"Did you really have sex with Dung?"
Marlene turned, a smirk spreading across her face, and the magic surrounding the Muggle house wavered.
"Why, you jealous?"
Sirius flicked his wand to fill in the spiderweb cracks spreading through one section of the wards.
"No, I just want to know what sort of charm you used to mask the smell, because I want to learn it," he said.
"He smelled fine once he was naked." She frowned at the protective bubble and shot a jolt of magic at the weak spot. "I think it's his clothes that smell – I'm not sure he does laundry very often. He's very generous in bed, though, and he's surprisingly well-endowed considering how short he is. I'd make it a regular thing with him, except I'm allergic to his cat, and he's got some sort of a history with my landlord – he's scared to even set foot in my flat."
"Don't worry, there are plenty of other Order members for you to shag. Elphias Doge is pretty spry for an old bloke – maybe he'll wear that stupid bloody hat. Or you could go for Pete. He'd probably thank you and bake you a fucking cake."
He prodded the wards with the end of his wand, jumping backward when he felt a crackle of energy. "This should be good. Let's move on to the next house or we'll never finish."
She nodded and led the way through the trees until they reached the next back garden of the Muggle neighborhood.
"Peter deserves better than me, honestly. He's so sweet, but I'd only break his heart." She brushed her long fringe out of her eye and surveyed the house in front of them.
"That's a nice way of saying he's not your type, isn't it?" Sirius asked, grinning.
Marlene didn't respond as she drew a wide arc through the air with her wand, sending a stream of golden light toward the house. Sirius raised his wand to help but, but his attention was drawn by something bright rushing toward them. Silvery wings beat the air; the Phoenix patronus hovered in front of them and opened its mouth to speak with Dumbledore's voice.
"Death Eaters attacked the train platform, killing a student and a Muggle employee. Leave your duty and assemble in Hogsmeade in case they mount another attack. I'll be in touch again shortly."
The Patronus dissolved, leaving behind a faint glow. Sirius's heart pounded. He stared at Marlene; as her hand shook, the beginnings of the wards flickered and died.
"Let's go, then. We'll start at the far end near the path to the school." She took a deep breath, resolve hardening her face, then turned and Disapparated. Sirius followed, Dumbledore's words still ringing in his ears.
Gravel skittered out from under his feet as he landed beside Marlene and scanned the area. Movement flickered in the corner of his eye. He whirled, wand raised, but it was only a few dry leaves fluttering in the breeze. Marlene jerked her head sideways and set off, taking slow, cautious steps. The pace grated on Sirius's nerves; he longed to tear through the streets, sprinting until he uncovered any Death Eaters lurking in alleys or hiding behind the shops. Something black caught his eye, and he shot a Stunner toward it, realizing too late it was Gideon's t-shirt.
"Easy, Sirius, we're on your side," Fabian said, emerging from behind Madam Puddifoot's with his hands raised.
"Sorry," Sirius muttered, his fingers gripping his wand until the wood dug into his hand.
"Keep your voices down," Marlene chided. "Have you two seen anyone else?"
Gideon pointed over his shoulder. "We met Frank and Alice back there. Benjy and Doc are up closer to the school. And I think there are more coming…"
Sirius swallowed, his mind filling with an image of Mary dodging jets of green light. She had been off doing God knows what with Mundungus again today. Would Dumbledore have summoned them, too? "What about–?" he began, but he broke off when he heard a crash behind them.
"Over there!" Fabian shouted.
Sirius darted sideways, shooting off spells wildly. One hit a building, while the other hit a potted plant with a spray of dirt and clay shards. Sirius heard Marlene beside him, murmuring incantations under her breath as she sent off spells in a steady stream. There were running footsteps, more spells, a scream – Mary's scream?
"Come on!" He tugged at Marlene's hand, pulling her sideways. They stumbled through the streets, keeping to alleyways and the sides of buildings. Behind them, the Prewetts followed, alternating spells in perfect rhythm. Sirius caught only glimpses of the Death Eaters: the flutter of a black robe, long ends of dark hair, retreating footsteps sending up a flurry of gravel. Once a face appeared in a shop window, and Sirius raised his wand, but Marlene jerked his hand down, and he realized it was only the shop owner, his face white with terror.
Sirius's wild spells finally made contact when a Stunner hit a slight Death Eater in the chest. The figure crumpled to the ground, and Sirius wanted to investigate, to tear off that mask and reveal the person underneath, but there was no time. There was more spellfire and screams up ahead, and he thought he saw untidy brown curls and the bright red of Mary's leather jacket. Doc and Benjy ran past, dueling several more Death Eaters. Marlene jumped in to join them, but Sirius continued on. Spells whooshed past him, showering his head with chunks of broken stone and splinters of wood. A shard hit his forehead, and he felt something trickling into his eyes, but he pressed on. His feet crunched on gravel and broken glass; he shot off a few more spells over his shoulder; his pounding heart drowned out all other sound. Finally he squeezed through the alley behind Honeydukes and found Mary dueling a tall, muscular Death Eater. A spell shot past her, stirring her hair. She grunted and darted sideways, then retaliated, but her hand was shaking too much for her aim to be accurate.
