Which felt like the ah-ha moment this amateur therapy session was building up to.
The man and the mirage waited for her to gather her thoughts. Sirius picked at a loose thread on the bed sheets, a faraway look in his eyes. She cleared her throat.
"I… value your presence," she said to the spot on the carpet she refused to look up from.
"You value my presence," Sirius said deadpan. Okay, fair. That had perhaps not come out as eloquently and sincere as she had imagined.
"I tolerate your presence!" She mumbled.
"Excellent! Now, Sirius, how did that make you feel?" Regulus said before they could go off again.
"You're really pushing it, Reg."
"Then why don't you share your nice thing?"
"I also tolerate your presence," Sirius said with all the drama he could muster.
"I already knew that."
"Well, I already knew you tolerated me, so take that."
"You did not!"
"Right, of course. Miss Allergic-To-Feelings, how could I forget? It's almost like I'm the only person over fifteen you willingly speak to."
"Says the dumbass who summoned the spirit of his dead brother out of loneliness."
"I was not lonely! It was… recon! He was a Death Eater!"
She rolled her eyes. "Sure, sure. I bet it was very helpful, considering what I came over to tell you in the first place. I got confirmation on the snake. Voldemort is mortal."
"Wait, really?" Regulus gasped. "The Dark Lord is mortal!" It was the most emotion Sirius had seen from him.
"Yeah, so you can stop trying to get me to join you in hell, soon you'll have Voldemort himself to annoy for eternity," Sirius said.
"Rude of you to assume I'm in hell! It's perfectly pleasant Beyond, you should see for yourself."
"Sirius," Alabasandria interrupted. "Stop feeding him. Send him back. He's latching onto your emotions. I'm not Willy Wonka, I don't carry around chocolate and the longer he stays the more he's just going to keep urging you."
"Right. Ah, help, please?"
"Idiot." Her palm was warm in his. Grounding against the unnatural chill of Regulus' ghost. "Release your feelings. Release his anchor to the mortal plane. No one is dying today."
"Wait! Wait, brother, don't -" Regulus panicked.
"Let him go, Sirius!"
"Thanks for the help, little brother. But I'm alright now."
He did not watch the spirit fade away, waiting until the room settled to speak. Neither turned their gaze from the floor.
"I am sorry," he said. "You are a great mother. I didn't mean it when I said you didn't love him. You're very good with Harry and all his minions - all the children. I don't think you're cruel or evil and you do have morals, even if you refuse to admit it. You wouldn't have gotten upset with me otherwise. And while I don't agree, I respect that you would do anything for Harry. I don't think I could have made that decision, and yet I benefit from it. Harry should be normal, but he's not. And he's only survived so well because of you."
"Thank you?" She sounded unsure. The non-sarcastic unearthing of feelings tended to do that to her, but she powered through. "You are a good father to Harry. Of all the men he could have picked, I'm pleased it is you. I think… I think I don't want him to turn out like I have. He needs something more than death. His relationships ground him, keep him steady like I have never seen before. You teach him well."
"They balance him. Like we balance each other when we aren't at the other's throat."
"I've never done this before. Have a friend."
"You've just got discerning taste, my dear. That's why I'm your only one."
"Somehow I doubt that."
"Well, in my professional opinion, I suggest we get plastered and never bring this up again."
...
"Have you thought about knitting?"
"I'm not a fifty-year-old woman, I'm not going to take up knitting."
"I'll tell Molly you said that. I know if you asked she would love to teach you how to knit. Oh - hello children."
Harry looked wide-eyed at his parents as he and his friends scurried into Alabasandria's office.
"Hello mum, dad. Why is Sirius learning how to knit?" He asked.
"Sirius has decided he needs a hobby. Why have you let a horde of infants into my office?"
"Er, I didn't think you'd be in. And I'm almost fifteen, honestly."
"So you were going to let most of Gryffindor into my office without me here."
"We were going to have a small get-together to commemorate Ron's catastrophic failure in the dueling tournament. Professor McGonagall, unfortunately, has expressly forbid anything resembling a party after the last one, and we aren't going to push our luck until Harry wins the Triwizard." Fred said as innocently as he could muster, which was not much.
"You were going to throw an illicit party in my office?"
"Didn't you see Ron trip over his robe? It was embarrassing. He needs comfort. Besides, exams are over!"
"Third place is a huge accomplishment, Ron. You were facing off against a seventh-year." Sirius assured him.
"He was facing that Beauxbaton chick's ass -"
The Weasley boys went down in a pile of curses and limbs.
"Er, we can go somewhere else, professor."
"Absolutely not. I'm keeping an eye on you all."
The students dispersed around the room that was much too small for parties. Things were awkward as the children adjusted to their planned rager being chaperoned, and by parents too, which was doubly lame. Harry had been confident his parents would be out doing something, now that they were on speaking terms again, but now his night was ruined.
"Hand over the alcohol, Weasley." Alabasandria's eagle-eyed stare went to the inconspicuous bulk under the twins' robes.