orange_crushed (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
orange_crushed) wrote2005-12-01 04:40 pm
orange_crushed) wrote2005-12-01 04:40 pm
Parallel or Together, pt. II
More Brothers Black ! What they won't get into. PG for language, and not enough Snape.
"I had a golden ring. It was such an important thing,
That I kept it beneath my bed, and I carried it in my head."
-Ted Leo Rx
They do this every time now, though neither of them really enjoys it. Sirius attacks and Regulus defends as best he can, while still trying to get out of the door.
"We're friends."
"Are you ? Really ? What on earth do you talk about ? I can't imagine that newt's eyes are interesting after the fourth or fifth time."
"Leave it, Sirius." Regulus laces his boots, and stuffs his wand into a side pocket. "I'll be back later, around eight."
"Frog's legs ? Can't be quidditch, or girls. He doesn't know anything about girls. It's got to be something slimy. Or scaly. Bezoars. Tell me it's bezoars."
"It's not."
Severus never comes any closer than the front gate, and he never makes a motion to open it himself. He stands stiffly beside it, Sirius thinks, like a cow at a board fence. Regulus always hurries out, sometimes without breathing so much as a goodbye, and they head off in the same direction. Sirius is intrigued by their little ritual at first, never mind horrified; and then he's bored by it, and now he's come full circle back to puzzling it out. He stares at Severus out of the upstairs bathroom window, and notices how the skinny boy never even so much as looks up at the house, or bothers to pluck at the ivy leaves choking the fenceposts. Just stands and waits. Stands and waits.
Sirius thinks about throwing something, maybe a glass paperweight or a shoe, and then doesn't. He can't imagine that anyone would think it was funny after last year. Not even him.
The first thing he does when he sees James again is shake his hand; and he puts the whole force of his arm into shaking that silly knobbly wrist, until they nearly fall into each other and it becomes a hug. Peter is wearing this strange mechanical grin, but he hugs Sirius as well. It's a pretty good start. And they ask about mothers and holidays and don't give very good answers, just smile anxiously and nudge one another. And thirty-eight minutes later they've had a terrible fight.
"Still a git." James huffs off with Peter in tow, who has lost the mechanical smile and is grinning for real now. The boy has gotten less small and less round but he still fills the air around him with a kind of fat apology. Sirius sees him leaning closer to James so he can commiserate, and nod in all the right places. It makes him a little sick.
"I said I was sorry." he says to nobody, though he doesn't feel sorry; but mad.
The worst part of it hasn't even begun. Sirius dreaded Hogwarts as much as he longed to return; he assumed that he would be a pariah, and that everything would remind him of Remus. He's half-right. The window-seats where Remus corrected his spelling are unbearable to sit in. And he cannot eat at the table with the fist-shaped knot, which Remus has charmed to (still) recite vulgar limericks about table-manners when anyone spills food over it. But his social life, if he wished for one, would thrive. Sirius cannot understand it.
"Hullo, Black." He hears his name in the hall as often as ever, though he's mostly stopped pranking. They tell him hello, ask about his health, offer some butterbeer one of these days; and it's never the ones he expects. It's always a dark-haired boy from Ravenclaw, or a Slytherin prefect, or one of the million faceless brown-eyed Hufflepuffs. It's the Gryffindors, his own tribe, who won't look him in the eye. And he accepts this, Merlin, he's bought and paid for it; so why hasn't anyone else noticed ?
It doesn't take him long to discover why.
Ian Everness (whose cousin makes terrible come-hither moues at Sirius when she thinks no-one is looking) is walking beside him along the path to Hogsmeade on a Sunday afternoon, tossing a pack of Drooble's from one hand to another and lamenting the shortage of eligible Slytherin girls.
"Yeah, well." Sirius catches it deftly and tosses it back. "There's too many in Gryffindor. Honestly, they're all over the common with lost barrettes and passing notes and talk of women's problems. Take one off of my hands. Take a few."
"Nah." Ian shakes his dark, neat head. "Too many mudbloods. You never know which is which, not with Gryffindor. Now, Ravenclaw, that's a house I could make some trouble in."
There's a long and angry silence, and suddenly Ian realizes that Sirius is not walking beside him any longer. "Sirius, mate, you alright ?"
