Chapter Text
Subject: …
Remus,
Hello. This is Sirius. Black. As you may understand from the "from" section.
I don't know why I'm writing- I know, actually, but it's hard to declare out loud. Which actually I'm not doing since this is writing.
Hope this is making sense.
I have no intention to bother you, and I'm fully aware this is your work email but it appears as the only source of interaction with you.
For the past few months, I've been reminiscing, memories, you, James, everything, before they all wiped out. Not sure you encountered news though, but it's a thing, believe it or not. Already lost the first ten years, which is getting scary as it comes to you. And James. And Lily.
Please forgive me- about everything, but specifically if this email causes any major disturbance.
I would like to see you before my twentieth year is gone so that you wouldn't fade away. I have a theory.
I'm aware this is much to ask. Still in London, the same apartment, got no balls to sell it, or to say goodbye. One night a month ago a couple of bibbed people looked for me, but I guess they are overwhelmed with the number of patients at the moment. The building is deserted too. Still being careful though.
You can also reach me through my number below.
Sirius,
***
5 months ago
In the beginning, it was just Andromeda.
"Did you manage to confirm our reservation?" Dave shouts from the kitchen, the noise of the extractor fan rebuking his voice. Sirius has been tasked with laying the table but there are some distractions in their house like he's giving no shit about his boyfriend's new diet and eating vegetarian lasagne instead of the real one. "Restaurant cancels it if we don't give them a precisification."
"Hmm," Sirius murmurs surely not to be heard, twirling his hair and staring at the sneaker ad that pops out at the corner of an article he is reading at the Guardian. He has never been the type of person to stay abreast of current events, and whenever he opens a tab, it feels the apocalypse is coming. Maybe that's the reason ads appeal more.
"Sirius?"
"Coming," he says in a hurry, closing the laptop at once and standing up. He promises himself to buy that sneaker, gorgeous, white with some fancy red stripe after tying up loose ends with dinner, from the original site rather than via another ad. He had been reading something about digital advertising, his new interest and a potential medium to put some of his money on, and how those middlemen getting money just by someone's click on it, without any effort. It's not a productive and honest way to gain money, he would say.
The man whose revenue is exorbitant family fortune falls off the back of lorry ways talking
"Are you listening? Dave says, spatula in his hands, standing on the doorsill in anticipation.
Dave always manages to cut in at opportune and protects Sirius from his mind -and from the people who lives inside his mind. It's one of the few reasons Sirius stays with him.
The other is his cooking skills, which with his transition to the vegetarian cult, is on the rocks.
"Hm?"
"I said," Dave starts, strikes his explaining to a child attitude, one of the many reasons that Sirius runs away from any romantic getaway plan Dave suggests like a plague for months, because he's sensing a big question time, which isn't a solid idea- well, an understatement. Which is a disastrous idea. "If you confirm our reservations at the restaurant? I told you to do it on Monday."
"Oh yeah," Sirius replies, knowing that he's preparing his doom day- (well, actually the relationship's doom day, but it sounds more dramatic this way). Noticing he's still being watched, Sirius raises his hand and starts counting, testily. "Friday night, at eight, terrace, table for two."
"For two? Are you fucking with me, right?"
"What? Did I miss a gangbang we agreed on or something?"
"Jesus, Sirius. You are unbearable."
"What did I do this time?" Sirius follows him to the kitchen, dauntedly. He had to raise his voice because of that fucking extractor. "I did what you asked me for and you still sulking like a fucking child."
"Jesus fuck Sirius- you forget the meeting," throwing spatula to counter and switch extractor off. It's not much of a use, Sirius wants to say, kitchen smells like what he would expect Masterchef set would smell and feels at least 40 degrees. Without that ringing noise, Sirius notices how angry Dave sounds. Being in a relationship means collecting clues about how he messed up this and that time and how he could act upon it for Sirius, like a boring treasure hunting without a treasure. "They aren't even my relatives."
Sirius goes still. "What are you talking about? What relatives?" Even the word of his family has enough of a chill running down his spine, especially after the only relative he's a bit care is dead for fifteen years. Uncle Alphard, the very reason he's living care-free moneywise since eighteen.
