Disclaimer: I do not own any of these characters (aside from the officer,
just for plot purposes). However, I'll put my two cents in that the idea
was pretty much mine.
I'd been flying down Bugsby, which is a road going through the muggle town of Greenwich. Well, more accurately, I'd been /driving/ down the highway. When you're a wizard, you've got to clarify things like 'flying' and 'driving fast'. Flying's a muggle term for speedy driving, or going a bit over the limit.
Or in my case, going a lot over the limit.
Ask nearly any upstanding witch or wizard in the magical world (aside from Arther Weasley) what a motorcycle is, and they'll stare at you like you're an escapee from St. Mungo's.
I bought my cycle from a second-hand muggle dealer during the summer of my sixth year. I guess you could say I was on a bit of a rebellion. I had moved out my parents' place and in with the Potters. They'd fixed up a bedroom and everything, with curtains and wallpaper and an adjoining bath. When I arrived there, it looked like they'd been expecting me for a long time. James must have kept them fairly filled in about what happened at my place.
That aside, I'll go back to my bike.
James and I had both chipped in to buy the thing from a crazy old man at an antique shop. It wasn't in good condition, - its tires were flat and the handlebars rusted - but nothing a bit of elbow grease couldn't fix. Well, elbow grease and a wand.
James's house didn't have a garage, so we kept the bike in the garden shed (no one ever went out there anyway), while we fixed it up. Before long, the bike was sporting a shade of fire-imp red, with polished silver handlebars and black grips. The tires had been replaced as well. For James, we named her 'The Flower'. I guess it was the closest thing he ever got to a ride from Lily back then.
It was my weekend with the bike when the Bugsby incident occurred. James and I had previously enchanted the engine to rev from 0 to 200 in a second or so. (This was quite slow considering what we could have done.) I'd been cruising along at a comfortable rate of say, oh, about 100 mph (as Americans would put it, for it was an American bike), zipping past some elderly folks in their barge-like, roll-worthy Cadillac's.
You might want to take note that I was on the ground when I was doing this. (Obviously. Cadillac's have the tendency to obey the muggle laws of gravity.) We had bewitched the baby to fly, but I decidedly live a bit dangerously. When you're on the ground, you feel all the turbulent bumps and jolts that you just can't feel when you're gliding (soundlessly) through the air. Our bike was nothing like those tawdry muggle airplanes.
I'd been going at this rate, weaving my way through the late night traffic, for about a quarter of an hour when I heard the sound of sirens, and eventually saw the flashing of lights. The driver, who was a short and stocky man with balding brown hair, demanded that I pull over.
When he exited the car his face was red with fury and he began to sputter something along the lines of, "Hooligan! Do you realize you were going at /least/ 40 miles over the limit? You could have been killed! You could have killed someone! It's lucky there are people like /me/ who lock up criminals like /you/! Let me smell your breath! Have you been drinking?"
The interrogation continued, although he left me no time to respond between his inquiries. After his initial furious investigation, he gathered his wits enough to ask for my license. So muggles had licenses too? I had the gut feeling that my lack of one might cause a problem.
I was unfortunately right on that matter.
With a sinking heart, I watched my beautiful Flower shrink from view through caged windows. (I was in the back of a police car, which was quite a new experience. It made me sorely wish I had taken the liberty to get an apparition license, as the car smelled sourly of body odor and doughnuts.) I had the nerve to ask where my bike would be going, which only provoked another angry rant from the officer.
"You won't need your bike where you're going! Driving under the influence, I bet! There's no use for a bike when you're rotting in jail!"
The 'jail' cell turned out to be a make shift room with three regular walls and one made of bars. The officer's desk faced the barred wall, and he examined and cross-examined my profile from his swivel, leather-backed desk chair for what seemed like hours. Finally, he stood up and stretched his arms up towards the ceiling. The patches of sweat under his arms had grown from the intense study he had done of me (there was no air conditioning, and certainly no cooling spells in the 'jail').