"Macdonald!"
She turned, a brilliant smile lighting up her face. There was a thin scratch on her chin, and her cheek was smudged with dirt, but sheer joy radiated from her when she saw him. For a moment, the battle fell away.
Then it all came crashing back when the Death Eater shot another spell at Mary. Sirius didn't have time to think as he lunged forward and pulled her to safety. The jet of green light hit Honeydukes, creating a spiderweb of cracks in the wide front window, but Sirius could still see the light burned into his eyes. He felt the call of that Dark Magic as his fingers gripped his wand, itching to send that same spell back at the faceless Death Eater who could have ended Mary's life. The desire built, filling him up, burning inside him, but he swallowed it back and dispatched the Death Eater with a swift Stunner. Quick, powerful, and accurate, the spell hit him in the chest and sent him hurtling to the ground with a soft thump.
"Fucking hell," Mary whispered, staring at the man's unconscious body before turning to look at the cracked glass behind her. "I lost my head completely – just froze for a second. God, if you hadn't…"
"Nah, I shouldn't have called your name and distracted you." He pulled her to him, tasting sweat on her skin as he kissed her. Her heart pounded against him and her breath came in sharp gasps, reminding him that she was wonderfully alive. Releasing her, he stepped over the Death Eater's body and beckoned for her to follow him. She wiped blood from the scratch on her chin and raised her wand, and they set off toward the spellfire and shouting.
Hours later, Sirius and James sat slumped in plastic chairs on the balcony. Cigarette smoke drifted through the evening air as Sirius stretched out his legs, resting his feet on the edge of the railing. He took a long swallow of beer, sighing as the alcohol ease some of the lingering tension left behind by the battle.
"What a fucking day," he said, flicking a bit of ash over the balcony.
"Yeah." Heaviness and anger tinged James's voice. He turned to peer into the dark living room where Lily lay on the sofa in a potion-induced sleep. "A year ago I was excited to be Head Boy alongside Evans, and this year…" He hitched a smile onto his face, a brittle, tight smile. "Well, at least we got to go back to Hogwarts on September 1st after all."
Sirius drained the rest of his beer, then crushed the can and tossed it over the balcony. He reached for another can and cracked it open, eager to banish the scattered memories of the battle. They had secured the school and two Death Eaters had been apprehended, but there was nothing to be done for the student who had lost his life trying to board the Hogwarts Express. Sirius gulped down more beer, remembering the jet of green light stirring the ends of Mary's hair.
"How much do you want to bet Evans is going to try to do her duty tomorrow, even though Benjy's already agreed to cover?"
An affectionate note crept into James's voice. "I know she will. She's too stubborn for her own good." His smile collapsed and his fingers tightened on his beer can. "I should've taken her to St. Mungo's. She didn't want me to, but I should've argued…"
"Nah, she's fine." Sirius hadn't seen Lily's injuries until James had already knitted the skin back together and dosed her with Blood-Replenishing Potion, but she had seemed alright, tucked under a blanket and snoring softly. "I've seen you heal worse."
James's jaw clenched. "This was different, though. If Moony scratches one of us during the full moon, his creature magic resists when you try to heal it. But you can overpower it when you throw enough magic at the cut – you know what I mean."
Sirius nodded, grinning as he thought about the stubborn remnants of werewolf magic that lurked in the cuts Moony's claws and teeth left behind. Stubborn like Moony, Sirius always thought when he flooded the injuries with his own magic until the creature magic gave up and receded.
"But this wasn't the same. Dark Magic fights back, too, but not in the same way. It sort of…" James ran his fingers through his hair as he groped for words. "It slinks away when you try to get to it. I know I didn't get it all… It's still there, lurking under her skin. It feels wrong." He got to his feet and leaned against the railing, his lips pressed together into a thin line. "I fucking hate Dark Magic. It's evil."
The words sent a stab of guilt through Sirius's chest. His mind flashed to that wild moment beside Honeydukes when he had considered sending a Killing Curse back at that Death Eater. He stubbed out his cigarette and tossed it over the railing to join his beer can. Even without looking at James, Sirius knew he was remembering that flash of green light in the Knockturn Alley pub.
"Yeah," he said, heaving a sigh. "It is. But Evans will be alright. She's strong – she'll fight it off."
He got to his feet and gulped down the rest of his beer. "I'm going to bed. It's been a fucking day."
