Eunoia | Sirius Black

|18|

Hogwarts, Scotland, 1977
September fifteenth, mellow and snug

The two days of classes went by in a blur, homework piling on top of homework. 

I hadn't expected Hogwarts' essays to be far more complicated than Beauxbatons's to be true. In the French school, I would simply scribble down the name, uses, creator and drawbacks of a certain topic and it would gain perfect scores. What the fuck did the professors mean by a 16-inch-long parchment essay?

I wanted a break - needed one. So without informing Marlene and Dorcas, who'd told me they'd be returning back to the dorm shortly after accompanying Lily to her tutoring sessions. Where she tutored O.W.L.S level students, I left the Gryffindor girls' dorms. 

Remus bumped into me in the common room. He was looking so pale and sick, I had to double-take.

"Dear Merlin, Rem are you alright?"

He frowned and then lazily smiled at the nickname. "I'm 'right, Elena. Going somewhere?"

"I was hoping for a detour in the castle. What's wrong with you?"

I touched his forehead to check for fever but there was none. He didn't seem to have the flu or cold, either. He was just . . . sick, just was. Remus shook his head, gripping my hand.

"I'm alright, I swear. I just need to get some rest."

"Do you want me to help? I'm free anyway."

"No – no." He refused. "I just need some sleep. You go, also, could you ask James to tell McGonagall I'll be missing a few classes tomorrow? She'll understand."

I was still very confused but I nodded nevertheless. "Don't worry, I'll tell him. Go sleep, and if you need anything, I'll be there."

He suddenly enveloped me in a hug. His arms were snug around me, his cardigan giving me a type of warmth I ached so badly. Merlin, I wanted to stay here, like this for eternity. I smiled and kissed the side of his head.

"Thank you, El." He whispered against the crook of my neck and shivered.

He must've noticed that because he'd pulled away the next second, a small smirk on his face. I rolled my eyes. "Go sleep."

"Yes ma'am." He mock saluted and started to leave.

When I turned around to watch him, he abruptly spun back and pecked my cheek. I stood there, frozen as he smiled warmly at me one last time and ascended the stairs to his dorm.

Did Remus just kiss my cheek? Feeling hot all over, I quickly exited the common room and went the opposite way of the stairways.

I'd never visited the other side, there were other common rooms there, nothing I needed to see.

I took a few stairs up and down, moving here and there, tripping on the vanishing step and hoping no one had seen. Well, no one had, except a few Hufflepuffs who looked more concerned than anything. I smiled at them in return.

I would lose my way if I continued moving towards the halls. But I did continue walking and eventually, obviously, I lost my way.

Remus had given me a tour and I remembered almost the entire map of the castle but this place – I don't think he'd brought me here.

It was nearly abandoned, looking duller than the rest of the halls as if there were no important offices or classes there. Maybe it was restricted?

But it wasn't, not really or else Filch would've been guarding it like he did some other sections of Hogwarts which weren't allowed to students. And even some teachers.

I sighed, walking back, trying to find a way in the labyrinth when I stumbled, my left foot bumping into a rather heavy book. A copy of Hogwarts, A history, a rather old and worn one.

I cursed, tripping twice over the heavy robes I'd adorned to save my body from the bitter cold that would soon shadow the castle when night fell. My hands outstretched naturally, trying to save myself from falling on my head but I didn't – my palms landed on a door, making it creak open from the force and landing me on my arse.

I exhaled a heavy breath, nearly seeing stars. My head wasn't hurt but I think I might've scraped my foot on some sharp thing jutting out from the door. It might even be bleeding.

Gritting my teeth, I stood up and sure enough – my left ankle was bleeding, a rather big cut blooming over there. Shaking my head against the pain that had just shot up, I surveyed the room.

It was an empty room, a disused classroom. It had nothing except a few tables and chairs and – a big cabinet? Hidden by a black cloth.

I walked forward, adrenaline dulling the sharp ache temporarily. When my hands latched on the cloth and pulled – it wasn't a cabinet at all. It was a mirror.

Beneath it, was written Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi, I frowned. What did that even mean? I knew a few languages but not this one.

I approached slowly, the long, wardrobe-like mirror gleaming in the faint illumination from a single window nearby. It looked ethereal, as if it held so many secrets – too many.

When my reflection was finally visible in the glass, I gasped.

I wasn't alone.

There, right beside me, stood a man. 

I know this man, but I also don't.

He has the same eyes as me, the same mouth, and nearly the same nose. He has my dimples, he has my deep red hair.

His eyes crinkle in the corners when he tilts his head and smiles, the dimple in his cheek pronounced, I am suddenly hyper-aware that I'm holding my breath and I need to breathe immediately and that my face is so pale, tenfold because of my red hair.

I look back, horrified, mortified, afraid, I don't know. But the fact that I'm not alone and – I think anyone would be extremely freaked out if they just saw someone looking back at them through a mirror.

But that's not even the thing. The thing is – that I'm actually very, very alone.

There is no one behind me. But when I turn back to look in the mirror, there is the same man there, and this time he is closer.

I don't feel his breath behind me, don't feel the hand he's gripping my shoulder with. But I can see him. And I am very, very scared right now.

I take a step back, and instead of bumping into him, my feet are planted on solid ground that is not blocked by anyone. I take a few more steps and I am bolting out the door before I know it.

I think I just saw a ghost – a ghost, who looks so much like me it has confused me to no end.

And even though a part of me knows something is off, knows the vagueness of him appearing with the same looks as I, knows what it could mean, it refuses to address it at all. And the next day and the next, I never think of it, never dare mention it to someone.