I was feeling sticky and tired, as though the muggy air had drained me of my energy. I glanced up through my black bangs and smiled devilishly at the officer.
He scowled at me with such intensity that I quickly wiped the smug look off of my face.
"You get one call." He said with a blustery puff of his chest.
What use could any wizard have with a telephone call? James certainly didn't have a phone, and neither did Peter nor Remus. Lily probably had a phone, I reasoned, but a fat load of good that did me when I had never asked about the number.
"Could I have an owl instead?" I haggled.
The officer looked at me as though I had just sprouted three extra heads. "What the bloody hell could you do with an owl?"
"Well, to be technical, an owl, a piece of parchment, and a quill, my good man." I reclined against the wall and shot him a whimsical leer.
This nearly sent the officer off his rocker. "Who the hell do you think you are? Being smart with the law isn't a very smart thing to do!"
His resemblance to Cornelius Fudge nearly made my sides split. I collapsed onto the cot helplessly in laughter as the officer began fussing about respecting the authority of the law.
"Oh /Silencio/ for Godric's sake!"
James appeared behind the officer with his wand cocked and his jaw clenched. I could see the officer's eyes bug out, and he grabbed at his throat with fingers that resembled sausages. He was obviously trying to cry out for help, but his voice had completely disappeared. I was personally glad, as he could no longer harass me without it.
As James was stepping toward me with a grave face, the officer latched onto his arm and sputtered something silently. James immediately yelled, "Stupify!" which rendered the officer unconscious. I noticed that James seemed particularly annoyed as he stepped over the body and peered into my cell.
"Godric Sirius, you're thick." He scolded with mock severity. James's brows were furrowed and his demeanor serious, aside from the familiar laughing and mischievous glint in his eye.
I sat up and cocked an inquisitive eyebrow. "How'd you find me?"
"You're just bloody lucky I put a tracking charm on the bike. It followed you here." James snickered and crossed his arms over his chest.
I knew this ploy of his very well, and promptly inquired on a light note, "So did my hand read, 'in prison'?"
I could see James's façade immediately collapse. He laughed, "Yes. That too."
We were talking about the great grandfather clock that resided in the Potter's sitting room. If you can recall a description of the Weasley's, you would find that the Potter's was very much similar. Long before I had moved in, James had prompted his parents to add a hand for me. Hagrid's description of us behaving 'like brothers' went much further than he gave it credit for.
"Well get me out of here, for Christ's sake!" I swear I could have counted James's teeth, his smile was so broad.
"Now, you wouldn't have to ask me that if you had your wand." He wagged his finger at me, and jokingly pulled my wand (which I had left on the kitchen table that morning) out of his pocket.
I groaned, "Oh come on. Just let me out!"
James laughed and prodded the officer with his foot. "Tubby here says I shouldn't."
I stood up and made a grab for my wand through the bars. "Very funny," I sniggered.
James just bellowed for a moment, clutching at his sides. He wiped his eyes and wheezed, "Alohomora."
The lock clicked and the door swung open. I sauntered out and promptly snatched my wand. I performed a quick memory alteration on the officer (just in case the guy wanted to make a record on me, based on a description of my beautiful features) and glanced at James. He snorted and threw his arm around me, leading me to the door.
Outside, The Flower was parked unharmed. James climbed on, and I followed suit. Before we took off (James always preferred flying) James adjusted his glasses and peered at me, smiling crookedly.
"Well what?" I exclaimed, annoyed at the superior know-it-all looks he was giving me.
"Oh nothing," He snorted. "I was just thinking that prison uniforms really aren't your color, Sirius."
Before I had a chance to respond, he had revved up the engine and we were soaring high into the clouds.
Author's Note: I'd be simply pleased as peaches if you reviewed. I know there's got to be mistakes in here somewhere, but if you could casually overlook them (unless they're massive), and give me a well-rounded review, I'd be forever in your debt. Constructive criticism is best, as I always say!
