Intended

[fifteen]

Even though Sirius doesn't expect to hear from his mother, he can't help but scan the post owls every day just to make sure. His sharp eyes flit upwards as soon as he hears the rustle of wings, and he watches each owl with anticipation, but he is always disappointed. The only person who will write to him is his uncle Alphard, but those letters are hardly more than a line of slurs against the Black family as a whole and, occasionally, a few unexpected words of kindness for Sirius for being different. They bring little comfort as he knows his uncle is slowly going mad, if the state of the letters are anything to look at.

He watches enviously as other children, as his cousins at the Slytherin table tear open letters and packages from home. Even Andromeda smiles as her handsome tawny owl alights in front of her with a letter from home; her packages are usually much smaller than those of her sisters, but still, there is always something for her.

Even the little she gets, she shares, but it always leaves Sirius with an unhappiness because there was never really anything that was originally intended for him.

He sees the delight on the other children's faces and something within him weeps quietly in longing, but he usually pushes it down as he forces his eyes away. Sometimes he is so busy watching the other students that he pays no attention to anything else, so at first he inadvertently ignores the owl that is hopping on the table in front of him.

Only when the bird nips at one of his fingers sharply does he realize that it is waiting for him. A sudden hope rises within him, a flicker of happiness that is doused just as quickly as he notices that the letter is not addressed to him, but to Remus Lupin. Still, he unties the roll of parchment from the bird's leg, looking along the length of the table to see if he can spot the boy.

‘Who you looking for?' James asks lazily through a mouthful of cereal as Sirius stands up to look over the hall, still searching.

‘Lupin,' he says thoughtfully, glancing down at the scroll in his hands. ‘An owl left me his letter.'

‘I think he's still up in the dorm,' James replies, swallowing his mouthful and putting his spoon down. ‘He said something about not feeling too well. Want me to take that for him?'

‘Nah. I need to go back up anyway,' Sirius says, tucking the parchment into a pocket and walking out of the hall. Just as he is exiting, though, he collides with Lupin running in, and while he manages to keep his balance, the other boy doesn't, and goes crashing to the floor.

‘Sorry,' Lupin pants, ‘I forgot… was there…'

‘An owl for you,' Sirius finishes, fishing out the scroll from his robe. ‘Here. I was coming to give it to you anyway,' he says, holding it out, but even as Lupin reaches for it, it falls to the floor; in the second that both of them hold it, Sirius can feel Lupin's hands trembling through the parchment. He notices that Lupin looks rather pale and sickly, and his face is etched with a strange weariness that Sirius can't place as he picks up the parchment, unfurling it and reading it.

‘Mother's sick,' Lupin says slowly, the lethargy in his movements creeping into his voice. ‘I… I have to go back to see her.'

Sirius raises an eyebrow. This is probably the eighth or ninth time Lupin has suddenly had an owl calling him home, in just about as many months, and suddenly, he wonders if his own mother is sick, if she's too sick to write…

…if she was, Sirius couldn't care. Not because he doesn't want to, but because he's simply not allowed to think of her as his mother anymore.

Shaking his head, he again looks at the boy sitting on the floor. He can see the worry on his face, sadness etched in the lines already forming around his eyes that make him look so much older than eleven. He is slowly getting to his feet; on impulse, Sirius reaches out a hand to pull him up, waving it in his face and watching the flicker of surprise in Lupin's eyes.

The scene seems so familiar… but this is another person, another time, another place… this is not a dirty dungeon at night and his hands aren't dripping soap and blood.

He smiles as he remembers his own reaction, months before. It had seemed so strange, so alien to him at the time, but it is almost second nature now for Sirius to extend his hand to anyone.

Lupin pauses, but doesn't question; he flashes Sirius a tired grin as he clasps his hand in his own. As soon as Sirius closes his fingers around Lupin's hand, however, the grin slips and Lupin yelps loudly, snatching his hand away and clutching it to his chest, cradling it with his other. His eyes are wide, and fix on the snakes that circle Sirius's finger; an oddly fearful expression comes over his face.

‘Ouch!'

Sirius stares at him.

‘Wha-?‘

‘Nothing, nothing,' Lupin says quickly, scrambling to his feet but still holding his hand to his chest protectively. ‘I just… er… got scratched. Yeah… the edges of the ring… sharp…' he mutters.

Sirius opens his mouth to apologize, but Lupin has already gone; the small figure is lost in the crowds of students exiting the hall after breakfast. He strains his eyes to try and see the boy but he can't, and he sighs, slightly annoyed and mystified by Lupin's strange behavior. He glances down at his ring, and the snakes set in silver, running a finger over them but not feeling any of the sharp edges that had apparently cut into Lupin's hand.

A small rectangle of parchment on the stone catches his eye and he bends down to pick it up before anyone steps on it. He can vaguely recall it slipping from Lupin's fingers as he turned and he wonders what to do with it… after all, the message has been read… but maybe he would like it back.

But just as Sirius is about to pocket the parchment, he notices that it is entirely blank.

*