James's words echoed in his head as he padded through the dark flat and slipped into his bedroom. He tried to focus on Mary's steady breathing and the familiar warmth of her body, but he couldn't forget the venom in James's voice. As he lay there in the stifling darkness, guilt choking him until he gasped for breath, he thought about Lily sleeping in the next room over. She's strong enough to resist the lingering effects of that Dark Magic, but am I? The question nagged at him until he slipped into a fitful doze.
The weeks passed in fits and starts, punctuated by long stretches of Order duty and occasional blissful evenings with Mary. Lily returned to work after two days of forced rest, and aside from the jagged scar on her forearm and the grim determination in her eyes, the Dark Magic had left no trace. Most of the time, Sirius was too busy to remember James's angry dismissal or the low, urgent whisper of the Dark Magic calling to him. Whenever he did start to remember, he forced back the thoughts with a cigarette or a swallow of firewhisky or the warmth of Mary's arms.
Nights were the hardest – the silence and darkness left little to distract him from his thoughts. Sometimes he tossed and turned for hours, then spent the next day gulping Wide-eye potion and dragging himself through his duty. Exhaustion helped still his mind, so he took on extra shifts, working until midnight and pouring himself a generous measure of firewhisky before he collapsed into bed beside Mary. The limited sleep left shadows under his eyes and a constant ache in his temples, but if he drank the right combination of coffee and Wide-eye potion, he felt almost normal.
The darkness crept back to him one evening when the Potters had convinced him to stop by for dinner. Mary had come with him, but she had fallen asleep on the sofa with a plate of cake still clutched in her hands. Fleamont had drifted off to bed, too, leaving Sirius and Euphemia sipping elf-made wine beside the fire.
"You alright?"
Sirius looked up at Euphemia, scrambling to arrange his face into a neutral expression. He realized his hands were clenched into fists, his default state of existence these days. Loosening his hands, he drummed his fingers against the sofa cushions and shrugged.
"I'm fine."
"Hmm." She raised her eyebrows, then got to her feet and gestured for him to follow her into the kitchen.
"No need to wake her up." She Summoned their wine glasses and sat down at the kitchen table, fixing Sirius with an expectant look. "So how are you really?"
Sirius traced the edge of his wine glass. "Moving to a different room isn't going to trick me into talking about my feelings."
She laughed, then clapped her hand over her mouth to stifle the sound. "Telling me how you're doing is hardly talking about your feelings, Sirius."
"Really? Because that sounds like the definition of talking about my feelings."
She sipped her wine, shooting him a reproachful look over the top of her wine glass. "You can be quite difficult when you want to be, you know that?"
He grinned and crossed his arms, tipping backward in his chair. "This isn't new information, Mum."
"Cut that out – you're going to fall and crack your head open." The affection in her voice contradicted the attempted sternness of her words, but Sirius rolled his eyes and landed his chair anyway. "You know, there's nothing wrong with admitting you're struggling. You and James both insist on putting on a brave face, when you should know by now it's not fooling me one bit. The Death Eaters won't win just because you show a bit of vulnerability."
"Well, that's what they want you to think, isn't it?" He swirled the wine around his glass, enjoying the exasperated smile that spread across her face.
"Fine. You don't have to talk to me. What do I know, anyway? I'm old and out of touch."
He grinned. "Rubbish. You're not old and out of touch – you listen to David Bowie. Dad, on the other hand..."
"Yes, well, he's always been a bit out of touch, even before we were old. He has other redeeming qualities. But anyway, if you're not going to talk to me, do you at least talk to Mary?"
Sirius remembered the weariness that had settled on Mary, weighing down her curls and sapping the laughter from her eyes. "She's got enough to get on with without having to listen to my bloody problems."
She sighed. "She loves you. She'd be happy to listen, I know she would."
He set down his wine glass, spattering the table with tiny red droplets. "We're all fighting the same war – we've all got the same problems. What's the point in dwelling on it?"
"God, you're impossible." She set down her wine glass and rose from her seat.
"What, are you going to get Twinkletoes so he can hassle me to talk about my feelings, too?"
A wry smile tugged at her lips as she padded from the room, her movements quick and graceful despite her age. Sirius finished his wine and slumped down in his seat, allowing the darkness to envelope his thoughts in Euphemia's absence. Would she still sit across the table from him, laughing and chiding him about tipping his chair if she knew a Killing Curse had burst from his wand, if she knew how tempted he had been to cast another Killing Curse after he had felt that first pull of Dark Magic?
He forced the scowl from his face when he heard her footsteps returning. There was a small velvet box clutched in her hand, and she glanced over her shoulder at Mary's sleeping form before sitting down and sliding the box across the table to him.
"What's this?"
"Open it and see," she urged, smiling slyly.
