Pieces
And I've been meaning to tell you
I think your house is haunted
Your dad is always mad and that must be why
And I think you should come live with me
and we could be pirates
Then you won't have to cry
Or hide in the closet
And just like a folk song
Our love would be passed on.
Padfoot
He was two and a half and already the most talkative baby the Wizarding World had ever had the pleasure to witness. At least that was what Mother lamented the most, at the time. They used to hang out alone in the downstairs library a lot when the tutors weren’t around: Kreacher wasn’t ever too far away, but the dusty space made them feel like they were in their little bubble. Sirius Black remembered that his brother had yet to utter his first word, much to their parents’ dismay, and that he used to cry a lot (silent and without screaming, just fat tears sliding across his puffy cheeks). It was a big deal, that the youngest member of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black was being “stubborn like that” and it sent Mother into constant frets with every possible magical tutor that always ended with her screaming directly at Regulus’ face. Sirius also remembered overhearing Kreacher plead to Regulus bassinet in the evenings: “Young master Regulus must try harder”, “Mistress won’t like it”, and “Mistress may hurt young master Regulus”. In that specific memory, they were hanging out and the dark carpet of the library and Sirius had somehow made it his mission to make Regulus speak. He thought that maybe if he kept talking, the chubby-handed toddler who stared at him with big eyes would finally get the memo and just… talk. He remembered hearing his brother’s voice for the first time as he murmured a distorted version of his name, a whispered “Siri” that he only thought was remarkable at the time just because he had a lisp. Of course, Mother had yelled at Regulus for his poor choice of words and Sirius never heard him talk again for a year.
Sirius would have never guessed that would have been the first thought he spared for his little brother in months.
The truth was that, during the War, Sirius had pushed back a lot. He was well aware that it wasn’t healthy, but it was the only way he had found that wouldn’t let the grief they were constantly surrounded by have the upper hand on him. Despite his upbringing, Sirius wasn’t meant for grief: he couldn’t process it nor fully understand it. It stood as the biggest enigma his brain had yet to figure out, steadily followed by most human emotions and some relationship dynamics. He had done it for every single death in the Order: Marlene, Dorcas, even Frank and Alice. He pushed that information so far back in his brain that he wasn’t even sure it happened. If it wasn’t for the constant reminder on everyone’s face, that is. He had been good even when one of his best friends had turned out to be a traitor: push all of it back and just… keep going.
He had done the same when the article came, dropping gently right outside his window. The sunken face of his brother stared right at him from behind the glass. Apparently, he was dead. Sirius had pointed his wand at the Prophet and cast an Incendio so angrily it partially burned the flowers on the windowsill. He hadn’t spared a thought for him since. James had tried to gauge his mental state after, but Sirius had already moved on. Sirius wouldn’t talk about his brother to James for any reason whatsoever. He had been wonderful about the rest of his family, going as far as adopting him into his own like it was where he belonged since the beginning. But Regulus was a whole other story. Bashing Walburga and Orion was easy because what they were doing was so obviously wrong. The problem with Regulus was that Sirius still felt like he had abandoned him, even after years. The only one who knew barely about it had been sent on a mission so many months prior that Sirius was beginning to forget ever having him near. That was another thing he had to push down.
He knew that eventually he would have spilled.
Then the note came, a few prettily scribbled words on a piece of parchment that essentially said “The Dark Lord is dead, you can get back to your normal life. Oh, don’t forget about the meeting in two weeks”. His first reaction had been anger. So much pain and sorrow and grief and death, only to be dismissed by a stupid owl without any explanation. Sirius was grateful it was finally over but from the note, it seemed that Dumbledore and Moody believed they could just snap back into their lives before the War. Nothing would ever be the same: they would walk around turning at every corner for the rest of their lives, fearing they were about to be ambushed or that any loud noise would be putting an abrupt end to their life; they would always open their door expecting bad news; they would always put more wards in place than necessary “just to be safe”; most of them would wake up every day just to face the fact that some didn’t make it.
Some of them hadn’t had the time to properly grieve. Some of them didn’t have the capacity to process. Sirus was one of them.
Because one of his best friends was still lost on a mission that never ended. Because people he loved and had grown up with had died. Because one of his best friends had betrayed them and was now rotting in Azkaban. Because Regulus Black had died being angry at him. Because he had been pushing all the pain so far back, he had been afraid he wouldn’t have been able to let it resurface; but it did, abruptly and with such force that Sirius thought he would burst.
And Sirius hated that Remus had yet to come home. Coming home to an empty apartment had been driving him up the wall. He missed his constantly misplaced books and his coffee, and the way he picked up after him. And his stupid face, of course. As if their relationship wasn’t weird enough, they had to send him Godric knows where. At the meeting Moody had pulled them aside, what remained of the Marauders with the addition of Lily and Mary, and talked to them in a voice that reminded him so much of Effie whenever James was upset. “It’s safer if Lupin keeps out of the radar for a while. We’ll ease him into coming back. It shouldn’t be long.” His words were meant to comfort them that he was alive and well and coming home, but all Sirius could think about was the same voice telling them the mission “shouldn’t be long” six and a half months prior. It was like a dull whistle in the back of his ear. They weren’t supposed to keep in contact just for a while. “Gather information and get back”, that’s how they put it that time and all the ones prior. And every single time he stayed away longer. The information was too good, too important. Sirius needed him back as fast as humanly possible. He had tried, with every fibre of his body, but there was only so much he could push down before running out of room. And Remus was already too big of a lump, without the war going on.
It all came down one morning, right after the very first night he slept through uninterrupted. They were all up already in Potter Manor, where he had been spending most (all) of his days since Remus’ mission. The smell of Effie’s muffins warmed his insides even at the top of the stairs. They were his favourites: coconut and dark chocolate chips.
It started with Reggie’s first word. Then Marlene in her Quidditch gear in the middle of the Gryffindor common room laughing loudly at one of Mary’s snarky remarks. Dorcas was behind her, wrapping her in a loose embrace and looking up at her like she hanged the stars. Then came Alice, smiling fondly at the small newborn in her arms as the nervous retelling of their baby’s first sneeze echoed in Frank’s voice. But Reggie’s face kept popping up in the whirlwind of the now-open Pandora’s box. He was hiccupping in the living room cupboard, then crying softly in Sirius’ bed after a bad dream; he was wincing at Walburga’s first slap and laughing at Sirius’ new stupid haircut. The memories started mushing together and then Regulus was in the hallway outside the charms classroom, hanging his head low as Sirius passed him without even looking at him. Then they started mixing together and Marlene was walking behind Kreacher in Diagon Alley in the summer of 1972. And Frank and Alice were being crucioed by Bellatrix in the Great Hall.
When his mind focussed again, Sirius was sneaking coconut and chocolate chips up to his room. Mother despised the mere smell of them, but she was busy enough not to notice. Their smell would pester his room for the whole day and Regulus would smell it from the next room and peek his head around the door. Round blue eyes and a head of black curls would wait on the door for his invite inside, even though there hadn’t been a single time Sirius had denied him. They could’ve each had their muffin, but they preferred to split every single one in half. The crumbles would hide in his clothes and stick to his cheeks and Sirius would take the blunt end from Walburga every single time.
Before he left him behind.
Sirius hadn’t thought that it would have taken the end of the war to make him cry, but apparently, he was wrong. Standing on top of the stairs with his cheeks wet with tears running down his cheeks he wondered if he would ever recover. The sobs clawed at his throat, pushing to be finally let out; and once the gate was smashed through there was no way of closing it. Everyone at the breakfast table turned at the sound, both Effie and James immediately springing up to their feet.
The War might have been over, but to Sirius, it was of little consolation.
“Sirius, darling, what’s the matter?” But Sirius didn’t have an answer. There were too many, some made more sense than others, but they all seemed too insurmountable to just reduce them to one answer. But James got it, wonderful James.
“Don’t worry mum, it’s probably because of Remus being away. We’ll go upstairs for a bit if that’s okay.” Sirius wasn’t looking at her, immediately taking shield in James’ shoulder, and let himself be guided back up the stairs. He would’ve been embarrassed if he hadn’t been so busy weeping about his dead little brother and his… Remus. James’ arm around his back grounded him just enough to let him find the door to his best friend’s room. Only once he was sat down on the bed did he muster up enough courage to look at him. “If you want to stay longer, we won’t mind. You don’t have to go back to the flat before he’s back.” And Sirius knew he meant it, they all did. Sirius didn’t doubt that looking at the closed door to his room every day would be dreadful, but maybe it wasn’t the whole reason he was afraid of being alone.
“It’s not about Moony.” He whispered. “Well, it is, a little. But it’s not why… this is happening. I think.” He sniffled but his ugly crying had calmed down considerably without the smell of muffins haunting his nose. James connected the dots in a couple of seconds, just by looking at him in the eyes. Because they were like that. Of course, he knew, they always knew everything about each other.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
That was the question, wasn’t it? Did he want to talk about it? Was he ready? Would he ever be ready? Sirius had no idea.
Sirius ended up staying at the Potters for a whole week before it became too much. He missed his apartment, and he missed Remus and Regulus, and he needed time. He hadn’t talked to James about it, at least not about his little brother. Sirius found himself thinking for the first time since their fifth year at Hogwarts, that talking about Remus was easier. Somehow babbling about his existential dread because of his… Remus became the lesser evil along the way. Because after all Remus was still alive and would come back, eventually. He hadn’t been buried by the same family that carved his destiny the moment he was born under their name, he wasn’t laying under six feet of cold earth and most importantly hadn’t died hating Sirius. He was hoping that one day it wouldn’t feel as raw. Maybe he was owed just one moment to just be childish, as young as he was.
Regulus was younger. He wasn’t supposed to die before me.
In a desperate attempt to take back the reins of his life, he decided he had to go back to the apartment. It was probably full of dust and he remembered leaving stuff in the fridge that by then would have probably gone bad. But he had to start somewhere.
So, he apparated to muggle London, in the dark alley right behind the cramped grocery store he and Remus used to shop at, and stuffed full three of the reusable cloth bags Remus was so adamant they used. The lady at the register even recognised him and asked about his “tall friend”. Remus would have remembered her name, but he didn’t, and his stomach rolled just a little bit, but it made him feel human again: because people saw him, recognised him as he passed by, so he was real, alive. He had done his best in the cleaning aisle, pondering all about which scents would have been too much for a werewolf’s sensitive nose. Judging but how grounding it felt to Remus, he hoped that cleaning the muggle way would somehow dull the constant twitches in his muscles. Following the same logic, he decided to take a walk around the neighbourhood.
It had been so long since he last got to experience just… existing.
He took a turn for the park, the same one Remus used to take him as Padfoot occasionally, because Sirius sometimes just needed it. Perhaps they could do it again. He could almost feel Padfoot wagging his tail at the prospect of spending a full moon with Moony after all that time. The park was in a residential neighbourhood, for the most part inhabited by young families and elderly couples, and mostly peaceful during the weekly mornings of school months. Despite the calm and stillness of it, Sirius couldn’t help the hair on his neck prickle, almost like a sixth sense reminding him that calm always hid danger. He tightened his fists around the bags. Stupid war made by stupid wizards. He kept walking with a new spring in his step: he wouldn’t let the war ruin his first ever attempt at being a mature adult. He kept walking through the park as if marching towards an impending threat until, in the corner of his eye, a fluttering of leaves made the breath hitch in his throat. Realistically, it was probably nothing, but he still patted his pocket where he knew his wand was sitting.
It was just a cat. A stupid black cat that was staring at him with wide eyes. Sirius huffed a laugh and the creature stared, almost judging him. Maybe he had gone mad, after all. He turned around, continuing his stroll at a more reasonable pace, but when he finally turned in the street with the familiar name, he realised that the black cat from the park had been following him. Maybe he belonged to one of his neighbours? He didn’t remember any cats but, again, he had been away for a while. Sirius set the bags down to rummage for his keys and the cat, with the elegance of a prince (princess? Sirius wasn’t sure if there was a way to tell besides… yeah) sat down next to his bags and started to lick gently one of his paws. Sirius eyed the creature confused and looked around to see if there was anyone around to ask about the cat. The street was empty.
He jammed the key into the door because Remus had deformed it in one of his moments and it was the only way to make it work. The cat was still there.
“Listen, friend. This is not your house.” The cat didn’t even look up and just kept licking his paw like nothing was out of the ordinary. “Come on, shoo.” Sirius moved his foot around to scare him away, but it was of no use. Perhaps if he just left it there, it would eventually find its way home. He slipped through the door and locked it behind himself.