"What the fuck are you on about, Everness ?" he shouts. His hands are clenching at his sides. "Don't you say mudblood to me !" Ian, clearly dumbfounded, takes a defensive step backwards, palms up.
"Hey, hey calm down. I didn't- I thought you were- you're a Black, after all !"
"So ?" This is, in all of Ian's young life, the most dangerous syllable he's ever heard. He feels that he should choose words carefully, or perhaps else quickly discover how Morgan Ashfare became a toad for three hours last term.
"You- after last year, what you did. Everybody thought you were with Potter, and them. And suddenly in the middle of the year, just like that, turning out a werewolf ! A dark creature, hiding right here in the school ! And a filthy halfblood to boo-"
Naturally, Ian Everness is not physically able to finish this sentence for several days.
Gradually the mood lightens in Gryffindor tower; and even Gideon Prewitt, three days from graduation, deigns to offer him an indian burn and a few words of advice.
"You're a fuckup, Black." he says kindly, and slaps his reddening arm. "But you don't mean to be a bad guy. Everybody knows that. Give them time, and it'll be daisies soon enough."
Sirius wants to say, tell that to Remus, but instead he ducks his head and mumbles thanks. He wonders he will ever be anyone's best friend again.
Last term at Hogwarts isn't anything special or our of the ordinary; pre-post-graduate counselling ends up being twenty-three awkward minutes in McGonagall's office wherein he tells her he doesn't want to be anything when he grows up. Except maybe a muggle basketball player, or a shoemaker. She apparently feels that he is poking fun at a serious subject, and makes him write a scroll on notable Mediwizards, 1950-1975.
Sirius gets up when his name's called and recieves a grown-up sash for his shoulder and a scroll with his name sparkling in tiny lights. Regulus claps for him so loudly that Rosier tells him he's a suck-up; but Rosier gets a toad's eyeball in his sandwich on the train ride home, because blood is blood.
"I had a golden ring. It was such an important thing,
That I kept it beneath my bed, and I carried it in my head."
-Ted Leo Rx
They do this every time now, though neither of them really enjoys it. Sirius attacks and Regulus defends as best he can, while still trying to get out of the door.
"We're friends."
"Are you ? Really ? What on earth do you talk about ? I can't imagine that newt's eyes are interesting after the fourth or fifth time."
"Leave it, Sirius." Regulus laces his boots, and stuffs his wand into a side pocket. "I'll be back later, around eight."
"Frog's legs ? Can't be quidditch, or girls. He doesn't know anything about girls. It's got to be something slimy. Or scaly. Bezoars. Tell me it's bezoars."
"It's not."
Severus never comes any closer than the front gate, and he never makes a motion to open it himself. He stands stiffly beside it, Sirius thinks, like a cow at a board fence. Regulus always hurries out, sometimes without breathing so much as a goodbye, and they head off in the same direction. Sirius is intrigued by their little ritual at first, never mind horrified; and then he's bored by it, and now he's come full circle back to puzzling it out. He stares at Severus out of the upstairs bathroom window, and notices how the skinny boy never even so much as looks up at the house, or bothers to pluck at the ivy leaves choking the fenceposts. Just stands and waits. Stands and waits.
Sirius thinks about throwing something, maybe a glass paperweight or a shoe, and then doesn't. He can't imagine that anyone would think it was funny after last year. Not even him.
The first thing he does when he sees James again is shake his hand; and he puts the whole force of his arm into shaking that silly knobbly wrist, until they nearly fall into each other and it becomes a hug. Peter is wearing this strange mechanical grin, but he hugs Sirius as well. It's a pretty good start. And they ask about mothers and holidays and don't give very good answers, just smile anxiously and nudge one another. And thirty-eight minutes later they've had a terrible fight.
"Still a git." James huffs off with Peter in tow, who has lost the mechanical smile and is grinning for real now. The boy has gotten less small and less round but he still fills the air around him with a kind of fat apology. Sirius sees him leaning closer to James so he can commiserate, and nod in all the right places. It makes him a little sick.
"I said I was sorry." he says to nobody, though he doesn't feel sorry; but mad.
The worst part of it hasn't even begun. Sirius dreaded Hogwarts as much as he longed to return; he assumed that he would be a pariah, and that everything would remind him of Remus. He's half-right. The window-seats where Remus corrected his spelling are unbearable to sit in. And he cannot eat at the table with the fist-shaped knot, which Remus has charmed to (still) recite vulgar limericks about table-manners when anyone spills food over it. But his social life, if he wished for one, would thrive. Sirius cannot understand it.
