four
In the morning, he was gone. She was used to waking up to the faint odor of soap that meant that Sirius had woken up and opened the closet a crack. Sometimes, if the coast was especially clear, he'd shower in the wee hours of the morning. She was used to smuggling him breakfast. She could still smell the soap, but the bedding in the closet was rolled up, and the room was empty.
She went down to eat breakfast and tried not to let it bother her. He hadn't left a note or anything. Had he really been that bothered by her reaction to the kiss? If so, what exactly was he going to tell people? Where had he gone?
Was he angry? She didn't want to entertain the possibility—she didn't want to care about the possibility—but what if he was? She wasn't sure what it meant to her, for him to be angry. Should she care? Try to fix it? Did she care?
She decided that he must have left a note, but that she just hadn't seen it. After breakfast she returned to her bedroom, rifling through the notes on her desk, a pile of papers on her dresser, her shoes. Would he have tried to hide it somewhere clever? She did a walkthrough of the house, wondering if maybe an owl had dropped one off unbeknownst to her. But there was nothing—in the whole house, nothing.
Back to the desk she went.
You're WELCOME, Sirius, she wrote, underlining and re-tracing "welcome."
You're welcome for letting you sleep on my closet, and eat our food. You're welcome for listening to you mope and carry on about everything. You're really selfish, you know that? You think everyone's just going to fall at your feet. You're kind of ridiculous.
And you better not be mad about the kiss. Not everybody is practically celibate and has only kissed two people. I've kissed a lot more than that and I've realized that a kiss is meaningless. It's just a handshake you do with your face, with people who you maybe like a little more than those you shake hands with, but it's not really personal. Don't forget, you kissed me, so I don't HAVE to like it.
Even though you are pretty good at it. But that's not the problem.
She made a small grunt of frustration and crumpled the note into a ball. You weren't supposed to admit in angry notes that people were good kissers. It didn't strengthen her case; it was irrelevant information. She was known for including irrelevant information, because to her, everything was relevant. The only one who didn't care about her verbosity was Professor Slughorn, because he was worse.
And "a handshake you do with your face"? What was that? Stupid similes also did not belong in angry letters. Maybe she just shouldn't send one. But it had to be addressed, somehow, the fact that he had just vanished.
Where did he even go? The Potters weren't due back until Wednesday. It was only Sunday. Was he living in the barn?
She hadn't checked the barn, she realized. She put her shoes on and went out, not finding him in the ground floor with the stables.
He was sitting, pathetically, on an old milking stool in the corner.
"Where's your dunce cap?"
"Huh?" She forgot—not everybody had acquired the same level of Muggle culture knowledge.
"Dunce cap. Sitting in the corner, on a stool…big pointy hat…never mind. What're you doing out here? I thought you'd gone."
"Unfortunately for you, I don't have anywhere else to go. I thought I'd get out of your way. Didn't expect you to come looking for me."
"Well, you just left. No note, no warning, nothing. I didn't know if maybe the Potters were back early, or if you'd gone to Remus's…or even Peter's…"
"I've never been desperate enough to visit Peter. No—I haven't even talked to him. I haven't told Remus, though I've talked to him. He'd just be concerned. My uncle Alphard knows. Gave me some gold. Said my parents went off on him afterward, but he'd never much liked them anyway. Seems to be a theme with us supposed purebloods—sibling loathing."
"Not me and Cam and Carlisle. Carlisle is too indifferent towards us to loathe us. Everybody liked Bertie, boring though he was. With us, I suppose it's been cousin loathing."
"I thought you all liked each other."
"Correction: They all like each other. I'm the wrench in the machine. Victor hates me, Mel and I don't like each other because we're similar in the wrong ways, and Belinda…you know Belinda."
"I don't know Belinda the way most men know Belinda."
"Of course not. You're too young and not rich enough."
"I'd be scared to get involved with her, anyway. You Bertrand women are heartless and evil."
"Ha, ha. Black women are worse."
"Just Bellatrix, really. Narcissa's just stupid. She'd follow Lucius Malfoy into a burning building if he told her they could shag afterward. You'd think with a name like Narcissa she'd be a bit more interested in self-preservation."
