As some great nobody once said, ignorance is bliss. And it was, because Sirius Black had enough troubles, thank-you-very-much. If he knew all of the things that were going to happen to him, he'd be miserable. Or insane. Or miserably insane. Or insanely miserable, or any other combination of the two. As things stood, that is, he had moderate knowledge of the immediate future and it wasn't very good, he was only slightly insane, as his friends could testify, and more irritated at the dead-end state of things than miserable.
It was mostly the past that made his existence less than happy-go-lucky. Because the past had currently shaped his life to fit neatly in the category of "jobless and poor and sharing a flat with other jobless and poor friend." This caused any number of problems. Not the least of which being monotony. And hunger.
He woke up to the sound of eggs being whisked in the kitchen, and per his usual custom he lay in bed with a pillow over his head, wondering if he could tell from this sort of beginning what the day was going to be like. It was a fairly good beginning, as far as he could tell, but good beginnings didn't really mean anything. So he lay in bed, trying to gauge by the ferocity of the sounds of his flatmate's whisking if he'd read the Prophet yet, and, if so, if there had been any deaths that they'd known. Sirius never read the obituary column anymore. He just scanned for the 'E's and 'P's, and if there was no Evans, Pettigrew, or Potter it had been a good night. He left the tedious and depressing full reading of the column to Remus. Remus, whose whisking was calm and regular this morning. Thus, Remus, who apparently had not had time to read the newspaper yet.
Eventually he got out of bed in a half-rolling, half-standing trick he'd picked up from James and pulled on a t-shirt before he shuffled into the kitchen. Stupid rule of Remus's, wearing a shirt when eating breakfast. Sirius had eaten any number of perfectly acceptable breakfasts while shirtless, and he wasn't going to eat spilled food off his chest or something. No matter what Lily might say, he was not a godless heathen or mannerless barbarian. He'd been raised with the Manners of Society, and just because he'd given Society the bird it didn't mean he'd forgotten his manners.
"Morning," he said casually to Remus as he slid into one of the worn chairs clustered haphazardly around the scrubbed wooden table. "Eggs done?"
"Not as of yet. Good morning."
Sirius reached for the newspaper folded in half on the table and flipped it open, glancing at the headlines and feeling a refreshing surge of reassurance when there was for once no message of Death, Doom, or Destruction. No mysterious explosions, no unexplained dead bodies, no mass-murdered Muggles. The news was nice and boring, as news should be, and Sirius got right on ignoring it. Quite happily he flipped to the Quidditch section.
"Lily sent an owl," Remus said over his shoulder as he put a few slices of toast on a plate. "She wants to know if we'd like dinner at the glorious cohabitative residence of Evans and Potter tonight."
"I hope you replied in enthusiastic affirmative." Sirius set down the paper and sniffed expectantly at the appetizing smells Remus's work was producing.
"I had to. Except for the rest of the eggs, we've got no food left in the flat." Remus set down the plates of toast and eggs on the table, sitting down across from Sirius and sliding him an empty plate with a fork on it. "Landlord came by today as well," he added casually, glancing up reprovingly at his friend. "Rent and all that."
Sirius muttered a curse around his mouthful of eggs on toast. "Remus, I'll get it," he said shortly, really not wanting to go through this again.
"Why I agreed to rent a flat with you when you can't even hold a steady job--" Remus muttered angrily as he stood up to get the milk.
"So it's all my fault, is it, then?" Sirius asked lightly, picking up the paper again and busying himself with it, hiding behind the newsprint so Remus wouldn't see his irritated expression.
"Seeing as how I can't get a job--" The sound of the refrigerator being angrily slammed punctuated his sentence. "Yeah, the fact that we can't pay our rent because you, who actually can get a job, don't have one is entirely your fault."
And they ate in an irritated and awkward silence. It was somehow easier to be angry at the entire bloody world and its war by pretending that they were just angry with each other.
- - -
With a fight with his flatmate the only thing keeping this day from being okay, he took his motorbike into London with the intent of cruising for Help Wanted signs in Diagon Alley. Or failing that, heading up to Gringotts to bother James Potter, Curse Breaker Extraordinaire.
Maybe he could wash dishes at the Leaky Cauldron, he thought humorlessly as he parked his bike outside and strode in, the first thing he noticed being the dirty cups and saucers on a table by the door. "Tom, what do you pay hourly?" he asked the barman as he walked past with a wave.
"Not what you're used to living on, Mister Black," the toothless man replied dryly, and Sirius gave a little snort of amusement as he went through to the garden in back. Tapped the brick and hey presto, an alleyway full of scared people going about their business with their heads down.
Sirius with his leather motorcycle jacket and long, dark hair and patented swagger strolled down the street, dark gaze sweeping for shops indicating a job of any sorts would be offered therein. Not that he really wanted one. In all truth he was hoping there wouldn't be any offered. That way he could go home and tell Remus, yeah, I tried, but no one's got an opening. He didn't want a job but at the same time he really didn't want to let Remus down. Letting friends down, as a rule, was not something Sirius did. Even if it meant--ugh--wage slavery.
Maybe he could hit up some of the family for rent, he thought idly as he passed the Apothecary (no Help Wanted signs there, thank Merlin). Not the stuck-up annoying part of the family, the good bit of the family. The outcasts and rejects like him. Andromeda and Ted, maybe, though he'd feel bad about scrounging off them when they had a little girl.
