HP Drabble Series # 21
I discovered the joys of drabbling recently and decided to put them up here for posterity.
Disclaimer: Harry Potter and associated shenanigans are the undisputed property of Warner Bros., JKR and any number of other legal people involved with the whole kit 'n' kaboodle. These stories are non-profit making and are written for fun. No infringement...blah blah blah.
#21 – Prompt: Summer. Word count 296
"It's not funny, Peter."
Sirius Black scowled at his three friends who were all doing their hardest not to laugh. Peter was failing spectacularly: silent tears of mirth were rolling unchecked down his pudgy cheeks. Even Remus, normally the most sober and serious of them all was sniggering slightly. Growing increasingly irritated with them, Sirius folded his arms across his chest.
"OK, Sirius. You're right." James' voice was kind, comforting. Perhaps even a shade condescending. "It's not funny."
"Thank you."
There was an appropriate cinematic pause for effect.
"It's bloody hilarious!"
James' utterance set them off again and they doubled up in hysterics. Without another word, Sirius spun on his heel and marched out of the dormitory, down the stairs, through the Gryffindor common room and barged his way past a rather surprised Fat Lady.
"I say, do mind who you're slamming open, won't you, Master Black?" She sniffed haughtily at him. She was evidently about to say something else when she stopped and peered through her canvas at him.
"Did you forget to wash this morning?"
Sirius paused in his exodus, but didn't turn around to the portrait. Instead, he spoke in a low, threatening monotone.
"When I want your opinion," he said, dangerously, "I'll bloody well ask for it."
With that slicing epitaph, he stormed off down the corridor, leaving the Fat Lady caught somewhere in between righteous indignation at his words and giggling slightly to herself.
"Ah, the youth of today," she commented fondly to her neighbour portrait, who looked up from her bubbling cauldron and nodded emphatically.
Sirius' rage had dissipated somewhat by the time he reached the Great Hall and his shoulders relaxed visibly.
This would be ABSOLUTELY the last time he attempted to grow a moustache during the summer holidays.