Blackbird

Chapter 6: Fan the Flame

James POV:

I can't help but be in awe as she struts away. All that time pranking, joking, listening to her sharp tongue, has never amounted to anything near this.

If it weren't for Evans I might have thought myself in trouble.

But I have bigger problems. Like my best mate's shattered heart.

Dragging my eyes away from the long empty corridor, I try to figure out what he needs. I'd like to think I'd gotten better at it, but it's moments like these that remind me how incapable I am.

His eyes are fixated on the spot of air where she used to be. Frozen, like he's reliving the memory. Over and over.

I can't help but let out a sigh.

She's not wrong. Not wrong about us, about him, about her situation. And maybe that's what bothers me the most.

It's been over a year. A year since Sirius moved in. And somewhere amongst the matching pajamas and bedspreads, the fun times, pranks and plans, we- or maybe I'd- forgotten.

But he'd never brought her up.

Why hadn't he brought her up?

I don't ask. I don't know if I want to know the answer.

Instead I start pulling him away. "C'mon Pads. I think we still have a bottle of Firewhisky left over from our last trip."

And that's how we spend the night. He's much looser when drunk.

"Y'know Prongs, 'quila was right. And did you see her? All grown up." He drifts off for a minute, before resuming his drunken slur. "I don't think she needs her knight anymore."

"She's grown up to be her own protector Pads." I'm sure I'm tipsy too, as I stare off into the fire and replay today. "She's got spunk. Just like you said."

"Careful there. If I didn't know better I might say I need to be worried. That's my sister Prongs. And she..." he drifts off again, "she doesn't need you to save 'er. Don't want it most likely. Not anymore."

We stay silent for a bit, and I turn to watch Sirius stare into the flame, listlessly, like the lost boy that stumbled into my house a year ago.

"I think I hurt her too bad. She won't want it ever again."

I stay awake long after he passes out. Thinking about it all. There's something about today that was different, and I'm trying to finally put it all together.

It's not till much, much later that I realize what it is.

Watching her from across the Great Hall one morning, the dots finally connect.

As always, her uniform is pristine. Her hair in a complicated, thick braid over one shoulder, she could be a queen holding court as she cuts her breakfast sausage. Proud, regal. The posture, the way she handles her utensils says it all.

And I realize that the little black bird has learned how to fly.