The Intentional Accident

As he sat outside in the garden, Michael felt totally alienated from the world around him. The sun was shining; the skies were calm yet a turbulent storm was raging within him. After Lily stormed out with Arthur, he had retreated to the patio. He could not believe that she had berated him for the lies of a bitter bully. He was even more outraged when she started suggesting that he didn't care about Sirius' feelings. His anger had been thrust into overdrive and he vented the head of it onto her. Even now as he sat in the peaceful garden, his rage was still simmering. Time slipped by unobserved by him. He went back into the cottage to find Sirius asleep on the bed, tears drying on his beautiful face. Having no one to discuss his outrage with, Michael made every possible attempt to dissolve it. He went back outside with a book he had been meaning to read for some time and settled back into his chair. He tried to read, but he found it impossible to focus and cast it aside. Instead, he allowed his thoughts to fester and boil.

Unbelievable as it seems, he passed several hours like this until the sun faded away, along with some of his fury. Sirius still lay asleep in their bedroom, tired by the events of the day. Michael began to doze off himself when he was awoken by the sound of the gate that linked the front and back garden opening. The tall figure of Ron Weasley emerged from the side of the cottage.

"Hello, Michael," he said gently.

"Hi." His hands in his pockets, Ron walked a few steps closer to the table, stopping just a few feet away. Michael didn't want to make eye contact with him. He had known him for a while, but not all that well.

"Sirius around?" asked Ron.

"Asleep," replied Michael, still not looking him in the eye. There was a few moments silence. Michael was going to offer Ron a drink, but Ron beat him to it.

"Fancy a drink up the Three Broomsticks?" Michael was a little surprised by this sudden proposal, but after the day he had had, he wasn't about to turn it down.

"Yeah ...sure."

~|~

Neither had said a word during the short walk over to the pub. Michael still couldn't entirely look Ron in the face, not even when he asked him what he wanted to drink. After Ron paid the barmaid, he and Michael took their glasses of Firewhiskey to a small table in the corner. Once again, Michael was about to say something but wasn't quick enough.

"I saw that article this morning," Ron stated, looking directly at Michael and mutely trying to get him to do the same. Michael obliged him with great difficulty.

"The whole thing is a lie. Scott must have been feeling bitter after his team got knocked out of the running for the League Cup and took it out on someone else ...just as he's always done." There was a real sense of anger in his shaking voice. He was gripping his glass dangerously hard.

"You know that and I know that. Everyone you care about knows it too, so consider yourself lucky." Ron took a sip from his glass, eyeing Michael all the time. "Mike, has Sirius ever told you about his dad's experience with the press?"

"Well, sort of. He's never spoken about it that much."

"I'll tell you then. When Harry and I were in our fourth year at school, the Daily Prophet ran a lot of 'stretched' articles about Harry. There was even a time when I wanted to believe some of them myself. I wasn't there to offer him support. We made up after a while, but things only got worse. At the end of that year, You Know Who..."

"You mean Voldemort?" Instead of wincing, as he would have done in the old days, Ron just shook his head in disbelief.

"Kids today. It's okay for you to say his name; you never had to grow up fearing him, did you? Anyway, when You Know Who returned, very few people believed Harry or Dumbledore. The Daily Prophet was on it like a Jarvey on a gnome. Now, Harry had my support, and Hermione's, but not everyone's. A close friend of ours, Seamus, yes Scott's dad, refused to believe him until much later on. What I'm trying to say, Mike, no matter what some newspaper I wouldn't use as toilet paper says, you will always have the support of those closest to you." For a moment, Michael could hardly believe what he had heard. He had been expecting a lecture, or something in some way stern at the very least. He looked directly at Ron, unable to hide his flicker of a smile.

"Thanks, Ron."

"Hey, what am I here for?" said Ron as he raised his drink. They clinked their glasses and them emptied them in one gulp. Many more glasses followed and were subsequently drained. Ron regaled Michael with old stories from his and Harry's years at Hogwarts while Michael told him all about the Quidditch League. As the evening rolled on, Ron raised what seemed to be a somewhat random question. "Do you have a godfather, Mike?"

