Chapter Seven (Sirius)
Sirius spent the next several days bouncing back and forth between elation and shame. On the one hand, he was re-discovering his sexuality and finally feeling alive and rejuvenated. Perhaps more importantly, he was with (if one could truly call it "with") someone who was beautiful and kind and intelligent and seemed to return his feelings. But on the other hand? On the other hand, he felt he'd made a total arse of himself on the first sexual attempt and Misha had yet to really say those four little words he so longed to hear: I love you, too, Sirius. Well, actually that was five words, but his name was irrelevant.
Still, life was improving. Armed with his wand, Sirius was able to regain his magic and he felt more complete and alive than he had in years. He spent hours practicing, spelling anything and everything that crossed his path. Granted, Buckbeak was less than thrilled about being Charmed a variety of colors, but he still cooed happily, when Misha scratched his beak and told him that "the violet feathers suited him." And that made Sirius happy, too. To fit in, to be amusing, to gain attention for something other than being "a convict and a murderer," these were things he craved.
Often Misha would be gone during the days, teaching long hours at Hogwarts or rehearsing with her string quartet, PhoenixFire. The former was an added benefit for it allowed Sirius to exchange notes and messages with Harry. In the mornings, Misha would slip the boy letters whilst passing him in the hallways and, by the time the final class had ended, Harry would have composed a long reply. He told Sirius about his qualms with the Triwizard Tournament and how rumors were spreading that someone was trying to kill him. Sirius was beside himself with worry, but felt slightly more at ease knowing that, not only was he close by, but that Misha was there, too. And she'd promised to take him (as Padfoot, of course) to the final Task, which reassured him greatly. Nothing would happen to Harry if he were close at hand! Simply knowing that he was making a difference gave Sirius great comfort during the long days spent by himself.
Yet Misha was always around to pay attention to him during the early mornings and evenings and they spend every moment of her days off together. Hand in hand, the two would wander about the farm and forest, exploring caves and hiking through brush-covered paths. He even helped her clean the stables and pick herbs for her potions, feeling relieved at the thought of being helpful.
Still, Misha was confusing. She was so beautiful, yet she seemed to neither notice nor care and this was something hitherto unknown in a female. Pretty girls were supposed to be beauty-conscious and vain, were they not? But Misha was decidedly not. It wasn't that she quite lacked self-confidence, but true vanity was not part of her make-up. Despite what her mother had obviously pushed on her to be (and, oh how Sirius could relate to that) she seemed to care more about causes than cosmetics and more about animals and books than social events. Oddly, she reminded him a little of Remus (except to the male part and the werewolf part), for she had the same sort-of sensibility and the same sort of quirky sense of humor.
One day, when he was killing time in the library idly flipping through a book on many uses of Doxie entrails, Sirius heard a strange noise. An odd, tinny music - some corrupted version of Beethoven's "Für Elise" - seemed to be emanating from the depths of the large, leather wingback chair near the fireplace. "What the hell?" he muttered as he bounded across the room to investigate.
The music grew louder as Sirius drew closer and he nearly hesitated before shoving his hand beneath the cushions. "Merlin knows what could be hiding in such ancient furniture," he thought to himself, but then quickly realized that this particular chair had to be safe. In fact, just last night he'd been sitting in it when Misha had passed by. He'd grabbed her, pulled her onto lap, kissed her deeply, and… Wait. Now was not the time to think about that; the music was still playing and it was driving him insane. Bravely, he reached into the depths of the chair and hoped for the best.
The first thing he found was the desiccated remains of an old Honeydukes candy bar, but considering the music was not stopping, that could hardly be the source. Tossing aside the stale treat, he rooted around in the chair until his fingers encountered something smooth and cool: a comb. A musical comb? No, that couldn't be it. Two cough drops, seven sickles, and one enormous dust-bunny later, Sirius found the source of the noise: that strange black, plastic object that Misha called a Muggle mobile. It must have fallen from her pocket last night when they were kissing. Sirius freed the phone from its prison and looked at it curiously.
It was strange magic, to say the least. He'd never seen Misha use it, but knew instinctively that it had something to do with the little red and green buttons in the middle. Hesitantly, he tried the red one. Nothing. Still curious, he poked at the green button.
"Hello! Hello?" cried the device in a tiny, irritated voice.
Sirius shrugged and put the phone up to his ear as he imagined he was meant to. "Hello?" he offered brightly.
"Misha?" said the phone.
"No," replied Sirius, "obviously not."
"Who the hell is this?"
The device was apparently becoming irate, making Sirius wonder if he should have poked it sooner. Still, it seemed rather brazen for such a tiny, helpless-looking little thing, so Sirius was not the least intimidated. "Who the hell is this?" he asked it.
A small silence followed by a great huff of annoyance greeted his ears. "This is Chet, where the fuck is Misha and who in bloody hell are you?" the phone replied angrily.