He pried open the box to reveal an antique engagement ring. Delicate vines encircled the large, glittering diamond in the center of the gold band. It was a family heirloom intended for James, except he had chosen to buy Lily's engagement ring from a Muggle jeweler instead. Sirius traced a finger along the stone's smooth surface, frowning.
"Why are you giving this to me?"
She leaned across the table, a conspiratorial arch to her eyebrows. "It's not for you. It's for Mary."
He chuckled as he snapped the box closed and slid it back across the table. "Thanks, but I already told you. I'm never getting married."
"You might change your mind."
He tried to imagine himself in dress robes, watching Mary's long white dress swish as she walked down the aisle, but it was absurd – he couldn't picture it.
"I promise, I won't."
She sighed, opening the box and admiring the ring before shutting it again and pressing it into his hand. "Well, still, I want you to have it. I was meant to pass it on to my son, and James didn't want it, so it's yours."
Sirius tried to ignore the warm glow that filled his chest when she called him her son. "What am I supposed to do with it?"
She shrugged. "I told you – give it to Mary. It doesn't have to be an engagement ring. It can just be a ring. I think it would look quite nice on her – it would go with that leather jacket she's always wearing."
Sirius smiled in spite of himself. "I got her that jacket."
"Of course you did. Anyway, I'm done nagging you for the evening, and Twinkletoes is busy dusting the library, so I guess you're off the hook for now."
"Excellent." He Summoned the bottle of wine and poured himself another generous glass, taking a large sip when Euphemia raised her eyebrows. "What? I thought you were done nagging me for the evening."
"I didn't say a word."
He could feel her eyes boring into him as he took another defiant sip.
"I don't appreciate being judged for my coping mechanisms."
Her face softened as she reached for the bottle and poured herself a glass. Sirius noted it was a much less generous pour than his own.
"I was just thinking, you might try a different coping mechanism once in a while."
He tipped back in his chair and scowled. "If you mean talking about my feelings–"
"Didn't I tell you I was done nagging you for the night?"
She moved to his side of the table and put a hand on his shoulder until he stopped tipping his chair. When she spread a copy of the Daily Prophet in front of him and sat down beside him, he glanced sideways, perplexed.
"Why are we doing the crossword?"
She twirled her quill between her fingers and studied the crossword, her brows knitting together. "Because the war is obviously getting to you, and you refuse to talk about it, and doing the crossword always helps clear my mind when things are getting to me." She nodded at his glass of wine and added, "And it's perfectly acceptable to do the crossword at all hours of the day, whereas some might look at you funny if you pour a firewhisky at eight in the morning."
"Well, those sort of people are judgemental, and I don't think I want them in my life." Sirius took another large sip of wine, grinning.
"Yes, well, that's a matter of opinion. Now help me. Five letters: shortest serving Minister for Magic."
A chilly autumn breeze stirred the dry leaves as Sirius and Fabian stalked the edges of Malfoy Manor, huddled under the Invisibility Cloak. They had to hunch over to keep their ankles from showing – Fabian was even taller than Sirius – and they kept stepping on each other's feet. After the third time Sirius's combat boot came down on Fabian's trainer, they tore off the cloak.
"Sod what Dumbledore said – we're not bothering with this." Fabian thrust the cloak into Sirius's hand, flexing his toes. "Why in Merlin's name do you wear those things?"
"I like them. Besides, the cloak works just fine when I use it with James. I think it might be a Fabian Prewett problem."
Fabian chuckled and drew his wand. "Come on. And try not to jump out of your skin if we see another peacock, yeah?"
Sirius shook his head and set off along the perimeter. "Peacocks – of all the stupid bloody Pureblood affectations – fucking peacocks?"
They circled the grounds again, sending little tendrils of magic to seek out weak spots in the wards, then returned to the front garden and draped the cloak over themselves. Sirius checked his watch and sighed, leaning back against the tree behind them.
"Maybe Malfoy's not even a Death Eater. We've probably been watching peacocks all night for no bloody reason."
Fabian twisted his lip. "Nah, he's gotta be. But maybe this is a waste of time. Maybe we'd be better off sending one of us undercover to seduce him – I bet all the secrets would come out."
Sirius laughed and lifted the corner of the cloak to let in some cool air. "I dunno – he seems pretty happy with my cousin – I assume because she kisses his arse and tells him how pretty his hair is."
"I'm sure he wouldn't mind someone else telling him how pretty his hair is. I'm convinced Marlene could do it, but she says even her standards aren't that low." He shrugged and shifted his feet away from Sirius's legs. "Dung's fine, but I guess Death Eaters are where she draws the line."
"That's fair, I suppose." Sirius lifted the corner of the cloak a bit more, then sighed and tossed it aside. "Sod this – it's too hot under here."
