Chapter 17: Dreadful Discoveries
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It was the wildest winter break of the seventies, of a lifetime! Neither James nor Sirius could wade in their worry a moment longer; the excitement of youth was calling their names. So it was out in the snow, ice and cheer of the wizarding town of Godric’s Hollow that two sixteen-year-olds set out to a bit of mischief. Sirius entered the town with visions of trouble, of reeking his own personal havoc, of perhaps getting a little drunk, a little laid (to be completely blunt), sample sin and toy with fate… it was the only way to get her off his mind.
He hadn’t made any commitments, they weren’t a couple “ they weren’t anything yet. Sirius Black was a free man, and for the holidays he would live like a free man. This attitude was contagious, and soon James had caught the fever. I have to say though, it all started with Sirius’ wild idea to get tattoos. Yes, tattoos, the first of his extensive collection…
December 28th 1975:
Snow fell in rushes outside the grease streaked windows, and a single candle flickered in a wavering breeze, casting long dark shadows against the walls of a rickety wooden, shack-like dwelling. Sirius and James hovered over a large, crumbly black book, noting the obscene and intriguing pictures on the yellow, tea stained paper.
From the corner a sinister looking geezer scratched gruffly at his patchy, whiskered beard. His eyes gleamed a menacing ice-blue, and one could see even in the dim light that the whites were slowly falling to glossy opalescent clouds.
“’Bout ready?” he growled in a thick Irish brogue, glaring in Sirius’ direction.
“Just about,” Sirius muttered, as his eyes fell on the picture of a star constellation etched crudely into the book.
“Hey… look at that!” he breathed to James, pointing to the picture. “What do you think about that one for me?”
“Wicked! Dog star! That’s your constellation, Sirius!” James flipped the page. “I was thinking this one for me.” He traced his finger to the picture of a scantily clad woman… well, a completely unclad woman to be honest.
Sirius raised his brows and whistled in a low tone. “How would your mum feel about that one?” he asked with a half grin.
“She won’t see it anyway,” James said with a wave of his hand.
Sirius shrugged, turning back the page. “Maybe you should stick with something modest. Now what about this cute imp here? She’s clad… and um, quite… er, ‘queenly’.”
James made a sceptical sound in his throat. “Queenly?” he hissed. “You just want that other one for yourself!”
“And what if I do? I don’t have a mother to scold me for it,” Sirius drawled with snobbish inflection.
“You have a mother, just not one that cares,” James mumbled resentfully.
“Stick with something safe Prongs.” Sirius looked up and hailed the old man in the corner. “I want this one!” he said, flipping the page back to the dog star. “And if you could add a little something else…”
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Without warning, the scene blurred. Sirius and James were traipsing back up the white fleeced walkway to the Potter estate, the wind whipping them every which way as they approached the inviting lights of the house. The boys talked quietly, watching their breath materialize into the air, and silently cursing themselves for forgetting their wands… it would have been a lot less frosty business had they remembered them.
James shivered and rubbed his shoulder. “It still stings,” he chattered.
“Of course it still stings,” said Sirius. “It’s only been an hour! Just don’t rub it like that; you don’t want your mum to know, do you?”
“What I don’t understand is why you’re holding out so well! That thing damn near covers your whole back… Bet that gnarly old snot used the same dirty needle on me or something,” grumbled Prongs as they reached the porch.
James took a silent moment to examine the front door, which was dressed in a festive red and green, and accented with a gaudy gold wreath. James had always secretly resented these hideous holiday adornments his mother dug up, but he never had the heart to tell her how terribly cheap they made the house look. They were like an ill fitting dress on a fair figure. Speaking of fair figures, he remembered the one fresh on his shoulder.
James lowered his voice to a whisper, conscious that there might be listening ears on the other side of the door. “Now, I want you to show me that invisibility trick when we get inside. I don’t know how long it’ll be before mum finds out about this.”
“No,” Sirius smirked, “wouldn’t want her to see, or Lily either. I don’t know how she’d take a naked wench on your shoulder””
James’ expression darkened. “Shut up about her! What are you trying to do, ruin my holiday?”
Sirius stepped back, as James seethed to his face. “My feelings are just a little fragile at the moment, my arm is throbbing, I could scream bloody murder and you mention Evans? Fine timing!”
“James, no… I honestly forgot, I didn’t mean it mate, sorry I””
The front door swung open. Mrs. Potter’s beaming, flushed face greeted them with a jubilant cry. “Oh you’re back! Good, I have cider ready.”
Sirius and James stood blinking at her, a little shocked that they weren’t staring at the ugly wreath anymore.
“In, come in!” she urged. “If you catch your death of cold I’ll… oh just hand me your coat now, Sirius dear.” She ushered them into the hall, bustling about them, hanging up coats, and dusting snow off James.
“I’d wondered when you two were coming back… it’s so dark for midday. I didn’t know what became of you, and then I had planned to go out myself.”
They followed her down into the stately furnished sitting room where freshly lit logs, consumed in flame, blazed in the grate.
“You’re going out?” James asked, just coming to comprehend his mother’s words.
“Yes,” she said, “Immediately." She scooped up some articles she had lying on a chaise, and tied a scarf warmly about her neck.
“Good, I mean… oh alright,” James said quickly, trying best to disguise his joy.
Mrs. Potter knew him too well however. “Don’t sound so upset about it, really! Now James, I’ll just be out a while; a woman down in Levifeather has a new collection of Potted Paisleys I’m interested in for spring. There should be some cake left, and you can boil some water for tea… I just wish I hadn’t let the hired help off now, I know everyone has to have a holiday, but I’m not happy leaving you here alone… you know that James, I’m just not happy about it,” she said matter-of-factly.
“What makes you not trust us?” James asked innocently.
“Oh, only the fact that you both, together, have acquired too many detentions to count. And if you’ll recall… certain events last summer, certain events meaning your befriending of the garden gnomes and granting them residence to your parents’ bedroom! I won’t have that again do you hear me? Do you hear me James Potter?”
James frowned at his mother pensively. “Is that a rhetorical question, or might I just not answer if you please, mother dear? Oh c’mon mum, you know I’m just joshing… honest, we’ll be good.”
“Honest, honest, goodness… well I’ll see you in a few hours dear,” Mrs. Potter pecked a kiss on James’ cheek, swung her bulky red handbag over her shoulder and disappeared into the glowing green flames of the hearth.
Sirius sighed in disappointment. He had counted on an afternoon of motherly pampering, some tea and a crumpet or two, just relaxing as he gleefully held the morbid secret of his tattoo. He suddenly became aware of the ponderous look on James face, knowing his mind was concocting some wicked dastardly plan.
James turned to Sirius. “Want to play some quidditch?”
“We just got out of the cold, now you want to go back into it? Unless you have an indoor pitch, I’d really rather not.”
“Indoor pitch? Don’t be ridiculous, we can still play!” said James with an impish grin.
“Where do you suggest then?”
“Tell me, have you ever heard of house Quidditch?”
So much for a peaceful afternoon.
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Christmas had been a joyous affair, as it always was in the Potter home, and neither Sirius nor James fell short of their usual holiday haul. James received a spectacular racing broom, as did Sirius… a nimbus 1000 to be exact… Sirius thanked the Potters profusely, but that is completely off topic. Anyway, the boys had put their new Christmas presents to use, enjoying their first ever game of house Quidditch… their first and their last, after Mrs. Potter found out.
Whiz, woosh… crash! These were the sounds to be heard in the Potter mansion from inside out. Remus nearly ducked when a vase was jettisoned towards his head, but realized he was impervious to the memory and decided to let the vase ‘hit’ him.
“When is your mum coming home again?” Sirius yelled down the hall, as he steadied himself on his broom, dodging the soaring cutlery that whizzed past his cheek.
He snatched up the nearest article, which happened to be a collectable china tea pot, and made use of it as a bludger, hurling it down the hall where he had seen a peek of James. Beads of sweat were forming on his forehead, and he had striped down to a t-shirt and trousers. A mess had amassed all throughout the south wing of the house, and Sirius barely had a chance to glimpse at it, when a little shot of gold whisked past him. He wasn’t quick enough.
