Moonlight

2. Company


Milia woke from a troubled dream. In it she had once again run down into the hollow. The red-eyed snake-man had seen her again; his minions given chase. In her dream, the hooded wizards had caught her, ripped into her with snake-like fangs. She had fought them, tasted their vile blood, bathed in it. Now, sitting in the cold, January morning, she could still taste their blood on her tongue. It made her stomach churn and her head spin. “Goddess,” she breathed. Sitting up slowly, she waited for the room to stop spinning and tilting.

Once it had stopped, Milia rose and dug in her suitcase. She pulled out a short sundress. It was bright, sunny; done in a pattern of yellow roses on mint green. She smiled softly. This house deserved her running around in it. She grabbed her washcloth, a towel, a hairclip and her brush. Then she made her way to the bathroom. Stripping down to her panties, she washed in the sink again. Bending over, she wet her hair.

The bathroom door opened. Startled, Milia straightened, hitting her head on the faucet. “Hey!” she shouted. The briefest glimpse of black hair, black clothes and the door slammed closed. The smell from the tower room wafted towards her. The door started opening again! Milia jumped for it, slamming it closed. “Excuse me!” she shouted through the door. There was a thick silence on the other side of the door.

“Sorry,” the man said. His voice was ragged, ill-used; though it had been cultured the night before, when he had been yelling at the old wizard. “Who are you? What are you doing here?”

Hmph. Of course he wouldn’t remember. He probably didn’t remember anything that happened after the first mouthful hit his stomach, coursed through his veins. She glared at the door. Cautiously, she stepped away from it. Milia pulled on the sundress. It hit her mid-thigh, its tight bodice holding her breasts so that no bra was necessary.

Dressed, she opened the door. Blood-shot eyes stared out of the gaunt face. A death mask, she thought. Long, unkempt hair, sallow skin, ragged clothes; none of it compared to the stench that covered him. Milia clamped a hand over her nose, breathing in the soapy scent of her own skin.

“Bathe first, for the love of the Goddess. Then come down to breakfast and I’ll refresh your memory.” He glared at her; pale grey eyes flashing. She gathered her stuff, trying to take shallow breaths. The stench overwhelmed the small room. When she made to leave, her host planted himself in the doorway. Hands on either side of the door.

“You’ll tell me now,” he hissed. Stale alcohol and sweat mingled with his words. Milia clenched her jaw, took a slow breath as her stomach roiled.

She shook her head, “I am going to be sick if I have to remain in the company of that smell. I am not usually ruder, br, but I feel I must insist.”

“Just your name then, so I don’t have to call you the naked lady in my bath.” Milia blinked at him.

“Milia,” she whispered, her face growing hot. He smiled and stepped aside, leaving her enough room to squeeze by, their shoulders brushing.

She walked slowly down the hall until she heard the bathroom door close. A thrill of adrenaline rushed through her. She ran to her room, slamming the door behind her and leaning on it. For just a moment, she closed her eyes and breathed. Oh Goddess! He’d seen her naked! She felt her head where the faucet had gotten her. A good goose-egg had formed.

Standing, she placed her dirty clothes in her suitcase and ran the brush through her hair. She pinned it up off her neck with the hair clip. Milia listened at the door. All was quiet. Opening the door, she crept back down the hall towards the bathroom. Water was running in there. Good, she thought, good.

Turning, she hurried down to the kitchen. Once there, she stared at the stove. “I’ve invited him to breakfast and the only thing I can make is porridge.” With a shrug, she pulled out oats and a pan. Milia had two bowls of porridge steaming on the table when the man reappeared.

He sat down opposite her. He cleans up rather nicely, she thought. Though he was still thin and sallow, his grey eyes sparkled. His long black hair feathered around his chiseled features. He cleared his throat, smiling. Milia looked away, her face heating up again. She’d been staring.

After her face cooled she asked, “What might your name be? I would hate to continue referring to you as the drunken ” S” She watched for his reaction out of the corner of her eye. He winced.