Misha's phone was named after her ex-boyfriend? Or her ex-boyfriend was a small, rectangular brick of black plastic? That made no sense whatsoever. And then it hit him, this was a communication device after all, not some sort-of quasi-sentient magical object. Misha's ex-boyfriend was on the phone! Shit. But why was Misha's ex-boyfriend trying to call her? Sirius did not like the sound of this at all.
"HELLO!!" bellowed phone-Chet, "ARE YOU THERE?"
"Erm, sorry," Sirius replied, attempting to sound as cold as possible, "She's not in."
"Well, you'll give her a message, yeah? Tell her I'll be in London tomorrow and I'm on my way to Glasgow and I'd like to see her. Oh, and tell her that I got the Calvin Klein underwear campaign, too."
Sirius could find no words to express his horror. He had no idea who this Calvin Klein person was, but strongly suspected that it was in very poor taste to discuss one's underwear with the person with whom one's ex-girlfriend was sleeping. Not that Chet-the-mobile would have any idea of that. "Yes, thank you," he grunted into the plastic brick before chucking it at the wall.
By the time Misha returned home, Sirius had managed to spell the mobile back into what he hoped was working order. He'd also resolved to not tell her about the phone call, reasoning that, if she never knew Chet called, she would never meet him on his way to Gasgow. Sirius was well aware that this was neither the wisest nor the most mature response, but he found he was so anxious at the prospect of losing Misha, that he simply didn't care.
Still, he could not resist inquiring about Chet.
"So, what is your ex-boyfriend up to these days?" he asked, attempting to sound casual.
Misha frowned and turned her attention to the sauce she was stirring. "I have no idea," she said simply. "Last I'd heard he'd won some job with a Calvin Klein campaign – or so Winter informs me." She paused and looked directly into Sirius' eyes with a sad little smile. "Why?"
"Erm, I don't know. I just… I just want to know more about you and your life?" Shit, why had he phrased that as a bloody question? Luckily, Misha seemed not to notice. Instead, she dropped her spoon into the pot and threw her arms around him.
"Why? Are you jealous?"
"No," he growled, pulling away. Truthfully, he was. At least a little bit. After all, Chet was a model and ostensibly gorgeous. Sirius had even see a picture.
Misha sighed. "Love, I assure you, that Chet is exactly the opposite of you in nearly every way. You've nothing to worry about."
"Opposite as in what?" snapped Sirius. "Young? Handsome?"
"Vain, selfish, cowardly, and untrustworthy, more like." Misha gripped him hard by the shoulder, pulling back to study his face. "You are handsome, Sirius, and did I ever tell you why I finally broke up with him?"
"No," he muttered, cringing inwardly at his sullen tone.
If Misha noticed, she ignored it. "One day, Chet and I were walking through Hyde Park and stopped to watch a group of teenaged boys playing soccer. One of them attempted to kick a goal, but missed the mark and the ball headed straight for us. Chet pushed me in front of him and the ball smacked me straight in the face, breaking my nose."
"What a bastard!" cried Sirius. "I'd never…"
"Of course not. But, oh, it gets worse. The boys came running over to apologize and one of them – who had apparently noticed Chet's move – confronted him on it. And do you know what he said?"
Sirius shook his head. He wasn't sure that he really wanted to know, but Misha seemed so bemused that it couldn't be too bad.
"He told them that his face was his fortune and mine was hardly marketable, so he made the only logical move. The boys, of course, were appalled and sporting for a fight and… well, lets just say it did not end well." She paused, looking thoughtful before adding, "Well, maybe it did because I realized what a prick he was and then I met you!" She leaned up and kissed him gently on the mouth.
"This is it," he though, "She's going to say, 'I love you.' " But Misha only smiled and turned back to her marinara sauce.
They were drinking their late Saturday afternoon tea when Misha's phone let out a garbled crow.
"What the hell?" she muttered, scowling at her mobile. She shook it gently as it crowed again then raised an eyebrow at Sirius.
"I've no idea," he mumbled, unable to meet her eye.
Cowing aside, she managed to answer the phone.
"Hello?"
A garbled voice issued from the phone, but, try as he might, Sirius could not make out the words.
"Yes, of course this is me… Chet? What the hell?... You're where? Why?...Who?... When?... " She turned and glared at Sirius, eyes wide with fear and annoyance. "Oh, that was… my, my… cousin Nigel… No… Yes… No… Why? Well, of course you're lost and can't find the house… Yes, I suppose I'll come meet you… Stay there." And with a sigh she hung-up the phone and rounded on Sirius.
"WHAT THE FUCK, BLACK? What the hell did you think you think you were doing messing about with my mobile and talking to my friends? And you couldn't have been honest and told me he called? Who do you think you are?" She was inches from his face, seething with anger.
Friends? Sirius was so taken aback by this, he almost forgot to respond, but merely stammered out a convoluted apology.
"Whatever," spat Misha, quickly brushing out her ponytail. She awarded him another death-glare and hissed, "Padfoot! Now! You're coming with me, asshole."
And Sirius had no choice but to transform.
Ten minutes later they were making their way down the dusty lane in front of her house. Just ahead, at a slight bend in the road, sat a sleek silver car (Misha would later call it a Jaguar) with a tall, blond man in a black leather jacket leaning casually on the boot.
