Waiting for the Visitor

The darkness has always been there, threatening like a bank of thunderclouds on a day when one has scheduled a picnic. Before, his craving for action and adrenaline used to keep it away; the constant dares and challenges he set himself provided him with a sense of purpose and meaning. Here and now, in house arrest, it is the same to him whether he lives or dies. He could talk to the others, try to explain, if only it weren't for his shame that they need to see him like this. The brightest star on the sky is fallen into the abyss of self-loathing.

He feeds Buckbeak the rats they catch in the house, upstairs, downstairs, and in milady's chamber. He imagines Peter's face on each of them; if he'd only been allowed to go after the little sneak, he tells himself, he would have it easier to hold onto his sanity. But were he to go someplace different, were he to take the wings of the morning and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea, the darkness would be there before him, waiting in the silence.

This is what he has been reduced to, then. An unneeded man, shunted aside into a corner. He sees it in everyone's eyes that Sirius Black has outlived his usefulness.

Moony allows him the mood swings and the rage attacks, backing away rather than challenging him. Moony kindly but very awkwardly looks the other way when he is creating scenes, making Sirius wonder whether their friendship ever amounted to much. Moony's eyes silently offer company on the nights when the despondency becomes too much; Moony is available for bodily comfort and more than friendship, all Sirius would have to do is to cross the corridor that separates their bedrooms.

Molly clicks her tongue as if to tell him that all it takes to overcome his fits of "the sullens", as she calls it, is to pull himself together, like it is something he could control or snap out of by force of will alone. But Molly has her unacknowledged dark moods as well, masked by an almost maniacal effort to be cheerful or kept at bay through frantic housecleaning. They say it takes one to know one; if that were true, Sirius would be the foremost authority on diagnosing depression.

It frightens Harry when he is this way, and he can tell it takes bravery for the boy to meet his eyes, for the look in his face during meals is brittle as glass and as easy to shatter. For Harry, he tries to control the dark moods and the destructive anger, but it takes more energy than he actually has. He tells himself he needs to live and be happy for Harry's sake, but in the end, it isn't enough. Sirius hates himself for his inadequacy, unfit to be a man let alone a father figure, and the nagging shame finally makes him shuffle back to the company of the Hippogriff upstairs. Harry's accomplishments and joy at being away from his relatives should be enough to make him straighten his back and take pride, but it isn't, and that is the most shameful thing of all. He doesn't have Molly's ability to live through her children, though Merlin knows he has tried.

The only times he feels truly alive are when the spy has news vital to the entire Order. Snape never stays long and laces his reports with subtle digs at his host. Moony and Tonks, and recently Molly as well, frown at his rudeness, but Sirius welcomes the sparring. Responding to Snape's taunts - because there is no way he will let Snape get away with them - hones his tired instincts and tears him out of the apathy no Cheering Charms have been able to banish. The man is much like Buckbeak, and Sirius has often wondered why he has taken such a liking to the Hippogriff. There never was such a difficult, prickly, unforgiving creature; one wrong step, one moment of insecurity, is all it takes to invite an attack. He is a challenge, and Sirius needs challenges like a fish needs water.

Remus used to be the challenge before the black hole in his life that is Azkaban. Peter was the one to sit up and wait for Sirius to return from his dates, eager to hear the details; Remus was the maddeningly indifferent one who couldn't care less about his conquests. Sirius is fairly certain that neither Molly nor the children know about the mind games they used to play when they shagged last, in the days when they were twenty years old and occasional bedmates, when James and Lily were alive, Harry an unscarred baby, adept at crawling on all fours, when Peter was a true friend, more of a brother to him than Regulus had ever been.

Even then, almost twenty years ago, Remus would present a chase, and they'd be at each other like the wolf and the hound in the Forbidden Forest, under the moon. Sirius doesn't know what is more demeaning; is it that Remus, forever the proud and independent, is offering a pity shag, or that Remus thinks he needs one, or that he has thought seriously of accepting the silent invitation? It is tempting, as if sex with Remus were all it would take for things to become as they were when they shagged last. But they are different people now, and sex with Remus is likely to throw all the missing pieces of the jigsaw into even starker relief. James. Lily. Peter.

Despite the looks and smiles, Sirius will not cross the corridor. It's turned into a magical boundary in his mind, like a looking glass, like a portal into the world of the Sidhe. One leaves the world one has always known for one where everything is uncertain; when one returns, three ages of men will have passed. Or is it the fear that stops him? Would he be thinking about Snape's uncharted body while his hands and mouth are mapping the familiar planes of Remus's, a little more scarred and grizzled? Is there a not entirely unfounded suspicion that he might cry out Snape's name when climaxing? Has it really come to that, and is it a sign of maturity or mental decay that he finally admits to being afraid?

The darkness has swallowed all thoughts of love and lust, but at least Sirius still reacts to Snape. The man offers nothing, feels no pity. He is fierce and proud and wears his own darkness on his sleeve, doing nothing to mask it. When the Order meetings are breaking up, Sirius is usually found sitting at the kitchen table, staring into his empty wine goblet. In his mind he is on the stairs, catching Snape and forcing him up against the wall, asking the question that has been burning in his mind in the hot summer months; What does it mean that I live fully only when you are close? He sees himself using his entire body to keep Snape from throwing him aside and leaving, using his lips and tongue to pull the answer out of the implacable mouth. The black eyes, impassive like a shark's when it moves in for the kill, promise no simple answers, and perhaps there are none. And despite everything, Sirius Black finds himself waiting for the challenge, waiting for the visitor. Waiting for the moments when he feels alive again.