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To Belong

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Old March 12th, 2011, 7:56 pm
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To Belong

To Belong

Sirius would like to say that he left in a grand, sweeping, final act of great courage and defiance.

Sirius would like to say that he had screamed at his mother-without a trace of fear- and when she spat viciously at him, "You're not my son!", he had replied gleefully, "No, I'm not!"

Sirius would like to say that it was all too easy.

Instead, he is running and running, and there's a burning stitch in his side and it's raining horrendously and he isn't shaking: he's not, he's not!


He wonders briefly, why he has chosen this precise moment to falter. It's just like him, he scolds himself inside, to make things even more difficult than they have to be.

Yet, still he stands- dripping, sopping wet- hand outstretched- (not trembling, of course), poised, frozen in front of the door; desperately wanting (needing) to knock but finding himself inexplicably unable to.

But suddenly, there's a light on in the living room window, and Sirius steps back in alarm, nearly falling onto the hard concrete but catching himself just in time.

The door opens and it doesn't creak horribly like the one at Grimmauld Place; it simply opens- just like that.

And, blinking in the wonderful light radiating from the house, Sirius watches Mrs Potter's eyes widen at the sight of him (for he must look pretty ridiuclous, really) and he feels unbelievably warm at the familarity her appearance brings and how just by being there, without doing anything at all, she can make Sirius feel...safe.

"Oh," she says, brushing a wayward strand of slightly greying hair out of her eyes, "Sirius."

And Sirius discovers that he can't say anything, for there's nothing he really can say. The only words that spring to mind in his numb with cold brain are, "Please. Can I stay?" and he finds he's afraid; far too afraid to even think of voicing this aloud.

Some bloody Gryffindor you turned out to be he thinks, with a near fiery form of disgust.

There's a little pause in which Mrs Potter simply stares and Sirius feels more or less like an idiot and contemplates turning on his heel and going back...to a place that isn't 'home'.

But then, he feels Mrs Potter's hand closing gently on his shoulder and she says kindly, "Come in, you must be freezing," and Sirius allows himself to be guided into the comforting warmth.

"Now," Mrs Potter says briskly, shutting the door, acting as if it isn't 2 o'clock in the morning and a 16 year old boy hasn't randomly appeared on her doorstep, unannounced. "You'll be wanting a shower?"

Sirius gapes and marvels at how she isn't asking the obvious questions he expected, the ones he'd been steeling himself to answer.

"I-" Sirius stammers, and then coughs awkwardly. Why can he chatter constantly about the most meaningless of things and now, when it matters, does he dry up?

"I- I didn't bring anything with me. You know-um- clothes..." he finishes lamely, fidgeting with the collar on his soaking shirt, his face turing scarlet.

Mrs Potter doesn't even bat an eyelid. "Well, that's alright, you can take some of James's clothes. He has a whole wardrobe of stuff he can't be bothered to wear."

She laughs lightly, but Sirius feels a tightening in his throat, because he has just forced himself into her home, and she's just letting him; without protesting at all, pretending that he has lived here all along. He blinks back the tell tale burning sensation and looks down at a suddenly Very Interesting Spot On The Carpet.

A finger placed on his chin forces him to glance up once more and Mrs Potter's face has softened into one of great understanding and sympathy.

"Shower," she whispers softly and Sirius nods and cracks the smallest of grins.


"...P-P'foot? What...you doin' 'ere?"

James's voice is thick with sleep, his hand fumbling slowly and lazily for his glasses. Sirius did not want to wake him but he forgot that one of the floorboards in Prongs's bedroom creaks when he cautiously made his way to the bed Mrs Potter quickly made up for him.

"I left," he replies quietly, suddenly not wanting to talk to James, though he can't explain why. "Go back to sleep, you berk."

James sits up, glasses on his face, rubbing his eyes. "You-" He yawns hugely. "-Left?"

Sirius feels the greatest rush of affection for dear old James, blinking sleepily in front of him, and realises that he loves James; James, who has been more of a brother to him than Regulus has ever been.

"Yeah," Sirius replies inadequetly.

James smiles. "Good," he says firmly, "Showed that old bat what's what, then?"

By way of a response, Sirius chucks a pillow at him and soon they're laughing and romping about wildly like children, but Sirius still feels the unboyish urge to grab his best friend and hug him.


The next morning, at breakfast, when Mr Potter claps him on the back and Mrs Potter unexpectedly kisses him on the cheek, Sirius blushes but secretly wonders, with an intense emotion of longing and hope, if this is what it feels like to belong.



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Last edited by FutureAuthor13; March 20th, 2011 at 11:49 am.
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