"And your mum."
Sirius rolled his eyes, stretching his legs out – the milking stool can't have been comfortable. "And my mum. You know, I really envy people who like their mothers. Their lives must be so much smoother. When you say you hate your mum, the usual reaction is either shock and horror, or disbelief – 'Oh, you're sixteen, you'll get over it.' To which I reply, they don't know Walburga Black. You simply can't stop yourself hating her. It feels too right."
A sudden, reassuring thought occurred to Eglantine. "That's why!" she said. "You know, I really did wonder why you came here, and most of all why you kissed me, but now I know. Because your mother hates me."
"Not nearly as much as she hates me. She just thinks you're noisy and unladylike. She doesn't even know about the car. But no, that's not why."
"Well, apart from James being in Crete, and Remus being sick, and Peter being Peter."
"I don't even know if that's entirely why. I mean, I could have still gone to Remus's. The Potters probably wouldn't have minded if I stayed alone in their house. And not to be cocky, but there are a host of girls who would have clobbered their own mums to help me. But I didn't do any of that. Didn't simply tough out the week alone. Didn't take up Uncle Alphard's offer to stay. Even Andromeda, she's got a flat in Lincoln so she can keep seeing that Tonks bloke without anyone knowing. Could've stayed with her. I came here."
Eglantine didn't venture to ask why. She didn't want him to provide an answer that would make her feel obligated.
"Those times I got dragged to your swotty uncle's house were some of the best times I had, before Hogwarts. They left me alone. Didn't talk to me. Just let me run off and do what I pleased. And not only are you fun—too much fun, I guess, especially when you turn into Sheryl—you are, underneath it all, passably nice."
"Oh, well, there's a compliment."
"I meant it as one. You can't pretend you don't act nice. I meant that underneath all the acting, you actually are. Maybe you won't be winning any humanitarian awards, but you're a decent person."
"I'm not a humanitarian. I don't eat—"
"People, I know. God, that's an old joke." He laughed anyway. "I always admired your family. Not the Crevan-and-Alya side, they're just shady idiots, but your dad and mum. Your dad is a lot cooler than he looks, and your mum—your mum's great. She always used to ask me how things were, and I always got the sense that she meant it. That she knew."
"What do you mean she 'knew'? Knew what?"
He shrugged. "That my dad used to push me around. More so my mum—dad's sort of a spineless character, at the end of the day—but my dad, when mum would hassle him and he got frustrated, he took it out on me. Sort of frequently, I suppose."
"Oh. I'm sorry. I thought they were just…you know, annoying."
"That too. But also he'd hit me, toss me, whatever. Usually happened round Christmastime because of all the frustration. But then I'd get to your stupid uncle's, and after he'd pretend to make a Sickle come out of my ear (and then keep it for himself) I'd see your family in amongst all the creepy Slytherin twats and I'd smile, because at least someone wasn't there wasn't a horrid person. Your mum always gave me a Galleon. Every Christmas. I know for a fact that Reg didn't get one. That always made me extra happy."
"No, Mum hates him. She used to call him Regulina. Says pink cheeks like that on boys creep her out."
Sirius snorted. "He does look rather blusher-y, doesn't he? Permanently embarrassed, I always thought it was—embarrassed to be wearing a Fauntleroy suit, embarrassed to be going around with gelled hair, embarrassed to wear shined shoes just to go shopping at Diagon Alley. Bit nervous. I'd feel bad for him, if he weren't also a giant prat."
"So if my family is so fantastic, why don't you want them to know you're here?"
"Because they're fantastic. Despite your mum knowing about what my parents are like, they believe that underneath it all, everybody is fundamentally sane and good and logical, and they aren't. They'd want me to talk it through, patch things up, and I can't. I won't. I've already been blasted off the family tree—not like I can be sewn back on."
Eglantine bit her lip and thought. "Yeah, you're probably right. I remember Molly was talking about her grandparents once—she and Arthur came over to celebrate Bertie's getting the Auror job—and how they'd basically cut her off because of Arthur, not to mention sent her about fifty Howlers, and Mum said, 'No, you just need to talk to them, you're still their granddaughter.' And Molly just said, 'Are you mental? That's the entire problem!'"
