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Sirius’s Rebellion


“So Evans has been writing me,” said Sirius. It was night, several weeks into the summer break, and both of he and James were on their beds with their wands illuminated under their blankets, talking through their bewitched mirrors.

James, who had been starting to nod off just a moment before, snapped-to, giving Sirius a wide-eyed look of surprise, “Excuse me? Evans? Lily Evans? Whatever for?”

Sirius shrugged, smirking. He’d known that would get a rise out of James, which was why he’d brought it up. Whatever James said to the contrary, it was quite clear that he fancied Lily Evans. “Because I wrote to her first, I s’pose,” Sirius said.

“What’d you write to her for?” James asked quickly, jealousy edging into the corners of his voice.

Sirius shrugged again, “I wrote just about everybody - ‘cept Snivellus, of course. I’ve been bored, James!”

James nodded, trying to be cool about it. “So what’d you say to her? What’d she say back? How’s her summer been?”

Sirius grinned, “She said it’s awful. Snivelly’s been ignoring her, it seems.”

“Ignoring her?”

“Yeah.”

“How the bloody hell do you ignore Lily Evans? Is that even possible?” James asked, incredulous.

“She says he’s been busy,” Sirius said.

James glowered, “Yeah, busy getting on with Malfoy and that lot. Probably learning loads of dark magic.”

“Most likely,” agreed Sirius. “She said I could use her broom for try-outs for Quidditch, though.”

James raised his eyebrow, “Well that’s rather nice of her.”

Sirius nodded, “Sure is. I may have a real chance at getting on the team if I don’t have to fly on one of those crummy old school brooms all year!” He sounded quite excited at the prospect.

“That’ll be good,” said James. “Is Lily not trying out, then?”

“Dunno. Does she play Quidditch?” Sirius said, “I didn’t think she did.”

“Most muggleborns haven’t before they come to Hogwarts, but I mean she’s got a broom.”

“Dunno,” said Sirius again. “Maybe I could figure a way to get some gold from Mother for my own broom.” He seriously doubted that Walburga would ever consider giving him any galleons - she could barely give him her attention for five minutes, unless it was to call him a disappointment.

“Maybe,” said James, but he sounded as doubtful as Sirius felt.

They had talked quite at length about Sirius’s parents. Sirius had quite the row with his Mother when she’d come up to his room and found that he’d put up loads of Gryffindor banners on the walls and magicked his duvet to be maroon instead of green, as it had been. When Walburga had the fit over the Gryffindor decorations, she’d called Sirius a muggle-lover and a blood traitor. He’d told James and in a fit of rebellion, asked James to send him loads of muggle stuff by owl. The following barrage of magazines about cars and motorbikes and muggle music and catalogs had driven his Mother mad with rage and she’d cut off his access to Adolf, the family owl. They’d simply started using Bubo, and there wasn’t a damn thing Walburga could do about that. Sirius, seeing her fury, had become quite obsessed with Muggle “punk rock” fashion and the motorbikes, and Lily had even sent him a record by a muggle named John Lennon. “I swear he’s magic,” Lily had written in the note that came along with the record, “Whether he’s a wizard or not.” Sirius had memorized the song called Imagine from the record and played it regularly - quite loudly - much to his mother’s disapproval. The magazines, he’d ripped pages from and magicked them up on the walls of the room, practically wallpapering with photos of motorbikes. What bits of his walls weren’t covered with Muggle things were covered with Gryffindor stuff or letters from his friends - the other muggle-lovers and mudbloods and blood traitors that infuriated his Mother so.

Sirius’s personal rebellion, though, had unfortunately made it so he didn’t get a chance to overhear any information about the Dark Lord. The moment he walked into a room, his parents would cease speaking and glower at him until he’d left again. Regulus has developed a similar habit. The only person in the house that would speak to Sirius at all was the house elf, Kreacher, who muttered about him more than spoke to him, grumbling under his breath, echoing the nasty things his Mother said.

