From the Mods by MNFF Staff
Summary: A collection of one-shots centered around celebration, happiness, family, or love. Each chapter is a different one-shot from a different mod-- a gift from us to you. Happy birthday, MNFF! *Bows to Authors*
Categories: General Fics Characters: None
Warnings: None
Challenges:
Series: None
Chapters: 4 Completed: No Word count: 7976 Read: 14009 Published: 11/20/06 Updated: 12/15/06

1. Friends in Strange Places by MNFF Staff

2. A Moment in History by MNFF Staff

3. The Meaning Of by MNFF Staff

4. Norwegian Tie, Ugly Wood by MNFF Staff

Friends in Strange Places by MNFF Staff
Author's Notes:
This story was written by MNFF moderator Anasuya.
Friends in Strange Places
By Anasuya





Minerva McGonagall stood in the doorway of the headmaster’s office, surveying the new furnishings. The house elf Dobby had come to her last week, asking how she wanted her office decorated. Her office. The words still seemed foreign. Seeing her desk and tartan furnishings did nothing to alleviate this feeling.

She walked around the office, averting her eyes from the array of portrait covering the walls, stopping at her desk and sitting down. She jumped up almost as quickly, straightening her glasses with a shaking hand and sniffing slightly.

The feelings of guilt and sadness that had overwhelmed Minerva since Albus Dumbledore’s death threatened to overtake her. She fought to keep them down as she stared out the window at the grounds. Hagrid was tending to the plants in the garden; Minerva smiled sadly at the black armband Hagrid had fashioned for himself. They all grieved; some, like Hagrid, more openly than others. However, she had to maintain her demeanor in front of the others. She was, in essence, the new leader.

Sighing deeply, she allowed herself to look at Dumbledore’s portrait. It had yet to animate and was still snoozing peacefully. “I’m not ready for the, Albus,” she whispered. “I don’t know if I can do this.” The truth was, her icy demeanor had not endeared her to the rest of the staff. She was their colleague, but not their friend. Albus had been the only one who had transcended that barrier.

A knock at the door startled her. Wiping her eyes, she called out, “Come in.” The door opened and Sybil Trelawney glided into the room. Minerva fought the urge to scowl. “Hello Sybil. Can I be of assistance?”

“Good afternoon, Minerva. I was reading into the future, when I was struck with the urge to bring you my budget for the school year.” She held out a scroll.

“Well, I’m quite glad you did,” McGonagall said curtly, “as the rest of the staff did that several weeks ago.”

Trelawney flushed. “Well, I do apologize but sometimes the burden of the inner eye is so great, that mundane paperwork seems to elude me.”

Minerva felt the beginnings of a migraine cloud her brain. “Of course,” she sighed, rubbing her forehead. “Well, if that’s all, I’ll attend to it. And I thank you for your…err promptness.”

Sybil seemed not to notice the sarcasm. Instead, she gazed intently at the headmistress. “Your aura seems different, Minerva. Are you quite all right?”

“Yes, Sybil,” said Minerva shortly, not wanting to discuss her ‘changing aura’. “I’m fine.”

The divination teacher did not look convinced. “The change is palpable.” Her face suddenly shone with anticipation. “If you wish to delve deeper, I am willing to crystal gaze for y-“

“No!” Minerva got to her feet. “No. I’m sorry Sybil, but I’m quite busy right now.” She gave Sybil a curt nod before ushering her to the door.

“You shouldn’t be so quick to rid yourself of your allies,” a voice behind her rang out.

Minerva jumped and spun around, searching the room wildly. Her eyes fell onto the last portrait on the wall, which was very much awake and smiling genially at her.

“Albus! I-I don’t know what to say!” Minerva was suddenly breathless.

“You don’t have to say anything,” he said warmly. “I was so rudely eavesdropping and only wanted to mention that it is unwise to push away those who would call your ‘friend’.

Minerva scoffed. “Sybil Trelawney is not someone I would consider my friend.”

“Why not?” asked Dumbledore. “Is a friend not someone who worries about you, who notices when you’re upset and who offers to help?”

Minerva opened her mouth but no sound came out. Dumbledore cut her off.

“All I am saying, Minerva, is that friendship is sometimes found in unlikely people and places. Don’t be quick to dismiss someone who genuinely cares.”

The headmistress turned away and wiped her eyes. “You’re right, of course.” She sighed deeply. “With everything that has gone on recently, I have not been thinking straight.”

“And it is times like these when we rely on our friends the most.” Albus smiled, and Minerva felt as though some of the weight she had been carrying had eased its burden.

“Thank you, Albus,” she said gratefully. “I shall go to Sybil first thing tomorrow, once I approve her budget.”

Dumbldore chuckled. “Do watch out. The last budget she submitted included ‘libations for student celebrations’.

Minerva looked shocked. “Surely, you’re not serious.”

“My dear headmistress, the dead do not lie.”

* * *


The next day, Minerva walked all the way to North Tower and knocked on Sybil’s trap door with some difficulty. She climbed the silver ladder that appeared and pulled herself into the dark, smoky room.

“Sybil?” she called out, her eyes slowly adjusting to the gloom.

“Is that you, Minerva?” Sybil appeared at her elbow. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

“I came to bring your approved budget,” Minerva replied, holding out a sealed scroll.

Sybil accepted it warily. “Surely that doesn’t warrant a visit all the way up here?”

“Well, actually I did have an ulterior motive,” Minerva said. “I was wondering if you’d like to come down to the Three Broomsticks with me for a drink.”

Sybil looked shocked, yet pleased. “Really? What’s the occasion?”

“No occasion,” Minerva stated crisply. “I just would like to treat my friend to a drink.”

Sybil smiled genuinely. “Well, then I absolutely accept but under one condition.”

“Which is?”

Sybil’s smile grew. “That I repay the favour by crystal-gazing for you.”

Minerva smiled slightly. “We’ll see, Sybil. We’ll see.”
A Moment in History by MNFF Staff
Author's Notes:
This one-shot was written by MuggleNet moderator Kim (Phoenix5225).
A Moment in History

By Kim








The cold November wind whipped furiously about the small house at the end of the lane. The occupant inside the kitchen shuddered involuntarily “ she thought the rush of wind against her home sounded like a banshee’s scream. Rubbing her hands against her arms to warm herself, she continued digging through a drawer beside the oven. Everything that didn’t have a precise place in the house seemed to end up in this drawer, and when her husband helped clean, even those items that did have a spot often found their way here.



Finally her hand closed triumphantly over the matchbook she had been seeking. “Caught you at last,” she said happily to the matches as she slid the drawer closed and walked back into the bedroom. After tucking a stray strand of fiery hair behind her ear, she extracted one of the matches and struck it against the book. The tiny fire sprang to life, and she used it to quickly light a thick candle. She repeated the process as she lit the other candles scattered throughout the room. Finally, a quick flick of her wand, and a warm fire sprang cozily to life inside the small fireplace. She smiled somewhat proudly; most people required a few attempts before being able to properly light kindling but she had always been gifted with Charms.



The enormous bed before her was laden with large pillows and cozy comforters. She climbed atop it and nestled herself in the fluffy down pillows. She smiled the smile of a woman with a precious secret, and before she knew it she had drifted into a light sleep.



Moments, or it could have been hours later, for all she knew, she was awakened by a soft kiss to her forehead. She opened her eyes lazily and met the strong eyes of a messy-black-haired man. “There’s my wonderful husband,” she greeted him happily, wrapping her arms around his shoulders in a warm embrace.



“And how is my beautiful wife after exactly one year of marriage?” He unfolded himself from his wife’s hug and nestled up beside her on their bed.



Her eyes now shining with excitement, she gave him a mischievous smile and teased, “I might be a lot better after I see my anniversary gift!” She giggled at the feigned look of shock on his face.



“You mean after all this time just being my wife isn’t gift enough?” he asked her, plumping his lower lip out in a pout.



“Nope,” she answered, her hair falling from her shoulders as she shook her head with great exaggeration. “I need presents.”



He sighed with mock frustration, and then, grinning, produced a box which was quite apparent he had wrapped himself. She squealed with excitement and took the gift from him. She tried to tear into it, but the vast amount of tape he had used in wrapping the present made the task a difficult one. Finally she pulled the paper off and was delighted to discover the easily recognizable dark purple box from Heart Stones, the finest jeweler in Diagon Alley. Gently lifting the lid, she found a brilliant stone set in a pendant hanging from a delicate chain. As she lifted the necklace from the box, a small note slipped out. She read it aloud:



The magnificent color of the stone reminded me of the stunning beauty of the most gorgeous eyes I have ever seen. I would marry you again any day of my life.



Her eyes filled with tears as her eyes met his. Her husband was certainly not what she would call romantic, but at moments like this, he was quite capable of surprising her. He kissed her cheek and as he did, he lifted the necklace from her hands. He placed it around her neck and fumbled with the clasp as she pulled her long red hair out of the way. Once he succeeded in securing the gemstone, she thanked him with a tender kiss.



Pulling away from her, mischief glinted in his own eyes as he said, “All right, enough of this lovey stuff. Where’s my present?”

She shifted her eyes to her lap guiltily. “Well,” she began nervously, “I kind of don’t have a gift for you at this particular moment.”



Again, he gave her a look of mock surprise. “What? After putting up with you for one whole year I don’t get any recognition at all?”



“Now, stop that,” she admonished him, giggling. “What I meant was, just think about this for a moment. Think of what a rough year it’s been. Think of how hard life has been since we’ve left Hogwarts. I want you to remember that in all this darkness and adversity, how much we have to be grateful for. We really have been lucky with all that we have.”



Smiling, he took her in his arms again. “Of course we have,” he said softly, kissing her temple. I’m grateful every day for having you in my life. I’m lucky to have such amazing friends. Even with all the misery the Death Eaters ““



“And You-Know-Who,” she interjected.



“Yes, even with all that, I don’t think my life could be any happier."



“Are you sure?” she asked, concern apparent in her soft voice.



“Of course,” he answered with another kiss, this time to her lips.



Glancing down again, she whispered, “I do have a gift for you. I’m pregnant.”



His eyes widened, and this time he didn’t have to fake his shock. “You’re what? When?”



“Pregnant,” she answered demurely. “I just found out. The baby should be born at the end of July or early in August.”



After a moment of stunned silence, a grin began to spread across her husband’s face. “I’m going to be a father? Do you know how much fun this is going to be? He’ll be a Quidditch star!”



“Maybe she,” his wife corrected, “will be a Quidditch star. But if it is a boy, I want him to be named for you.”



“And I feel the same way about you if it’s a little girl,” he responded. He looked at his wife lying so gracefully against the pillows. Almost without thinking, he lifted her sweater and softly kissed her soon-to-be round belly. He lifted his head and found her eyes again. “I was wrong, you know.”



She looked at him quizzically. “Wrong?”



“Yes, wrong. A minute ago I told you it was impossible for me to be any happier than I was. What I’m feeling right now is way beyond that.”



She smiled at him. “I know exactly what you mean,” she replied, wrapping her arms again around him in a tight hug.



And together they lay on the bed for hours, as the wind continued to howl into the night, talking and dreaming of the future of their unborn child.





The Meaning Of by MNFF Staff
Author's Notes:
This story was written by MuggleNet Fan Fiction moderator Elysa (PhysicalGraffiti).

Also, this story may be deemed slightly AU since it works off the assumption that Sirius and James do not meet until Hogwarts.
Dedication: I dedicate this one-shot to my MuggleNet family-- including, but not limited to, my lovely badgers.




The Meaning Of
By Elysa


It is the most curious of all sensations when you realize that something you once despised has been turned into something you love, simply because one person or one experience was able to change its meaning.






He doesn’t think he’s ever truly known the meaning of family. It has always eluded him, run from him, hidden in shadow, as if he were not worthy of its warmth. Sometimes” a lot of times” he believes he isn’t.

He doesn’t think he’s ever truly known the meaning of love. Sure, he might only be eleven, but he’s read enough about it to know he should have at least felt it from his mother by now. Yet even the word feels awkward on his lips, like the sensation of trying out a foreign language for the first time.

Love.

Family.


Sure, he might only be eleven. But Sirius Black already feels he was never meant to know either of them.


* * *



He shifts nervously from foot to foot, eyeing an unknown red-headed boy from a short distance and waiting with bated breath for his own turn, when the Sorting Hat will dictate the next seven years of his life. Funny, he remarks inwardly, that a hat should decide so much.

“Slytherin!” shouts the Sorting Hat, and immediately the strange boy’s face relaxes and assumes a casual smirk. The long, silver-laced table to the far right erupts in applause.

Sirius remembers to feel nervous when he hears his name being called. He swallows, clearing his dry throat, and forces a calm, composed expression. Striding to the limelight, he whisks back his elegant black hair and feels the hat lower over his forehead.

“Oh, my my, what a curious character we’ve got here!” says the Sorting Hat; and though the voice is clear and distinct, he innately knows that no one but he can hear it. “Such a gifted young man… yes, talent and intellect to spare, not to mention a healthy dose of wit. Very cheeky, aren’t you? Oh, no, much more than that” rebellious. My, what a handful you’ll be. Though… what’s this?” The voice pauses and Sirius strains his ears. “Ah,” returns the voice, smooth and confident now. “Of course. Compassion. Courage. Empathy. Plenty of empathy. Oh dear, and a bit of sadness too. A deep longing for something more, something greater, that sets you apart from your peers. That might outweigh the stupendous amount of arrogance. Hmm. We shall see.”

Again there is an extended silence as Sirius fidgets in his seat. He can see a million eyes peering at him from the four House tables, and when his gaze lands on the red-headed Slytherin in the corner, he feels his heart sink.

He’ll probably end up in that sodding House exactly like the rest of his family. Just at the mere thought of it Sirius feels a burning sense of dread that his life has ended before it had a chance to begin.

But the Sorting Hat chuckles lowly above him. “Yes, definitely an enigma, Mr. Black,” it chides. “A most mysterious case, if ever I’ve seen one. But a case wrapped in red and gold, nonetheless.”

He has just enough time to raise a questioning eyebrow before the voice booms past his ears and announces loudly to the hall, “Gryffindor!”

His vision is fully restored as the hat is removed from his head. He senses his eyes grow wide with disbelief. How is this possible? He” he’s a Black.

He’s dead.

He hasn’t even made a single step in the direction of the Gryffindor table and already his mind is providing a disturbing visual of his mother, screaming and bawling about how he has disgraced his family.

Yep. Definitely dead.

Family. It all came back to that one little concept. A concept he still does not grasp the meaning of.

“Mr. Black, please join the other Gryffindors,” says a cool woman’s voice from behind him.

His head snaps up as he realizes he’s still standing on the makeshift stage. But with awareness comes comprehension that the rushing sound in his ears is not that of his blood pumping furiously through his veins, but that of a riotous, applauding table to the left. Kind faces grin up at him from a haze of gold and red decorations.

He smiles.

Stumbling to an empty seat, Sirius watches as a chubby, blue-eyed girl is sorted into Ravenclaw. A dozen children after her, a pale, sandy-haired boy shuffles shyly to the stool. The Sorting Hat doesn’t wait long before assertively pronouncing the young man to be a Gryffindor.

The boy ambles towards the table and slumps in a chair directly across from Sirius, allowing a clear view of the very faint shadows under the newly sorted boy’s eyes. He appears tired and worn, but there is a beautiful glint in his gaze that gives away how excited he is beneath the layers of poise and uncertainty.

The Sorting Hat was quite right to note Sirius’ acute level of intelligence.

But not even Merlin himself would have been able to surmise exactly what that sandy-haired boy would eventually come to mean to him later.


* * *



“You’re Sirius Black, aren’t you?”

The feast had just ended and all the students were filing away to their respective Common Rooms, Prefects shouting over the din of laughter and discussion in a futile attempt to guide the first years.

Now, however, Sirius is prevented from obeying the commanding tone of his Prefect, as he is distracted by an unfamiliar voice and turns around to meet it.

“Err, yeah, I am.”

The tall, thick boy takes a step closer and surveys Sirius through a mass of white-blonde hair. His eyes are alive with curiosity as they scan Sirius’ every feature. “You look more like your mother now.”

His brows knit together. “How d’you know my mum?”

The boy extends a cordial hand and Sirius takes it cautiously. “I’m Lucius Malfoy. We’re related, though it’s been several years since we’ve met. You were perhaps seven the last I saw you.”

Sirius’ mind fights for recognition but offers no useful images. “Oh.”

Suddenly, the boy named Lucius leans closer but continues to speak at full volume. “I find it revolting that a name such as Black, a name with such pureblood caliber, would be subjected to a House such as Gryffindor.” His words come out bitingly cold, and his eyes never cease their journey around Sirius’ young face.

Sirius opens his mouth furiously, but Lucius raises a steady hand. “Not,” he starts to amend, “that it is your fault. Of course, I understand. That Sorting Hat has been ready for the furnace for decades, if you ask me.”

“Listen, I don’t care if I’m not in Slytherin,” Sirius divulges, struggling around the crowd that is now thickening around them as more first years pour from the Great Hall.

Lucius’ eyebrows disappear into his hairline. “Are you sure?” he asks condescendingly, traces of a sneer tugging on the corners of his lips. “Professor Dumbledore might allow you to switch Houses if””

“Thanks, but no thanks,” says Sirius, his patience waning. “There’s nothing wrong with Gryffindor.”

Lucius regards him shrewdly. “And are you quite certain your mother will agree?”

Sirius’ mouth hangs open stupidly, unsure as to how to respond.

“Somehow I know she will be equally repulsed,” spits Lucius.

Again his family has come back to haunt him. His surname seemed to cling to him with a death grip, etching its way into every minuscule aspect of his life. It is suffocating. Overpoweringly brutal.

He reflects for the hundredth time that he doesn’t understand the meaning of love, simply because he’s never experienced it. And he doesn’t understand the meaning of family, because he’s never really had one. So it is doubly unfair that now, at Hogwarts, he should be so completely bound to a name which holds absolutely no personal connotation” no personal value.

And he just doesn’t understand.

He swallows these thoughts and glares hard at Lucius. The blonde glares back and inches nearer. Soon, he is less than a foot away, his wand pointing at Sirius’ chest. “You haven’t even been here a day and already you humiliate your family,” he leers. “I would watch myself if I were you. You’re alienating your alliances in Slytherin and no Gryffindor will want to associate with a Black.

Heart lurching anxiously, Sirius feels his confidence pool at his feet. He had not thought about that. He had been so relieved to have been sorted into Gryffindor” so relieved that he had, for once, escaped his name” that he hadn’t considered the possibility of which Lucius now spoke.

“You’re wrong,” Sirius says boldly, surprised by his own daring. “No one’s going to care that my””

Wrong?” Lucius questions smugly. “You are naïve. They all know who you are. Everyone does. Names such as ours follow us. I am proud of such a fact. You are disgraceful. Mark my words, Black. You’ll be utterly alone and your pathetic””

“No, he won’t.”

Sirius spins around. Directly behind him, wearing a plainly defiant expression, is a stick-thin first year with outrageously untidy black hair and wire-rimmed glasses. He shoots Sirius a comforting look before turning back to Lucius, chin raised.

“He won’t be alone, Malfoy,” repeats the first year boy, “because unlike Slytherins, Gryffindors don’t judge people by stupid, shallow things like last names.”

Lucius’ face scrunches up in disgust as he looks down his nose at the young boy. “And who in the bloody hell are you?”

“James Potter,” he answers promptly, “and don’t forget it. Because as much as names mean to you, I know you’ll want to remember mine.”

Lucius snorts. “Why is that?”

“Because I’m pureblood too,” he replies, “but you mark my words. I’ll be famous cause of my own merit, not because I was born with a silver sodding spoon in my mouth.”

Lucius Malfoy’s pale cheeks turn a deep shade of enraged crimson, but James Potter isn’t paying attention.

“Sirius, was it?” he asks, offering his hand. “I’m James. Come on, we’d better hurry, I’ve got no bloody clue where our Common Room is.”

Sirius shakes James’ hand lightly, casting one last glance back at Lucius as they walk off. Lucius’ pointed face is the epitome of rage, but he spins on his heel and stalks off to the dungeons without another word.

Watching James from the corner of his eye, Sirius feels he should thank him. But the black-haired boy seems to have already forgotten the incident as he jogs cheerfully up the stairs, occasionally checking to make sure Sirius is still beside him.


Sirius Black doesn’t think he understands the meaning of family any better now than he did a month ago.

Yet as he races to his new Common Room, he can’t help but recall the evening’s vexing events.

And as he does, Sirius realizes that whatever family is, he wholly and unequivocally hates it.


* * *



He is sitting idly on the long red sofa in the Common Room when it comes. His stomach has been a bundle of knots since his encounter with Lucius four nights ago, but now” now those knots are on fire. A faint wave of nausea pushes its way up his windpipe when the barn owl drops the whirling, red envelope into his hands.

Jumping from his seat, Sirius snatches the Howler and dashes for his dormitory. Maybe if he can bury it under a layer of pillows no one will hear it.

“SIRIUS BLACK!”

Or not.

He frantically scans the room for a place to stuff the screeching letter” a crevice, a cupboard, anything. But looking around him, he sees only a half dozen curious faces peering expectantly at the parchment in his hand, amused glimmers shining in some of their eyes.

GRYFFINDOR?! DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW MORTIFYING IT WAS TO DISCOVER MY SON WAS SORTED INTO GRYFFINDOR?!” the Howler wails, twitching ferociously in Sirius’ hand.

He closes his eyes. Blood is rushing to his cheeks and he can feel it burning beneath his skin. Face hot, he slumps dejectedly down the stone wall beside the staircase” the staircase leading to his quarters. He’d been so close to escaping this embarrassment.

“AND THEN TO HAVE LUCIUS MALFOY INFORM ME THAT YOUR FILTHY ARSE WOULDN’T EVEN PUT IN A CHANGE OF HOUSE REQUEST WITH THE HEADMASTER?! DISGUSTING! UTTERLY REVOLTING! YOU SHAME ME AND OUR ENTIRE FAMILY!”

He squeezes his eyes harder and balls his hands into fists. If he hears one more mention of his snotty, pompous family he might explode into a Howler himself.

“I AM SEEING TO IT THAT THE HEADMASTER CONSIDERS REPLACING YOU IN SLYTHERIN! AND YOU WILL BE GRATEFUL THAT I AM SO CARING AS TO STOOP TO SUCH A LEVEL! DO YOU HEAR ME, SIRIUS BLACK?! NEVER IN MY WILDEST NIGHTMARES WOULD I HAVE EXPECTED THIS! GRYFFINDOR! YOU STAY AS FAR FROM THOSE CHILDREN AS POSSIBLE! AM I CLEAR?

The letter bursts into flame and disintegrates into a thousand wispy puffs of smoke. Sirius hisses in pain, for the fire has licked the side of his thumb a little too hotly.

Cursing under his breath, he flings his head back against the wall and lifts his legs like steeples before draping his arms over his knees. He inhales deeply, trying to ignore his stinging thumb and wounded pride… not to mention the six pairs of eyes he can feel burning holes through him.

“Are you all right?”

Sirius’ eyes snap open to reveal a pallid eleven-year-old crouching down in front of him. He instantly recognizes him as the sandy-haired boy who’d sat across from him at the Sorting ceremony.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” mumbles Sirius, averting his eyes so he doesn’t have to see the well of pity and concern in his counterpart’s.

“Your thumb looks pretty scorched,” the boy points out quietly, sounding apologetic, like he’d brought up a topic he wasn’t supposed to talk about.

Sirius’ gaze flickers to his hand. “I’ll run it under some water later.” Even as he speaks the words he isn’t sure why. It is as if he is reassuring the boy before him that he’ll be okay, which would indicate the boy cared. Who really cared about Sirius Black?

“Well, actually, I”” he stops, and Sirius notices a light blush creeping up the kid’s neck. “I think I know a spell that might heal it. If” if you want?”

Sirius is thoroughly confused by the boy’s kindness. But he nods numbly and holds up his hand for inspection.

It only takes a quick wave of the young man’s wand, and instantly, like a match crashing in a bucket of water, the pain is gone. Sirius blinks up in surprise.

“Thanks. Where’d you learn that?”

The fellow Gryffindor allows a tiny smile. “I checked out a book on healing spells from the library.”

Library? You’ve already been to the library?”

The boy nods shyly, causing his hair to fall lightly across his eyes.

Sirius can’t stifle a short laugh. “Sure you weren’t meant for Ravenclaw?”

The color rises higher on the boy’s cheeks, but he responds quickly. “I don’t know… I mean, I trust the Sorting Hat. It’s been around for ages, hasn’t it?”

At this, Sirius is reminded of his own Sorting troubles. He turns his head and sighs deeply, gazing down at the charred envelope at his foot. “I wish my mum was as casual about it as you.”

The kind-faced boy offers a gentle nod of understanding. “Yeah, I heard that Howler.”

“You and everyone else in a twenty-mile radius.”

“If you don’t mind my asking,” the boy begins carefully, “why does she care so much?”

“Because he’s a Black,” someone answers for him.

Sirius looks up to see a familiar face topped with familiar black hair approaching their corner.

“And I’m a Potter,” he announces proudly, “though… maybe that’s not quite as impressive.” James feigns a look of thoughtful contemplation.

The sandy-haired boy chuckles, and in spite of it all, Sirius can’t help but join him. Still laughing, he says, “Trust me, there’s nothing special about my family.”

“Oh, I know that,” James assures, “it’s your loony mother that’s bent on sticking you in the dungeons for seven years.”

James offers his hand to help Sirius from the floor. Sirius takes it, stands, and brushes off his robes.

Turning to the boy who had healed Sirius’ burn, James says, “Call me James. You are…?”

“Remus,” the boy provides, standing to full height.

“Well, Remus, you don’t care if Sirius has got a last name from a box of crayons, do you?”

Remus appears as if he isn’t sure whether to chuckle or be offended on Sirius’ behalf, but Sirius shoots him a soothing grin. “No,” says Remus, tucking his wand back in his robes. “Doesn’t make any difference to me.”

“Good chap!” James exclaims, leading the other two to cushioned seats by the fire. The other eyes in the room went back to focusing on their work, and Sirius feels a sudden upsurge of gratitude for these two boys called James and Remus.

Remus lowers himself to a chair and fidgets with his hands. James practically throws himself upon the sofa. Sirius, though, notices a small, round boy sitting beside his be-speckled friend.

“Oy, sorry,” says James at once, apparently picking up on Sirius’ hesitation. But instead of addressing Sirius further, he turns accusingly to the boy next to him. “You worried about this bloke’s last name?”

The round boy shakes his head, peering up at Sirius with quiet wonder.

“Great,” says James. “Sirius, this is Peter. Peter, meet Sirius. Peter and I met on the Hogwarts Express.”

Sirius nods and forces a faint smile before sitting on Remus’ right and completing their circle. The boy named Peter goes back to watching his bishop attack James’ rook, and Remus barely suppresses a low laugh when James’ boyish features light up with indignation.

“Checkmate. Sirius, you want to play?” asks Peter as he resets the pieces.

“Yeah. Actually, want to try exploding snap?”

James agrees exuberantly, proclaiming, “I’ll play Sirius and winner plays Remus. Right?”

“Right,” Remus approves happily.

As they play, Sirius laughs more in the span of ten minutes than he has in over ten years. James is hilariously competitive and Sirius isn’t afraid to take the mickey out of him for it.

When Sirius wins, Peter jumps up in excitement and screams, “Brilliant! I’ve been playing games with this codger for three days and that’s the first time he’s been beaten at exploding snap! How’s it feel, James?”

James scowls good-humouredly. “How many times did I beat you, Peter? Sixteen? So I reckon it feels sixteen times less terrible.”

All four erupt in laughter, rolling on the ground and forgetting the game completely. James shoots a hex at Remus, turning his hair a shocking shade of pink. “Sorry!” he hollers in surprise, “I didn’t know what that’d combination would do, I just”” but he is cut off, as Remus mutters some nonsense word, flicks his wand with amateur experimentation, and relocates James’ eyebrows to his lips.

Soon a battle of jinxes brakes out, none of them having any idea what spells they’re actually casting. By the end, Remus’ pink hair is in braids, Peter’s ears are transfigured into toads, James’ relocated eyebrows are nine inches long, and Sirius’ skin is turned an unnatural shade of dark chocolate. Remus conjures a shirt to go with it, reading: “Seriously Black.”

They sat in the infirmary a half hour later, each of them receiving a good long lashing from Madam Pomfrey about wand safety and responsibility. Somehow they manage to keep straight faces throughout, but when Pomfrey turns her back to retrieve a potion for Peter’s ears, James pokes Sirius with his wand one last time, turning his skin a brilliant shade of blue.

Remus whispers that they’d gotten in enough trouble as it was, but even in the few short hours of knowing him, Sirius can see the laughter in his eyes which negates his remarks of caution.

And for the first time in his life, Sirius feels the laughter in himself.

For the first time in his life, Sirius Black is able to forget who he is.


* * *



“I see you have found some friends, Remus,” muses a deep, airy voice.

Sirius looks up from his lunch and into the twinkling eyes of Professor Dumbledore. He shoots a look to Remus and notices his friend smiling warmly. The two seemed to know each other at least moderately well.

“Yes, Professor, this is James, Sirius, and Peter,” introduces Remus.

Dumbledore gives a courteous bow. “A pleasure. Allow me to personally welcome each of you to Hogwarts.”

The other three mumble their thanks.

“Actually, Remus, I was hoping to borrow your friend Sirius for a brief moment. I promise not to keep him long.”

Sirius’ eyebrow shoots up. He casts his gaze to James, who only looks back at him with a perplexed expression.

“Is this about my mum, Professor?” Sirius asks, feeling a tugging instinct that his guess is right.

Dumbledore peers down at him in silence for a moment, seeming to gauge whether he should broach the subject in front of others. Eventually he decides it is Sirius’ choice. “It is, in fact. I received an owl from her late yesterday afternoon.”

Sirius feels a weight drop in the pit of his stomach.

The last two days were blissful. For forty-eight beautiful hours, he had forgotten about his horrible family. He had forgotten how inadequate he would always be to them, and how he’d forever feel the sting of guilt for not being the son his mother wanted. He had forgotten that he was fused to a concept so thoroughly outside his realm of understanding, and that he would always, always, be reminded of that every time he did something as simple as write his name.

Before he can erase the pain of remembrance and respond to Dumbledore’s questioning gaze, James is speaking.

“Sir, he doesn’t want to switch Houses.”

“And we don’t want him to switch, either,” chimes Remus.

James nods approvingly. “His mum’s just being a bit…”

“Elitist,” Remus provides. “No offense,” he adds hurriedly.

Sirius can only mutely shake his head. He can scarcely believe what he’s witnessing. People… friends… begging the Headmaster to let him stay? Such attachment is just as foreign to him as the meaning of family itself. Yet he feels a swelling of something unidentifiable pick at the back of his mind.

“Besides, he’s already started classes with us,” offers Peter.

“Right, exactly,” James agrees hastily. “And it’s not even””

“Boys, boys, calm down,” chuckles Dumbledore. “I only wanted to inform Sirius that, unfortunately, we do not allow students to switch Houses once they are sorted.”

Sirius’ head snaps up. James and Peter holler excitedly and Remus reaches across the table to give Sirius a pat on the shoulder.

“You’re” you mean I’m in Gryffindor… permanently?” he sputters.

Dumbledore nods.

Excellent!” he exclaims happily. The four boys share broad, teeth-baring grins, and Sirius is sure he is floating.

“I will be owling your mother tonight,” Dumbledore continues, specks of light coming alive with amusement in his bright blue eyes. “I hope she is not too displeased.” Something in his tone is ironic and it does not escape Sirius’ notice.

But with that, the Headmaster is gone, striding back towards the teachers’ table.

James’ toothy grin does not falter. “See that?” he says, “you’re dead stuck.”

“Or just dead in general,” he mutters, but there is such mirth in his voice that James knows to brush it off.

Then, with a sudden look of concentration, James lowers his fork and eyes each of his friends with deft consideration. He lingers for a moment on Peter before one corner of his mouth tugs into a crooked grin.

“What’re you thinking, James?” Remus asks suspiciously.

“I’m thinking that this is the right time to tell you lot about… an idea I’ve had.”

Peter tilts his head to one side.

“Well, you know how this blasted castle is impossible to navigate without getting lost?” James queries.

Sirius snickers. “That’s only you.”

“Shut it,” he snaps playfully. “Well, regardless, this idea… it’s going to take some time. A lot of time, probably, but that’s all the more reason to start now.” He pauses for dramatic effect. “See, mates, I was thinking” we’d do much better with our pranks if we had a map.


The Sorting Hat was quite right to note Sirius’ acute level of intelligence.

But not even Merlin himself would have been able to surmise exactly what that map would eventually come to mean to him later. Nor could anyone have guessed exactly what those three boys would come to be to him later.


Sirius Black was born into a cruel, loveless family. He was neglected in every way that counts. His mother made him feel worthless and hallow. And worst of all, his name” a thing he had no choice in deciding” haunted him like an omnipresent shadow, looming over his heart with weighty significance.

So it was no surprise that he did not understand. It was no surprise that his mind raced with wonder and curiosity when others spoke of family, and love, and friendship, with admiration and ease. It was no surprise that he was left with a gaping void in his soul, a void with bruised edges and battered memories.

And he doesn’t think he’s ever truly known the meaning of family. He doesn’t think he’s ever truly known the meaning of love. But as he watches his three new friends talk animatedly about an all-knowing map, the swelling sensation that picks at the back of his mind returns.

Eventually, he realizes what it is: meaning.

The meaning of family, he decides, cannot be defined by books or rumors. Family is something created, not something born into. Family can be one person or many, and it can be relatives or friends. Family is recognizable not by similar physical traits or a shared last name, but by sparkling eyes, small moments of caring, enduring moments of sacrifice, and countless moments of love.

He knows he will never have such a family waiting for him at Grimmauld Place. He knows, somehow, that his mother will never love him.

And sure, Sirius Black might only be eleven.

But as he receives another hearty pat on the back from Remus, and glimpses into the mischievous eyes of James, he understands:

At least I’ll always have a family here.

And whatever family is, Sirius decides”

“Oy, Sirius, you up for another round of exploding snap?”


”he wholly and unequivocally loves it.
Norwegian Tie, Ugly Wood by MNFF Staff
Author's Notes:
Disclaimer: The song lyrics the Marauders sing at the beginning are from The Beatles song 'Norwegian Wood.'

This story was written by MuggleNet Fan Fiction moderator Leanne (Dory_the_Fishie).
Norwegian Tie, Ugly Wood
By Leanne




He had decided a long time ago, in a state of semi-drunkenness, that never again would he let James, Remus, and Peter talk him into wearing that tie. Of course, being in a state of semi-drunkenness, he had never remembered that decision, and admittedly, neither James nor Remus nor Peter had ever bothered to remind him of it. And so, on this, the night before his twentieth birthday, he was easily persuaded into wearing that tie, and had even gotten to the point where he was singing Beatles songs at the top of his lungs per the request of Remus.

“I once had a girl, or should I say, she once had me!” sang a nineteen-year-old Sirius off-key at the top of his lungs.

“She showed me her room,” went on James and Remus together.

“Isn’t it good?” added Peter.

“Norwegian wood!” all four of them finished as Sirius continued to hum the rest, having forgotten the words. He tugged at his tie every once in a while, as if showing it off to a world that wasn’t admiring it, but ought to be.

The tie was arguably the ugliest ever made “ not only did it feature a wide array of multi-colored polka dots that were challenged by an even wider array of zigzags, it also sported a large, ornate ‘S’ in the very center of it. The ‘S’ had been the original reason for its purchase; James was excellent at picking out gifts, he liked to think. And while ‘excellent’ wasn’t the word any of his friends would have chosen, the tie did make for interesting memories.

“More Firewhiskey!” cried Sirius into the warm summer night, swaggering slightly as the Marauders entered the village of Godric’s Hollow.

“Shh!” hushed James, Remus, and Peter all at once.

“If Lily hears us, I’m dead,” said James, casting a hurried glance around him, as though Lily would suddenly pop out from behind a bush and begin yelling at him. “You know she hates when we come home like this.”

You’re not coming home like anything,” interjected Sirius, running a hand through his ruffled hair. “And neither are you or you,” he finished, pointing at Remus and Peter, who exchanged amused smirks.

“Well, she doesn’t like you coming home like this, either,” James stated, “because you end up sleeping on our couch.”

“Hmph,” was all Sirius said in response. He sped up so that he was ahead of the rest of them, and then turned around, walking unevenly backwards. “I love this village!” he exclaimed, spinning around, which consequently landed him sprawled out in the front lawn of a small, respectable-looking house. James couldn’t suppress a laugh at how the inhabitants of that house would react to a drunk, nineteen-year-old Marauder laying out in their grass. “What are you laughing at?” asked Sirius crossly upon seeing James’s break into a laugh.

“You, Sirius,” put in Remus, also finding it hard not to laugh. “You.”

“Well, that’s okay,” Sirius replied, sitting up with what looked like extreme difficulty, “as long as you weren’t laughing at this tie of mine.” He affectionately stroked the ghastly tie, which was loose around his neck.

“No, no. We would never even think of laughing at that tie,” chuckled Peter. “It’s a masterpiece, really.”

“Yes,” agreed Sirius, poking Peter in the chest to emphasize his point. “Yes, that’s exactly it.”

“Yeah, you can thank me for that lovely little thing, Sirius,” James reminded his friend.

“Yes!” Sirius exclaimed, louder than before. “Yes, you did! A birthday gift, I recall.”

“That’s right,” said Remus, now helping Sirius stand all the way up. It took Sirius a moment to realize Remus was not, in fact, trying to take Sirius’s tie away from him, but eventually both of them were standing. Sirius was swaying a little bit, but was otherwise fine enough to continue walking. The four friends kept on their trek back to the Potters’ house; the journey was taking a lot longer than it would have, had all of them been sober. Normally, they would have Apparated, but with Sirius having enjoyed his Firewhiskey a little too much, they couldn’t risk him splinching himself. That wouldn’t exactly be a great way to start his birthday. Then again, neither was a hangover, but at least a hangover was more easily remedied.

Finally, after ten more minutes of walking, the four of them arrived at the Potters’ house. James unlocked the door and silently slipped in, checking to see if Lily was anywhere close. Luckily, she wasn’t, so James ushered the rest of them inside, not daring to turn on a light. Miraculously, Sirius stayed quiet (granted, this was only because Peter had told him that it was a game, but at least it had worked).

“James,” came a voice from the top of the stairs, and the room was suddenly flooded with light.

“My eyes!” Sirius cried, throwing his hands up to his face and shielding his eyes from the light.

Lily Evans Potter stood at the top of the stairs, fully dressed, arms crossed over her chest. “James,” she started in a tone that would surely become very angry very fast.

“Now, Lily, before you get angry,” interjected Remus, pushing James out of the line of fire and pulling Peter to the front with him.

“You have to realize that James tried to get back here sooner,” continued Peter in true Marauder-fashion, not allowing Lily to say anything until they were through with their excuse.

“But he couldn’t,” Remus said. He was about to add something, but Lily cut him off.

“And why is that?” she inquired, raising her eyebrows and looking beyond Remus and Peter to where Sirius was checking out the record player in the living room.

“Because of Sirius,” Peter answered quickly.

“Why else?” finished Remus, turning back to James and Sirius, the latter of whom was humming again.

Lily didn’t look convinced of anything yet, but rather than dismissing their reasons for lateness, she merely asked, “Isn’t his birthday tomorrow?”

“Yes!” Sirius shouted in response.

This time, Lily let a smile spread across her face. Uncrossing her arms, she said, “Just hurry up and get him to bed.”

“Thanks, love!” James, Remus, and Peter all called together, James blowing his wife an over exaggerated kiss. Lily simply rolled her eyes before disappearing from her position atop the stairs.

“OK, Sirius,” said James in a voice he would have used to tell a child a set of instructions, turning back to Sirius and grabbing him by the shoulder. “This is where you will be sleeping.” He pointed to the couch, and Sirius promptly sank down into it. Before James had a chance to tell Sirius anything else, he was fast asleep, snoring slightly.

“Well,” Peter said after a moment of silence, “that was easier than I thought it would be.”

Remus let out a small laugh. “Indeed it was. What do you think made this time different?”

“I’d imagine the fact that tomorrow is his birthday helped to cheer him up a little,” James reasoned, looking at his watch. “Make that today, it’s past midnight.”

The three friends exchanged looks, then muttered, “Happy birthday, Padfoot,” in unison before James flipped off the light.
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