Author: Ker
Rating: we'll say PG 13 for now; it may or may not change
Disclaimer: If I were richer than the Queen of England...I probably wouldn't be here right now. O:-)
A/N: This is going to seem a little far fetched at first, but stick with it – it'll be well worth the write. Obviously AU; but its technically possible. For your benefit, I'd like to include this excerpt from The Order of The Phoenix:
SIRIUS – Black as He's Painted?Notorious Mass Murderer OR Innocent Singing Sensation?
Harry had to read this sentence several times before he was convinced that he had not misunderstood it. Since when had Sirius been a singing sensation?
"For fourteen years Sirius Black has been believed guilty of the mass murder of twelve innocent Muggles and one wizard. Black's audacious escape from Azkaban two years ago has led to the widest manhunt ever conducted by the Ministry of Magic. None of us has ever question that he deserves to be recaptured and handed back to the dementors.
BUT DOES HE??Startling new evidence has recently come in to light that Sirius Black may not have committed the crimes for which he was sent to Azkaban. In fact, says Doris Purkiss, of 18 Acanthia Way, Little Norton, Black may not even have been present at the killings.
'What people don't realize is that Sirius Black is a false name,' says Mrs. Purkiss. 'The man people believe to be Sirius Black is actually Stubby Boardman, lead singer of the popular singing group The Hobgoblins, who retired from public life after being struck in the ear by a turnip at a concert in Little Norton Church Hall nearly fifteen years ago. I recognized him the moment I saw his picture in the paper. Now, Stubby couldn't possibly have committed those crimes, because on the day in question he happened to be enjoying a romantic candlelit dinner with me. I have written to the Minister of Magic and am expecting him to give Stubby, alias Sirius, a full pardon any day now.' (pages 191 – 192)
By the way, I honestly have no idea about the actual town of Little Norton, so I apologize if I am offending anyone with my characterization of it. It's just what works for the story.
So without further ado, welcome to......
The Legend of Stubby BoardmanThe town of Little Norton, Great Britain, doesn't have much to offer, especially when you compare it with other famous English city stops. It had no Big Ben, no Kingsbridge Cathedral; just a quaint old town center with one main street running, cute little shops along its sides. It was the kind of place where everyone knew you, and you knew everyone – and everything about them. It was a comfortable lifestyle, and though there was the occasional youngster that couldn't wait to get out, for the most part, the village was composed of later generations of families that had lived there for decades.
But the population of Little Norton did have one thing that they were unashamedly proud of, and that was their stories. It was well known throughout Great Britain that no one could tell a better story, could captivate their audience more, than a native of Little Norton. Among these stories was the favorite of the young crowds at bars, the legend of Stubby Boardman. And no one told it better than ten-year-resident Mrs. Perkiss of Acanthia Way, as she sat on her blue-painted porch, knitting away.
"Fifteen years ago," she began one day, pausing to make eye contact with all of her audience. "Fifteen years ago, the about-to-be-married couple of Jenna and Richard Pontims ran into a bit of a crisis. On the very morning of their wedding day, the band they had booked called to say that, regrettably, they wouldn't be able to play – apparently the lead guitar player had come down with a sudden stomach virus. Well, Jenna here nearly had a heart attack," she grinned at Jenna with a playful gleam in her eyes; they were longtime friends. "Lord knows, she couldn't get married without music. She and Ricky tore the town apart, looking for musicians. Eventually they came up with a few kids – actually quite talented ones, with the guitar and the drums. But they were still lacking what they needed most: a lead singer. Jenna was beginning to think there was no way out of it...but do you know what happened then?"
"What?"
"A lone car pulled up by the town gazebo – a rental, judging by the plate and by the way the driver could hardly keep control of it. Out stepped a man – and oh, what a man. He was at once a girls dream come true, and a man's worst nightmare. He was one of those types that were just rugged handsome: dark, longish hair, a muscular build...
"But what was more was his eyes. They weren't anything particularly unique in color – just a chocolate brown – but the depth of them, the way they pulled you in...and yet, their emptiness. It was in his voice, too, as if the man had just lost his best friend...
"Desperately, Jenna and Ricky ran up to him asking if he could sing. It was a moment before the man realized they were even there, but only another moment before he responded, his deep voice enthralling yet devoid of emotion.
"'I guess so, why do you ask?' I think just about all of the girls nearly fainted right then and there, me included. And that, my friends, was our introduction to Stubby Boardman.