"Hullo, Black." He hears his name in the hall as often as ever, though he's mostly stopped pranking. They tell him hello, ask about his health, offer some butterbeer one of these days; and it's never the ones he expects. It's always a dark-haired boy from Ravenclaw, or a Slytherin prefect, or one of the million faceless brown-eyed Hufflepuffs. It's the Gryffindors, his own tribe, who won't look him in the eye. And he accepts this, Merlin, he's bought and paid for it; so why hasn't anyone else noticed ?
It doesn't take him long to discover why.
Ian Everness (whose cousin makes terrible come-hither moues at Sirius when she thinks no-one is looking) is walking beside him along the path to Hogsmeade on a Sunday afternoon, tossing a pack of Drooble's from one hand to another and lamenting the shortage of eligible Slytherin girls.
"Yeah, well." Sirius catches it deftly and tosses it back. "There's too many in Gryffindor. Honestly, they're all over the common with lost barrettes and passing notes and talk of women's problems. Take one off of my hands. Take a few."
"Nah." Ian shakes his dark, neat head. "Too many mudbloods. You never know which is which, not with Gryffindor. Now, Ravenclaw, that's a house I could make some trouble in."
There's a long and angry silence, and suddenly Ian realizes that Sirius is not walking beside him any longer. "Sirius, mate, you alright ?"
"What the fuck are you on about, Everness ?" he shouts. His hands are clenching at his sides. "Don't you say mudblood to me !" Ian, clearly dumbfounded, takes a defensive step backwards, palms up.
"Hey, hey calm down. I didn't- I thought you were- you're a Black, after all !"
"So ?" This is, in all of Ian's young life, the most dangerous syllable he's ever heard. He feels that he should choose words carefully, or perhaps else quickly discover how Morgan Ashfare became a toad for three hours last term.
"You- after last year, what you did. Everybody thought you were with Potter, and them. And suddenly in the middle of the year, just like that, turning out a werewolf ! A dark creature, hiding right here in the school ! And a filthy halfblood to boo-"
Naturally, Ian Everness is not physically able to finish this sentence for several days.
Gradually the mood lightens in Gryffindor tower; and even Gideon Prewitt, three days from graduation, deigns to offer him an indian burn and a few words of advice.
"You're a fuckup, Black." he says kindly, and slaps his reddening arm. "But you don't mean to be a bad guy. Everybody knows that. Give them time, and it'll be daisies soon enough."
Sirius wants to say, tell that to Remus, but instead he ducks his head and mumbles thanks. He wonders he will ever be anyone's best friend again.
Last term at Hogwarts isn't anything special or our of the ordinary; pre-post-graduate counselling ends up being twenty-three awkward minutes in McGonagall's office wherein he tells her he doesn't want to be anything when he grows up. Except maybe a muggle basketball player, or a shoemaker. She apparently feels that he is poking fun at a serious subject, and makes him write a scroll on notable Mediwizards, 1950-1975.
Sirius gets up when his name's called and recieves a grown-up sash for his shoulder and a scroll with his name sparkling in tiny lights. Regulus claps for him so loudly that Rosier tells him he's a suck-up; but Rosier gets a toad's eyeball in his sandwich on the train ride home, because blood is blood.
no subject
You, my dear, are awesome. Sirius so would lose his temper and just let fly like that. I can't wait to find out what happens on the Black-Snape front.. something's brewing it feels like.
KABOOM.
Yeah, Sirius I think has hit a lot of people in his relatively short life. Good for him, dammit, dying at thirty-seven or whatever. Kaboom !
And after all that talk of Snape, I don't even deliver ! I suck. (Secretly I cut the parts with him and just made them another section entirely. SHHH !)
no subject
It's always a dark-haired boy from Ravenclaw, or a Slytherin prefect, or one of the million faceless brown-eyed Hufflepuffs.
Weird line to pull out, I know but I liked it.
blood is blood
And just yay. Can't wait for more.
no subject
no subject
no subject
I like Peter stories too, although I took some pretty cheap shots at him this chapter. I don't think he was anything like evil as a child, just syncophantic. Sigh.