Knit or Die

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So I've taken up knitting. I thought it would be a fitting hobby to suit my new low-key lifestyle. In the afternoons Frank and I do our homework in two cosy armchairs by the common room fire. If we finish early, Frank whips up two steaming hot chocolates and we play a few rounds of wizard's chess. Frank usually wins because I haven't got a clue how to play the sodding game. I thought chess was the same as checkers, just with more elaborate pieces. According to Frank the Fascist, it's not. I keep yelling at him to stop doing 'illegal moves' to make it seem like I know what on earth's going on.

Sometimes Frank and I might have a cuddle afterwards. His hugs are firm but snug and his scent tastes of lemon drops, just like my Aunt Hildegarde. In fact, the similarities between Frank and Aunt Hildegarde may be the reason I offer a friendly cheek when he attempts to kiss me. At nine thirty without fail we head off to our respective beds. Sometimes ten but that's pushing it.

I'm not going to lie. Adjusting to the predictability of this routine had me dangling on the brink of sanity for a while there. The first few games of wizard chess ended in me violently bashing the knights to the state of rubble. Frank tried to explain that the pieces destroy each other without my help. I don't see why they should have all the fun. I should also confess to spiking the hot chocolates with a touch of fire whiskey every now and again. It makes chess far more interesting. Plus, it's much easier to beat Frank when he's thoroughly legless and passed out under the table.

I've improved though. Only on occasion do my fingers twitch with the urge to lob the whole board into the fireplace. I'm learning to control that. I'm learning to be mature. And maybe this is the fire whisky talking, but I'm learning to enjoy all this. I like knowing that when Frank's not with me he's doing something unforgivably boring, like monitoring the First Year wizard card club. I like having a drastically diminished detention schedule. I like laughing at the stupid things Frank has caught students doing on prefect duty.

Most of all, I like being distracted. I only ever think of Sirius when Frank isn't around. The trouble is, all the thoughts I've been distracted from aren't pushed out of my mind, they're only shuffled to the back of it. They build up there so that when I'm alone the dam of distraction breaks and I'm flooded all at once with pounding thoughts of him. Where is he, if he's with Alice, what they're talking about, what they're not talking about. When Frank's not around, it's vital for my sanity to keep busy.

And so the next best thing to Frank is knitting. I'm utterly hopeless at it, but the more frustrating it is the better. I keep misplacing my balls of wool, so I have to carry on with the hideous colours I nicked from McGonagall's private wool stash. Originally my multicoloured creation was suppose to be a scarf, then it mutated into a blanket, now it resembles something like a poncho with too many head holes.

Lily said it looked like an ogre had barfed up a rainbow but I don't care what that witch says because I love it like a mother loves her unfortunate looking child. Unconditionally. But I can't find the monster blob of wool anywhere. I need to overdose on distraction right now because he's sitting on the couch opposite me. Well, not really sitting. He's oozing over the couch, lying on his stomach with his hand skimming the ground. He's staring lazily into the fire, his eyes dipped in the light from the flames. You'd need a giant spatula to get him off that couch.

"WHERE'S MY KNITTING?!"

The common room remains unperturbed by my angry voice. I'll personally strip the room bare (excluding Sirius because I don't think that'll help with the distracting) to find my deformed wool baby. Now he's watching me with a taunting gaze. I feel that if I don't find my knitting right now I'll explode under the pressure of his eyes.

In a matter of seconds I send flying cushions, the contents of bags, and a particularly nimble First Year. I throw the book Remus' reading in the fire to demonstrate the intensity of my frustration. The room remains unperturbed by my vandalizing. You'd think they expect it of me. I've only done it once before, when I lost my lucky bobby pin. In the middle of the mess he hasn't flinched a muscle. The only place left to look is under his couch.

"Sirius, can you please move for a moment, I need to find my knitting," I say with such composure no one would dare suggest that I was the girl that just molested the common room. Sirius hauls himself onto his back, sinking comfortably into the deep crease of the couch. He yawns so widely I could fit my fist in his mouth. I'm tempted to do just that. He slithers a hand beneath his shirt and scratches his stomach, emphasising his position of supreme comfort. Charming.

"What? You mean that ratty piece of crap you've been slaving over like some homely old wench? One of the house elves probably threw it away. Don't worry, you won't have freed them, that rag could hardly be mistaken for clothing."

With a flick of my wand the couch lurches back, sending Sirius rolling across the room. Looks like I didn't need a giant spatula after all. I kick the cushions about with a searching foot.

"No, it's not here. Must be in my room." With that I retreat up the winding staircase to the girls dorm.

I only said I'm learning to be mature. Like my homework, I obviously haven't quite got the hang of it yet. It's much easier when you've got someone around to do it for you.