“Sirius Black,” he answered, a touch of heat to his words. She studied him as she added honey to her porridge.

“That’s plain,” she added, indicating his bowl. “I didn’t know how you take it.” He looked at the bowl then pulled a wand from somewhere. With a flick of the wand, crockery flew towards him. Milia dropped her spoon. He’s a wizard too! She flew from the table, sending her chair crashing to the floor. He looked up at her.

“What’s wrong?”

“You’re a wizard.” A dark wizard! “I . . . I can’t be here!”

“But--” confusion engulfed him. “I don’t understand.”

Wizards don’t like my kind! Shaking, she started for the door. He stood.

“Hang on!” She felt him move towards her. A wave of panic flooded her. She leapt for the door. But he was there first, a strong hand around her arm, pulling her to a stop. “Just wait!”

“Let me go!” she screamed, pulling at his hand. His fingers pressed harder.

“No,” he said. “First tell me why you’re here. How you got here.”

“You’re hurting me,” she hissed, glaring up at him, her deep brown eyes meeting his grey ones.

“Just . . . I won’t hurt you. Sit down, talk to me.” he pulled close as he talked, his grip on her arm relaxing slightly. He stood half a head taller than her and she looked up at him. This close, she could smell the soap on his skin and a soft hint of cologne. Beneath it all, the sour twinge of fear. He was afraid? “Please,” he breathed. A hint of alcohol lingered on his breath. Yet, he had asked nicely and he was afraid.

Where could she go anyway? The old wizard’s warning swam to the front of her mind. She was stuck here, until further notice. Nodding, she turned away from him. He released her slowly, watching her warily as she returned to her place. She picked up the chairoothoothed her dress and sat. Sirius returned to his seat as well. He looked at her, waiting. She licked her lips before starting.

“I was brought here by an elder wizard with a long, grey beard. I don’t know his name. He came to us. My elders sent me with him.” Tears welled up in her eyes, her throat. “They said I was in danger, that I was a danger to them.”

“And you aren’t a witch?” he asked as a tear broke free. She shook her head.

“My pack turned me out and the wizard brought me here. You were drunk. You shouted at him, threatened us--”

“Wait,” he interrupted. “Did you just say ’your pack’?” Milia wiped the tears away. She challenged him, eyes steady. She nodded slowly. Sirius dropped his gaze, “You’re a werewolf?”

“Goddess save me,” she whispered. Her heart raced, pounding against her chest. Wizards hated her kind! Quick breaths; her beast stirring, readying for a fight. She nodded, “Yes.”

“A muggle werewolf?”

Milia shrugged, “Maybe.”

“Muggle means non-magic,” he informed her with a smile.

“Then, yes.” He hadn’t made any move for his wand. Was he toying with her?

Sirius chuckled and returned to the porridge in front of him. He started adding various things to it. Milia watched him.

“You . . . You don’t care?” she asked. He shook his head.

“No. My best friend’s a werewolf.” A bright, reassuring smile lit his thin face. He returned to his cereal.

“But this house? You’re not a dark wizard?”

“No,” his face soured. “This is my family house. They disowned me, long ago.” Sirius returned his attention to his food. Milia looked down at her bowl. She slid it away, her appetite gone.

“So, that was last night that Dumbledore brought you?” he asked between mouthfuls.

How long had it been? “No. Two nights ago. You’ve lost a day,” she answered. He watched her thoughtfully, chewing and swallowing.

“You’re not eating.”

“I’ve lost my appetite.”

“You don’t seem as worn as my friend.”

“I beg your pardon?” she tilted her head, puzzled.

“Well. My friend, the werewolf, he’s ’old’ already but he’s the same age as me. You don’t seem ’old’. Is it because you’re a muggle?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted.

“Hmm,” he shrugged. “Oh, well.” They lapsed into silence.

“So, what’s your story?” she asked. “I’ve told you mine.”

“I’m wanted for a crime I didn’t commit; though I’d commit it now if I could. I’ve been hiding in this forsaken house for nearly a year. Before that, I was on the run for a couple years and before that I was locked away in the Wizard prison for twelve years.”

