Intended

[twenty two]

He has never told his housemates where he goes to, never mentioned why he leaves the common room at odd hours and why he wants to be alone. Sirius does not know what they might think if they found out he was meeting with Andromeda, or what they would think of him.

Why would they think anything?

He knows that his paranoia is odd, an awkward side-effect of being twelve and knowing that while all the boys around him are just beginning to discover themselves, he is as lost and confused as he has always been. He is bound by traditions he did not make, but still feels compelled to follow.

Andromeda is his Intended, after all. She is not just anyone.

And perhaps his friends, the only people he thinks he can trust now… perhaps they do not approve of her. He has seen James looking at him whenever he goes up to talk to Andromeda, the boy's face twisting in contempt and blatant suspicion. He tells himself it is nothing, that James simply hates all Slytherins, that he thinks all of them are secretly studying the Dark Arts. It is not his fault; James has been brought up to believe certain things, just as Sirius himself has.

He tells himself that he will explain to the others, soon, exactly what his relationship with Andromeda is.

He tells himself that they will just have to understand.

He tells himself a lot of things, but he never knows what to say, or when to say it. He slips away from the common room whenever he can, shutting the portrait on the curious faces, vows that he will say something when he comes back.

But he never does.

James stops him one night on his way out. For the past few days Sirius has noticed the dour expression on the boy's face whenever it comes to his night-time escapades, his lips pursed, his eyes always following, unblinking. He has long expected James to come to him, to ask the inevitable question. There are only so many absences he can explain away, only so many times he can lie and expect everyone to believe him; the question is long overdue, if anything.

‘And where are you going?'

Sirius raises his eyebrows, slightly peeved. The tone in James's voice leaves no doubts; there is a deep undertone of suspicion there, skepticism lacing the words and making them turn from innocent to hostile. He decides to ignore him, deal with it later.

‘I'm going out.' Please don't ask where.

Sirius turns to go out the porthole, arm already outstretched to push it open when James speaks again.

‘Obviously you're going out. To do what?'

‘Why are you so interested, huh?' I don't want to tell you. You wouldn't understand.

‘If you would just… tell me…'

‘I don't need to tell you anything.' I don't know what to say, anyway.

‘You're going to see her again.' A simple statement, but one that is laden with resentment, barely hidden. Sirius turns, though, not at the emotion but at the words themselves; he has expected them for long, questions about who he goes to visit at night but never this kind of straightforward declaration.

‘See who?'

‘Don't act stupid, Sirius. I've seen you talking to that Slytherin girl. Your… cousin ,' James says, looking straight at Sirius, his voice beginning to shake. ‘I've seen you two, creeping around…'

'Who's been creeping around?'

Great. Just great. More to join in. Sirius is thankful that the newcomers are only Peter and Lupin, but at the same time he is annoyed that they have come now, that they, too, will know…

‘He has. With his cousin,' James says, his tone almost accusatory; Sirius wonders what crime he has committed. With Peter's gaze trained upon him, he feels as if he is being scrutinized, taken apart to see what other secrets he might be hiding. He turns to Lupin who, thankfully, only looks vaguely interested.

‘Who I meet is my business, James. Besides, she's my cousin… there's nothing wrong with talking to her.'

‘You haven't been just talking, I bet!'

He knows. He knows.

‘What? How… you've been spying on me?' Sirius feels his pulse speed up, his face flushing. The stricken and abashed look on James's face is enough to tell him that he is right, that James has been skulking around behind him, finding out where he goes, who he talks to, what he does, sitting with Andromeda every night. ‘For how long?'

‘It doesn't matter, I-‘

‘For. How. Long,' Sirius manages to say through gritted teeth, keeping his fists down, his eyes fixed on James. He doesn't appreciate this breach of trust, this confirmation of his thoughts that perhaps, he is not trusted after all.

‘A couple of times.'

A couple of times. One week ago, he had met up with Andromeda in a small room on the fourth floor. They hadn't done anything except sit and talk that time, with Sirius pouring out his frustrations to her. How close had James been then? Close enough to hear whatever he had said? Probably.

A couple of times. The night before last, he had gone out walking. Sat in an old classroom with her and the silence. She had held him then, held him as he read the letters her mother had sent and tried not to let them affect him. She had held him as he whispered to her, secrets about blood and magic spilling from his lips. She had held him as he had laughed, hiding his face in her shoulder so that he would not scream. She had held him and given him a kiss on the forehead, on the cheek, on the lips, to remind him that she was still there. How close had James been then? Close enough to see them, to watch as he sought comfort from her? To watch as they kissed?

Judging by the way James is currently turning pink, Sirius can guess that he was close enough that time, too.

He knows. He knows.

‘Excuse me for just being thick, but could one of you tell me what the hell you're talking about?' Lupin asks, speaking up for the first time.

‘He's been following me under that cloak of his!'