"We were going to meet Andromeda and her husband, remember?" Dave says, grabbing the spatula wearily. "Your cousin you last saw when you were five, living in the States, found you on Facebook a few months ago?" he continues, eyes fixed on Sirius, knitting his brows. "You set a dinner rez a month ago? The reason they are visiting London?"
Watching Dave's change of voice and expression from furious to confused and finally settles on concerned after every finished sentence would be comical if Sirius has any idea what he's talking about.
He remembers talking to someone named Andromeda, and how excited he was while writing to the stranger, but fails to connect the dots between the pontificated relative he had never seen for twenty-seven years and the woman he talked to over Facebook.
"You are having me on, aren't you?"
"I don't have a relative named Andromeda."He presses his fingers to his thumbs to remember, surely Dave couldn't come up with a joke like that. Oh, serious, boring and steady Dave.
This sounds harsh, but it isn't really.
Because for the past eight years, Sirius dated, or very briefly got involved (very modern and subtle definition of one-night stands) with some people, the majority of men, a few women, some people in between and a few chose not to define. He never specifically looked for, never needed to, Black charm always succours at that point and he never acted he's hard to get. If someone, anyone shadowed interest out him, and if he felt any kind of attraction, even just a tiniest bit, he would be ready to go and get it. Whether the magic happens in a bedroom or a couch, or a bar toilet. The only rule he got was not staying for the night, in any condition, no matter how sleep-deprived he was or how exhausted he's left from the activity.
He'd been doing it for adventure, to taste someone so voices shut up for a second, or the waste of somebody's fluids over someone else so maybe he could transpose the tiniest bit of his dasein to another person. His mind convinced him to find someone who's up for anything, the adrenalin, not just for the fuck though. He would like to know that there's a person on his contact list that is up for a bungee jumping in an hour after two months from fucking each other. This must be the key for shutting up everything, he had thought.
It took him two years to notice he's been cursed. (Oh, the drama of those words!)
But yes, it was a curse. Like the one Davy Jones' or Captain Barbossa's crew had. The analogy had come to his mind while watching it, one of a few still nights he had, after sending his fling to his home, watching it like a masochist, not thinking about James and how he had loved dressing up as Captain Barbossa (“he’s the coolest Sirius!”) to four Halloween. Not at all.
It was a few days before meeting Dave, who, opposite of what he'd been thinking, succeeded in blocking all necessary voices in his head.
All he needs to do is look at Sirius, or exist, which bores him to death and in a blink of an eye, all ghosts of his mind turning into how he wants to rip Dave's head off. The system was working for three and a half years.
"Are you… okay?" Dave says with alarm, coming closer to Sirius hesitantly. Oh, Dave. Fucking beautiful and boring Dave who surprisingly manages to shut Sirius mind by annoying him every moment, even with his moan while they are fucking. "You remember Andromeda, right?"
No, you idiot, he wants to say. My only two cousins unfortunately live healthily in France, spending their husbands' money in carefree ways to go shopping or with their lover and fortunately, didn't contact me in fifteen years.
But a voice -shut up shut up shut up- inside his head says if anyone named Andromeda lives in this world, it must be given by his lunatic family who claims that they are only matching with stars, nothing less. Nothing commoner.
"Sirius, she sent a picture of you two," Dave continues his monologue, closing the cooker and reaching out to the counter for his phone. "You said it's from the first societal event your parents forced you to attend, and here Andromeda sneaked you out and you both had ice cream together. A few weeks later, Andromeda ran away with Ted and you never get this photo, but always remember it as one of the best days of your life. You were even a bit emotional when she sent you this."
There, all kinds of hope his body could produce piles up in his eyes, Dave shows up a picture of a five-year-old whose little tux bedraggled with dust and mud and a woman in her early twenties in a maroon silky costume, aforementioned Andromeda, holding hands, standing in front of an ice-cream shop, smiling widely.
Despite the age disparity between his mirror self and the boy in the picture, Sirius can see semblance.
The problem is, no matter how hard he forced himself, he couldn't picture his five-year-old self, or what happened in that ice-cream shop or who took the picture or where they were that day, and which decision led him to wear that tuxedo.