"No, I've got a godmother though. Angelina." Ron chuckled heartily.

"Oh yes, I'll never forget dear Angelina. She worked me half to death during our fifth year. She and your dad are like two peas in a pod. I expect you became very close to her after your mum died?"

"Yes, yes I suppose I did," said Michael quietly.

"She was a wonderful person, your mum ...too kind for words." He took another swig from his glass and seeing as his wife was not around, wiped his mouth on his sleeve. "Harry was very close to his godfather. He was devastated when he died so suddenly."

"Is that who Sirius is named after?" asked Michael.

"Oh yes, Sirius Black was Harry's godfather ...and when little Sirius was born, Harry asked me to be his godfather. I don't think me and Sirius could ever have the relationship that Harry had with his godfather, but we're very close." Ron's speech was a little slower now and he was beginning to slur in places. Michael would have told him that he was drunk and taken him home, if Michael wasn't in a similar state.

"Mike, when are you going to marry Sirius?" asked Ron very casually. Michael took a few seconds to let this sink in.

"I ...what, sorry?"

"Sirius. Have you asked him to marry you yet?" asked Ron a little more bluntly.

"Well ...no."

"Then maybe it's about time you did. Sirius is a great kid, but he's not like you when it comes to the arseholes at the Daily Prophet. You can shrug it off easily, like you did tonight ...but Sirius ...well, he takes it a little more personally."

"And what ...what does this have to do with me marrying him?" Ron reached over and patted Michael on the shoulder.

"You're a great guy but try to keep up with me ...it's not as hard as you think. Sirius is upset ...nothing would take his mind off that bloody article like that would. I know it's what he wants ...and definitely before the baby comes. You must see it ...he loves you, Mikey." Ron staggered over to the bar to get more drinks, leaving Michael to his inebriated thoughts.

Michael could hear two voices in his head, both of them his own. One was very quiet, as if it was speaking from the back of his mind. The louder voice was a great deal clearer. The former was common sense; the latter was the booze talking. No matter which he listened to, they both said the same thing. Marriage would make Sirius happy, which was what he had promised to do when they first arrived in Hogsmeade. When Ron returned to the table, he found himself alone. His work had been done so well that he felt he deserved a drink ...or two.

~|~

Sirius was sitting in an armchair, his tiny child sitting on his lap. He was happily reading a book to him. The little boy nestled his head comfortably against his father's jumper. Suddenly the book turned into the Daily Prophet, open at a huge picture of Sirius and Michael beating up a house elf. Sirius stared at the picture as his son began to cry loudly. He tried comforting him, but he seemed determined to get away from Sirius, as if he was afraid of him.

Sirius awoke with a start. He was in bed, still dressed and sweaty. He had been sleeping since early afternoon, so he now felt wide-awake. Apart from his terrible nightmare, his sleep had been peaceful. He had just remembered the situation with the Daily Prophet when he heard noise coming from the living room. He made to get out of bed when suddenly the door opened and Michael fell into the room. Sirius manoeuvred himself across so that he could sit on the edge of the bed.

"Mike! Where have you been?" he asked anxiously. Michael picked himself up off the floor and propped himself up so that he almost resembled someone kneeling with dignity. He took Sirius' hand in his own.

"Sirius James Potter, will ...will you marry me?" Just as Michael hadn't quite understood Ron's suggestion, Sirius was having a hard time realising what Michael was saying.

"Have you been drinking?" he asked warily.

"No ...well yes but that's not the point. The point ...the point is I love you, Sirius. I want to make you happy and I don't ...don't care what the Prophet says about us. So what I'm saying is ...will you marry me?" Feeling Michael's hand, a tingling sensation coursed through Sirius' own hand. The last time it had happened was nearly five years ago, during one fateful Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson.

"Of course I'll marry you!" he cried happily. Sirius threw his arms around Michael, who struggled to keep his balance. "You wonderful, drunken, babbling moron!"