White Knuckles Down

Sirius does not like it when they leave, that is when he is alone. He hates being there alone. They take everything but uninterrupted darkness and muted whimpers and dry floors. It smells of nothing, they take that too. Most do not notice this, but he does. Both the man and the beast feel the loss acutely. You can't smell the rain, although you can hear it. It is always raining...

You can't smell the others, although he knows they are there. He can hear them breathing. Distantly, he wonders if they can hear him. He cannot smell himself either. They call it cleaning, not bathing. Necessary, in their opinions, because allowing him to live in his own filth would be inhumane. At one time, this would have made Sirius laugh.

But when they come, they bring him. He likes it. Deep down, he knows it is not the way it is suppose to work; but sometimes it just feels good to see a familiar face, even if he is mad. And James is very mad.

He never used to be this way. James was always planning; he always had the best plans. People used to think that Sirius's ideas were the most cunning, but that is why it could never be. Nothing could ever be traced back to James, nothing could be traced back to them. They were never there, many cursed their fates. But James hasn't been planning lately...

James's voice is decaying. But he does speak, and he smells like earth. He spent too much time outdoors with his hooves beating a tattoo on the ground and his hands clenched tight around a broomstick to smell like anything else. This is how he knows that James is real. That James is alive and not just the result of too much nothing. James often speaks about being betrayed. Sometimes he talks about Lily. James says she smells like earth now too. She never did before.

And then it happens. James arrives with them, but brings someone along. The newcomer talks too much, and James is getting bored. He asks for the man's paper, and when they leave, James stays. "He's at Hogwarts," James says, over and over. And so he is.

He watches James think for days. James always thought best when left alone. Most of the time Sirius sleeps, woken on occasion to infuriated mutterings and rapid pacing. With fists clenched and breathing short, James whispers, "He is at Hogwarts."

And for a moment, things are as they were before. Sirius does what he is told, slipping away with a swish of his tail and a flip of his finger. James does not go with him. James doesn't need to because the water is cold on his skin and it smells like fish. The sun makes Sirius's eyes water and his laughter makes him weak. He goes alone and does not look back. He knows this is the way it has to be. The way it really is.

James always did have the best plans.