I'd been flying down Bugsby, which is a road going through the muggle town of Greenwich. Well, more accurately, I'd been /driving/ down the highway. When you're a wizard, you've got to clarify things like 'flying' and 'driving fast'. Flying's a muggle term for speedy driving, or going a bit over the limit.
Or in my case, going a lot over the limit.
Ask nearly any upstanding witch or wizard in the magical world (aside from Arther Weasley) what a motorcycle is, and they'll stare at you like you're an escapee from St. Mungo's.
I bought my cycle from a second-hand muggle dealer during the summer of my sixth year. I guess you could say I was on a bit of a rebellion. I had moved out my parents' place and in with the Potters. They'd fixed up a bedroom and everything, with curtains and wallpaper and an adjoining bath. When I arrived there, it looked like they'd been expecting me for a long time. James must have kept them fairly filled in about what happened at my place.
That aside, I'll go back to my bike.
James and I had both chipped in to buy the thing from a crazy old man at an antique shop. It wasn't in good condition, - its tires were flat and the handlebars rusted - but nothing a bit of elbow grease couldn't fix. Well, elbow grease and a wand.
James's house didn't have a garage, so we kept the bike in the garden shed (no one ever went out there anyway), while we fixed it up. Before long, the bike was sporting a shade of fire-imp red, with polished silver handlebars and black grips. The tires had been replaced as well. For James, we named her 'The Flower'. I guess it was the closest thing he ever got to a ride from Lily back then.
It was my weekend with the bike when the Bugsby incident occurred. James and I had previously enchanted the engine to rev from 0 to 200 in a second or so. (This was quite slow considering what we could have done.) I'd been cruising along at a comfortable rate of say, oh, about 100 mph (as Americans would put it, for it was an American bike), zipping past some elderly folks in their barge-like, roll-worthy Cadillac's.
You might want to take note that I was on the ground when I was doing this. (Obviously. Cadillac's have the tendency to obey the muggle laws of gravity.) We had bewitched the baby to fly, but I decidedly live a bit dangerously. When you're on the ground, you feel all the turbulent bumps and jolts that you just can't feel when you're gliding (soundlessly) through the air. Our bike was nothing like those tawdry muggle airplanes.
I'd been going at this rate, weaving my way through the late night traffic, for about a quarter of an hour when I heard the sound of sirens, and eventually saw the flashing of lights. The driver, who was a short and stocky man with balding brown hair, demanded that I pull over.
When he exited the car his face was red with fury and he began to sputter something along the lines of, "Hooligan! Do you realize you were going at /least/ 40 miles over the limit? You could have been killed! You could have killed someone! It's lucky there are people like /me/ who lock up criminals like /you/! Let me smell your breath! Have you been drinking?"
The interrogation continued, although he left me no time to respond between his inquiries. After his initial furious investigation, he gathered his wits enough to ask for my license. So muggles had licenses too? I had the gut feeling that my lack of one might cause a problem.
I was unfortunately right on that matter.
With a sinking heart, I watched my beautiful Flower shrink from view through caged windows. (I was in the back of a police car, which was quite a new experience. It made me sorely wish I had taken the liberty to get an apparition license, as the car smelled sourly of body odor and doughnuts.) I had the nerve to ask where my bike would be going, which only provoked another angry rant from the officer.
"You won't need your bike where you're going! Driving under the influence, I bet! There's no use for a bike when you're rotting in jail!"
The 'jail' cell turned out to be a make shift room with three regular walls and one made of bars. The officer's desk faced the barred wall, and he examined and cross-examined my profile from his swivel, leather-backed desk chair for what seemed like hours. Finally, he stood up and stretched his arms up towards the ceiling. The patches of sweat under his arms had grown from the intense study he had done of me (there was no air conditioning, and certainly no cooling spells in the 'jail').
