Title: Cursing the Darkness. (2/10)
Author: Antidisestablishmentarianist / Kitty-kitty
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter - he's the property of Ms. J.K. Rowling, Warner Bros, Scholastic, Bloomsbury and Raincoat books.
Author Notes: I'm actually writing this the same night as chapter one. Hush, it's fun. It's a pity I don't have a floppy disk or there'd be no chance of me getting caught using this thing at 12:45AM. Que Sera, sera, you can't have everything.
Bloody Irish Pessimists: Severus Snape
July 17th 1976
Murphy's law: Things can always get worse. Bloody pessimistic Irish bloke. Where does he get off making my life hell? Well, Irish or no, he's right. I
barely slept last night, I have all my homework for the holidays ahead of
me and... just my luck... somehow my household has managed to procure a
Marauder. (Is there any way to write a sneer? If so, there should be a
sneer in there) Dear god, someone call an exterminator!
I'd drifted off at two (head down in a book... did I mention I've got a
page of my Potions workbook printed across the side of my cheek?) at my
desk but awoke at three to the sound of my mother's voice.
"Shhh, try not to wake him. Here," there was a soft scuffle and the door swung open. I kept my head down on the book but cracked one eye open - but all I could see was a slightly towering figure silhoutted against the door.
"Goodnight, dear," whispered mum, and the door was shut once more. The figure stopped in mid step, sighed, and dumped what must have been a duvet
on the floor. Without further debate, he flopped down on it and pulled it
over him.
There wasn't another sound.
I waited for a few tense minutes for the mystery person's breathing to slow
enough that he couldn't be faking sleep, shut the book and replaced it on the shelf (I admit that I'm a pack rat, but I'm also a neat one.) I did try
to sleep, but only napped in stops and starts. My trepidation at this new
arrival was too strong to relax (... I swear, that idiot of a Divination
teacher gives me far less credit than I deserve.)
There were noises of distress in the small hours of the morning. Whimpers,
in a male voice, and small thumps of tossing and turning on the floor.
Doubtless, if I wasn't so alert I wouldn't have heard them - they were
obviously smothered and concealed but I've always had that useless little
talent of finding things I'm not meant to know.
Bleary from lack of sleep, I stumbled down the stairs at nine. There were
some neatly folded blankets in a pile on the floor and a bag with a wand
poking out from under the lid. Our mystery guest was a tidy one (and
obviously, much to my previous guesses, not the fourth year Regulus
Black... that boy is about as tidy as a sea turtle on heat. Believe me,
that's not tidy.)
Father was already at work (I thanked my lucky stars) and the WWN was
turned up high in the kitchen ("... and, of course, the lovely Celestina
Warbeck will be releasing that new single next week. