It was another end of a full moon. With Remus already in the hospital wing and everyone else in the castle sound asleep, the marauders found themselves with nothing to do once again.
Now, for Peter and James, that wasn’t really a problem. As always, they would stumble onto bed right away, maybe talk about Remus if he got hurt that day, but they were always able to sleep.
Sirius was not.
The cold moonlight created small pools of silver on the wooden floorboards, with Remus‘ books as islands and James‘ sweater as a wobbly hill. Sirius was laying on his back, head leaned over the mattress so he could see everything upside-down. He figured that after two hours of worrying and worrying, he wouldn’t be able to sleep soon, and there was no help in trying to rest when his mind was this active. So, instead of replaying Remus‘ angry and hurt wails in his head, he tried to concentrate on the mess on the floor.
It had never been easy for him to create a mess in the dorm. Sirius knew people thought about him as reckless and unruly, but in reality, he was far from that. Sure, everyone loved eyeliner that was a little uneven, or strange, ripped clothing, but those barely counted. Make-up could be washed away in a minute and Sirius could always change his clothes. That was very intentional from his side. Throwing something on the ground or letting dust sit somewhere, was unimaginable, though.
James once told him he was a clean-freak. That was all the way back in first year, when Sirius freaked out over a chocolate wrapper. He just couldn’t remember where he put it no matter how hard he tried. Sirius almost cried as he searched in every box, under the beds and behind the shelves until Peter admitted he had thrown it away already. After the whole ordeal, Sirius had been so stressed that he dusted the shelves, hid the dirty clothes and made his bed twice.
If James, or Peter, or Remus had looked further into his (almost worrying) behaviour, they could have probably connected it with Sirius‘ family history and their ways of teaching young boys who to behave. But they were eleven-year-olds, and they simply had a good laugh and forgot about it entirely.
Sirius didn’t forget, and now he throws every wrapper away immediately.
So, in conclusion, was Sirius really a cleaning freak?
Sirius scrunched his face up at the thought. Probably not, he decided. I don’t mind James‘ or Remus‘ or Peters stuff. As long as my side is okay, I‘m okay.
Sirius grit his teeth at his own words. The whole my-side-your-side thing sounded awfully like his and his brothers behaviour back in that awful house. He had no fond memory’s of that place, and he still remembered everything, even things he shouldn’t. Before he and Regulus had their own rooms, they had to share one. They were like five or seven, but whoever kept their side cleaner was lucky enough to not get screamed at. Most of the times, that was Regulus, and while Sirius never tried to compete against his little brother, he still cleaned with the fear of a little boy who didn’t want yet another disappointed stare from his parents.
Maybe that was why he was so obsessed with keeping his stuff from ever touching the ground. Sirius liked his little messes, loved them, even, but the important thing about them was that they could be hidden and gone in seconds. Hopefully, his mind could change some day, but right now, Sirius still remembered Walburgas shouts. He hoped that he could forget.
With a small groan, Sirius turned around and pushed his pillow off the bed. It was a quick decision, really, but as soon as he looked down, he had to fight himself to let it stay there. The pillow laid there, rested between books and sweaters, all crumpled up and ugly. Sirius already knew that he would be uncomfortable tonight. But that was now his mess, and he wouldn’t hide that away. He alone decided what he did with his space.
Sirius pulled his blanket tighter. He would get better.
One step at a time.