"I don't think anybody is–"
Fabian broke off as the wrought iron gate swung open and a figure strode toward them in the gathering darkness. The broad shoulders and confident steps were sickeningly familiar. Fucking Mulciber, Sirius thought, recalling Mary's encounter with him at Hogwarts. There was a shout and a rustle of fabric as Mulciber raised his wand, pointing it at Fabian's heart–
"Avada kedavra!"
The spell rushed through the air, and the figure crumpled to the ground. Energy pulsed through Sirius's body, radiating warmth over his skin. His fingers tingled, and there was a slight ringing in his ears. He lowered his wand, surprised to find it raised. The words rang in the air – my words, Sirius realized. He took a step toward the body, his body buzzing and impossibly light.
"Fucking hell." Fabian gripped his wand and surveyed the area, but no other figures emerged. Pressing his hand to his heart, Fabian stared at Sirius, eyes wide in his ashen face. "You don't mess around, do you?"
Sirius swallowed; the rush of power was still vibrating through his limbs. "I didn't really think about it."
Fabian nodded. "If you hesitated, I might be dead. Was that your first?"
He didn't elaborate – he didn't have to. Sirius nodded again. He knelt to examine the body and felt a crackle of magic rising from the still figure. In the fading light, he thought he saw a tinge of green light coating the limp arms and lingering by his masked face.
"Let's see who you got, then." Fabian flicked his wand to reveal Mulciber's face – except this was the face of a stranger. The glassy eyes and waxen skin were unrecognizable to Sirius. "Huh. Never seen him before. Have you?"
"No." Sirius gazed at the dead man until the features blurred.
"We'd better get out of here." Fabian Disapparated with a soft pop, but Sirius lingered for another moment, savoring the fading traces of power even as the body cooled in front of him. When he tore himself away and Disapparated to headquarters, the guilt caught up to him in a rush, bowling him over so he had to clutch the sofa to stay upright.
"You should go home." Fabian clapped his shoulder, dispelling the last vestiges of magic that buzzed on his skin. "I'll report back to Dumbledore." His voice softened. "I was sick after my first kill. Giddy and I, we thought it would be all epic battles and celebrating afterwards, but…" Heaviness weighed down his words as he raised his hands in a vague gesture of defeat. "Sometimes it's shit."
Sirius recalled the unknown Death Eater's broad shoulders and hulking gait, so like Mulciber's. "I could've Stunned him."
Fabian nodded. "You could've. And then Moody could've tipped off the Aurors, and they would've come to haul him off to Azkaban so the dementors could feed on him until he went mad. Would that be better?"
Sirius didn't answer; his mind was filled with the image of the waxy skin and wide, staring eyes.
"I was with Alice for my first time." A haunted glint crept into Fabian's eyes. "I was shaking, with sick all over my shoes, and she looked me right in the eye and told me about some bloke she brought in for doing all sorts of horrible things to a Muggle woman. She watched the dementors perform the kiss – told me it's the worst thing she's ever seen in her life, but she doesn't let herself think about it because she'll go mad. So I don't think about the shit I've done, either."
Sirius wrenched his thoughts away from the manicured lawn of Malfoy Manor, focusing on the worn rug under his feet and the dim lamplight illuminating the stubble on Fabian's jaw.
"My sister's got five boys – five. And they're all bloody adorable. Bill's eight and he's already read every book in the house. Charlie's six – you should see him catch a Snitch. Percy's the most serious little toddler you'll ever meet in your life – he tucks his fucking shirt in, I swear. And the twins are just babies, but you can already tell they're going to be a handful. Uncle Fab, they call me." A wistful note choked his voice. "I don't think about the things I've had to do. I think about those boys, and the life they deserve. Because that's what all this is for – so Bill can go to Hogwarts without worrying he's going to see one of his classmates killed before he boards the train."
The beginning of a headache throbbed in Sirius's temples. He balled his hands into fists and thrust them into his pockets. "Yeah," he muttered, staring at the frayed edge of the braided rug. "Right." He stepped sideways to Disapparate, then stopped, a sudden thought twisting his stomach. "You're not going to mention this to anyone besides Dumbledore, are you?"
Fabian shook his head. "Nah. But maybe you should. Talking helps sometimes, you know?"
"Yeah, maybe."
For once, Sirius followed Dorcas's advice from his first Occlumency lesson. Imagining his mind as a dim room with thick stone walls, he placed the memory of the evening in a trunk and closed the lid, then imagined himself locking the room behind him. No matter how much the knowledge ate away at him, he would never tell Mary or James or anyone else what he had done. They can't find out what I really am, he vowed, strengthening the invisible walls around his mind before he nodded at Fabian and left.