"I… Of course, yeah, I remember. Just- you know, I'm a bit busy-"
Good job Padfoot
No no no don't-
Now he knows something is wrong, since when you are busy
Fuck off
"Let me recall the restaurant," Sirius finishes his epic failure of mind fucking and lying with a glimpse of hope so that he can exit the scene as quick as possible, but more from to himself, hearing the voice of the ghosts again.
After that, they eat their vegetarian lasagna in silence, Sirius finds it disgusting and says nothing but compliment the chef while thinking about why the hell his mind suddenly stops remembering his cousin.
"How did you find it?"
"I think celery did a great job with mushrooms."
"Why do you always assume I put celery in food?"
"Isn't that what vegetarians do?"
Good darling, vent your mind game and return of voices on with attacking the only person who bears you
Yeah yeah whatever
Dave huffs and shakes his head in disbelief, finishes his wine while glaring right in the eye of Sirius, his usual passive-aggressive resistance.
I hope that expensive bottle of wine suitable for your ricker
Before going to bed, forcing his mind to not thinking about hearing the voices again, Sirius' phone vibrates with a message from Andromeda about the confirmation of the restaurant, and Sirius curses himself for being so fucking stupid and not reading things they talked with this Andromeda person.
Good thing Dave has a meeting tomorrow and is tame enough to not propose fucking before a big day.
He starts from the beginning, some lies had been told about how they haven't changed -at least on Sirius' part, it would be really weird if Andromeda compliments him in the same way-, and some Black family gossips that Sirius provided Andromeda, how Bella cheated on her husband with a weird foreign man and how all family including the aforementioned husband okay with this perverseness and Cissy's probably gay husband and their evil-looking son.
"I couldn't find Reggie," Andromeda had written. "Is he one of those mystery guys who declines the existence of social media?"
And a long silence after Sirius explained what happened to his brother.
They exchanged photos of their current selves, Andromeda and Ted with their daughter of fifteen years old with pink hair ("I don't understand teenagers and leave the deal with her to Ted"), Sirius with Dave and their cat- Dave's cat.
It was a nice adventure for Sirius to read how he's liked as the person he pretends to be.
He scrolls down and finds the photo Dave showed him, with some explanations like who took the picture ("It was Ted, I told him we could sneak away from that party and he waited for us for two hours."), where they were ("We got lost a little and found ourselves in Hyde Park, you were so happy with the swing."), why he wears a tux, ("I was a bit tipsy when we got back and Aunt Walburga questioned our whereabouts and you came up in an instant that at Greengrasses table all night and rolled your eyes how blind your mother is.")
"OMG, I remember!!! Even remember thinking that I'm genius bec you were pretending in a relationship with their gay son(lol) and mum couldn't go ask Greengrasses because of some quarrels between her and their matriarch!!!"
Sirius had written. Just six weeks ago.
The memory he hid for twenty-seven years in his mind suddenly decided to face away in one night.
Sirius, against the claimed voice inside his head, decides he's busy and his mind just plays some games with him. He puts the phone on the bedside table, hoping Dave would forget his weirdness and also wouldn't be so loud dead in the morning.
A good boyfriend should get up with him and prepare some coffee, oh well.
Dave knows what he's dealing with from the start.
In the morning, Sirius doesn't wake up to Dave's rumbles, but another message vibrates the table that says "Hey little cousin, would like to let you know we are at Heathrow and going to see Ted's family. See you tomorrow xx"
He searches his mind and thinks about when did he get a new cousin other than Bella or Cissy that would send him xx, but the contact's name is Andromeda.
Andromeda is-
The Facebook Lady.
He goes back to their Facebook chat and remembers himself reading it last night, remembers how his heart sores reading about his writing about Regulus' death, Bella's double life and Cissy's perfect little life, but all memories shared between them twenty-seven years ago doesn't make any sense.
He can't keep his cousin in his fucking mind.
I have a cousin, he says out loud, counting on Dave's absence so he wouldn't sound like anyone madman. Her name is Andromeda. Has a husband and daughter. Lives in the States. Haven't seen each other since I was five.