The first breath of stale air he took in the apartment felt almost fresh: it smelled like home. Sure, a dirty, dusty, and messy home, but still home; with his pictures on the wall, his dirty shoes in the corner and Remus’ books in the library. Sirius could have cried again but refused: taking his life back into his hands, and all that. The first thing he tackled was the mouldy fridge and the dishes that had been in the sink for weeks. He used magic for that, because he needed them gone immediately and he wasn’t about to put his hands in that, the process be damned. He filled the fridge with fresh food and cleaned the counter; then he did the laundry and dusted every single shelf in the living room. By the time he finally let himself drop on the sofa, the sun had started to set, and a gentle rain was ticking against his windowsill.
“For fuck’s sake!” he squealed as he noticed the black silhouette sitting outside his window. It was the cat, the one that followed him home and he left outside hoping it would go away. Clearly, it didn’t. Sirius got up and opened said window, looking the cat right into its wide blue eyes. “You need to go away.” He tried to scare it again, flailing his hands and making sure not to touch it. Who knew where it had been and what filth would be stuck to its fur. The cat was unbothered, it just stared at him annoyed and meowed once. It was raspy and high pitched and sounded a bit like Sirius did in the morning. “We don’t like cats so you can go your merry way.” Sirius was more of a dog person (literally) and cats tended to dislike him, almost as if they felt Padfoot in him.
The cat stood up, stretching its slim tail in the air, and with a swift move it jumped inside, landing with a soft thud on the wood floor. “No, no, no, no. Get out.” Sirius followed the cat that just walked around the apartment like it was its own place. It jumped on the sofa and started to tug at the red covering with sharp claws, before making itself comfortable and lay down. “Oh, come on! You need to leave.” Sirius probably seemed pathetic and was whining, but he really wasn’t good with cats, and he obviously wasn’t about to touch it. What if it was spreading fleas all over their couch? And what if it broke it with his nails? Sirius loved that couch; he would have cried if he had to burn it. He tried to push the cat off and away with a rolled-up magazine, but it just hissed flashing pearly white fangs to then settle right back.
Sirius sighed. Clearly, the cat had no plan of leaving him alone, so his next hope was to find its owner. It didn’t have a collar but still seemed to be a house cat. It didn’t look like a street cat at all: it was too comfortable and well-kept and way too clean (apparently) not to be one. Maybe it had a chip. Sirius gulped: to find that out he would have had to touch it. Unfortunately, his fear of the cat still could not outweigh his want to get rid of it. “Alright. I will touch you and you won’t bite me, yeah? Because you’re a good cat.” He was vaguely aware of what he must have looked like from the outside, but he needed to fool himself to gather the courage to touch it. “Godric, I fight a Wizarding War and I get scared of a stupid cat.” He reached out and finally touched it, letting his finger skim along his neck and in between his shoulder. Its fur was soft like silk, but there wasn’t a single lump. It was either a stray or had a very stupid owner.
Sirius debated calling James to help him get the thing out of his house, but he finally had time to stay alone with his parents. He knew they loved him and never ever had they thought he was an intruder in their family, but James needed some time as well. If Sirius needed time to process the war, so did they. Sirius looked out of the open window: it was dark, and it was pouring. He sighed.
“Fine, you can stay here tonight. But tomorrow you’re out, am I clear? And no scratching the sofa.” And yes, he was talking to a cat, but somehow, he felt like it understood him.
That night he slept decently but was disappointed to not be woken up by the smell of coffee but rather by a wet nose shoving its way to the back of his neck. At first, he was confused, then remembered about the stupid cat. When he turned around, it was just staring at him. He groaned and tried to rub the sleep off his face. “Why are you in my bed?” Sirius whined. He closed his eyes, not quite ready to leave just yet, but it seemed to have other ideas. It slapped him. The cat just lifted his paw and quickly hit his cheek with it, jolting him awake. “Hey! You little brat.”
It was useless to try and ignore it (as if the day before hadn’t been enough proof of that) so he pushed himself up and headed to the bathroom. The floor was cold, but he loved being barefoot too much to care. As expected, the cat followed him and circled around his feet like a miniature land-shark as he washed his face. When Sirius finally reached the kitchen and started making coffee, it started meowing so loud it made him wince as it jumped on top of the table. “Fuck, you’re probably hungry.” What does a cat even eat? Surely not potato salad. “I’ll get you cat food as soon as I’m done plastering the neighbourhood with photos of your stupid face. Maybe then someone would just come and pick you up.” He sipped his coffee leaning on the counter, the table already conquered by the stupid creature that just kept staring at him. Sirius was probably going completely bonkers, but he felt like the cat was hurrying him up by just staring at him. And somehow, he felt the need to comply. Stupid bossy little monster.