He laughed halfheartedly, shifting on the milking stool. "I really do envy all you people. You normal people."
"Normal?" Eglantine snorted. "We're witches and wizards. What definition of 'normal' are you using? And I'm a witch named Eglantine. Extra abnormal."
"You know what I mean. You normal people with normal families."
Eglantine could remember some cliché about their being no normal families—everybody was equally weird, so being weird was actually normal, as long as your family wasn't composed entirely of schizophrenics or superstars or people who had extra limbs. But, if she was going to be honest, the conversation was boring her, and she didn't want to encourage it to go on any longer. She was supposed to be dragging Lily to the cinema, even though Lily hated doing things like that, because why be a witch if you just wound up going to the cinema anyway? But The Man Who Fell to Earth was strange enough to interest Lily. She liked strange things, things one wouldn't expect her to even be aware of.
"Yes, well," she said. "Are you going to be coming indoors? Only, I'm supposed to be leaving soon…"
"Where to?"
"Wherever I want to go." She smiled exaggeratedly. "Now go inside. It's hot up here. You'll get all smelly."
"Oh, so I can't care where you go, but you can care what I smell like?"
"If you smell badly enough, people will know you're there."
He rolled his eyes. "Fine, I'll go in. As long as you stop talking like I'm a smelly old dog."
"Dogs? Who mentioned dogs? I don't even like dogs. I'm more of a cat person. Or a no-animal person. They cramp one's style."
He gave her an odd look. "I happen to really like dogs."
"I don't. They're so stupid, so earnest. They bound right up to you with no thought as to whether you wish them to or not. And they shed all over you, and drool, and then off they go, completely unremorseful about ruining your outfit. They're dopey. Cats, on the other hand, don't give two shits about you, and they know when to say when with all the rubbing and lovey-dovey nonsense."
"Hmm. You know, maybe I really ought to take the hint."
"What hint?"
"About you. There's obviously nothing there if you don't like dogs. Must've been reading you wrong."
"Really? You don't pick up on the fact that I like your best friend, but you rule it out because of dogs? It's not as if you are a dog."
"Weren't you aware? All men are dogs, if you listen to some women."
"I thought you were supposed to be Mr. Chaste and Sensitive."
"Well, yes, but that doesn't mean I'm not also an asshole. Or a dog."
"You're obviously not a dog. You've got two legs, and you don't go around licking your own penis. NO. Wait. Do not make idiotic, childish jokes. I did not mean to mention penises."
"Are you sure you want to rob me of that golden opportunity? So many things I could say. So many avenues I could take that down."
"Do not."
He sighed, slumping his shoulders. "All right, I won't. But next time, I get to tell you all the jokes."
"Agreed. I didn't say I was going to listen."
"Deal."
She only lived an hour from Lily's by car, so she walked alone through the woods and fields to Crevan's barn. Alya's barn, now. The forest was dark and cool beneath the trees, sweet-smelling and humming with insects. It was faintly itchy; she couldn't say she was entirely a fan of the natural side of life, even though it was pleasant to admire it from a distance. She couldn't understand blokes like Tolkein who stood there in the middle of the woods, staring at everything, noticing the great panoply of wildlife right down to the color of the pebbles and the sheen of the beetles. I mean, why exactly were they so keen on it? There were quite a few trees, but damned if she knew what species, or felt the urge to give them personalities. Maybe she was missing the Gene of Poetic Observation.
A large hedge of heather had grown up behind the decaying hulk of the barn, and it had attracted dozens of bees. A hummingbird flitted by. Eglantine sneezed.
Though on the way she had had panicked visions of her car smoldering or dismantled, ruined by Alya or Victor or even Mel, the car was undisturbed. She drove it, nevertheless, with the invisibility charm enabled, at least until she pulled onto the main road.
When she arrived at Lily's, which was, from the outside, a depressing tan semi-detached with frilly white drapes in every window and an over-shined car in the drive, she rang the bell several times before being greeted reluctantly by a blustering, red-faced Petunia, who held her hands out as if they had spiders all over them.
"I wish my sister would answer the door herself. She knows I'm painting my nails."
