I, Sirius

TITLE: I, Sirius


AUTHOR: Lady Sirius

PAIRING: RL/SB

RATING: NC17

FEEDBACK: shelley_runyon@yahoo.com


DISCLAIMER: Of course all rights to Harry Potter belong to JK Rowling

- I only wish that Sirius and Remus were mine, other than in my heart!


DEDICATION: To my glorious, talented, wondrous and everlastingly sexy
inspiration - Gary Oldman - and to all those fans whose enthusiasm and kind words keep me going!



I, Sirius
Reflections of the Brightest Star

Chapter VIII - Of Old Friends and Howlers

What, you might be curious, were my impressions, garnered from this new world I had entered into, new people, new situations, an entirely new way of life? A stricter regimen of classes balanced with the newly made friendship begun on the train to the school. The discovery that I had so much to learn about life in the wizarding world. Flying for the first time, and being told of the wondrous sport called quidditch which, alas, I was unable to participate in, as first years were not allowed (a tradition not broken until Harry's time, how proud James would be of his son). I settled in rather quickly, I do believe, into the routine of what was now my everyday life. Some classes I enjoyed more than others. Muggle studies was fascinating, but History of Magic invariably tended to put me to sleep, until I would feel Remus' foot prodding mine, and I would make an effort to stay awake. But I wasn't worried about my lack of notes - I could always talk him into letting me use his. He took great notes, Remus did, something I never bothered to do. In any class. I'll admit it now - I was extraordinarily lazy in that regard, and got by on the strength of my rather good memory, and my ability to absorb things easily. I had the ability to write a twelve inch essay while getting dressed, brushing my hair and juggling my books, at the same time reassuring Remus that I would be done in time, don't be such a worrywart. And I invariably was.

I'm not sure who had the courage to break the news to my family regarding my House placement, but about my third morning in the school, I received a strange missive with the morning post, something which I did not recognize. Some of the older students did, however, and I watched in confusion as they seemed to brace themselves against something, putting their fingers up to their ears. What that something was became readily apparent when the message opened itself, and the less than pleasant tones of Walburga could be heard, screeching through the Great Hall, unmistakably and very obviously unhappy.

Sirius Black, I am completely and utterly ashamed of you! How dare you allow yourself to be sorted into that miserable House, breaking with the longstanding tradition of the Black family. Don't tell me you had nothing to do with it, I know better! You are a disgrace to the Black name, I should have drowned you at birth, and would have had I known this was going to happen....

It went on, but by now I was past hearing it, staring at the letter, slackjawed, amazed, embarrassed, angry - any number of emotions flowing through my inert body. It was Remus who plucked the letter from my fingers and James who tore it up, casting the pieces away. I could hear snickers from the Slytherin table. I thought I recognized the nasal tones of one in particular, and I glanced toward them, to find his eyes upon me. You must know who I mean. If not, insert the adjectives greasy and bignosed. Now you know him, don't you? And my two cousins, who seemed confused themselves, not sure, I imagine whether to openly sympathize with the traitor or not. For that is how they deemed me now, of course, a traitor to the illustrious Black name. An alien among them, who had forsaken his family, his blood, for those of a lower order. Bloodtraitor.

"Don't worry about it," Remus murmured softly beside me, his hand upon my arm, as I struggled to hold back the hot tears which threatened to fall. "You have nothing to be ashamed of, you're a great person..."

I turned my head to regard him, and his eyes held nothing but warmth and honesty and tenderness... everything I had never received from my mother in my life, all wrapped up in one pretty package. But before I could reply, I felt a hand fall upon my shoulder, and I looked up to see Professor McGonagall towering above me. Back then, of course, she was younger - weren't we all? - but she looked pretty much as she does now, maybe fewer wrinkles and frown lines. But at that moment, as she spoke, I thought she was simply lovely. "Pay no attention to that nonsense, Sirius, some people will never understand you, be grateful for those who do..." And before I had a chance to respond, she had walked off, but I could hear her muttering to herself, "....give a piece of my mind to Walburga Black, who does she think she is... what kind of mother....." The rest was cut off as she headed toward the teacher's table once more.

So that was my first howler - certainly not my last. But I learned after that to take the offending missive when I received it and rush with it out of the Great Hall, there listening to it in privacy. The message was the same, even if the words varied. Pure venom in every syllable. How she despised, hated, loathed me. I was unfit, indecent, disgusting. A disgrace, a right proper bastard, and I should have been destroyed at birth. Etcetera, etcetera, ad nauseum. And not a word from the spineless git that had supposedly sired me. I say supposedly because it wouldn't have surprised me to discover that Walburga had found a way to reproduce without benefit of male touch. I believe there are some earthworms that can do that. So, if they are neither heterosexual nor homosexual, does that make them asexual? Doesn't sound like much fun, does it? It was tacitly understood that Orion backed up everything that Walburga said, naturally. And each time I received one of those poisonous pen treats, Remus would follow me outside, and sit through them with me, and reassure me that my mother was a great nutter, and to disregard her. He would pat my arm, or my shoulder, squeeze my hand comfortingly, telling me I was a great person, a wonderful friend. Remus Lupin - my saviour, and my underdog. My life.

