The Girl Not Spoken Of
000
Sirius smiled at the influx of old memories. They were so good in the beginning, to nice to peruse again, like trying on old clothes. He remembered fondly the feel of her in his arms, the smell of her hair on his shoulders, as he whispered sweet nothings to her in empty classrooms. He had no idea why she had chosen him, why he was so lucky to have been blessed by such an angel of life.
000
He followed her out of class one day. It had been a particularly frustrating day, full of heated, intense looks and heavy casualties on both sides. Naturally, they all followed him. Sometimes Padfoot could be so thick. Did he honestly think that they wouldn't notice how he took off after Marie in practically a dead run?
"Ginger!" He shouted after her, and then again, "Ginger!"
She kept walking, and he kept following, and the Marauders continued stalking a little ways behind. Marie and Sirius finally collided, just outside the castle doors.
"Ginger," he said again, still using her last name, grabbing her arm and turning her towards him. She whirled around, bristling, cheeks flushed and breath coming a little more quickly than it probably should have been from just a brisk walk.
"What?" She asked coolly, but even the boys could hear the slight hitch in her voice.
"Aw, damn it," Sirius growled, and then he had his hand around the back of her neck, and he was crushing her lips to his.
She wrapped her arms around his neck, their long hair mixing in the winds as they kissed passionately. Close by, safely huddled beneath the invisibility cloak, the rest of the Marauders were not about to leave. They watched in fascination. While it might have taken Sirius a while to admit it, he certainly didn't lack the balls to get what he wanted.
000
They acted exactly the same way, bickering and frustrating each other in class, before disappearing in to empty classrooms and hidden alcoves for stolen kisses in between bells.
It was an intensely passionate relationship, full of emotional and physical ups and downs, complete with real fights, hard on both of them, and excess emotion, passion and love.
They were caught in a whirlwind romance, filled with nothing but each other. Sirius Black, the infamous bad-boy of Hogwarts, who had never been pinned down for more than a week, was caught in a net of his own making.
And then suddenly seventh year was drawing to a close, and Sirius was kissing the tears off of her face, promising that they would be together, stay together, for ever and always, sounding exactly as he'd never thought he would.
000
Sirius sighed, putting his head in his hands. Slowly, slowly, oh so slowly, he reached his hand in to the pocket of his robe. Deeper, he reached, until he felt it. Simply touching it was like a jolt of electricity, and gently, he pulled out the old, dog-eared photograph. It was thin with wear, the color fading from the edges. Funnily enough, it too was a muggle, black and white. He had never bothered to dip it in the potion of movement. It wouldn't have made any difference. Tenderly, he held it in between his hands, and then he looked down.
Her face shone through the worn paper at him, unchanged after all the years. It shot at him like a bullet, a physical pain, making him want to recoil. His haunted eyes stared back at her young, unlined, seventeen-year-old face. She still exuded the same glow she had every day of her life. She glowed like an angel, joyfully in the prime of her life.
She would be in her thirties now. Her rich mahogany hair would have the shine and highlights that seem to come with age, and her flowery scent would probably be more sophisticated, older. She would have crows' feet around her eyes, and smile lines around her mouth. She might have gained a little weight, finally rounding out her harsh edges. But she would still be beautiful. She would still be his.
000
Sirius had cried himself out. Marie had stayed up all night with him, cradling his head on her lap, stroking his soft hair, and murmuring those sweet nothings, which he had so often murmured to her. Her skirt was wet with his tears, his lips dry and cracked, his cheeks stiff with the salt.
Finally, when the sun came up, he was ready for revenge. He was hungry for bloodshed. He knew who had done it, and so did she. Her big eyes looked scared, and she was pale under her tan. His dark eyes were hooded, the blue half moons under his red rims making him look grim and scary. Catching their reflection in the glass door, he nodded. They looked exactly as they felt, about to deliver a justice long overdue.