"Oh, nice. What color?"
Petunia scowled. "Red, obviously."
Eglantine raised an eyebrow. "Bad day, Petunia?"
"They're all bad days!" said Petunia histrionically. "I have a date tonight and I've nothing to wear, and apparently magic isn't good for anything, it's just an annoyance, because Lily won't even help me!"
"We can't use magic out of school," Eglantine explained. Knowing Lily, she'd just said "no" without telling her sister why, because it was Petunia. "Especially not in front of…of people who aren't magic."
"Couldn't you just…cheat?"
"Not really. But what's wrong with what you've got on?"
"IT MAKES MY BUM LOOK GIGANTIC!"
Petunia spun around, shoving her bottom at Eglantine. "SEE?" she roared. "LOOK AT IT! HUGE!"
"Petunia. Your ass is as flat as your chest. Calm down."
"My chest is flat?"
"Oh, like that's news!" Eglantine said, sprinting now up the stairs to evade Petunia. She had had it. The girl was completely vapid. All she ever did was bitch about Lily and paint her nails and examine herself, apparently blindly, in the mirror.
When she got upstairs, she found Lily sitting at her desk next to the frog tank, frowning at a piece of paper with spiky handwriting on it. Her red hair was braided, which she never did except when she was exceptionally annoyed. Her Supremes poster had a dart through Diana Ross's beehive.
"Um…hello?" said Eglantine, suddenly afraid to come in. Lily had Moods. Moods in which, as Eglantine was terrified to point out, Lily looked just like Petunia.
"Hullo." Lily waved her in. "Forgot you were coming."
"Oh." She cleared her throat. "Brought the car. So we can drive."
"I'll never understand why you think it's so exciting. Flying is cooler."
"I've been flying since I was a toddler. I've accidentally ingested enough bugs to keep an insect collector busy for weeks. Cars are enclosed."
"All right, Petunia."
"I resent that. I don't go around screaming at people about the size of my bottom."
Lily smirked, but she was still looking at the letter, frowning.
"Bad love letter?"
"Hm? No." Lily crumpled it up. "It's just…" She looked sideways at Eglantine, sizing up whether to tell her or not. "I don't know if you, you know, noticed, but I…I'm not really friends with Severus anymore."
"I noticed." She didn't want to admit that she was happy about it, that she didn't exactly look fondly upon his sallow, looming presence. He was something of a killjoy. And he was creepy, the way he glided around like a little black raincloud, moping all over the castle, staring at Lily with his beady little eyes when he thought no one was looking. He'd never really taken to Eglantine, although he didn't entirely hate her. If anything, he seemed to take a scientific curiosity in the alchemy of Eglantine—what made her and Lily friends, what made her so different from the Averys and Rosiers (and Carlisles and Camillas) among whom she'd grown up. She couldn't tell whether he was so detached and cold because he was jealous of her hanging out with Lily when he wasn't around, or whether he could somehow tell that Eglantine knew about his little crush and was afraid to be too known. Possibly a mixture of both. She tolerated him, she pitied him his awkwardness and his dreariness, but she'd never really liked him.
"He's just…he's so mixed up with…it gives me a bad feeling. Dark Arts and all that. You know, just sort of skulking around with Avery and them. I don't want to be associated with that. It's wrong."
"Agreed." Eglantine sat backwards on Lily's other chair. Now they were getting somewhere. This whole time she'd assumed that Severus must've made some awkward overture that had made it too embarrassing for the friendship to continue, but this reason was far more intriguing somehow.
"I mean—well, do you know, I mean, know for sure, that that's what they do? Avery and Rosier and them? I mean…maybe I'm wrong, maybe they're not that bad…"
"Lily, we both know that they are. I thought Severus never really…you know…bought into it. Because of you—I mean, figured you being friends with him would've kept him out of it. I—er—I never would've introduced them if I'd thought he might be that gullible."
"Well, you didn't completely introduce them. You just put in a good word for him, which…you were trying to help him, in a way, you didn't know."
