Disarranged

Sirius and I rarely talked at the beginning of his extended stay. I doubted that he trusted me, and was simply putting up with my existence. Honestly, he reminded me of a spoiled child.

I was fair, however, to remember that he had spent several years in hell. I was sure that Azkaban took a toll on him. Perhaps his behavior was a way to deal, trying to go back to times where he was happy and young. It was only my hypothesis, though. I was content on not talking to him and avoiding any blow-outs.

DeeDee nearly had a heart attack at the shape of the ottoman after Dumbledore dropped off the disheveled man.

"It was almost a lost cause," she had complained. "DeeDee had to use all the cleaning charms DeeDee could remember--and even after that scrub at it with a brush!"

My days continued to consist of the rose garden and my usual seat with my usual view. Occasionally Sirius would seem restless and would stand behind the sofa for a minute or two before darting off to some other part of the manor. DeeDee had informed me that he often spent time in the library and was currently reading A Moveable Feast by Hemingway.

Although he did not tell me, I knew he sometimes transformed into a dog and ran into the fields during the wee hours of the morning when he believed me to be sleeping. Dumbledore had trusted me with the responsibility of Sirius Black, so in actuality I was always keeping tabs on him. In addition, most nights I found myself plagued with insomnia. More often than not I would be awake during the hours of three to five in the morning when he would go for his canine jog.

The routine changed one day when he joined me in the dayroom. He had reclined on an ornate daybed, hands on his stomach and feet crossed. I only glanced at the anomaly before returning to the blue sky that met the green field, both seemingly endless.

The change had apparently not been a one-off because everyday after that he would join me for an hour or two in the dayroom. He never said anything, and neither did I. I wondered if he felt it relaxing, or was trying to ameliorate our relationship.

Sometimes he would doze off and lightly snore. I was sure he must be tired and had centuries of sleep to catch up on. I was glad that the dayroom also provided him some peace, and maybe chased away any lasting nightmares of Dementors or Pureblood fanaticism.

Unfortunately one night any semblance of peace and order I had went to shit when DeeDee awoke me from a rare slumber.

"DeeDee can't find Mister Black!" she cried, feeling very responsible for not keeping a close eye on him.

I immediately jumped out of my bed, not bothering to change out of my black nightgown and silk robe. With wand in hand I searched the manor with no luck. I ran outside, searching the fields for a shaggy black dog. "Sirius!" I yelled, often following it with a panicked, "Shit!"

I drove myself crazy running around the field, imagining myself to be creating crop circles with my frantic pace. Deciding that I could not find him, I began to head back to the house to contact Dumbledore. My jaw was tight, believing the situation to be dire and viewing myself as failing the duty Dumbledore had entrusted me with. It was then as I approached the house from the rear garden that I saw the slumped figure of Sirius Black in front of the roses. He was sobbing. I knew because his shoulders shook in a way which I was quite familiar with.

Although I had been recently mourning and had always been a sullen child, I had never been very comfortable or successful in dealing with upset people. With that in mind, I ended up awkwardly standing near the crying man for about fifteen minutes, trying to think of a course of action.

I ended up doing what I usually do and most likely coming off as insensitive. "Why are you crying?" I asked flatly. He didn't answer, of course; I wouldn't have either if I were in his position. I knew the question was stupid, but sometimes I just had bouts of verbal diarrhea.

"I'm not good at these things, would some tea help?" I misspoke once again.

"Christ, is it always about you?!" he howled in anguish and continued to cry. I awkwardly approached him and attempted to give him a stiff pat on the back, but he angrily swatted my arm away.

I kneeled next to him for a while. His sobs became less intense, but tears still managed to leak from his eyes and his body still trembled like a brittle leaf in the autumn wind.

"I've been sad for a very long time too," I tried to speak again. "I mean, it wasn't just after my family and all. Of course, it got very bad then, but some of us just have a heaviness we're always bearing due to the cards life has dealt us." He remained silent, looking away. I'm sure he was embarrassed by his watery eyes and erratic breathing from trying to suppress his emotions. "I know that type of crying. You think it's not going to happen, but it often catches you off guard. You can just be looking at something mundane like a kettle and it hits you."

I stopped talking, hoping I wasn't annoying him and edging him closer to another outburst. Instead he quietly answered, "It was the roses."

"The roses," I repeated solemnly and as if I should have realized it all along. "I raised them myself, you know, the Muggle way."

He took in a shaky breath. "They're very beautiful."

"I should hope so, I don't do much around here except sit and garden," I commented with some gaiety. He let out a bark of a laugh.

"No, you really don't," he agreed, the only tears remaining in the corner of his eyes. After a few moments he added, "Some tea sounds lovely."

"I'm sure DeeDee has already heard us and has put the kettle on," I replied. "Is Darjeeling okay with you?"

"I don't really consider myself a connoisseur of tea," Sirius chuckled as he wiped the corners of his eyes. "Tea's just tea."

I snorted at his response, grabbing him by the hands and helping him up. "Well, it's already early morning. How about we go sit on the veranda and watch the sunrise?" He nodded and we spent dawn sipping 'just some tea,' quietly focusing on the glowing orb peaking over the horizon.