Enjoy. The concept belongs to JK Rowling. This story belongs to me.
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It's very hard to put down a book that has got you gripped since the morning. It's very difficult when the story can stop you from concentrating in class until midday, and the book has been on your lap, and you pretend to be concentrating, when actually you're reading. Which is miraculous for who I am. Really, usually I don't even read.
But in this case.
It's impossible to put a book down when it's the first book you ever read. And it makes it even more impossible to believe, that I'm Sirius Black. And as a matter-of-fact, I'm very 'Sirius' in reading!
In a matter of seconds, the book vanishes underneath my robe when Slughorn says: "Ho, Sirius." (He likes to call his students that, for some reason.) "You are – ho – concentrating today, I am very happy for you, ho."
Of course, I was flattered. It's not frequent someone is happy for a 'ho'. "Why thank you, sir." I felt very flattered so I put a pinch of newt's tail into the pot and produced a cloud of black smoke. "Voila!" I presented, hoping to impress the teacher.
For a while, Slughorn remained in his place. Then his eyes bulged and he began to yell: "Get out! Get out!! HO!!!! GET OUT, KIDS!!!! IT'S RELEASING A POISONOUS GAS!! GOOD WORK SIRIUS, YOU GET AN A+!!!!"
"Alright!" I celebrated before Prongs pulled me out the door.
Aren't I so smart?
So I say it out loud and I immediately hear a snort and a gurgle. Peter, of course, was gurgling because he had been intoxicated.
"Oh my, Peter! You have contracted a disease that may change your germ patterns to make you even more intolerable to lactose and lupine." I express with a wave of my wand."
"No he hasn't!" Moony shoved him, and being a 'lupine', caused Peter to collapse backwards on the floor. Moony treaded over him, just before Peter threw up over his feet.
"Moony… you better clean that, or you might contract the illness, too."
"And how will I, suddenly-even-more-egotistic-boy?" Moony challenged.
Well, it was simple really. Peter's vomit was corroding his socks. I opened my mouth to explain but Moony butt in.
"You know, you should stop calling me Moony. Your accent sometimes makes it sound like 'mooning'."
That was the first dumb thing I had said since I read the book. How could I possibly call Moony, Moony? That's it… I'm calling the Marauder's by their real names from now on… so.
Remus doesn't believe me, but I think I may have truly found a passion that doesn't involve me, food, or my lovely canine hind legs. It could be, I will be as nerdy as Remus, as perhaps even become as responsible as him. So, because I don't want any of them to know I read, I told them that I was very interested in rocket science and anthropology. This inevitably scared Prongs that he gave me his maple syrup for breakfast today. As he moped and ate his plain pancakes, I was enjoying an inspirational, and perhaps educational and intelligent, talk with Remus. In fact, I will bring you into the conversation. Yes, without my big book in sight, of course.
"So, Remus."
(Surprised I called him by his proper, smart name.) "Ah yes, Sirius? Oh… you might want to remove that squarish bulge under your robes. Is that a book?"
"What large squarish book-like bulge under my robes? Is it true hypochondriatic pancreatic plasma sequential burnout is possibly related to the aerodynamics of a smallest dimension plane, due to its creator being affected by such viral and violent disease and hence, we have lived to soar the blue, blue skies on the most functional aligned vehicle?"
"Pardon?"
"Oh Remus!" (Flattered, of course.) "Let me start again!" (Very happy to!) "Hypochondriatic pancreatic plasma sequential burnout is possibly related to the aerodynamics of a smallest dimens-"
"Sirius, that makes perfectly no sense."
"Oh…"
Potter-boy laughed while shaking his head. He stole one of my cookies but I snatched it back. I gasped when chocolate chip bits spilt on the table and into my goblet. "What have you been reading?" Potter-boy asked from across me, his finger mushing the pieces of chocolate onto the table.
I shrug, but I was taken aback and protective of my daily meat, so I bit the cookie. "Nothing." I spat, chocolate bits flying into Potter-boy (yes, that is Prong's real name in my brain – he shouldn't be called James. James. It sounds too prince-y for him. Why couldn't mother call me James?)'s face. He took his glasses off to wipe them.
"Precisely." Remus said boredly. "You have read absolutely nothing in your sixteen years alive." With that, he stabbed his muffin with his fork and began eating it ravenously. Yes. As if I had just started the smartest conversation and he had no idea how to continue it.
I smile victory. I'm even happier when I realise no one still knows I read. Oh, and how do I do it?
Simple.
It's not a 'every morning', it's not a 'every time', it's more of a super-hero costume change. Except it's like Superman becoming Clark Kent again. You see, I, the coolest Sirius person ever, become the nerdish and least recognisable man in Hogwarts. And I can say how I do it in a single sentence:
I read with glasses.
Please review. Hmm… should I continue this:O