Had she known? She supposed she did, in a sense, know that Severus might be fascinated by the twisted hobbies of Avery and company, though she had spoken honestly: she thought that he'd mostly keep his hands clean to impress Lily. Evidently his leering was inspired less by esteem or affection than by lust. Even habit—she had always been his, his friend, his release, and for all that to be complicated by external influences spooked him a little.
"Well, no. Maybe I gave Severus a little too much credit."
"Maybe. It's just—" A couple of tears slid down Lily's cheek to mix with her freckles. "It's sad, you know? He was my friend for years. He basically…I mean, it sounds so corny, but he helped me discover myself. As a witch, I mean. And now…we're not really talking. And I can't, Tina, even if I want to, I can't be friendly with someone like that. I can't endorse something like that. Not only am I going to have to be a Prefect, probably, McGonagall all but guaranteed it—not only that—it's not me, it's not what I want to be known for, being friendly with this weird, pathetic little Slytherin boy who's into all this shady stuff… I don't know. He isn't the person I used to know."
"Lily. You are not crying over such a person as Severus Snape. Get up. We are going to watch David Bowie be weird, and you're going to get stared at by plenty of fanciable men, and you are not going to miss hanging out with Severus. You've got me now. I'm loads more fun. If you want me to, if you're feeling nostalgic, I can dump some macassar oil on my head and scowl at you."
"Don't be mean, Tina. I know you never liked him, but—"
"But what? He's not a good person. He may be many things, but he's not good. And he's not good for you."
"I know. That's why I'm not talking to him. But you haven't got to make fun of him for—for things he can't control."
"All right, calm down. Don't get all Petunia-ed up. I won't make fun of him ever again. Now let's go before we miss the show."
"We wouldn't even be in danger of missing the show," said Lily, combing out her braids with her fingers, "if you would consent to fly instead of using that stupid car."
"Have an adventure in Muggledom, Lily Evans. I know you miss it."
"I don't. The only good things about being a Muggle are music and Monty Python."
"And movies."
"Some movies."
"All movies except for An Affair to Remember."
"And Citizen Kane."
"Don't say that in public. People will think you're a yobbo."
"I am a yobbo. I'm a redheaded yobbo that can turn them into a toad, so they better leave me alone."
"You can't turn people into toads. You almost failed Transfiguration."
"I didn't. I had a string of unfortunate days culminating in my turning Peter Pettigrew's left ear into a soup bowl, which may or may not have been intentional. He got better."
"If it'd been anyone else's ear, you'd have failed. If it'd been James Potter's left ear, you'd have been drawn and quartered."
"Hung by my eyelids until death."
"Forced to listen to Celestina Warbeck until you went insane and leapt from the Astronomy Tower."
Lily smiled. It was a smug smile, more often seen on Petunia than Lily. "James likes me, you know. I think he's a bully and a prat. But it does rather boost one's confidence, knowing that a bloke that well-liked likes you and that you don't like him back."
"So he keeps trying to cozy up to you and you get the satisfaction of turning him down."
"Exactly." She had a far-off look in her eye that would've made Eglantine wonder if maybe she fancied James more than she let on, except she always referred to him as a prat. That didn't exactly denote eternal love. "Now we've got to find you someone, Tina. Someone much better than boring old Remus Lupin. He's so…beige. Have you noticed that? He's like all one color or something."
"No, I haven't noticed that," Eglantine said, a bit grumpily. She had only noticed his prepossessing perfection, and the fact that he had stopped speaking to her after she confessed her attraction. Better off without me…yeah, sure. "Anyway, I don't want any more admirers. I have them at the disco. And there's—"
"There's who?"
"Nobody."
"Who? Ooh, let me guess. It's more fun that way."
She wanted to tell her, so she'd seem less dismal than The Girl Who Got Rejected By Beige Remus, but…it was Sirius. He might be embarrassed. Shocked as she was that she even cared if he was embarrassed, she kept thinking of the pathetic face he'd made the previous night and she actually felt guilty, which she always tried to avoid feeling. She never felt guilty because most boys, when they kissed her, only wanted one result. Sirius didn't project the aura of horny desperation that most boys shared. He was…well, he was a friend. Even if there was that one mortifying hiccup that must never be acknowledged again, he was still a friend. One dumb (but enjoyable) kiss didn't cancel out their friendship. Hopefully.