He found James and Lily snuggled together on the sofa, sharing a box of Bertie Bott's. Sirius gave a half-hearted wave and headed for his room, but he stopped when something bounced off of the back of his head.
"Don't just walk past us without saying hello," Lily said, holding up another bean as a warning. "Come and join us for a minute."
"You alright?" A frown creased James's face as Sirius trudged over and leaned against the back of the armchair.
"Fine," Sirius grunted. "Long day."
He wondered if James could sense the remnants of Dark Magic clinging to Sirius's skin and tingling in his fingers. Was it his imagination, or was there a smell, too – a faint scent, at once sweet and foul, emanating from his pores and the fibers of his clothing?
"I'm going to take a ride on the motorbike before Macdonald gets back, actually."
James shrugged. "Oh, alright, then. Want company?"
Sirius shook off the offer and fled, his skin itching under James's gaze. He broke into a run, hurtling down the stairs and out to the shed, flinging himself onto the motorbike and careering down the street. The edginess didn't abate, even when he took off into the air and left London behind. He closed his eyes and let the night air buffet his face, but the sensation of weightless freedom never came. The whisper of Dark Magic had followed him up here, where he was usually alone with the wind and the clouds and the familiar roar of the motorbike.
Mary was paging through Witch Weekly when Sirius returned to the flat. He stripped off his clothes and climbed into bed beside her, and she tossed the magazine aside and flicked her wand to turn out the light. When she reached for him, he imagined threads of Dark Magic receding beneath her fingertips.
"How was your day?" Her breath tickled his ear as her thumb traced the scar on his chest. "Anything exciting at Malfoy manor?"
He swallowed. "Nah, except Fabian almost got pecked by a peacock. How was your day?"
Her hand drifted down his chest. "Long. Boring. And tomorrow's going to be even worse." Her lips grazed his chin, trailing kisses along his jaw and neck. He moaned and slipped his
hands under her t-shirt, longing to lose himself in her embrace.
Even with her warmth enveloping him and her fingers scrabbling at his back, his mind returned to the Death Eater's still body and the intoxicating burst of power as the spell hit its mark. He tried to banish the thoughts and focus on Mary's sighs and her tightness around him, but it was no use. When she felt him soften, she touched his face, and he could sense her hurt and confusion even in the darkness.
"What's wrong?"
He rolled off of her and lay back against the pillow, shame and frustration flooding his body. "Nothing. I'm just tired."
She settled her head against his chest and ran her finger along his scar. Despite the closeness of her body, he had never felt further from her. He lay awake in the darkness, listening to her steady breathing as that flash of green light and the man's open, lifeless eyes replayed in his mind.
Mary dragged herself through the flat, too exhausted to bother eating dinner. The bedroom door was ajar; she pushed it open and released a haze of smoky, stuffy air. Sirius was propped against the headboard, a half-full bottle of Ogden's clutched in his hand. There was a grease-stained pizza box on the floor, and a smear of red sauce marred the duvet. Mary chuckled as she pulled her jumper over her head.
"Bad day?"
Sirius took a long swallow, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Why?"
Mary raised her eyebrows. "You're drinking firewhisky straight from the bottle, and there's pizza smeared into the sheets."
He shrugged. "Sounds like a great night to me." The clumsiness of his movements and the slanted quality of his words betrayed his inebriation. "I tried the bloody crossword, alright? It didn't help."
Mary frowned. "What?"
He shook his head. "Never mind. Want any pizza? Or Ogden's?"
Her stomach was empty, yet the thought of cold pizza was unappetizing. She shook her head and got into bed, nestling close to him. He remained slumped against the pillows instead of wrapping his arms around her, even when she toyed with the elastic waistband of his pants. Eventually she pulled away and rolled over, baffled by the invisible wall he had erected between them, missing the familiar weight of his arms and the steady rise and fall of his chest. I love you, Black, she thought desperately. I'm worried about you. But of course she didn't speak these thoughts aloud. Instead, she fought off the absurd urge to cry as she slipped into a restless doze.
A week later Mary found herself puttering around the empty flat, the silence ringing in her ears. She painted her toes bright red and flipped listlessly through a magazine, then rose with an irritated sigh and strode over to the fireplace.
"What are you doing tonight?" she asked Peter when his cottage swam into view, tinged with the green cast of the Floo powder flames. "Black is listening to the Cannons match with Fleamont, James and Lily are both on duty, and I'm dying of boredom here."
Peter grinned. "Moony's still away. I'm making biscuits I don't need. You're welcome to come over and help me eat them."
When Peter opened the door and ushered her into the cottage, the smell of cinnamon wafted from the kitchen. They sat on the floor in front of the fire, waiting for the biscuits to bake while Mary rolled a joint. They smoked without speaking, but Mary didn't mind the silence. The crackle of the fire and the soft sound of the wireless in the background soothed her frazzled nerves.