Like he had planned, he pinned the poster he had prepared the previous night on every single lamp post and left some on a couple doorsteps for good measure. There was a small pet store at the end of the road, but Sirius had never been inside it before. He knew the owner was one of their neighbours and Remus probably knew them by name because that was Remus, but nothing more. It was simple and clean and very empty that early in the morning. The man at the counter had smiled at him and just left him to look for what he needed. What did he need? There was probably a cat dedicated section somewhere, right? The shelves were so full Sirius felt immediately overwhelmed. Was puppy food any different from adult food? Was the cat an adult? Was it elder? And should he get dry food? Was wet better? Should he feed it raw? The thought almost made his gag. Had Sirius mentioned that he hated cats?
“Uhm, sorry sir. Could you perhaps help me out?”
“Sure. What are you looking for?”
“Cat food?” The answer came out more like a question and the man laughed.
“New pet owner?”
“Not exactly. This stray won’t leave my house and demands food like it owns the place and I didn’t really have anything at hand.”
“Well, accidental pet owner then. Is it a kitten?”
“It’s big, kind of? I guess average cat size. But I have no clue how old it is.” The man hummed as he skimmed the products on the shelf. Then tapped a small can of wet food with his index. It had a pretty label that looked a lot like those organic conserves Remus liked on his toast.
“I would say wet food would probably appeal to him best. If he doesn’t like it, you can always come back and try with kibble. I wouldn’t recommend raw before you take him to a vet, and you get more comfortable.” That surely narrowed it down but there were still so many “flavours” of it.
“I won’t get comfortable; it’s leaving my house as soon as I find its owners.” The man patted his shoulder and just left him to choose the cans, telling him he would wait for him at the register. Would the little brat like chicken? Fish maybe? Five minutes later, Sirius dropped next to the register a can of every single type of organic food they had in stock after a session of very serious of pondering. He would just give them away after, or gift them to the cat’s owners.
“Alright. Would you like to get a collar as well? A gift on the house.” Sirius looked briefly at the colourful wall of collars to his right but shook his head. The cat was leaving the house as soon as possible.
He exited the shop with a full bag of food and ten pounds less in his wallet. It was still early and as he walked back home, no one had yet torn his number from any of the posters. As soon as he opened the door the cat was trying to climb his legs, sharp claws puncturing his trousers and pinching his skin. “Fuck! Just get down little monster! I got your stupid food if you just fucking let me inside.” It spiralled around his legs meowing sharply while he made his way to the kitchen, immediately jumping on the table as it screeched. Sirius laid all the cans in front of it. “Here you go. Which one do you want.”
The cat stared at him and again Sirius had the impression the thing thought he was stupid. “Of course, you can’t read.” He slapped his own forehead and just opened one of them, pushing it in front of the cat. It sniffed it uncertain for some time, before giving it a tentative lick. It then hissed and pushed the open can off the table, spilling all of it on the floor. Judging by the smell, it hadn’t liked the fish one. But Sirius wasn’t about to let a stupid cat ruin his return to normal life. He opened another and pushed it towards it. The scene was similar to the previous and the cat pushed the second can to the floor as well. “Okay, now you’re really pissing me off.” Sirius opened yet another one and another after that. But the stupid thing pushed them all off the table in a disgusting smelling pile on the floor. Sirius was tempted to start screaming but alarming the neighbours was the last thing he wanted.
It wasn’t clear if it was doing it just to bother him or because it hated the food, but Sirius suspected it was the first. It seemed that the cat had made it his mission to finally drive him to madness. The war wasn’t the one who did that, no, not even school had managed to; what finally burned all of his braincells was a fucking cat.
Satisfied with its work, the cat jumped down from the table and made its way on top of the counter to scratch one of the cabinets. “What’s your problem now?” the cat meowed and kept scratching at the wood. Once Sirius finally complied and opened the cabinet, it clawed at the coconut biscuits he had bought just the day before and knocked them off the shelf. “I’m not sure you’re supposed to eat those, but if you’re suicidal, it’s none of my business.” Seemingly content about chewing his coconut biscuits, the cat finally stopped bothering him. Unfortunately, that gave him the time to realise that, while he was gone, that moron had scratched everything within reach.