He has to pee.
When he comes back from pee and shower, his phone vibrates again.
Someone sends him a picture of a black taxi and says "Fuck-I forgot about those!!"
Andromeda.
Andromeda is-
The Facebook Lady.
And he reads conversations again.
It took his five hours and seven cycles of forgetting-reading-cursing-repeat to settle on writing all the information he needs to a paper, deciding not to mention his mind fucking with him to anyone.
When tomorrow arrives, he has two battered notepapers in his pocket and hopes to arrive first and sit next to Dave so it would be less awkward if he needs them to read.
And ooh. He needed them.
It was understandable for a thirty-two-year-old man to forget or get confused about some details from twenty-seven years ago, and he didn't attract any attention when he's saying "Oooh I forgot about that!"(with the proper enthusiasm, for believability.)
But when Ted, that bloody, good-hearted man, opened up the ice cream shop memory again, Sirius takes the paper out of his pocket without any shame under Dave's weather eyes in shock that he wished to take a photo and make a meme out of it, and shakes his head like a puppy and agreeing how he'd been jealous of Andromeda.
"What the hell was that?!" Dave shouts, hands on his hips like an old lady brings Sirius to book, the moment after shuts the door behind his back, the beautifully boring prince among men, of course, waits until they arrive at home, not even a taxi is appropriate for a private conversation. Trust him on saving the table from going awkwardness too. "You write those memories down? Sirius, what the fuck is wrong?"
Sirius sees two options; denying and admitting and tries to decide which backlash would be worse so he would choose that one.
"I can't remember," he says, admitting. "I read our texts at least ten times thoroughly and apart from things I shared with her about the family, I don't remember her as my cousin nor the memories she claims we share. Not even after reading them several times."
Dave looks at him as if he just confessed that he's a drug lord. Sirius giggles inwardly, because that this is actually a more likely scenario than he keeps forgetting having a cousin that they just shared a night with, particularly.
You did confess because you wanna off the hook and take no blame for it
No I don't
That's when you start admit things, darling
Fuck you
"Did you start drinking?"
And that kind of a touching sore isn't something Sirius ever thought Dave would do.
He's actually more surprised that Dave has a depth that allows Sirius to learn something interesting after three and a half years of relationship.
"Fuck off Dave," he murmurs, weakly, and lets his feet lead him to the terrace to stargaze, without any clue why he's doing it.
The next morning, when he's yawning, resting against the counter whilst drinking coffee from a drip pot, rubbing his stiff neck from sleeping on a chair on the roof, regretting all his life decisions, Dave, the idiot, shows up and marks an era.
"Stargazing again?" he asks, smirking soulfully. "You should stop reflecting your emotions to the stars, Sirius. You are not six anymore."
"What?"
Dave sighs. "Talk to me, please. I'm worri—"
"Not that," Sirius waves his hand like chasing off a fly from his view. He knows the following sentence too well. I'm worried about you.
I'm worried that you put your money on a dead industry.
…worried You don't sleep healthy.
…drinking too much coffee.
…drinking too little water.
…depending too much on sex.
"Why did you say I'm not six?"
"Because you aren't."
"Fuck, Dave, answer me!"
"Because that's what you do," Dave says, with his talking to a child's voice again and Sirius wants to kick him. "You said that's how you cope with your parents when you were six."
Oops you did it again
"Right," Sirius murmurs, hiding his face under the mug, cursing himself, the past him to be honest, for being too garrulous towards the guy standing in front, looking at him behaving like a mother.
Well, not his mother, but a normal, should-have mother. Like-
Nope
Saying her name won't bite Padfoot
Shut up
"You don't remember it too," Dave says, firmly, without blinking his stupid eyes. There is no question in his voice, not guessing, not hesitancy and unconfidence. It's his harsh and concrete voice, the voice belongs to his business life.
Which is the reason Sirius hears the question he despises for nine years second time in a week.
"Mr Black, before running tests, according to your health records, you battled with alcoholism," the doctor says, joining her hands on the desk, solemnly.
"Hmm." Tell me something I don't know.