"They spoke for a few minutes, and then Stubby was ushered off to go meet Tom and Danny, the guys he would be playing with. I don't know how they managed to do it, but by eight o'clock they had put together a whole collection of songs. And when they took the stage, when Sir- Stubby came out, he was a changed man, I tell you. His eyes were suddenly full of life, his stance strong and proud. It was as if, just for an hour or two, he had been able to just forget about the world, about whatever things were going wrong in his life.
"They played mostly rock, you know – after all, they were twenty-year-old guys. But what made them famous was one song in particular. It wasn't slow, but it wasn't fast. I never caught the actual name or band, but the music was just hypnotizing. I can still hear them now..." She would begin humming the tune, then eventually break into song, sometimes conducting along with her the old members of the crowd. They still remembered it too; who there that night couldn't?
I need a sign, to let me know you're hereAll of these lines are being crossed over the atmosphere
I need to know, when things are gonna look up
Cuz I feel us drowning in a sea spilled from a cup
And there is no place safe and no safe place to put my head
When you can feel the world shake from the words I said
And I'm, calling all angels
And I'm calling all you angels
I won't give up, if you won't give up....
And here Mrs. Perkiss would falter a little in her words. If you looked closely, you could see tears glistening in her eyes...but that was all a part of telling a good story,
right?
But they – her audience – didn't know the half of it.
"Needless to say, they were fantastic. Danny on the guitar, Tom on the drums, and Stubby, singing away as if it were all he had left in this world to hold on to. By the end of the night, girls were fawning all over them, and they had even come up with a name for themselves: the Hobgoblins. Don't ask. And the newly formed Hobgoblins found themselves suddenly swamped with business offers – everyone wanted them, whether it was to play at a wedding, or a bat-mitsvah, or an extravagant birthday party. They were the new "it", and their future was looking bright.
"But then the next day, the news began to spread: Stubby Boardman, the Stubby who had bedazzled us, who more than just a few of us had crushes on already, was gone. No one had seen where he had gone to after the party, and Danny and Tom were just as stumped as the rest of us. His car was still there- if it had ever been his in the first place. But he...
"Stubby Boardman had vanished that night without a trace left behind...as if it was by magic."
Applause.
Later that Night
Doris Perkiss flicked off the light in the kitchen, thinking of nothing but a warm, cozy bed. It had been a cold spring so far, feeling more like the season was evolving into winter than into summer; she shivered involuntarily. She turned into the den, footsteps padding along softly, and smiled at what she say: her almost-fifteen-year-old daughter sprawled out on the couch, snoring through the eleven o'clock news. 'Poor dear has been working too hard,' she thought. It was beyond her how much kids were expected to do these days...
She was just about to gently wake Caragh up and escort her to her room, when something on the news caught her attention. Something about someone who she had
never expected to hear about again...something that made her freeze in her step.
A few hours later, you may have been slightly scared by Doris' new position. You could only draw one conclusion: either she was an avid believer in ghost stories and was determined to prove the existence of witches...or she was one herself.
She sat in her attic, surrounded by upturned boxes with labels utterly foreign to the rest of the town of Little Norton: "Quidditch Paraphernalia", or "Auror Training". More dramatically, around her were the objects generally associated with a witch: a cauldron, a broomstick, robes, a pointy hat, what looked like spellbooks....and in her hand was a scratched stick of mahogany wood that looked like it badly needed a polishing: a wand.
"What have I done?" she wondered aloud to the empty rafters and dusty boxes. "What have I done?" Her thoughts were tumultuous and jumbled, and the replay her mind kept on showing of the news story wasn't exactly helping matters.
"And for our final segment tonight," it had said, "we go back in time to 2002, two years ago. Do you remember this guy?"
There he was.
"The summer before last, he was publicized as a dangerous criminal escaped from prison. Well, no need to worry any further: reports of the death of this man, Sirius Black, have been announced. More details to be given tomorrow at five; until then, good night!"
The death...
Of Sirius Black....
It couldn't be.
That afternoon, she hadn't exactly finished her story. Oh no, not by a long shot. She knew where Stubby had gone after the party...and she knew why he had left. She knew where he had been for the past fifteen years. And why no one in Little Norton had heard of him since.
Sighing, Doris let herself slip fifteen years back into the past, shivering as the memories came over her: memories of a former world, memories of a former life.
Lyrics are from Train, Calling All Angels (I know it's a little weird, but...well so is Sirius singing! Lol...the lyrics will make more sense later)
REVIEW MUCH APPRECIATED!!!!!!!!!! The next chapter will be posted according to the number of review received. Thanks so much in advance!
Ker