Later, as a gingerbread biscuit warmed her fingers and the marijuana blurred the edges of her thoughts, she rested her head on Peter's shoulder and sighed.
"I'm worried about Black."
"Why?"
She lifted her head to look at Peter. The firelight softened his features, illuminating his bloodshot eyes.
"He's been sort of moody and distant."
Peter's snort of laughter surprised her.
"I mean more than usual." She thought of the haunted look that sometimes lurked behind his gruff indifference or casual smile, and she shivered despite the heat of the fire.
Peter chewed and swallowed a mouthful of biscuit, eyes narrowing. "Has he? I haven't noticed."
"Well, it's nothing you would've noticed." She brushed a few crumbs from her lap and frowned. "We haven't shagged in ages."
Peter's eyes widened. "Really?"
She gave an emphatic nod. "Every time I try, he says he's too tired. Or he'll come home after I'm already asleep, but he used to wake me up – now he just goes straight to sleep, or he sits on the sofa and drinks himself into a stupor. I'm going mad, to be honest – sex is my usual form of stress relief, you know?"
Peter's biscuit sat balanced on his knee, forgotten in his astonishment. "Well, now I'm worried. I didn't think Padfoot could survive without shagging. How long has it been?"
She wrapped a curl around her finger and sighed. "Two weeks."
A laugh burst from his lips before he clapped his hand over his mouth.
"It's not funny!"
He shook his head, forcing the mirth from his face. "I'm sorry, you're right. It's just, two weeks doesn't sound like a very long time when you've gone your entire life without having sex with anyone."
"I told you – you could've pulled that Muggle with the frizzy hair when we went to the pub last month! She was interested – she kept looking your way–"
"She was looking at Padfoot," Peter said, a faint flush tinging his cheeks. "What would she be interested in me for?"
"Don't give me that rubbish," she insisted, giving his shoulder a gentle shove. "You're adorable and she'd be lucky to shag someone like you."
"That's rubbish," he muttered, dejection lacing his words. "But this isn't about my pathetic lack of a sex life. It's about you being about to drop dead from sexual frustration."
She laughed and shifted around to warm her back in front of the fire. "I'm not going to drop dead. I can just, you know, take care of things myself…" She burst into laughter when she saw Peter's flaming face. "Fucking hell, Peter, Black and I have been forcing you to listen to all kinds of filthy things for years. How are you not used to it by now?"
A sheepish smile spread across his face. "I dunno if I'll ever get used to it."
"And yet you continue to be friends with us." She popped the rest of her biscuit into her mouth and thought about Sirius's heavy silences as she chewed. "Anyway, it's not the sexual frustration that's bothering me the most. It's that shagging is sort of our way of talking about our problems."
Peter raised his eyebrows. "Well, you know, you could actually talk about your problems instead."
"Don't be stupid, we'd both rather die. But if it's been a bad day, or one of us is worried about something, shagging takes our minds off of it and makes us feel better. It's how we, I dunno…"
She twirled a strand of hair, struggling to express the comfort she took from Sirius's solid, familiar body. As his arms encircled her and his fingers gripped her skin, she was safe. Neither of them held anything back when they were pressed together in the dark bedroom, or afterwards when she nestled against his shoulder and traced the scar on his chest. They rarely said "I love you," but she could feel it in his hot breath on her neck, in the delicate precision of his fingers when he coaxed her to climax, in the vulnerability and openness on his face when he reached his own release.
"I get it." The flush had faded from Peter's cheeks, leaving behind only earnest understanding.
She pushed her hair out of her face, remembering the painful memory she still had yet to divulge to Sirius – but how could she let down her mental walls when he was building his own wall between them, when the wall grew every time he rolled over on the mattress that had become a vast, endless expanse?
"There's so much we're all dealing with, and I know it's eating him alive – he pretends he's coping fine, but we all know he never really is." The thought of his drawn face, bruised by stubble and dark circles, filled her chest with sharp sadness. "I want to comfort him, but how can I if he keeps shutting me out? I'm worried that if we continue like this…"
Emotion thickened in her throat, choking off her words. She imagined the distance between them growing as the days plodded on and Sirius's pained expression deepened.
"I'm worried that if we continue like this, we're going to fall apart." Her eyes burned, and she blinked back tears, furious at her own weakness.
"Hey." Peter touched her shoulder, his touch light and hesitant. "That's not going to happen. You'll make it work – you love each other."
You love each other. Mary remembered the first time she had told Sirius she loved him, murmuring the words in the dark dormitory after he had slipped into a drunken sleep. They had seemed to contain a magical quality, something binding and permanent and unbreakable. Yet now in the face of such bleak heaviness pushing them slowly apart, the words seemed paltry and insignificant. Love might be insurmountable within the sheltered walls of Hogwarts, but out here when every day was a gamble, maybe it wasn't enough.