"Have you started drinking again?"
Sirius is ready for this question and prepared last night before going to bed as if he's gonna take the lead role in a Shakespeare play. "Is there a new amnesia type that only wipes out specific ages?"
"No, but-"
"Or does any amnesia cause knowing the person sitting in front is the cousin of yours but the memory you two shared twenty-seven years ago fades away which you had remembered only seven weeks before but despite reading it half an hour ago through Facebook messages about that particular memory remain deleted from your mind?"
"No-"
"Or, having stargazed as a coping mechanism from childhood but couldn't remember the first time you did it when you were six and your partner knows more than you?"
"Mr Black, I think I get your point."
"No," Sirius says, in an odd mixture of firm and nonchalance. "I haven't started drinking."
Following weeks goes on with every kind of test, even a stay at night in a hospital so interns could analyse his brain while sleeping and every time he catches Dave's look, he wants to shatter his fucking face of pitiably glances pointing at Sirius.
Sirius is grumpy, and Dave is indulgent. Perfect for each other. Written on stars.
After two months of tests and doctors still have no coherent explanation that covers concurrently his symptoms.
"Sirius, I'm going to leave you."
One night, Dave says from behind, interrupts Sirius' online shopping session on his comfy couch. Like how dare you.
"Hmm," Sirius wheels around, chewing his inner cheek, his mind still compares two sneakers'.
A loud thud comes at where Dave casts down the bag on his right and leans against the bigger luggage on his left, the one with Mickey Mouse sticker. They bought it from their Malta get-away, in their second year when Dave was sure it would be mingled with other luggage and found a sticker. "I'm breaking up with you. I tried to stay until you pull yourself together, but I can't go on with this."
"Oh," is Sirius' remaining social skill before asking God to have some spare time to evaluate concrete answers and grow some sort of pain in his heart, which he thinks he should have, but. "Alright."
"Is that all you're gonna say?"
Sirius has nothing to say, because from the beginning of their relationship, whenever Dave had opened his mouth and spilt the word "Sirius", he filled in the blanks with a big and emotional break-up speech gentleman Dave would give. The length of his endurance to Sirius has been one of few mysteries Dave holds.
"You are taking Norris with you, right? She doesn't like me."
"I've already taken her, yesterday. She's at my friend's house now."
Oh, right. That's why the bloody creature is nowhere to be found.
Feeling awkward about sitting while the other standing with expectation, Sirius stands up for a proper farewell ceremony and walks towards the door, both hands in his pockets. When he reaches Dave's side, he looks at him blankly, and Sirius is already lost- not emotionally, of course. Should they hug? Should he propose the last shag before going? Kiss? On mouth or cheek? What are we, five?
Also you can't remember your five-year-old, darling
No shit
"I met with someone."
Sirius is still busy trying to remember the last time they shag.
"It's been a while, but I couldn't leave you for a while… you know, your mind is," his voice decreases in every word and couldn't come up with a proper ending, lands on pointing Sirius' head as if trying to show where his mind is situated. "Like this."
"That's mature of you," Sirius says, flatly. "Thank you… for that."
Mate I think you should stop
Shut up
Sirius has no intention to mock, really, he is clueless about this part of human interaction-
Oh so for the other parts you're an expert
BUT, for god's sake he tells to himself and his ghosts, every man eats from his plate, his father, that disgusting motherfucker always said, as though it's an adage, swaggeringly, preferably while punishing Sirius because he says something about politics he learnt from James- oh hey I remember that!-. And Dave, the master of passive-aggressive expression of emotions, of course, thinks Sirius is pulling his leg.
Or it's a desperate dead cat bounce of searching for a meaning under their third and a half-year-old relationship. Funny enough, even though they lived in Sirius' house, it was also him who benefited from Dave, like a parasite or acarid.
"You know…" Dave starts smiling with his mouth, but not with his eyes, a look that makes him an unbearably clever dick. He's going to say something he thinks is so smart only if Sirius cares what his mouth produces except saliva while his head is around his thigh. He desperately needs an end to this not-drama-drama since Dave failed his mission of stopping the voices for a few months, since the day he started forgetting, and there is no need for him in this room. "You always underestimated me, Sirius. I think that was…" he shows the living room with both his hands, the grand gesture, "one of the problems in our relationship."