Sirius was miserable, and he wished he’d just told Dumbledore, wished he could get out of there and go some place where he was wanted, or at least not detested and avoided.

James had offered him a couple times to come by his place, even gone so far as to owl a muggle underground pass over, prepaid and everything. “Whenever you need it,” he’d said. But Sirius hadn’t gone. He wasn’t sure that he’d be welcomed back if he ever left, and the thought scared him to death. Surely a welcome could be worn out at even the Potter’s and what then? What about next summer? He couldn’t stay at Hogwarts during summer. He’d be homeless. He pictured himself like one of the muggle bums he’d seen before on trips to London proper. They’d be leaning against the walls, in the shadows of the tall buildings, with shopping buggies and plastic bags of rubbish they’d collected and ratty old blankets…

James broke through Sirius’s thoughts. “I’d like to see Evans play Quidditch, actually.”

“You’d like to see Evans do anything,” Sirius chided.

“Shut it,” James said, “I don’t fancy her. I don’t know why you lot think I do. She’s just a girl.”

“A very pretty girl,” Sirius amended.

James shrugged, “Is she? I hadn’t noticed.” He was lying. Sirius knew he was lying. He didn’t press it, though, just pursed his lips and let James go on, “I’m just saying I’d like to see her play because she’s quick on a broom.”

Sirius said, “You think Derek will be captain again?”

“Yeah,” James said, “Know he is, he told me so. Did you get exam results yet, by the way?”

“Not yet,” Sirius answered. “Still think I probably did rubbish at Astronomy… maybe okay at Charms after all that studying we did, and Defense. Transfiguration and Potions though… and don’t get me started about History of Magic.” He made a face.

“I know, I feel the same. Binns couldn’t be any more boring if he were --” James paused. “Well, I was going to say dead, but I s’pose he already is. Think he was this awful when he was alive?”

Sirius looked quite pious, “Poor old bloke probably bored himself to death.”

James laughed, “Goblin wars should be bloody exciting!”

“I know!” Sirius exclaimed, “Half the stuff he’s got to talk about should be exciting and yet --” he made a snoring noise.

James laughed even harder.

They talked on for quite some time after that, even, before they finally decided it was time to go to sleep - James had to go fishing with his father and the muggle man next door to them the next morning and this, he explained to Sirius, required getting up before the sun came up (“I don’t know why muggles think that fish are any easier to catch when they’re asleep!”). Sirius slipped the mirror back into his book bag and under the bed, where he’d decided it was safest while his Mother was still regularly trying to undo the permanent sticking charms he’d set on all his muggle-and-Gryffindor wall decorations.

Next morning, he was awakened by a funny sound in the hall outside his bedroom. He opened the door to find Kreacher sitting on the landing, his ear pressed to the crack beneath the door. “What are you doing there?” Sirius demanded as the elf fell flat on his face.

Kreacher scrambled to his feet, staring up at Sirius with his great, bulbous eyes. “The nasty little brat thinks Kreacher will tell it his master’s secrets,” muttered the elf, inching away, keeping his eyes on Sirius all along. “But no, Kreacher won’t tell it, whatever it says.”

“Did somebody tell you to spy on me?” Demanded Sirius, feeling his blood boil hot and his cheeks flush red, “Who told you to spy on me, Kreacher? I demand you tell me.”

Kreacher looked genuinely conflicted, wringing his hands and tugging nervously on the edge of his potato sack. “Won’t tell it, won’t tell it,” he mumbled, “Was commanded not tell who wanted to know what the blood traitor boy was doing…”

“Who commanded you not to tell me?” Sirius asked.

Kreacher’s big eyes looked startled, then angry, and he hunched over, clearly wishing he didn’t have to obey, but having no choice. “Master Regulus,” he hissed.

Sirius bounded across the hall to Regulus’s bedroom door and slammed his fist against it. “Reg!” He shouted, “Open up!”

“Blow over, I’m asleep.”