She squeezed her eyes shut to stave off the hot tears rolling down her face. Peter pulled his hand away, then wrapped his arms around her. A clean, fresh scent clung to his skin, and underneath Mary detected a hint of cinnamon. The back of his shirt was warm from the fire, and Mary felt the rest of his biscuit crumble beneath her as she shifted closer, but she didn't care. It was a relief to be held, to let Peter absorb some of her burdens for a moment.
When she pulled away, her tears dotted the collar of his shirt, and he wore such a pained expression that Mary worried he really had shouldered her worries. Then he noticed the crushed biscuit underneath her, and as his face split into a grin, the sadness evaporated.
"I sat on your biscuit," she observed, scooting over and pushing the biscuit fragments into a pile.
"Does that sound a bit dirty to you?"
She giggled and pulled her wand from her pocket to Vanish the broken gingersnap.
"Maybe a little. But that could be because we're both sexually frustrated."
He threw his head back and laughed, then struggled to his feet. "Don't equate your two week dry spell with my lifetime of celibacy. We are not the same."
She wiped away her tears, grinning. "Is it considered celibacy if it isn't by choice?"
"Who knows. I'm going to get us more biscuits. Want a drink, too?"
While he hurried off to the kitchen, Mary brushed the remaining crumbs from the back of her trousers and gazed into the fire. By the time Peter returned, the faint relief of her laughter had faded to be replaced by sinking worry.
"Alright. Here's my inexpert advice – feel free to tell me to shove it up my arse." Peter grinned and handed her a biscuit and a bottle of Butterbeer. "Go home and wait up for Pafoot, then try talking to him–"
"You can take that advice and shove it right up your arse," Mary said, rolling her eyes.
"I thought you might say that. So, if talking is out of the question, use your other strategy."
She swallowed a sip of Butterbeer and raised her eyebrows. "What, shag him?"
"Yeah," Peter said, shrugging. "Wait on the bed naked, or tie him to the bed and climb on top of him, or, I dunno, whatever you like – what do I know?" His eyes slid sideways as the flush returned to his cheeks, but he plowed on. "Just remind him how much he likes shagging you."
A tiny smirk tugged at her lips. "You think that'll work?"
His eyes were still fixed on the floor. "How could it not? It would work for me, anyway." A note of alarm crept into his voice as he added, "I didn't mean if you did it, obviously, just, you know…"
She sighed, then reached out and touched Peter's arm. "I know. Thanks, Peter."
Leaning back, she munched her biscuit and let her mind wander to the approach she would take in the bedroom once the Cannons match was over.
Mary strained to hear footsteps outside the door, then threw back the duvet and shivered in the chilly air. A thin beam of light spilled across the floor when the door swung open. Sirius stood silhouetted in the doorway, staring at her with a comical expression of astonishment on his face.
"What are you doing?"
She brushed her thumb across her nipple until it stiffened, smirking as Sirius's eyes followed the movement. "What does it look like I'm doing? C'mere."
He took a lifetime to get to the bed. When he lay down beside her, she ripped his t-shirt over his head and covered his lips with desperate, greedy kisses. Her fingers scrabbled at his flies, and he chuckled as he helped pull down his trousers.
"Bit eager, Macdonald?"
He gasped when her hand snaked down to grip him.
"God, yeah. Aren't you?"
His fingernails digging into her back was answer enough for Mary.
She was ravenous, insatiable, savoring every inch of his skin and every sigh or growl of pleasure. It wasn't exactly the same as before – she could still sense a hint of hesitation, a remnant of the wall between them, but it diminished with each kiss and each creak of the mattress. When they finished together and rolled onto their backs, chests heaving and skin glistening with sweat, Mary sensed no remaining separation.
"I missed this," she whispered, tucking herself against him and draping her leg across his body. "Why has it been so long, Black?"
He pushed a damp lock of hair out of her face and trailed his fingers along her waist. "Dunno. Guess we've been busy."
"Well, let's never get that busy again."
She pushed herself upright and padded across the floor, wrapping a robe around herself so she could use the loo without horrifying James or Lily. In the painfully bright light of the bathroom, she stared at the linoleum and vowed to ask Sirius what had been bothering him. She rehearsed the question in her mind until it was bursting on the edge of her tongue, begging to be spoken aloud. As she returned to the bedroom and shed her robe, her heart pounded.
"Black?" she began, but the rest of the words died on her lips when she heard his slow, steady breathing. He was tucked under the duvet with one leg poking out and one arm clutching Mary's pillow, fast asleep. Mary sighed and climbed into bed beside him, wrapping her arms around him and pulling him close as she drifted to sleep.