Oh, honey that's not the bomb, Sirius wants to say. You can't start with the bomb and make that gesture before saying something so obvious. Let me show you.
He withdraws one hand from his pocket and scratches the back of his neck, with a sheepish smile. "I think I never… estimated you, Dave. If we are being honest."
It takes a few seconds the words, the truth without any intention, settles on Dave. "Well… At least you are good at something."
"Which is?"
"Being already a crappy ex-boyfriend."
"Ha."
"And you saved me from the guilt of cheating on you."
Are we done
Let the man have some drama, Padfoot
"Hope you find him," Dave says, pulling both luggage and closing all possibilities of a hug or kiss or shag at once, holding the doorknob. "Despite everything, turn you to this and no matter you believe otherwise, you are a good person. I've never stopped believing that."
"Wait," Sirius says, the only glimpse of pain and curiosity and malaise surfaces, at last. "What do you mean? Find him?"
Sirius never told Dave the ghosts of ten years, or give him a hint he's gay but rather liquid.
"Isn't it the elephant in the room? For four years? It was always three of us here, Sirius. Or four, five. I don't know. Honestly, I can't keep going with all those people you have. And that was," he nods, glares right at Sirius' eyes and puts his keys to his palm. "The other problem."
Dave doesn't say goodbye but kisses Sirius' cheek slightly, and when the door shuts behind, Sirius doesn't feel like five.
Because you don't know how you were in five darling
And he did the drama Black, you should be proud
Ah Lily here you are, where were you
The question should have come to you you berk, have you completely forgotten me
After Dave's gone, Sirius notices how takeaways and espresso from the cafe on the corner taste crab since he's staying away from the kitchens at all cost.
He finds himself at shops as a result of avoiding kitchens at all costs and hospitals a lot. As annoying as Dave.
"Mr Black, we are unable to discover the reason behind your specific amnesia, which doesn't relate to Wernicke-Korsakoff syndrome since your Thiamine levels seem excellent. We eliminated tumour, Alzheimer or brain inflammation as well," the doctor says, checking her chart seems like a crossword insert. "And it's unlikely carbon monoxide poisoning you had twelve years ago still taking effect, but we will run some further tests whether it's a unique case or not," she takes her glasses off, like a bloody James Bond, examining Sirius' face remorsefully, and Sirius wants to say don't worry doc and offer her a high five.
"We never encountered a type wipes years away, rather than specific memories. What I recommend, at this point, is to continue running tests and psychological examinations in unison. Previous PTSD you struggled with may have some impacts on your memory, which we should investigate from now on. Of course, this is my medical opinion, and you have every right to get a second opinion from other doctors."
Fuck your medical opinion then, Sirius thinks.
"Do you have… any recommendations?" Sirius asks, trying not to give major hints about whether he's willing to change his ID and address than getting therapy. "You know, to hamper further loss?"
How much she likes talking and how successful she is in her job according to all medical journals remains a mystery, and Sirius nods like a puppy without hearing any of her words. At last, she spills some words that make some sense and makes him buy a diary with a leather cover and a nice pen. There is no way he would return to her office, and immediately block her number from contacts and declare the flat as a crime scene of his mind, requiring a physically forceful act for stepping outside.
After eating some leftover curry from yesterday or the day before, honestly, he should start eating some other shits since the blood in his veins turning into a giant curry, Sirius perches on the couch cross-legged, tempting the pen on the corner of a page, and starts writing.
I'm Sirius Black-
Are you planning to pass the sponge over your name too, sweetheart
Just in case
How will you remember your diary then
Oh just shut up
-and I killed my best friend.