Sirius withdrew his wand. He wasn’t technically supposed to do magic outside of school, but he also knew that the trace could only really tell that you’d done magic if you were muggle-born. Supposedly, the trace just detected if there was magic performed in a particular house - thus, if an underaged wizard performed magic in a house full of of-age wizards, the trace couldn’t tell whether it was the under-aged or the of-age wizard that performed the magic. The ministry relied purely on the code of honor from parents to keep their children from performing magic. At least, that’s what he’d heard. This, he decided, was a time worthy of taking his chance against the trace.

“Alohamora!” He shouted. The door clicked and he burst it open.

Regulus was in bed and looked positively barking mad when Sirius broke in, scowling. “What are you doing? This is my bedroom,” he snarled, “Get out.”

“No.” Sirius said and Kreacher rushed past him to Regulus’s side, his eyes wide.

“The filthy blood traitor made Kreacher tell him, sir,” Kreacher wheezed desperately, grabbing hold of Regulus’s bed clothes and weeping pitifully into them. “Don’t hurt Kreacher, please don’t hurt Kreacher.”

Regulus looked frustrated, “Kreacher, stop it, I’m not going to hurt you.”

“Kreacher is sorry, Master Regulus… so sorry, Master Regulus.”

“Come off it, Kreacher,” Regulus said with a sigh, “I command you to stop crying.” Kreacher looked miserable, but he did stop crying at once. Regulus turned to look at Sirius. “Leave,” he demanded.

“No,” said Sirius again. “Why was Kreacher spying on me?”

“I heard you talking last night,” Regulus said sourly, “Who were you talking to?”

Sirius crossed his arms, “What business is it of yours who I was talking to?”

Regulus shrugged.

“You just want to know so you can tell Mother and get me in trouble,” Sirius said, “Isn’t being the bloody perfect son enough for you? You can’t just let me be?”

“Mother said you aren’t supposed to talk with your filthy friends from school,” Regulus said. “Maybe you wouldn’t be in so much trouble if you’d just listen to Mother.”

Sirius rolled his eyes, “Yes, listen to mummy and her prejudiced, narrow opinions on people. Listen to mummy and follow along with You-Know-Who.”

“Lord Voldemort isn’t a bad man,” Regulus said shortly. “He’s the best thing to come along in wizarding history for centuries!”

“You don’t even know wizarding history for centuries!” Sirius said, rolling his eyes, “You haven’t been to school, you don’t know.”

“I know plenty,” Regulus answered. “You have been brainwashed by that old Dumbledore fellow. He’s deranged!”

Sirius said solemnly, “I’ve met Dumbledore and he - he’s a bit odd, yes, but he’s not deranged, that’s for sure.” He thought of the angry look in Dumbledore’s eyes when he had come into the clearing that night in the Forbidden Forest, and how much taller he had seemed when he was angry. He thought of the power in Dumbledore’s voice when he’d cast the spell to protect Lily.. of the caring twinkle in Dumbledore’s eye when he’d left them that night in the hospital wing. Dumbledore was obviously good, Sirius thought, because if Dumbledore was there, things just felt safer.

Regulus shook his head.

“Your precious Lord Voldemort - he’s scared of Dumbledore, you know that?” Added Sirius, remembering the look on the Dark Lord’s face when he’d heard Dumbledore’s voice. “Terrified of him.”

Regulus was pink with anger. “Get. Out.” He pointed at the door, “You aren’t welcome in here ever again.”

Sirius snapped, “You think I want to be in here? Keep your foul little house elf out of my way or I’ll order him to hang himself with your laundry.” He turned and stormed out of his brother’s room as the door slammed shut behind him. Two could play at that game, though - Sirius rushed to his own room and slammed his bedroom door shut, too.

He leaned against the door, rubbing his eyes, and sighed tiredly, lowering himself to the floor. There was a scraping sound outside his door again and he knew Kreacher was probably leaning against it once more, listening at the crack. He slammed his fist against the wood and he heard a squeak of pain from the other side as the sound reverberated through the wood.