A shock of black hair and one rush of a broom later, James hovered before him with the little golden snitch struggling in his fingers.
“Sorry mate,” he said, grinning and breathless, “my win.”
“Bully for you,” Sirius grumbled, as his broom drifted down to the floor, his feet now dangling against the hard wood surface. He dismounted. “When will your mum be back anyway? Looks like there’s a lot to clean up.”
James looked about him, noting the shattered and broken articles, mostly his mother’s fine China and vase collection, among some sorry looking mirrors and an assortment of pots and pans that had accumulated in various places. Neither of them really knew how that happened. The mess was overwhelming; James would rather play another round than tend to it.
“How about another?” he asked.
Sirius shook his head wildly. “Two to two, there, now can we stop?” Sirius wheezed. “Four- four rounds of this and I think I’m about ready to pass out.”
James was looking slightly nauseous himself, swaying a little, and gripping at his shoulder. Yes, it was certainly time to quit.
“Does it still hurt mate?” Sirius asked. The tattoo had left a burning impression on his own back; he wondered how James was fairing.
“I think I bruised it a few minutes ago. You didn’t have to hurl that pot at me, quite unnecessary… I’m in killer pain, maybe I’ll get some ice… the area is still tender if you get my meaning.”
Sirius felt awfully bad when he clapped James in a brotherly manner on that very shoulder.
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To say Mrs. Potter was angry when she came back to the mess in the hallway was an understatement. She breathed fire; literally, James had never seen it before. He supposed the holidays had gone to her head, and didn’t mind it at all when she confined them to the room upstairs (they were both in need of a good snoozing). It was next day when it all really happened…
December 29th 1975:
Morning, it was morning again. Remus could tell by the brightness of light that peeped in through the curtains. A lump of blankets groaned on one of the beds, and Remus assumed it was James. A winter lark twittered outside the window, peaceful morning sounds… sounds that were soon broken by the rude morning wake up call from Sirius.
“Oh Lily, Lily, Lily!” he cried into his pillow.
James sat bolt upright in his bed, hair so untidy that it was as if he had jabbed his finger in an electrical outlet. He glared across the room, blinking blearily. “Oh shut up! I wasn’t nearly that loud, I”” James was caught in an open confession.
Sirius threw his head back laughing richly. “Since when did you name your pillow Lily? Really, go some place private and snog””
“Oh shut up. Like you haven’t had… dreams.”
Sirius was still laughing, quite bemused with his little joke. “You don’t mind if I borrow Lily do you, Prongs?” Sirius squeezed his pillow affectionately.
“That is not Lily, this is Lily!” James proclaimed raising his own feather tuft.
Sirius jeered, “Scandalous.”
“I said shut up!” James threw the pillow across the room towards Sirius’ head.
Sirius caught it abruptly and admired it, crying out devilishly, “Oh Lily, my heart, my lover! Oh darling we are together at last! Prongs you give her to me so freely.”
James leapt from his bed and snatched “Lily” back.
“If you don’t mind,” he said irritably, “I’d like to enjoy the holidays and forget about girls for once!”
“How easy is that with such a lusty one on your shoulder,” Sirius smirked.
There came a soft rapping at the bedroom door. James suddenly became self-conscious about the volume of his voice, ssh-ing Sirius to stop laughing.
“Sod off,” he hissed, and went to answer it.
“Yes?” he called in his most pleasant morning voice.
The dulcet, chiming voice that belonged to Mrs. Potter was muffled through the wood. “If you dears are ready, breakfast is served...”
“You mean you’re not still mad at us?” he asked warily.
“Mad?” her voice rung with false ignorance. “Why would I be mad? Now be down please, there are some things that came for you. It’s nearly ten.”
There was silence at the door and he assumed that she had left.
“C’mon,” James said, shuffling back to his bed post, where he retrieved a crimson robe and wrapped it about himself. “Lets hurry, she’ll be in another mood if we don’t.”
Sirius stretched greatly, whining like a dog as he yawned. “Chipper, can I bring Lily with me?”
James rolled his eyes and the boys started to make the journey to breakfast. All the way down the spiralled staircase James kept nursing his shoulder, massaging it and making slight grimaces. He couldn’t hide the apparent fact that his arm was still experiencing twinges of pain.
“Tattoo still burns?” Sirius asked out of the corner of his mouth.
“No! that bludger you whacked me with yesterday left a big bloody bruise... and I can’t ask mum for the Miracle Rub because it happens to be in the exact same place as the wench!”
They were approaching the dining room, Sirius lowered his voice. “Oh lighten up, you’re not in mortal peril, ice it later.”
That ended their conversation for the moment, because they had reached the elegant dining area, cloaked in royal blue. Fine lacquered black wood chairs with high backs and great embroidered cushions surrounded a vast narrow table that covered the length of the room. The fine China (the pieces that hadn’t been shattered) had been stationed at each place, and several house elves buzzed about with trays of fruit and bread. One was balancing a pitcher of milk on his head... Remus marvelled at this.
“Jam!” Sirius requested as he buttered a crumpet half, a batty eyed elf dashed to his assistance.
James all the while was making a makeshift ice pack with the chilled fruit bowl, this happened at the same moment Mrs. Potter entered the room.
“James, what is it that you are doing? she asked, hands on her hips, a bewildered expression washing over her face, yet again befuddled with her sons odd quirks... probably wondering which side of the family he inherited it from.
James flushed red and quickly put down the bowl. “Um... ahh, testing it’s um... freshness, it’s a new trick. I read about it in Witch Weekly... your arm will get um-- hot if the fruit is spoiled, everything looks good here... good and cold...heh.” James was silently cursing himself for such a ridiculous cover up. He promptly drowned his embarrassment in a glass of water.
“Since when have you been reading Witch Weekly?” Mrs. Potter frowned suspiciously.
James cleared his throat, giving himself more time to think. “Uh... Remus orders it-- for the recipes. I read it sometimes... don’t think I’m completely uncultured! They uh, also get some good looking witches on the cover.”
Mrs. Potter snorted. “You think I’m actually going to believe that? Those women are twice your age!”
“James likes older women,” Sirius said with a wink.
Mrs. Potter pursed her lips and shrugged, realizing it was hopeless. “Hmm, I must not have read that article.”
They took their breakfast silently. The light clink of fork against plate and the breaking of bread were the only disruptions save for the strange windmill motions James was making with his arm... apparently trying to get a kink out.
It didn’t pass his mother’s attention. “All right dear? Did you do something to yourself... you’re awful fidgety.”
“Just a bit sore mum, it’s nothing serious... slept on it awkwardly most likely.”
He jumped when she extended a hand to examine it.
“No mum!” he cried. “It’s fine, please!”
“Don’t make a fuss, I’m your mother for goodness sake, I know how to treat these kind of things... now just cooperate and let me look at it please.”
“No!” James was standing up, backing away towards the wall.
Mrs. Potter sighed restlessly. “Honestly, how old are you? Let me peek at it, if you don’t I’ll be sending you to St. Mungo’s tethered to a cot... now stand still you silly boy!”
“No, no...” he whined. “Mum!”
It was hopeless, she had her wand drawn, her countenance marked with exasperation. “Let’s see it,” she ordered. “Roll up your sleeve now, or I’ll do it for you... lets see it James.”
There wasn’t one single ray of hope for James Potter, and Sirius held his breath, waiting for the final blow. James whimpered, slowly drawing up his shirt sleeve...
At this time I would like to say that the sounds that emitted from Mrs. Potter’s mouth were legendary to the Potter manor. The walls of the house had never heard such colourful language, such profanities... Sirius made an unwelcome comment that he was shocked that she knew French.
The swearing soon subsided to yelling and accusations that were a bit more bearable. “And what’s next?” she was crying out. “Long hair, free love and a nose ring? Or- or body-piercings like those barbaric African wizards?”
“It’s just a tattoo mum!” James was yelling back now.
Her eyes widened incredulously. “Just a tattoo, its permanent isn’t it?”
“It was done in a muggle place, I don’t know... I guess its removable.”
“Well then get it removed!” she ordered. “Get it off, I won’t have it in this house!”
“But mum...”
But... she wasn’t listening, she was circling about, fingers massaging her forehead, an area that was enraged in a wracking migraine. “Well...” she mused. “It’s not permanent, thank God it’s not. You don’t know how many times I’d wished your father had been able to remove his!”
“Dad has one?” James burst excitedly. “Where?”
Mrs. Potter looked shocked, realizing what had just come from her mouth. “Oh! Nothing, nothing at all James, no questions! Get- get that thing off or I’ll do it myself.”
“Well, what about Sirius?”
Sirius glared at James, swearing quietly under his breath.
“Sirius has one too?” Mrs. Potter cried. “Oh Lord, oh Lord! You boys! Let's see it Sirius.”
“See what?”'
“You know what... did he make you get one too?” Mrs. Potter asked accusingly.
“Hey it was Sirius’--” James began.
“Enough! Just enough! Sirius isn’t my son. You are, James... and though I disagree with his decision, I have no control over his actions.”
The comment was true, but Sirius couldn't help feeling something constrict in his chest.
James opened his mouth, but said nothing. Mrs. Potter's order seemed to be the final word. James would wait until his father got home for the real punishment and just endure the day miserably. He could get away with anything, anywhere, except at home.
“Oh! I nearly forgot with all this hullabaloo, there are letters waiting for the both of you in the library... I can’t believe all the things you put me through, I...” Mrs. Potter went rambling off, muttering to herself as she left them.
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The library was empty save for Sir Spudnikmuffin, the Potter family cat who was purring loudly on a large stuffed lounger.
“Oh get up you furry wad!” James swatted at the ginger, bandy-legged cat. “You’re hogging the whole damn couch!”
Sir Spudnik opened one yellow, almond shaped eye, studying James up and down. He yawned sporadically in a high pitched whine and stretched his weird fluffy legs, taking his time about moving. He glared in James’ direction, before swishing his tail and bounding from the cushions, brushing past Sirius’ leg as he left.
“It’s because he’s part kneazle, they’re all pains, those kinds of cats," James said.
Well you’d try your best to be a pain to masters who gave you the name Sir Spudnikmuffin, now wouldn't you?
“This it?” Sirius asked, fingering the edges of the cream coloured envelope on the kingly marble mantle. His name was sketched upon it in an undistinguishable narrow script “S. Black... First Class Post.”
“Muggle mail? That’s odd,” James said, tearing open his own letter.
Odd indeed, but Sirius had a feeling about this, there was something dark in this envelope he held. He would wait until James was finished; there was something fishy about it.
James whipped the parchment out of the envelope, his eyes quickly flew to the bottom of the page and he yelped aloud when he read the signature.
“Who’s it from Prongs?” Sirius asked.
James licked his lips twice before answering, his eyes flashing rapidly from the letter to Sirius’ face and back again. “She wrote back,” he breathed. “I can’t believe she wrote me back...”
“Who?”
“Evans... she’s- she’s in Surrey with her sister...” he looked over the letter, mumbling random words as he read. “Bla bla bla... oh! her parents never came back from the states... investigation is under way, she’s helping her sister get settled in... she’s very worried about her parents, bla bla bla... will be back before February--HALLELUJAH! -- oh, but she doesn’t know... well that’s good new isn’t it?” he asked merrily, folding the letter into his robe.
“Good news? I could hardly make it out with all your blubbering,” Sirius smirked.
“Evans parents have gone missing, they were last seen on holiday in the states, upon the night they were set to return to London, they disappeared, no trace... curious.”
“Not so curious,” Sirius said darkly. “With people like the Lestranges and my parents, muggles don’t have a chance... that’s my wager on the matter.”
“She’s in Surrey though... hmm, a little far, but do you think she’d mind a visit?”
“Wait James, don’t you think you’re jumping to things? Do you really think Evans would want to see you at a time like this; where’s your sense of sympathy?" Sirius asked, almost amused.
"Oh! Oh no, no I didn’t mean it like that," James stuttered alarmingly. "It's only... I'm relieved she's okay, you know. That's shocking about her parents, but... it hasn't quite hit me yet."
"Well then I wouldn't go visit her until it has," Sirius said and then he turned his attention to the letter in his own hands.
S. Black... the letters bore dark into his mind; jagged narrow things, with an ostentatious way about them. Without more than a thought, he tore at the wax sealer. He suddenly recognized the emblem... the Black family crest. His body went cold, a fearful rush tingling through his limbs as his mind devoured the words.
Sirius-
I have just recently learned of your new location in Godric’s Hollow. This gruelling bit of information was passed on to me by one of my colleagues under the name of Snape. I believe you attend school with his amiable son. Furthermore, Regulus has informed me of your brash and brazen actions, far exceeding your highly uncalled for leave to the Potters last summer. If you don’t remember, we here at home still receive all notices of your unruly behaviour and numerous detentions. Furthermore, the Sinistras made complaint of your actions towards their daughter, which was a most abashing disgrace for the family, as I am in a close business partnership with her father.
I am aware that you are spending the holiday with the Potters once more, and since I doubt we can settle on agreement in this area, I am setting an ultimatum: If you do not return to Grimmauld Place within the next forty-eight hours, I will be forced to deprive you entirely of any family inheritance you would have been entitled to. In addition, I will disown you and revoke your status as a Black family member. You of course still have forty-eight hours with which to come to your senses and beg pardon. Please ponder this wisely; I am not a man of second chances, as you know. You are old enough to understand and I would not advise you to stain the family name any further.
Best wishes,
- Father
In other words, Get your arse back home immediately or you are no longer my son, thought Sirius.
Fine! That was fine! His family was here, not there... here where people valued him, even if he did haul in 125 detentions per year, even if he was a Gryffindor.
“Sirius? Sirius...” James’ voice sounded out of the fog. “You alright mate? Who’s it from, Sirius, you well?
Sirius shook it off. “No- no, I’m fine... I mean, I’m not...” he fumbled with the words. “It’s just that I was right, I’m in deep shit it’s my dad.”
James snatched it from him. “And it’s not a Howler either? That’s new...” his eyes flashed over the letter, growing wide and narrowing. “Ooh... hm...oh this is,” his voice dropped and rose dramatically.
“This is dreadful,” Sirius finished for him, glowering into the flames that flashed tauntingly at him from the hearth.
“What’ll you do?” James asked quietly.
“Dunno, maybe I just won’t do anything. Maybe I’ll just continue being a lousy son... I dunno. I’m-- I need to go do something.”
Sirius turned to leave. How strange it was that not but fifteen minutes ago he had been worried about the discovery of his tattoo and now... well, things were much more serious.
“You’re not going to give in?” James asked in a worried tone.
Sirius sighed heavily. “No.”
“Where are you going then? Want some cider to drown him out of your thoughts...”
“I was thinking more like firewhiskey.”
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That very important thing Sirius had to do was write in his diary... Remus read heavy hearted.
I thought when I abandoned Grimmauld Place last summer that I was rid of them “ him “ for good. I never counted on trouble like this. I know it was stupid to think he wouldn’t come back, hounding after me, forcing that Black magic shit down my throat, finding some weasley way to get me back under his hold... It’s like prison that damn house. That wretched hag “ my mother “ holds the keys and my father is there bolting the door, standing against it... never willing to let me out. That’s what pops into my head every time I think of home.
I’ve made him even more frightening in my dreams. It’s pathetic that I should even dream of capture at all... and it’s like all these months, even in school, I’ve been on the run from something, and now I think that something is in my own head... it’s my own damn family!
I wish I could move to the moon, build myself a nice peaceful little shack out of moon rocks and just watch the world from there. Lonely, yes it’d be lonely, but I think I’d prefer it that way... for a while at least. I wonder if that rumour is true that a Nimbus 1000 can take you to the moon? Not that I’m in any position to do that now anyway, but... can’t my father take a hint!
Can’t he just accept my “incompetence,” my disobedience, my flaws, and let me be the “black sheep” for crissake! He has so clearly stated that I’m a disgrace; I wish he would just let me be! I want to be a disgrace more than anything. I’ll stain his name with so much goodness that it will make him sick. I’ll get some muggle loving ministry job that will make his soul wreathe, then I’ll marry some poor muggle off the streets and we’ll have 20 mudblood children just to rub it in. And after I’m Minister of Magic and finished sending Regulus to Azkaban for being born ugly, I’ll raise a statue right in front of Grimmauld Place that will say “Endearingly to my father who taught me shit.” And maybe if I’m lucky, he’ll look at it, and keel over in death for shame.
It breaks me to realize how much hate there is, just waiting to bubble up and come out. I just hope I don’t do anything too stupid when it does, like that curse I bound to Elise. I find I do most of my stupid things when I’m frustrated or just hot mad about something. Of course I can’t just blow up in someone’s face for no reason, so instead I turn Diggory’s hair into an afro, I coat the boy’s lavatory pink, I grab Stevens and snog her for no reason in the world. These actions usually result in my detentions and all I can think is that I must be angry quite a lot.
That bookcase over on the opposite wall looks quite good to bang my head against at the moment, but I doubt Mrs. Potter would appreciate me denting it. Denting it... dear old dad knew how to dent me in very well. Even now I still shake to think of his belt. He wouldn’t dare now that I’m older, but he might use his wand... like the day I ran off to Godric's Hollow last summer. If I think about it hard enough, I can still hear the sharp whiplash and that voice... damn it I hate that voice! No, no, I won’t open that door, it doesn’t help to think about it anyway, what would is some cider and a dreamless slumber... oh screw it, I wonder if James’ dad kept that keg of firewhiskey in the back.
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December 31st 1975:
Bright flashes of colour and rushes of confetti fell from the ceiling. It was the Potter’s New Year’s celebration. Family and friends had been invited to the festive occasion... yet for Sirius it was still a melancholy affair. The hands on the clock ticked the minutes away, precious minutes that ended this year... ended this year of woes and women troubles, of revelations and full moons and Marauders.
A quarter till... that’s how long was left. Sirius was dressed to impress, suave in black, but hardly feeling as good as he looked. The admirers that stayed clipped to his either side laughed jovially, giggled brightly and talked of senseless nothings. He was putting on quite a good show despite it all, truly trying to enjoy himself, but since the letter he could not seem to reach a state of contentment. James was off somewhere with Amalynne, or whatever her name was, probably off getting to know each other better in the library “ another pathetic attempt to get his mind off Lily.
At five till, there came a whoosh of wind somewhere above Sirius’ head, and white feathered wings brushed against his cheek as a small speckled owl perched itself on his shoulder, nipping lightly at his ear. On its leg was a small folded note.
S. Black... in small curly writing.
Sirius untied it swiftly, and unfolded it with shaking hands.
Sirius- As I appreciate the letter you wrote me some days ago, I have to ask you that you please wouldn’t ever again. Any association between us is... dangerous. I truly hope you understand. Things aren’t safe, even here. I’m sorry, but I can’t risk it.
Wishing you a lovely holiday.
-Elle/ Elise
There she was again, being practical, prefect protocol... how he hated it. Sirius crumpled the parchment, balling it up in his hands. He hardly noticed when the owl took flight. He squeezed the life out of the letter, wishing it were someone else.
Wishing you a lovely holiday indeed Elle. Screw you then, you and my bastard father! You mealy wuss Collier, screw you!
If anything improved his mood, this surely didn’t, nothing seemed to anymore.
Sirius realized it just as the grandfather clock chimed midnight, and instinctively snatched the voluptuous blonde to his right and kissed her passionately, sinking into this thing that made him forget. What a way to start 1976. *
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Well... I always enjoy hearing what you have to say... REVIEW REVIEW!!!!! -Ama