Authors Note: I don't really hate Snape! I swear! I think he is cool.
Trust me, I don't think he is evil at ALL. I might actually continue this
because it seems to be a one-shot cliffie. Odd. My muses must be on strike.
Yes, this story is ambigus and a bit confusing. Review anyways? Please?
Sirius sits in a bar, waiting. He idly draws his finger over the counter and thinks with some amusement that this place would fail his mothers white glove test so badly she would probably consider poisoning the owner. His mother hates filth. The sad part was, she considers muggle- borns, part-humans, homosexuals, blacks, and anyone else who wasn't a rich white pureblood wizard filth worse than actual dirt. Even though she was a women, she did not believe in the feminist cause. She is far too passive agressive to be doing something in the open, the boy thinks lazily. He considers himself a man, or at least nearly so, but he is a boy. The fuzz on his chin resembles that on a baby's head, and the ideas in his own are half-formed at best. Except for one. Loyalty. Like the dog that is his alter ego, he devotes himself to people. If he likes them. If he does not, he finds them to be worthless oxygen wasting sacks of blood and bones.
Remus sits on the opposite end of that bar, thinking of what had possessed him to come here. Sirius, that must be it. The other boy could be awfully convincing. That is what leads people to believe that he or James are the head fo the Mauraders. Not so, the werewolf laughs. Not so at all. The others obey him. He doesn't really like it. It makes him feel uncomfortable, knowing if one of his friends is doing something he enjoys and Remus tells him to stop that the other will. Fortunately or unfortunately, they didn't obey him on all fronts. He tried to get them to stop with the potion that would turn them into animagi, but it did not work. They went on anyways and he blessed them for it. He wasn't sure if he approved of the way they treated Snape. Or at least, that's what he tried to tell himself. In truth, he loved it whenever Snape was tormented. The bastard deserved it.
Fourteen seats away, Sirius shifts his disguise a bit, trying to figure out where Remus was. Was he the bartender? No, the boy chided himself, you're being silly! Remus might be the man in the corner, sipping a glass of some red liquid Sirius would never have the courage to try. The man turned his face to look at some incoming customers and Sirius knew he had found his friend. Remus always did have an odd sense of humor. There was a tattoo of a howling wolf on the man's shoulder and a waning moon a few inches above his breastbone. The chilling thing was the scar. It was long and ugly-looking and Sirius knew it to be in the same place Remus was injured in their first year at Hogwarts. He decides that all it took was some aging potion for his voice, some fake tattoo spells, the sticky Zonko's mask and an enhancing spell and Remus looked like a thirty-year old biker. The enhancing spell was for the thin line of a scar that would always be on his friends face.
Scowling, the biker adjusted his leather. God, this place was infested. Normally he and the barkeep were the only ones in this place. He could count five people. Five! In his bar. Any more people come in and there will be hell to pay. There was a kid that couldn't have been more than thirteen, a woman in the corner who was quite drunk. That wasn't too bad, she would be easy to pick up. The bartender was new to him. He focused on that kid too much. Frankly, it pissed Alan off. He drew out his wand and performed a summoning spell. The barkeep's eyes widened in surprise but the only thing he said was "Do you need anything?"
Sirius sits in a bar, waiting. He idly draws his finger over the counter and thinks with some amusement that this place would fail his mothers white glove test so badly she would probably consider poisoning the owner. His mother hates filth. The sad part was, she considers muggle- borns, part-humans, homosexuals, blacks, and anyone else who wasn't a rich white pureblood wizard filth worse than actual dirt. Even though she was a women, she did not believe in the feminist cause. She is far too passive agressive to be doing something in the open, the boy thinks lazily. He considers himself a man, or at least nearly so, but he is a boy. The fuzz on his chin resembles that on a baby's head, and the ideas in his own are half-formed at best. Except for one. Loyalty. Like the dog that is his alter ego, he devotes himself to people. If he likes them. If he does not, he finds them to be worthless oxygen wasting sacks of blood and bones.
Remus sits on the opposite end of that bar, thinking of what had possessed him to come here. Sirius, that must be it. The other boy could be awfully convincing. That is what leads people to believe that he or James are the head fo the Mauraders. Not so, the werewolf laughs. Not so at all. The others obey him. He doesn't really like it. It makes him feel uncomfortable, knowing if one of his friends is doing something he enjoys and Remus tells him to stop that the other will. Fortunately or unfortunately, they didn't obey him on all fronts. He tried to get them to stop with the potion that would turn them into animagi, but it did not work. They went on anyways and he blessed them for it. He wasn't sure if he approved of the way they treated Snape. Or at least, that's what he tried to tell himself. In truth, he loved it whenever Snape was tormented. The bastard deserved it.
Fourteen seats away, Sirius shifts his disguise a bit, trying to figure out where Remus was. Was he the bartender? No, the boy chided himself, you're being silly! Remus might be the man in the corner, sipping a glass of some red liquid Sirius would never have the courage to try. The man turned his face to look at some incoming customers and Sirius knew he had found his friend. Remus always did have an odd sense of humor. There was a tattoo of a howling wolf on the man's shoulder and a waning moon a few inches above his breastbone. The chilling thing was the scar. It was long and ugly-looking and Sirius knew it to be in the same place Remus was injured in their first year at Hogwarts. He decides that all it took was some aging potion for his voice, some fake tattoo spells, the sticky Zonko's mask and an enhancing spell and Remus looked like a thirty-year old biker. The enhancing spell was for the thin line of a scar that would always be on his friends face.
Scowling, the biker adjusted his leather. God, this place was infested. Normally he and the barkeep were the only ones in this place. He could count five people. Five! In his bar. Any more people come in and there will be hell to pay. There was a kid that couldn't have been more than thirteen, a woman in the corner who was quite drunk. That wasn't too bad, she would be easy to pick up. The bartender was new to him. He focused on that kid too much. Frankly, it pissed Alan off. He drew out his wand and performed a summoning spell. The barkeep's eyes widened in surprise but the only thing he said was "Do you need anything?"