swim || remus lupin

sirius

Sirius had never liked the quiet much. It made him uncomfortable.

Growing up, his house was always filled with hot, angry, noise. His mother's voice, his cousins' magic, his father's beatings. Eventually he learned to contest the sounds with his own. Blaring music, dangerous makeup, long hair, rebellious clothing, strong alcohol. It was all his way of matching loud with louder, proving he was there and had no intentions of backing down, of lowering the volume.

So, as the boy sat, sober, washed face, neat hair, sweater and jeans, quiet white room. He felt a little uncomfortable.

He looked over the girl before him. Her long brown hair was in damp tangles, her blood was seeping through the gown that the nurse had given her, she had deep and fresh gashes across her face, her mouth was pushed arbitrarily downwards. She was pale and bland and nothing like herself.

She reminded him an awful lot of Remus, and he hated it.

He hated that her messy, coffee colored hair matched his friend's so clearly. That the dark red line across her nose was a replica of the one down Remus's cheek. That the fragility, the peaceful weakness, was exactly the same. He hated that he was scared to touch her. He hated that no one had any control. That no matter how loud his music, or makeup, or clothing was, he would never be able to feel anything other than powerless. He hated that she was frowning.

But beyond this hatred, Sirius felt a sense of responsibility, a sense of guilt.

Sirius was quite good at being nosy, in fact, he prided himself on it. When he was six, he forced his cousin, Andromeda, to tell him what happened in the very adult House of Black meetings. In first year, he forced Remus to divulge his secret monthly whereabouts. In sixth year, he forced Marlene to ask out Dorcas. Over the summer, he forced Lily to admit her feelings for James. Sirius was excellent at prying. And yet, he did not force anything out of Sydney.

He was aware that her parents had died. He was aware that her and her brother were not on good terms. He was aware that she had just moved across the world to a school full of magic with no prior magical training. And yet, he never asked if she wanted to talk about her mom. And yet, he never pushed her to talk to Theo. And yet, he never asked if she was overworked or stressed.

He had her in his hands, and yet, he did nothing. And so, she slipped through his fingers.

As Sirius sat in this quiet, white room, wearing a calm sweater and boring jeans, his hair combed neatly, his face washed and makeup free, no alcohol in his bloodstream, the silence attacked him, made him listen to his emotions. And he felt a little uncomfortable.