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Sixteen, I Suppose
It’s been six weeks. A month and half. Mid-June to the end of July.
That’s how long they told her. Give him six weeks , they said, all those healers with their lime green robes and their busy hands. Children take time to acclimate to new spaces, especially after trauma.
Well, it’s been six weeks, and Sirius is still perfectly lovely, and it’s all wrong.
He wakes up earlier than all of them, an instinct leftover from his years at Grimmauld that he can’t seem to shake. When Effie finds her own way downstairs in the mornings, he’s sitting at the empty table, back ramrod straight in his chair, or standing awkwardly in the sitting room, shoulders pulled back tensely, making no noise.
He says “please” and “thank you” and “Mr. Potter” and “Mrs. Potter,” which makes Effie cringe internally, and he can’t seem to stop no matter how much she gently reminds him that just an “Effie” will do.
He doesn’t play fight with James; he doesn’t complain about helping around the house; he doesn’t even make a face when he dislikes what they’re having for dinner.
James, on the other hand, is being a right menace, but Sirius is just a constant ball of nervous energy, like a buoy floating restlessly on the ocean, waiting for the string holding it in place to snap.
“Are you comfortable here, Sirius?” Effie asks him one morning after finding him hovering uneasily near the stove. She puts the kettle on to boil and flicks her wand around to start preparing some toast.
“Yes, very much. Thank you, Ms. Potter,” he answers immediately, sounding genuine. His eyes flick to hers before darting away.
This awkwardness between them never used to exist. Back when she was just James’ mum and he was just James’ best mate, he’d give her wide, winning smiles on the train platform and send her cheeky owls on Christmas morning (“Hope your holiday is less crazy than James’ hair – but maybe more so than Monty’s! x Sirius”).
But ever since that balmy evening in mid-June when Sirius was staring at the blood on his skin as if it was something unbelievable, something foreign, some sort of alien goop that could never naturally release itself from a human body, there has been a distinct distance between them.
Effie isn’t just James’ mum anymore. She’s something akin to Sirius’ now, and the boy doesn’t seem to be sure how to bridge the gap between who he knows Effie to be and what he knows a mum – his mum – to be.
The kettle starts whistling just as James bounds down the steps, appearing in the kitchen with sleep-tousled hair, smudged glasses, and a giant yawn. He must be tired from all his troublemaking.
“Morning!” he chirps, always eager to greet the day’s adventures.
“Morning, love,” Effie replies, sneaking a kiss to his head as he grabs a piece of the toast off the plate next to her. “After breakfast, could you do a bit of weeding? I’d like the garden to be in good shape when Andromeda visits next week.” She throws a smile over her shoulder at Sirius, who seems a bit more relaxed now that James is awake.
“Better idea,” James counters, biting into the toast and scattering crumbs across the floor. Effie sighs with fond exasperation and shoos him into a chair at the table, plopping a plate and napkin down in front of him. “After breakfast, Sirius and I take our brooms out for a fly.”
Sirius steps forward tentatively and sits stiffly down in the chair next to James’. Effie places some toast and tea down for him as well, clicking her tongue at James.
“You know he’s not cleared for that yet,” she responds quietly, and Sirius looks away, as if he’s intruding on a private conversation. It makes a pang of guilt rush through Effie. It never should’ve gotten this bad.
The healers had had to mend some of Sirius’ bones with Skele-Gro, had had to conduct a series of other nasty procedures and ply him with steaming, foaming potions that hissed and rattled in their vials. He’s all well and good now, medically and magically speaking, but the healers advised precaution, and Effie can’t agree more.
“Come on,” James protests. “We’ve been waiting for a month. And he’s fine!” And then, turning to Sirius, “Aren’t you fine?”
“Er –”
“James,” Effie says sternly, watching Sirius’ brow crease in worry. “I said no,” she answers calmly.
“But it’ll make him feel better! He’ll have fun. Won’t you have fun?” James is practically bouncing out of his seat, overcome with excitement at the prospect of finally getting to go for a summer fly with his best mate.
“Er –” Sirius’ eyes are frantically zapping between Effie and James.
“We can weed tomorrow!”
“I’ve asked you to do it today,” Effie replies, holding firm. “Sirius won't be flying today and neither will you, if you keep this up.”
“But –” James interjects, real distress starting to slip into his voice.
“I’ll do it!” Sirius blurts out. “Whatever you need. Weeding and – I can water the plants, too! Wash the windows. James can fly and I’ll do it, Mrs. Potter.”
He’s staring at her with a pleading look in his eyes, breathless with adrenaline, or perhaps fear. His gaze is boring into her, intense and unrelenting. The house is eerily quiet for a moment.
Effie clears her throat and takes a sip of her tea, forcing herself to look away from him.
“It’s Effie, dear,” she says gently once she’s collected herself. “And not to worry, James is perfectly capable of weeding all on his own while you and I go pick out a nice gift for your cousin.”
“That’s not fair,” James whinges sulkily, picking at the corner of his toast. “Can’t you just do it with magic?”