He could ask Regulus. Regulus, who still had all of his inheritance. Regulus, who was always so polished he made his brother feel scruffy and dirty. Regulus, who was the only member of his family that still spoke to Sirius.
Regulus, who would probably be disowned as well if he gave his elder brother enough cash to see him through another month of rent. So Regulus was out.
Flourish and Blotts had a "Now Hiring" sign.
With a heavy sigh, Sirius stepped inside.
- - -
"Got a job today," Sirius announced at dinner.
All other conversation died as his friends turned to stare at him.
"You what?" James asked incredulously. "Who'd hire you?"
Lily looked impressed. "They must have good insurance."
Remus looked taken aback. "Is that where you were today? All day? At a job? Working? Earning money? Paying the rent? Actually putting food on our meager table?"
"Is it that meager?" Peter asked curiously. "It can't be more meager than mine."
"We ate all of two eggs today," Sirius said dryly. "Gotta save some for tomorrow and the day after and the day after, you know. But yes. I was at a job today. Actually working. And we will have money to pay the rent by Friday, Remus, don't thank me or anything."
"Anywhere in Diagon Alley?" James asked with a grin. "We can take our lunches together."
"Flourish and Blotts, actually. I spent the day shelving books. This job is such a waste of my brilliant and expansive talent."
Lily grinned as she stood up to get the water pitcher from the kitchen. "So you're a librarian now, Sirius?"
"I am not a librarian. I am an organizer and purveyor of mystical tomes possessing the lore and knowledge of the ages."
"Yeah." Remus nodded as he speared a few potatoes on his fork. "He's a librarian." He sighed glumly. "That's just not fair."
"Not fair?" Peter reached for his water glass. "What about Sirius being a librarian isn't fair? It is perfectly fair that he spent his school years drawing in library books and passing notes in textbooks and now has to spend his adult years caring for them."
Sirius threw a roll at him. Peter caught it reflexively and took a bite out of it.
"It's not fair because I would love to get a job at Flourish and Blotts and Sirius considers his the bane of his existence. You thoughtless bastard," Remus added as an afterthought in Sirius's direction.
Sirius smirked. "You can take my place when I get carted off to Azkaban for going mad in a frenzy of boredom and becoming a raving mass murderer. I've never had a duller job in my life, down to and including all that rubbish old Sluggy made us do in detention."
They all laughed.
- - -
It was well past one in the morning when James and Lily finally threw them out, after a long and humorous conversation about their upcoming nuptials. The sound of the motorbike's return woke half the residents of the street and there were any number of unflattering comments yelled at them from windows open from the heat.
Sirius would have sorely liked to return a few of the choicer insults, but that would have started a fight and that would have annoyed Remus and much as Sirius liked a good fight he liked someone else cooking breakfast even more. And a fight would have dragged on and on and he had to get up early and go to bloody work tomorrow.
At eight o'clock. What an obscene time to have to go places. Especially boring places like Flourish and Blotts.
They traipsed upstairs, Remus stepping carefully and quietly but Sirius gleefully clomping in payback for all those insults he didn't get to yell, a nice loud "and-so's-your-mother" to the world, or if not the world at least the other tenants of his building. As was their custom, the pair of wizards sat up for a bit before going to bed, a drink of whatever was on hand at arm's reach as they either talked or turned the wireless on.
"Milk. When the only thing you have to drink in the house is bloody milk, you know you're poor," Sirius grumbled, eyeing the glass with distaste.
"At least we won't be for long." Remus was silent for a moment. "Thanks, by the way."
"For what? Getting a job?"
"Putting aside your pride and prejudices about working. And for agreeing to rent the flat with me."
"Ah, you're perfectly bearable twenty-seven days out of thirty." They both laughed quietly, Remus a bit ruefully. Sirius, slightly uncomfortable with how comfortable this whole scenario was, gave him a quick smile. "Couldn't leave you out in the cold, could I? And as for the job... Well. I suppose I couldn't leave myself in the cold." He drained the rest of his glass and stood up.
"Going to bed? Bit early for you. It's not even two o'clock." Remus settled back onto the threadbare sofa and gave him a weary sort of smile in the light from the half-moon filtering in through the even more threadbare curtains.
"Yes, but I'm a working boy now, Remus. I've gotta get my rest." He put the glass in the sink and stretched slightly, eyeing his bedroom as if to say, "well, I suppose there's no helping it," and with a sigh he trudged into his room.
As an afterthought, he stuck his head out and grinned. "About the job. Why I got it."
"Yeah?"
"I am so sick of eating things that come out of a cow."
Remus laughed, a warm sound that Sirius could only get out of him when he'd caught him by surprise. "Me, too." He smiled across the room at his friend. "Friday, we're having chicken?"
"Sounds like a plan. Goodnight, Moony."
"Goodnight, Padfoot."
Sirius Black lay in bed, knowing that in about six hours he'd be waking up and going to work and doing all manner of tedious and boring things so he could put non-bovine foods on the table.
But at least he wasn't insane or miserable. So he supposed it wasn't such a bad existence.
But books were still boring, he thought drowsily just before he drifted off to sleep.
London Beckoned Songs About Money by Cherry and Phoenix Feather
Chapter Notes: Title drawn from Panic! at the Disco song title, because it seemed appropriate considering our lovely poor jobless Sirius.