I was feeling sticky and tired, as though the muggy air had drained me of my energy. I glanced up through my black bangs and smiled devilishly at the officer.
He scowled at me with such intensity that I quickly wiped the smug look off of my face.
"You get one call." He said with a blustery puff of his chest.
What use could any wizard have with a telephone call? James certainly didn't have a phone, and neither did Peter nor Remus. Lily probably had a phone, I reasoned, but a fat load of good that did me when I had never asked about the number.
"Could I have an owl instead?" I haggled.
The officer looked at me as though I had just sprouted three extra heads. "What the bloody hell could you do with an owl?"
"Well, to be technical, an owl, a piece of parchment, and a quill, my good man." I reclined against the wall and shot him a whimsical leer.
This nearly sent the officer off his rocker. "Who the hell do you think you are? Being smart with the law isn't a very smart thing to do!"
His resemblance to Cornelius Fudge nearly made my sides split. I collapsed onto the cot helplessly in laughter as the officer began fussing about respecting the authority of the law.
"Oh /Silencio/ for Godric's sake!"
James appeared behind the officer with his wand cocked and his jaw clenched. I could see the officer's eyes bug out, and he grabbed at his throat with fingers that resembled sausages. He was obviously trying to cry out for help, but his voice had completely disappeared. I was personally glad, as he could no longer harass me without it.
As James was stepping toward me with a grave face, the officer latched onto his arm and sputtered something silently. James immediately yelled, "Stupify!" which rendered the officer unconscious. I noticed that James seemed particularly annoyed as he stepped over the body and peered into my cell.
"Godric Sirius, you're thick." He scolded with mock severity. James's brows were furrowed and his demeanor serious, aside from the familiar laughing and mischievous glint in his eye.
I sat up and cocked an inquisitive eyebrow. "How'd you find me?"
"You're just bloody lucky I put a tracking charm on the bike. It followed you here." James snickered and crossed his arms over his chest.
I knew this ploy of his very well, and promptly inquired on a light note, "So did my hand read, 'in prison'?"
I could see James's façade immediately collapse. He laughed, "Yes. That too."
We were talking about the great grandfather clock that resided in the Potter's sitting room. If you can recall a description of the Weasley's, you would find that the Potter's was very much similar. Long before I had moved in, James had prompted his parents to add a hand for me. Hagrid's description of us behaving 'like brothers' went much further than he gave it credit for.
"Well get me out of here, for Christ's sake!" I swear I could have counted James's teeth, his smile was so broad.
"Now, you wouldn't have to ask me that if you had your wand." He wagged his finger at me, and jokingly pulled my wand (which I had left on the kitchen table that morning) out of his pocket.
I groaned, "Oh come on. Just let me out!"
James laughed and prodded the officer with his foot. "Tubby here says I shouldn't."
I stood up and made a grab for my wand through the bars. "Very funny," I sniggered.
James just bellowed for a moment, clutching at his sides. He wiped his eyes and wheezed, "Alohomora."
The lock clicked and the door swung open. I sauntered out and promptly snatched my wand. I performed a quick memory alteration on the officer (just in case the guy wanted to make a record on me, based on a description of my beautiful features) and glanced at James. He snorted and threw his arm around me, leading me to the door.
Outside, The Flower was parked unharmed. James climbed on, and I followed suit. Before we took off (James always preferred flying) James adjusted his glasses and peered at me, smiling crookedly.
"Well what?" I exclaimed, annoyed at the superior know-it-all looks he was giving me.
"Oh nothing," He snorted. "I was just thinking that prison uniforms really aren't your color, Sirius."
Before I had a chance to respond, he had revved up the engine and we were soaring high into the clouds.
Author's Note: I'd be simply pleased as peaches if you reviewed. I know there's got to be mistakes in here somewhere, but if you could casually overlook them (unless they're massive), and give me a well-rounded review, I'd be forever in your debt. Constructive criticism is best, as I always say!