Padfoot
Will you object James
I just wanted to say your handwriting lose all its Black features
Aww that's so sweet thank you
He writes what comes to his mind in free-style, with basic sentences and words, basic definitions and descriptions just the way all come to his mind, as if he never wrote some poetry shit over waves, the first time he touched them when he was nine and run away from the home for the first time, never wrote his feelings as an eleven-year-old when he finally let go of his parents, never wrote his first song when his heartbeat races when a tall loopy boy enters the room around his teenage years, or how he couldn't make himself cry when the time he learnt Reggie killed himself but instead dragged along to a wheat field by Remus and he shouted until his lungs hurt, as if he never gave odds with Remus and James about how clouds must have felt like when they touched when they were high. As if he's a seven-year-old learning the alphabet.
Oh that's easy it was when…with…by
What
He, uhm, she
Come again, Padfoot
Do you know what this means, darling
Yes. It's the exact second Sirius realises his seventh year is gone, too.
And the moment after that is the time when Sirius decides the gap is closing between shitty memories and the ones that really matter, the ones he loved with all his heart and soul and the ones that disintegrated him.
It was the first night for twelve years Sirius let his mind think about James, Lily and Remus. The first night he allows his brain to say their names, although he felt more or less the same tightness for twelve years when he saw a guy with round wire-rimmed glasses or a ginger-haired girl. Or.
It's pathetic Black
I met with James at eleven. On a train that we went off for our boarding school. I loved him until the very end.
Did you tho'
I met Remus that night. He was screaming scholarship in that posh school. I always admired his accent, his way of struggling things, his smile and his way of speaking. I admired him so much that it took me six years to realise I love him. I always loved him.
No you didn't
He wrote the rest of things, trying not to think about what will happen but beamed himself to those memories, watched them from glass or mirror-like he's in a delusion and hallucinating and interrupted by either James or Remus and sometimes even Lily. And Regulus. He's never been this high before, even when replacing stargazing with alcohol as a coping mechanism, around the age of twenty-two.
Hey, spoilers
OK OK
Memories from eleven to fourteen were made him smile if not giggled shamelessly and punched his throat until he gasps for breath at the same time, he writes all except the summertime, he deliberately passes over them, with a side note that "your mother and father sucks this summer too" Nothing specific to the future Sirius, only know most of your fucked ups were destined.
Fourteen to twenty were complicated. They were many memories of borderline, in two extremes without a balancing factor, and they didn't need balancing, as far as he remembered. His heart expands with Remus and breaks into pieces with him, in a way he hears shattering. It's funny how the human mind thinks there is an expiration date to some memories and when the box is open, even the funny and soppy memories start biting and kicking. Especially them.
At some point, to procrastinate the rest, he realises he wrote two rows of I'm sorry.
Pathetic
I'm sorry, Moony
That wasn't what I heard, darling
When it hits the YEAR 20, Sirius stops.
He isn't sure how many days, weeks or months passed since he started writing, but it's already bright outside, a hot sun shines in his dusty, lonely and full-of rubbish flat. It must still be summer, then.
His hands are shaking, not because of the emotional distress, but the length of writing. Half of the diary is already full with his finally non-Black handwriting.
He grabs his phone, dead, put into charge and read the first six messages from his advisor- yes he has an advisor -how dare you think of Sirius Black, the prince and only heir of Blacks like a commoner- letting him know that financial future is in medical companies, and he should consider vesting research-based pharmaceutical companies.
Do it, Sirius replies, and grants whatever number he writes.
I should write about mother's and father's funeral in the most ecstatic and entertaining way, he thinks. Future Sirius would need jokes.
You should pass on age twenty for that, darling
No shit
And the time never comes, because Sirius leaves the diary on the coffee table until its black cover turns into white with dust and ash, it feels like a personal attack, a fire he would burn if it touched. Until he decides to wander around London since he has no one to answer his whereabouts and starts carrying it everywhere, inside his bag but never allows it to see outside. He usually has no idea when to go back to his flat, it sometimes takes three days and he rather sleeps in a hotel or roof of his co-owned restaurant and taking it with him burdens him and from day one he knows he deserves every chain and load.
On a chilly September night, he decides to go back home after four days to get his leather jacket, and he sees a crowd gathered in front of his building, all lights on, except his floor, three ambulances waiting and dozens of people in protective clothing.
One of the medical staff removes his helmet and asks the man two feet ahead of him when was the last time they saw 12G.
It's his.
