sirius!).
Eventually, with the fudge packed off in the oven, they both settled down on the small table placed in the corner of the enclave.
June saw his hand resting on the table and took a breath.
"I didn't know you liked cooking."
"A lot you don't know about me," she said.
"Like?"
June rolled her eyes. "What do you want to know? That I was raised catholic?"
"You were?"
She laughed. "Yeah. Now you know."
Sirius seemed to be earnestly contemplating this. Just as June was about to ask him what he was thinking, he said, "I haven't ever cooked, you know?"
"No?" asked June, frowning.
"Yeah – at home, it's always the house elf who cooked. And Mum would never let us sully the Black family name by performing the menial tasks of the house."
It was said with bitterness.
"So… I'm better at you than this?" asked June. This was probably not the take away he expected, but it made him smile.
"Enjoy lording it over me," he said.
"I have so little to look forward to, after all," she sniffed realistically. "What with my pathetic life and no friends until year six."
Sirius' eyes widened. This time, she laughed.
"Oh, ha, ha," he said. "Very funny."
"Come on, you do it to me all the time," said June with a grin. "I'm always on my toes."
"And don't you forget it, Williams," he said. His eyes flicked across her face, and for a second, she wasn't sure what he was thinking. He looked – he looked odd.
"You've been doing okay last few weeks?" he asked.
She nodded. "Would have loved a warning before you dropped off the earth," she said. "All of your fanclub descended upon me like I held some sort of key to your emotions. I don't understand them."
He barked a laugh. "Sorry," he said. "I forgot to keep you in the loop."
"S'alright," she said, and she meant it. "Since I had nothing else to go on, I have to say, they are a good source of information. They'd come weeping about how you hadn't eaten your food at the dinner table or hadn't shown up for Transfiguration, and I'd have to reckon with the fact that I'm a bad friend for not noticing any of it."
He laughed again, louder. "You are bizarre, Williams."
She blushed pink with pleasure. Again there was that weird look in his eye, one that she couldn't place. He seemed to be aware that she had noticed it.
"You been reading?" she asked, trying to cut the tension.
"Oh – well, not as much," he said. "It's a good book – Death of a Salesman. A play, I should say. It's… so small. I mean – that's what she said about it, too. That it's a story of a small person and their small life, and that's what makes it big. And it's got such a lot… going on? She's right, there's a lot of large feelings in the book, pressed in a small life."
"Then what's the problem?" she asked.
He smiled wanly. "It's not the book. It's… her. I don't… I think I ought to meet her. I feel like my connection to her is slipping, and I don't like it."
June had nothing to offer. Before she could really ponder the implications of this statement, really think it all through, he asked:
"Do you like cooking?"
She nodded. "Mum and I would cook a lot when I was smaller. It was easier… being around her when we were in the kitchen."
"Can I ask you something?"
She waited.
"Why did it change? I know why it changed for me," he said.
"No – I… don't know."
He paused. "Does pure blood fanaticism mean nothing to you?"
"You and I both know that's not how it… works," she said. "I know you weren't born knowing right from wrong. Those things are taught, and your parents must have taught you something. How did you… stop learning that?"
The sound of kitchen knives chopping and the oven humming were the only things she heard.
"For me," June ploughed on, "There was a… moment. I had a moment, where I realised that my father's cruelty may not extend to me now, but it might. Whenever it was convenient."
He brooded. "I would have been eight or something," he said quietly. "My parents were screaming their hearts out for the hundredth time, and I remember thinking that this couldn't be love. She'd never hug me, my mother. And I saw someone hugging their kid once, on the street. I felt fucking exhausted, of course. It's tiring, right?"
She nodded. "The first time is always related to you. Mum aimed a nice soapy pan to my head once, for burning dad's dinner. That's when the other shoe dropped: she'd defend him, even when his cruelty would extend to me. They can be a little Christian, you know. That's why we don't get along much, either. Witchcraft is the devil's work, and it's as bad as saying I don't believe in God, or that I'm interested in women. That's not all, of course. Later you see all the other things – the racism feels worse, since it's so much more… public. Like how my father couldn't look at the Indian family in the street without a sneer. They were horrified when a black woman came to stay on our corner."
He winced. "That's…?"
"Muggle blood purity," explained June tiredly. "I won't pretend to be able to tell you a lot about it, but I've read To Kill a Mockingbird. And some of Morrison. But you know – you know how it is. Once you know that their cruelty is wrong, the people they were being cruel to probably…"
"Don't deserve it," he finished. She nodded.
"I won't pretend I'm a saint," she said. "I think – well, I don't like thinking about it, but I must have caused some pain to others. Especially Shankar."
His fingers drummed the table. "I did something to a Muggle Born, too. And I don't like thinking about it, either."
She understood. She knew too well what he was talking about.
It occurred to her then that she'd given away the fact that she liked reading something that wasn't classwork. Luckily, he didn't bring it up. She waited a few minutes for the moment to pass before she continued the conversation.
"You feel so tired," she murmured. "Like it's on you to fix the family and the world."
"Isn't it?" he said bitterly.
"Eh," she said with a bright smile. "We can't fix our parents. I try not to take them too seriously."
He laughed again. She smiled with him.
"You could leave, you know? I've got a fortune now, thanks to my uncle. We could live together." He said it quietly, but there was that ring of truth in it.
Her heart trilled again. "Oh, be quiet," she said. "I can't believe your family sob story ends with you getting a fortune. I'd like to be rich."
He mussed her hair even as she batted him away. "You ought to marry me," he said seriously. "You'd be rich, and without the family, too."
She pretended to consider it. "Do you leave your laundry undone?"
"Yes," he said.
"Then no," she said, lacing her fingers together.
"Merlin help us, Williams."
"Well, fine, I might budge on the laundry, but you have to promise to do it."
"And just what are you going to be doing?"
"Cooking, since you're awful at it."
"I never said I was awful at it," he said, stung. "I don't have practice. Besides, you could do the laundry and I could learn –"
"I refuse to eat burned food."
"I want a divorce."
"Me first."
They both burst into peals and peals of laughter. The oven dinged.
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