There was a time while I was still inside Azkaban, rotting away in that godforsaken hellhole, determined to survive, to emerge from there some day, no matter how I had to do it, when I pulled out these memories of those howlers, turned them over in my mind - not like there was a great deal else to do, other than to think - heard again the harsh tones of Walburga Black. But I skipped over them, and felt instead the soft healing tones of my Remus - the words he used to stroke me verbally, soothe me, place balm upon my wounded heart and let me know that I was indeed cared for, and worth caring for. I lost many things in Azkaban, but I held onto these, my memories of Remus Lupin - they kept me going when I wanted to give up, encouraged me when things were bad - and things were very bad there, indeed, with the Dementors simply waiting to spot a glimmer of hope, in order that they might suck it up. There were days when I simply wanted to die, to get it over with, to be honest. But it was Remus' voice that I heard inside my head, Remus' voice telling me not to give up, to hold on, for his sake. That some day we would be reunited, that I had to believe - in him, in me, in us. Always us. We were - and are - as one. Always will be.

Familiar faces flash across my mind, people I met and knew at Hogwarts - people I lived with, laughed with, celebrated with, mourned with, and fought a war with. Although one in particular I should have fought against, and would have if I had only known then what I know now. Remus tells me that it's futile to attempt to relive the past, it's over and done and should be laid to rest. But then I counter with what else is history, but the past, and by your logic we shouldn't even attempt to learn it, it's done and should be put to peace. He shakes his head at me and tells me that isn't what he means, I shouldn't be so argumentative. I know what he's trying to do, though, and I do appreciate it. He doesn't want me to drudge up the bitter memories, the painful ones. Why couldn't I have lost these, or never regained them? Because one can't pick and choose this sort of thing, they are just there. And not thinking about them doesn't cause them to go away, after all. But yes, I will try not to be so morose, my love. Try being the operative word.

Lily Evans - a redhead with an attitude and green eyes that flashed fire. Particularly when Mr. James Potter was around. What can I say? She was pretty and she was smart and far more mature than we, but then if you study biology you learn that the females of the species tend to reach their maturation levels before the males do. Preparation for nesting, I imagine. And I don't say that in any demeaning sort of way. She was brilliant and loyal, and very very kind. And when I think of Lily, it's hard not to think of James. James Potter, Prongs, a rose by any other name. He was my dearest friend, my companion, my brother. I loved him in a way that's difficult to explain; a love that went beyond blood or kinship - a friendship of a very special nature. He was brave, foolhardy, sometimes cruel - but who is perfect, I ask you? Mischievous, funloving. James was a born leader - where he went, I followed. He blazed the trail, and I was right behind him, ready eager and willing to do his bidding. He was very very bright too - and, like me, didn't need to study for his grades. We both lucked out in that respect. They were both Gryffindors through and through. Their images shine brightly in my memory, and in my heart.

Frank and Alice Longbottom. Of course, she wasn't a Longbottom, then. Everyone knew they would end up together, they just seemed to fit together that way, even from the beginning. Best friends, boon companions. Isn't that the way all great love stories start? It's how Remus and I began. They were loyal and brave friends, fierce fighters in the battle against Voldemort. They did not deserve what happened to them, a fate worse than mere death. And to know that my own cousin was responsible for that, well, it just sickens me. She and Lestrange. A pairing made in hell. Which is where they belong. At least Frank and Alice are admirably represented by their son, a brave lad, Neville. Very brave indeed.

And then there was Peter. He whom we considered to be our friend, but who was the most perfidious traitor of them all. The Judas, the betrayer, the backstabber. Hindsight is wonderful, isn't it? When one considers that his animagus form is a rat, it gives one rise to think... but we never thought that way, simply accepted him for what he appeared to be - our friend, one of us. A Marauder. Dammit, dammit, dammit........It's his fault, all his fault for what happened - for James and Lily, for me and Remus, for Harry being an orphan, for.....

Yes, yes, Remus, I know, I can't help it. Whenever I think of him, I get overexcited. He makes my blood pressure rise, even now. Yes, I know I need to calm down. Yes, love, coming.

I'll stop here for now, but the next thing I want to tell you is about what I like to refer to as the Great Cauldron Incident. Or how we learned to hate Severus Snape. Don't let me forget.