The same scene echoes when he went back to the restaurant, and the last hotel he checked in.
It's undeniable. They are looking for him.
I think the day you fantasised finally arrived, Padfoot
But why
He goes to an ATM and withdraws a huge amount of cash, then arrives on the opposite side of London via changing three taxis, enters a cheap bed and breakfast, giving a false name and paying cash, thanking all crappy spy movies he had watched and hiding there until one day realising what is why.
Back to square one, they say, because it's because of a fucking Guardian article, but this time, he pays attention to the actual writing, not using it as a declaration of claiming he's more than a pretty face while checking ads.
WHO Urges for the New Mysterious Pandemic
He's still with his twelve year's memories and remembers the method taught by McGonagall how to read faster yet in its entirety, and some words strike his mind as "memory loss starts in childhood and progress according to years", "investigations on Patient Zero", "the way of spreading is unknown", "youngsters at risk", "in total 458 people have been diagnosed in Britain".
Guess we have patient zero here, good boy Padfoot
Shut up James
There is no way he could go back to his flat then.
Sirius welcomes this idea pretty well, goes to reception to pay for one month staying, asks for dry cleaning, buys some clothes in cash and only longs for his leather jacket.
At some point when he has nothing to do except mysterious night walks and push-ups, Sirius grabs the fire again.
He first goes back to the beginning, reading them through and through, mimicking every word and memory sentence by sentence without looking at the page.
After a long shower and jerking off, Sirius tries to recall words.
He couldn't remember the memory he read an hour ago about Reggie and their piano lesson.
Age nine and ten are gone too.
But he still remembers Reggie. It's not like how he forgets about Andromeda -my cousin my cousin my cousin and there she is- he checks his memory and gladly finds her on that dinner table talking about their crappy American way of life. And he still has his brother.
Sirius scratches this information to his diary, next to scribbling about wayward cousin seems like something important about the progress of the disease.
Two possible reasons I remember Reggie but Andromeda:
- Fucking trauma-like I remembering stargazing instinctually
- He continued existing in my life after those memories at age 9 and 10
So when it reaches 20 Regulus will be gone
I'm sorry Padfoot
You will be gone when it hits 21
He buries himself under the uncomfortable, sticky duvet, still on his towels, realising all the ghosts he brought forth have no pictures with him. All people who live with him for years, the ones Dave claims left no space for the materialised livings, will be gone. Not sure when though, or if scientists will come up with a solution until then, but he has no intention to be a lab rat and buckle under authorities.
Not all of us are ghosts, darling
Thanks for the heads up
He isn't sure whether the heaviness of one-month long self-quarantine or sudden need for adherence to the past, Sirius suddenly goes back to first night at Hogwarts.
When he had been shaking under the duvet thinking about tomorrow's outcomes when all was heard.
"Hey," he had opened his eyes to a voice belonging to the one person in the dormitory he was most scared of. A night before, his family had staked their life on Hogwarts(actually Slytherin, they had said, which was the real problem at that moment) welcomes only their kind, not a gimpy leg boy who also carries a Welsh accent affrontingly. Like how dare he. "You're trembling, mate."
Given the other two's slight snoring already sounded familiar, Sirius had no doubt that's him.
"My family won't be happy with this," he had whispered, not being specific about the pronoun. Because the right one is you. Your existence.
"Yeah, well, they are full of hope, aren't they? All parents."
"It's different."
"Still you have tonight," he had said. It must have felt weird to talk to a duvet, while Sirius hid under it. "You can think about it when they do."
It was a crappy advice
It paralyzed you
After checking you on
What
Sirius then remembers, after being sure he left his sight and went back to his bed, as he was hearing a different tune of snoring, he had rolled out, for loo he remembered cajoling himself but checked on the particular outsider at heart. To observe what must have felt being someone to realise the boy in the opposite bed is shaking.
The first time, not the last but of course an eleven-year-old wasn't that prescient, he had watched Remus sleeping.
The thing is, even if he was at his house and with albums, he would never manage to see from a copy, a picture or a portrait, sketching.
And that is how Sirius decides to email Remus J. Lupin, the lecturer at Cardiff University.