Goodbye Brother (ON HOLD)

V

3rd November 1972

It was Sirius' 13th birthday and I didn't know what to get him.

When he turned 7 I picked various flowers from our garden and made him a crown which he wouldn't take off for weeks. When he turned 8 I found a way to make paper cranes fly around his bedroom. When he turned 9 I wrote him a poem on the tragic loves between the Romans and Greeks. When he turned 10 I memorized the entire playwright of Hamlet and acted it out for him. When he turned 11 I made him a painting of a muggle record on a turntable. When he turned 12 all I could do was send him a letter which Mother proofread.

Now all I could think of doing was wishing him a 'happy birthday' but it didn't seem like enough. So instead I sent him a letter inviting him to meet me at the Astronomy Tower after supper. I thought it would be nice, just the two of us for a change. I rarely ever saw him anymore.

I set up a picnic on the Tower with a board for playing Wizards' Chess and a basket of having sweets that I'd gotten from the kitchens. The Elves there have taken a liking to me and even made Sirius a small chocolate cake. I'd gotten a book for him, "The Art of Muggle Rock." Professor Burbage had it in his classroom and offered it since he had an extra copy. I thought Sirius would love it.

So that night the stars kept me company as I waited, and waited, and waited.

At first, I thought perhaps Sirius hadn't gotten my letter but my owl hadn't come back with anything so he must've read it.

Foolishly, I continued to wait as the night got cold and the sky got darker. I waited because I knew he'd come, he always came...or so I thought.

Just out of curiosity, I crept my way to the Gryffindor Tower, being oddly examined by their portrait woman who wished me, "Happy Birthday," for which I responded with, "I'm his brother," a phrase I've found myself saying a lot lately.

But then the portrait opened and out stumbled a group of girls who must've thought the same as the woman because in unison they giggled, "Happy Birthday Sirius," while skimming their dainty hands up my arm. Their breaths smelled of alcohol.

As the portrait was still open I saw an opportunity and snuck my way in. I should never have done that, but I did.

A piece of me broke that night as music blasted from his record player, red and gold balloons covering the ground and ceiling, a chocolate cake was already eaten on a rickety table, girls and boys dancing around the common room, and then Sirius in the midst of it all with his usual boasting grin.

I left before anyone could see me, crying my way to the dungeons.

Once again, I was all alone.

23rd November 1972

I think this whole Slytherin persona is starting to get to me. Like I'm feeding into the stereotype.

About a week ago, Sirius saw me on my way to Transfiguration. He called me by the nickname I used to like but now have some unknown hatred for. Reggie.

It might be because it makes me remember all the 'good times' we used to have. All the laughs we shared, games we played, stars we gazed at. But him calling me by that nickname and then proceeding to ignore me just didn't feel right. Why was he always pretending?

So I merely flicked my gaze over him, expression blank, then walked away which left him frozen. He didn't call my name again.

Sometimes I'll look in the mirror and won't even recognize myself. My eyes just seem hollow and glassy, skin far too pale to be deemed healthy. I look like a skeleton, cheekbones and ribcage popping out from my body. I get sick just looking at my own reflection.

 It's been hard to sleep too. All I can think about is the person screaming. I heard them about two days ago, they seem to be getting worse each month. It's been rumored to come from the Shrieking Shack, an abandoned house in Hogsmeade but I can't go there until I'm thirteen.

Sometimes I wish I were them...the person in that shack. I want to blow out my voice until my throat is sore and raspy. I want my eyes to wheel in tears as I scream so loudly, the earth practically shaking beneath my feet as my vocal cords strain. I want to let it all out cause I'm too fucking tired of keeping it all in.

Instead, I have to stay silent. 

But silence is the most powerful scream.