Shown Like the Sun

When one confronts her past, things never go according to plan.

What will you do today? Throw them at my head? Ruin another Muggle device? Toss the bouquet into the frying pan?

Could she tell him the truth? Never. How would he react? Althea shivered at his possible rage.

Sirius sighed and smiled smugly as he leaned against the veranda railing. “Cyprus…Alexandria…Saint Tropez,” he said, resting the back of his head against the white column, “I believe the Aurors at the Ministry just want a holiday.”

“You can do better than that!” Sirius laughed, pointing his wand at Remus.

In Wizarding families, he was the Wizarding Bogeyman that parents told their children about to ensure good behavior: “Eat your vegetables, finish your homework, go to bed, or Sirius Black will get you.”

Sirius lowered his head and furrowed his eyebrows. “

Sirius laughed. “Do you remember the time I attached a sign with a Permanent Sticking Charm to Snape’s back?” he reminisced and laughed once more. “‘The Fun Starts Here.’”

“What else does he have planned?” she whispered, watching a molten drop of candle wax slowly cascade down the long candle. “And can you have the courage to say no?”

Althea opened her eyes and stepped forward into her father’s study. The room was rather dark, except for the single gas lamp illuminating the end table beside the sofa. Sirius sat on the sofa, his expression grim as he looked ahead of him out the large windows.

[I]It’s over[/I], she thought with a curious sense of relief and bent to pick up her wand. [I]No more lies[/I].

Sirius shivered. “I’d rather kiss a dementor.”

Lonely Potions Master seeks equally sniveling Mistress in hopes to brew romance. Must enjoy the smell of pickled Erkling, drafty dungeons, and lack of bathing.

Her first memory of that imposing fortress entered her mind—the thick bone-chilling mist, the perpetual dark grey sky, the black water sloshing against the boat, and the two dementors at her side. She shivered at the unnatural coldness she felt on this exceedingly warm day.

They still haven’t forgotten, Althea thought, smirking as she determined the proper placing of the book on the shelf. Five years. It’s Michael’s fault, really. I bought them a larger sailboat, too.

Sirius faked a mournful sigh. His gaze briefly flickered to her direction and his parted lips upturned into a crooked smile.

Her eyes widened slightly in response to his frankness as Sirius talked more freely of his time. He was the sentinel for countless prisoners driven to insanity and despair.

Sirius shrugged and sniffed. He looked out to sea once more. “I was thinking of going south…Brazil.”

Sirius started to laugh. It was not his normal bark-like, jovial laughter, but a sinister laughter—a knowing laughter—that Althea thought, might’ve been heard on that street almost thirteen years ago.