“Well, that wouldn't be much of a lesson, now would it?”
James huffs out a sigh, about to open his mouth again, but Effie just shoves a cup of tea into his hand.
“Finish this and then get dressed.” She plants another kiss on the top of his head. “No more arguing.”
***
There’s a lovely little antique shoppe in the village nearby and Effie has already picked out two charming jewelry boxes and a gorgeously crafted pair of silver earrings to hide in one of them before gifting it to Andromeda.
Sirius, hovering a polite distance away, but following her as she winds through the thin, dusty aisles of the shoppe, finally sidles up to her with a miniature wooden carving of a large, mangy-looking dog in his palm. He extends it to her, looking at the floor as he asks, “Could I maybe buy this?”
“Of course,” she answers at once. “For Andromeda?” she asks uncertainly. It’s an odd choice for the witch, but perhaps Sirius knows something about her that Effie doesn’t.
Sirius shakes his head. “For me,” he says so softly she can barely hear it.
“Of course,” she repeats. “Anything you’d like. And don’t worry about buying that; I’ve got it covered. Consider it a ‘welcome to our family gift’.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Potter,” Sirius replies rotely, still not meeting her eye.
Silence descends again as they continue further into the store.
“Do you like dogs?” Effie finds herself asking.
At this, Sirius seems to think deeply for a moment, his mouth falling into a frown.
“I only mean,” Effie adds, when he doesn’t reply for some time, “is there a reason you like it?” She nods at the little wooden dog. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”
Sirius runs his fingers across the carved surface, feeling the ridges and the indents.
“It reminds me of someone,” he finally replies, and. as he gazes at the dog, there’s a calmness in his face that hasn’t been there in all six weeks.
***
It’s not until they’ve purchased their picks and are walking back through the village that the breakfast argument is brought up again.
“James isn’t being very good,” Sirius says out of the blue. A tense pause follows. “Is that my fault?”
“Of course not,” Effie assures him.
“Well, I just mean…” Sirius trails off, biting his lip. He’s still clearly uncomfortable and hesitant, but Effie can't help but be secretly pleased that he’s talking to her more freely than he has since he’d first arrived that horrible night in mid-June.
The air is warm and calm around them, the trees full and green, their leaves fluttering slightly in the breeze. It’s a lovely day, bright and placid, the colors of nature swirling into something miraculous.
“Well, he’s never had a brother before,” Sirius starts again, kicking at the pavement beneath his shoe and swinging the bag from the antique shoppe in his hand. He seems to struggle to say the next bit. “It can be…complicated. I think he wants me to forget about what happened, you know, that night. Wants to protect me, I guess. He's not trying to be bad.” With this, he looks up at her, and behind the nervousness, Effie swears she can see a twinkle of defiance in his gaze.
“Sirius, love,” she laughs, and the boy looks slightly startled. “I know James must seem like a wonder at school, surrounded by all his friends and winning Quidditch games and scoring well on exams, but really, he’s often quite a terror.” It comes out fond and affectionate.
Sirius just stares at her, dumbfounded.
“Well, it's good,” she explains. “It means he’s comfortable at home. He knows he can act out, can work through whatever emotions he needs to, can test his limits and whatnot, and that this is a safe environment for him to do so.”
“Doesn't it bother you? Doesn't it make you mad?”
They’re turning onto their street now, and Effie thinks she can make out the faint blob of her son kneeling in the front yard at the end of the road, doing as he’s told.
“Well, it can definitely be frustrating, but I wouldn't say I get angry. He needs some nudging, but he always comes around. That's normal,” she assures Sirius, whose look becomes more and more bewildered as she continues. “Teenagers act out. You're supposed to. It's not being bad, it's just being…well, it’s just being sixteen, I suppose.”
Sirius is just staring at her. And then, after a while, “They will let me fly again, at some point, won't they?”
“Yes, definitely. You probably just have a few more weeks before you're cleared.”
Sirius nods and they continue down the road. Four houses to go, three houses, two…
“What if I don’t want to wait that long?” Sirius asks suddenly.
“What?”
His eyes flick up to Effie’s and they stay there, lingering, the faintest hint of a grin tugging at the side of his mouth. They’ve reached the Potter residence. James is waving at them enthusiastically.
Before Effie can say anything more, James rushes up to them, sweaty and panting and covered in much more dirt than he should be just from some simple weeding.
“Hey, I’m done! How was –”
“Grab the brooms,” Sirius instructs, cutting James off. His words are quick and firm.
“What?” Effie and James ask at the same time.
“Grab the brooms!” Sirius shoves the bag he’s carrying from the antique shoppe into Effie’s hands and bolts around the side of the house to the back garden.
“Sirius!” Effie calls out after him, but she’s laughing.
James looks at her for a moment, hope lighting up his eyes, and she shrugs and sighs.
“Go ahead,” she relents, and watches him scamper off after Sirius.
She can't even really be frustrated this time, not when the whole afternoon is filled with the sound of triumphant shouts and gleeful giggles.