Grimly, they set out. He had decided it was to be him. She had left her wand, just in case something happened. Both of her parents were dead, and she had no wizarding relatives, being a half-blood anyways.
The one person, other than Sirius, who could identify her as a witch had been killed last night, along with Sirius' best friend.
By another he had once considered a best friend.
In retrospect, he didn't know how it could have happened. How could he have let it happen? How could he have let her come along? His fingers grew white as he gripped the photo, rocking on his chair, scrunching his eyes closed against the painful onslaught of memories. He still blamed himself. She didn't even get a proper funeral.
He found out, years later, that she had been declared legally dead after being MIA for months.
It was largely assumed that she had gone insane when he was sent to Azkaban, and tried to follow. Their flat remained empty, untouched, gathering dust… Sirius felt a tear slide down his cheek, and her name rose up in his throat, a painful lump that he couldn't swallow away.
A Jane Doe body had been among those of the thirteen muggles who Pettigrew had killed that day, but the connection had never been made.
She was just one more thing that Pettigrew had destroyed.
When they found Peter Pettigrew, it was in the middle of a crowded street. Marie stood a little ways behind Sirius, ready to help if anything went wrong, while he advanced, wand held menacingly. He was going to make Peter suffer.
And then she was gone, in the terrible explosion. He didn't even have time to cry her name.
And Peter was gone too, gone rat, gone to his true personality.
He had taken everything. Everything.
Everything Sirius had ever loved was gone, wiped out, in that terrible day. And it was all, entirely, completely Peter's fault. James, Lily and then his Marie. His Marie. Marie Eleanor Ginger, with her middle name given to her by her muggle mother, after the wife of a famous American President. Marie…his beautiful, loving, smiling, kind, harsh, determined Marie. How could she be dead? How could a life force so vivacious ever be extinguished?
He had won, Peter had.
The fat boy, good at nothing, with a runny nose, had won the war.
And so Sirius had sat amidst the rubble, in the wreckage, and laughed until he cried at the terrible unfairness of life. And even through his tears he continued to laugh. He laughed until they came and carried him away to Azkaban. And even there he laughed, for they had imprisoned the wrong man, they had issued the wrong verdict of thirteen muggles killed, and they had let the wrong man escape. He laughed for a long time, until he forgot what was funny. And then he laughed some more, for he had forgotten how to cry. It was a harsh, barking sound. His throat was raw and his eyes would run.
000
Quietly at first, and then more loudly, in the empty kitchen of Grimmauld place, Sirius began to cry. His hands reflexively clutched at the photo, and he slowly made his way to the window. He opened it, and the scent of rain filled the room. He started, he hadn't realized it had started raining. He held the picture out, his fingers trembling. A worn edge, and then the bottom half of her face, and finally even her high forehead peaked out. The first droplets of rain hit the picture, the water causing the ink to run, distorting her glowing beauty.
But it was time. She would always be beautiful, she would always glow, and she would always be burned in to his memory. The rain steadily washed the picture, like tears, and in a way it was a cleansing for his soul. Marie would never come back, he realized. No amount of waiting could ever make her return.
He would be alone forever.
Finally, he released the picture with a sigh. It floated down, the color running in the rain. It was time to forgive and forget. Tears as thick as the rain flowed freely down Sirius' face, and sobs racked his body as he closed the window.
But he did not laugh.
000
Later that night, Sirius rushed to battle with other members of the Order of the Phoenix to aid Harry. It was still hard to look at Harry, who was so like James.
Marie's face was still fresh in his mind, as he automatically dueled Bellatrix. And then, suddenly, it didn't matter so much anymore. He could feel her, close to him, right beyond the veil. He threw back his head, and laughed. Suddenly he was seventeen again, running down the corridor to where her face was peeking out from behind the door of an empty classroom. He didn't hear her shout the terrible killing curse, nor his nephew's anguished scream. He was hardly aware of his body falling through the veil. He was finally with Marie again, and from his lungs issued a long sigh of relief.