“You escaped?” she asked. He nodded, watching her.

“What was the crime?”

“Mass murder,” he said, smiling. Milia gaped for a moment. Mass Murder? She swallowed and looked down at her cereal. The silence swelled between them. Sirius chuckled. “It’s a bit of a conversation stopper.”

She smiled softly. He finished his porridge and pulled out his wand. Then he looked up at her nervously. “Umm, I have a house-elf around here somewhere. He doesn’t usually clean. He’s a bit. . . Well, he’s horrid really. I ought to put him out of my misery.”

“I--I don’t understand.”

“I want to clear the table; with magic.” He raised the wand, “I just didn’t want to scare you again.”

“Oh. Alright.” He didn’t want to scare her? She watched the bowls and spoons fly to the sink, the crockery return to the cupboards they had come from. With a jab of his wand, water ran in the sink and the dishes washed themselves, dried themselves and put themselves away.

Amazing. She watched the whole process. When the spoons had returned to the drawer she turned back to Sirius. He was leaning back in his chair, a comfortable nonchalance about him. He was watching her, studying her. Milia tried on a smile. He returned it, his eyes lingering on her well-framed breasts.

“What now?” she asked.

“Well,” he let the chair fall to the floor and leaned forward over the table, his elbows propped up before him. “I’m expecting company for dinner. Usually, I’d have a drink or two to while away the time. But, maybe I can think of something for us to do.” A dark smile lit his eyes. She smiled but chose to ignore the remark's less honorable connotations.

“Something without alcohol, I don’t drink.”

“I figured as much.”

“The Goddess forbids impurity.” He laughed, a great barking sound. Milia jumped and then glared at him. The glare silenced his laughter.

“Sorry. But how does that fit with killing humans? Surely murder is impure.”

“My pack never hunted a human! We can master our beast, most of the time. On the one night a month when we must give in to it, we remove ourselves form the human lands!”

“Alright, settle down.” He smiled at her. Milia rose.

“If you need me I’ll be in my room, Mr.--” He had told her, what was it?

“Black,” he supplied. “Sirius Black.”

“Mr. Black.” She took a step from the table.

“Don’t go,” he said. “I’m sorry. It’s just that I’ve never heard of a werewolf worried about purity.” His voice held more than sorrow. Curiosity?

“What about your friend?”

“He never mentioned it. He seems to regard his werewolf-ism as a disease or a curse.”

“Ah. He fights against his beast. That may explain his ‘worn’ quality. It takes a great deal of energy to fight your beast. The best we can hope for is an understanding with it. We call it ‘Riding our beasts’.” With a sigh, Milia sat down. “Apology accepted.”

She studied him. Once, long ago, he had been beautiful. However, twelve years in prison and another two on the run, had taken there toll on him. His eyes met hers and she looked away. She remembered the desperate strength of his hand on her arm. Her skin held the memory of his touch. His strength called to her beast, speeding her heart. How would those hands feel on her neck, her thighs? She shut down that train of thought, her face flushing.

“Do you want to help me clean up my hippogriff’s room?” he asked.

“Hippogriff?” she asked, taking a long slow breath, glad for the distraction. He watched her breasts rise and fall. Smiling, not even pretending to look elsewhere, he nodded.

“Up in the tower. He’s a wonderful animal.” Milia remembered the grey bird-creature he had been passed out next to.

“Alright. But, I’m really not dressed for it.”

“Well, I’ll use magic for the cleaning part; you can just keep Buckbeak out of my way.” Nodding she stood again. He rose easily and led the way. She followed him up the stairs. Her eyes kept falling to his backside, eyeing the wiggle in his walk. He looked back at her when he reached the landing, a knowing smile on his face. Milia glared at him briefly when their eyes met. Then she smiled back. He’d wiggled on pur and and she’d been caught looking, fair and square. He turned back around and continued up the stairs. She giggled when the wiggle returned.