"Misha, darling," he called, leaping from the car and pulling her into a fierce hug. "How are you? You look fabulous!"
Padfoot could not fight the low growl that rose in his throat.
"Thanks. You, too," Misha said coldly, before glancing down warningly at Padfoot. "Did you want to come in for tea?"
"If I can ever find your damned house. I could never for the life of me figure out why anyone would want to live way the hell out in the country like this, " laughed Chet, but Misha just shook her head and wandlessly lifted the wards.
"It's right in front of you, silly, now come along." And the pair set off for the house, Padfoot trailing menacingly at their heels.
"Nice, mutt," sneered Chet, "One of your many pathetic rescues, I suppose?"
Misha seemed to ignore the tone of that last remark. "His name is Paddy Dignam," she replied. Padfoot looked up at her questioningly and Chet simply looked blank. "As in James Joyce, you cretin," snorted Misha, though neither Chet nor Padfoot were certain as to whom this comment was directed.
By the time they settled down to tea, Chet was smiling charmingly and Padfoot was wary and furious. Unlike their tea time with Harry and his friends, this one was simple and far less lavish. In fact, Misha didn't even bother with biscuits.
"Still not eating sugar, I suppose," she sighed, dumping several spoonfuls into her own tea.
"Nor carbs. It's done wonders for me," replied Chet.
Under the table, Padfoot rolled his eyes. "How much longer can this stilted conversation go on," he wondered. Unfortunately, the answer turned out to be a very, very very long time. In fact, much to Sirius' dismay Chet stayed through dinner and well into the evening, talking endlessly of his jobs and his cheekbones and people of whom Sirius had never heard. For her part, Misha did not seem all that interested, but she remained unfailingly polite. Meanwhile, Sirius was growing exhausted and hungry. As a dog, of course, he got no dinner – or at least no people food. Chet and Misha got roast beef and a spring salad and Padfoot got dog food, a dubious looking plate of slop he merely sniffed at delicately before ignoring. And when he tried to whine for treats, Misha merely shook her head and have him a small pat on the head.
"Pretty demanding mutt," Chet said sarcastically.
Misha rolled her eyes at him and scratched Padfoot behind the ears, "Yes, but he's a good boy. Aren't you, boy?"
Chet said nothing but merely looked at Padfoot with distaste. It was obvious, even to Sirius that Chet hated dogs. Ignoring Padfoot completely, Chet reached across the table and took Misha's hand. "So, Misha, Louis Mariette is giving a cocktail party next Friday night and anyone who is anyone is going to attend. I was wondering if you'd like to come?"
Misha simply blinked in shock, but Padfoot began to growl. "Hush, Paddy," she admonished.
"So? Are you up for it?" Chet continued.
"No, I don't think so…" Misha began slowly. She withdrew her hand and stood and crossed the room. "Chet, I have to honest with you. I told you when we broke-up that we would never work out and I still feel that way. Strongly. We're just too different and I won't stand to be…"
"In other words, you're seeing someone else?" interrupted Chet. He, too, stood, and stalked over to face off with Misha. "It's that idiotic prat I talked to on the phone, isn't it? Your so-called 'Cousin Nigel?' He sounded a bit old for you, don't you think?"
"It's none of your business, Chet," hissed Misha, slipping gracefully out of his grasp.
But Chet would not relent. He grabbed her by the wrist and regarded her with narrowed eyes. "You know, Mish, you and your petty little secrets are pretty fucking strange. You rarely leave your damned house, you date mysterious older men with no social skills, you hang around with animals, and you teach at some freakish school for mutant children! In fact, everything about you is pretty damned strange In fact, sometimes I think that you…"
"WOOOF!" Padfoot was between them like a shot, barring his teeth and pushing Chet down to the ground.
"PADFOOT, NO!!!" screamed Misha, and Sirius backed off. But Chet was already scrambling away and heading for the door.
"You're dog's a freak, too!" he yelled as he stormed out of the house.
A small silence descended as the thud of the slamming door slowly faded from the room. Padfoot shivered unconsciously and slunk toward Misha who was now huddled on the floor sobbing. He nuzzled her chin for a moment and then raised his snout to lick her face, but she just pushed him away and buried her face in the soft fur of his neck. Padfoot whined, wanting desperately to transform back into human form and somehow comfort her, but she clung on tightly and cried. Finally, after several uncomfortable minutes of tears, Sirius regained human form and hugged Misha gently. "You're not a freak, Misha and… and… I really do love you."
But Misha just gave a muffled squeak and, pushing him away, fled up the stairs to her room and slammed the door. For a moment Sirius just stood there fighting the myriad feelings that raged through him. Anger, worry, heartbreak, and fear vied for top spot as he debated his next move. Finally, he trudged slowly up the stairs and knocked gently on the door to her bedroom. No response. He tried the knob. Locked. In despair he returned to his dog form and curled-up against the door and went to sleep.
Reviews are encouraged and, don't worry, it gets better in the next chapters.