‘He's been sneaking off to meet with the Slytherins every night!'

‘So? Don't you trust me?'

‘I want to, but… but… she's a Slytherin! Who knows what she might be telling you to do!'

‘Hold on a second… who's this she? '

‘My cousin! And if I want to go talk to her, I think I have a right to! I don't have to tell you about everything I do! It's not like I'm hiding anything, anyway.'

‘Then how come you've never told us about this before?' James is red in the face by now. ‘If you've got nothing to hide, then how come you never told anyone? Huh?'

‘There… there wasn't anything to say…'

‘Hmph.' James crosses his arms over his chest, a sneer beginning to take shape. ‘You're hiding things from us, Black… I should've known. Once a Black, always a Black… '

Lupin tries to step in, be the voice of reason. ‘James… don't get so worked up over this. Sirius isn't like the other Blacks, you know that… everyone has their secrets…'

‘But you didn't see what I saw!' James shouts. Sirius gives him a warning glance, suddenly feeling sick, knowing exactly what the next words out of James's mouth will be, but he is unable to stop them.

‘You know what I saw? I saw him… kissing his cousin. You know… the prefect? Not the blonde one, the other one, what's her name… Andromeda? Do you have any idea what that's like?'

The reaction is immediate. Peter's face twists, barely hiding his distaste. He comes from a Muggle family; these concepts are alien, disturbing to him. Lupin, on the other hand, seems less concerned; he merely raises an eyebrow and scratches his chin.

‘So?'

James looks rather nonplussed, thrown back by Lupin's lack of reaction.

‘What do you mean, so?'

‘I mean, why is it such a big deal?'

‘She's… she's his cousin! And she's a Slytherin. And… I don't know what the hell is going on, but it's damn weird!'

Sirius thinks he's had enough of the exchange and he cuts in, his voice hardened and icy.

‘You want to know what's going on? You really want to know? Fine! Yes, she is my cousin. Yes, she's in Slytherin. She's also my Intended.' As if to demonstrate his point, he holds up his hand so that the ring is clear, the thin bodies of the snakes intertwined and nestling about his finger. Lupin stares at the ring, nodding slowly. James shows only the barest flicker of reluctant understanding, and Peter looks completely lost.

‘What's that?'

This time, Lupin speaks for him. ‘The Intended ceremony is an old custom in pureblood families. It involves a promise, a vow between two families that is further cemented by a bond between the heirs of the houses. It is usually performed at an early age and the two who have been marked as Intended for one another cultivate a relationship from early on, keeping tokens such as chains or rings as a sign of their status.'

‘… you mean…'

‘It means I have to marry Andromeda when I'm of age. I've been bound to her since I was seven,' Sirius says softly.

Silence. It speaks for him, speaks for all of them. There is nothing to say after a revelation like this, and Sirius suspects that even if any of the others may have wanted to say anything, they wouldn't have been able to. Lupin has a knowing look on his face; Sirius wonders how long he has known, how easy it was for him to know, lost in his books and his quiet world of observation. Peter seems satisfied, if oddly agitated by the explanation, trying to wrap his head around it and simply understand. James is shaking his head, a look of disbelief on his face. He looks at Sirius, and then at the ring as it flashes in the firelight. Sirius can almost read what is going on in his mind, the confusion and the struggle to accept what he has just been told written as clear as day all over his face. Finally he speaks.

‘You can't be serious. Your family…'

‘My family still follows that custom. Look around you… your family might not care for it, but there are plenty of purebloods who do. It's not just the Blacks who do this… it's a really old ritual. It's old and it's stupid, but you know what? I don't really mind. There…' and he pauses for a second, takes a breath to calm himself so his voice will not falter, ‘there's no-one else who'd care about me, otherwise.'

‘But aren't you allowed to… lead your own life? Choose whoever you want?'

‘I don't know… I don't think so. I don't care, though. Andromeda… Andie… I've loved her all my life. I don't think I could… you know. Ever love someone else. And I don't want to lose her. Ever.'

Sirius looks down at the floor, digging the toe of his shoe into the carpet. The argument has drained him, left his mind foggy and his eyes blurred. He looks into the faces before him, the three people who now know the truth of his life, bound as it is in old blood customs that he cannot break free from, even if he wishes to. It is only one small secret, but already it threatens to overwhelm him, just by being there, and being his.

Lying in his bed that night, Sirius wonders himself why he had never told them before, never wanted to tell them. The looks on the faces of his friends give him his answer. These are awkward times, when he realizes that he might try, but he can never break free of his family. These are the times when he sees exactly how different he is.

Normal twelve year-old boys don't do these things, hiding in dark corners and kissing their cousins when no-one else is around.

Normal twelve year-old boys don't do these things, keeping secrets from their friends because they know it's almost impossible to understand what's going on.

Normal twelve year-old boys don't do these things. But Sirius is far from normal. And he knows it too well.

*