Written for The Codebreaker (Mastermind) Challenge, for my first guess, where my prompts were: Sirius Black - Fred Weasley - 'The Lazy Song', Bruno Mars - 'Ghost', Ella Henderson.
Warning for suggestive scenes of a mild sexual nature through a memory.
Please R&R!
Number Twelve Grimmauld Place was empty. Well, that wasn't quite true. The portrait that lived on the stairs behind the velvet curtain was sleeping, her soft snores heard on the landing. There was a house elf in a little cupboard by the kitchen, muttering to himself as he cradled an ornate locket. The rest of the house seemed silent.
Sirius Black sat on his bed, the bed he remembered so fondly from his childhood as his only refuge, and stared at a photograph of himself, before the years of torment stole his youthful looks, and a smiling girl with long, messy blonde hair.
In another bedroom, on another bed, lay Fred Weasley, smiling to himself. He had decided that today he would be lazy. The rest of his family were at Diagon Alley, getting ready for another year at Hogwarts. Fred should have been with them, but he'd quite fancied a day off instead. He'd feigned illness and left George in charge of his Hogwarts' supplies so he could.
Loving Lauren had been easy. Loving Lauren had been dangerous. She hadn't realised, but she'd worn down who he was and turned Sirius into a shadow of his former self. She'd been the reason for his complacency, his lack of energy when James has asked him to be their Secret Keeper. Laziness had made him say that Peter was a better choice. The worst part wasn't even the years he'd spent in hell, proving to himself that he wasn't insane, because of what she had done. The worst part was that she was still here.
It was eleven o'clock in the morning, but Sirius reached for his Murray Malt all the same, pouring out a small glass. She was like a ghost to him now, a reminder of what he had done and who he had been. She came here, she sat around the table with him, she stayed or left. He still loved her. Last night, the ghost of her had kept him awake. He couldn't say no. He let the phantom of a girl kiss his neck, draw her nails down his back and rest its head on his shoulder. She'd left for work, and all Sirius wanted to do was walk along the banks of the Thames to think, and forget about it. He wanted to walk into a seedy bar, the kind of place that would be open at 11 o'clock in the morning, and drink in peace, away from this place, to take the pain away.
But instead he was stuck here, where memories of her surrounded him, and he couldn't escape himself. He thought back to when they'd been at school. He'd been a Marauder, and it seemed like he had everything back then. They'd been the pranksters, the class clowns; they'd been popular and fearless. The war, and her, had stolen everything from him, one way or another. Other students took up their mantle now; the Weasley twins. The twins had their map, their courage, and their strategic minds, which they turned to the same ends. Sirius wondered if their lives would end up like his.
Fred knew that Sirius was in as well, Sirius was always in, but he didn't want to speak to him. For one day, he didn't want to speak to anyone. He'd had it with talk of the war, talk of school, talk of the future. All everyone ever did was talk. Fred had grown sick of talking when everyone had questions and no one had answers. Even at school, everyone wanted to talk to him and George. They'd made a name for themselves, which meant everyone thought they knew the twins. They didn't. They only knew the versions of themselves they wore for the public. Well, Fred didn't want to be that person today. George understood.
He wasn't moping, far from it. He was actually perfectly content where he was, a small smile playing on his lips. Tomorrow, he'd do anything they wanted him to. He might even get his NEWTs, and make his mum proud. But that would have to wait.
Still, his thoughts kept finding themselves pulled back to Sirius Black. The more he learned about Sirius, and James Potter, for that matter, the more he realised they were one and the same at his age. They had the same charisma in School, the same attention, the same grades. They embodied the same love of life. But seeing him now… he was a shell of a man, a memory of his former self. Nothing more. Was that what the war did to men like them? Was Sirius Black more than a memory; was he a mirror, showing Fred what he would become? And James Potter… his brother in arms, his comrade and closest friend. He was… dead.
Fred stood, and headed out of his bedroom. He walked to Sirius' room, and stood outside it for a moment, before knocking on the door.
Sirius placed his glass on the windowsill, hidden from view of the doorway. He went to answer the door, not sure what Fred would want. He said nothing.
"Hey," Fred began, nervous. "Me and George were half way through a plan for our first big prank of the year, and we got a little stuck." Fred began to grin as he explained himself, and his words came with a dramatic flair. "I was wondering if you would be able to help us out, as a once infamous Marauder?"
Sirius grinned, the memory of Padfoot, his school-years' self, floating to the surface of his mind and his face. "Sure. Why not oil those rusty cogs?" he said. He followed Fred downstairs to the kitchen, the glass long forgotten already as Fred began to explain where they were up to so far.
They talked, and laughed, and soon learned they had a lot in common. Fred realised all he really needed was a step back from his family, and breathing space. Sirius realised all he needed was a reminder that he was still the man he used to be. And so the ghost of a man remembered that he was whole, and the young boy with bright eyes and hope realised his future didn't look that bad, after all. For the moment, they could forget. For the time being, they were content.