"Sam. You wouldn't know him. From the disco."
"The disco…. Don't you want, you know, a wizard? I feel like you'd be bored being with a Muggle—I mean, I know you're weirdly interested in them, but still."
"I don't want anyone, really. I just want to have fun." This was true. Although she was becoming less sure about what fun actually was. Fun definitely was driving around with Cam, whether Cam wanted to admit it or not. She wasn't certain anymore about fun having anything to do with kissing random Muggle boys at discos. It was, but then…it started to be something else. It started to be flat, like soda with all the bubbles stirred out. It still tasted the same, but it was missing something vital.
Lily grinned. "Let's have fun this year, then. I mean, I still have to be an example, but let's see what's out there. Within reason. No resorting to Peter."
Despite the presence of only Muggle boys, Lily and Eglantine enjoyed themselves at the theater. Eglantine, as usual, left with numbers—two, from Dave and George—and Lily left with four, which she said she'd give to Petunia. Eglantine actually rather fancied Dave. He was very serious-looking, with horn-rimmed glasses, but he was witty, in a kind of awkward, nerdy manner. Lily said, "Of course you like him, he's Muggle Remus with thin lips and glasses and the same beigeness." But of course he was different, he was Dave.
She could see the light on in her closet when she returned home. Sirius was in there, reading.
"What's wrong with you? Are you ill?" she said.
"No, why?"
"Reading. You don't read."
"I read!" he protested, looking offended. "Are you implying that I'm stupid?"
"No, I'm implying that you hate reading. What are you reading?"
"One of your curse books. Educational reading, this."
"Oh. That's normal, then."
"I learned how to make my enemy's toenails grow instantly ten feet. Disgusting. I look forward to using it on someone."
"Ooh, toenails? I didn't see that one."
"Pedestro elongatum. Sounds like a sort of punishment for perverts, doesn't it?"
"Did you see the one about the slugs? I quite fancy the slug one, myself. Nobody can handle slugs."
"No, must've missed that one." He flipped a section back. "And, by the way, no one can handle slugs. They're slippery."
"They're on page three hundred ninety four. Right underneath Helpful Hints for Evading Lawsuits: Avoid Witnesses When Possible."
"Really thought of everything, haven't they, Prince and Grubkauer?"
"Yes. They even have a list of legal loopholes in the back, right after a list of unscrupulous lawyers who'll blackmail people for you."
"Fascinating. Where'd you find it?"
She bit her lip. "Nicked it."
"Where?"
"Crevan's."
"Ah." He wet his thumb and flipped the page. "Your uncle has—had—excellent taste in curse books."
"He probably never read it."
"True. Not really a Renaissance wizard, your uncle."
"Oh, is that the bubble-butt one?" She swatted his hand away from the diagram. (She noticed that it was warm and rough. This was not an observation she wanted to dwell on.) "I wish I could use that one on Lily's sister. She's convinced her bottom is enormous, but it's as flat as a wall."
"Bubble Butt? Hmm. Peter Pettigrew, King of the Bubble Butts…"
"Buttigrew."
"Haze of Trout. This one makes the other person smell like fish for three days."
"Wet Socks."
"Bunchy Pants."
"Cry-Baby."
"Otter Hands."
"Horse Laughter."
"They get awfully specific as they go on, don't they? Here's one to make your enemy wake every morning to the clarion sound of tubas playing dissonant chords for three hours…."
Eglantine and Sirius spent the next two hours going through curses and hexes, making independent lists and then reading them out, along with a notation of who they'd use them on. Before they realized it, it was one in the morning.
Sirius yawned. "I suppose I'd better turn in. I'm leaving tomorrow. I'm spending a couple days at Remus's before the Potters come back. He's feeling better."
"Oh…all right."
"Don't worry, I won't tell him. Anything."
"Okay."
"Is something else bothering you?"
"No."
"Are you sure?"
"No."
She looked up. It was a split-second decision. She would never know why she did it, because she would always maintain that she'd never wanted to do it; but she had wanted to, and without any other thought, she kissed him.
It was just as good the second time.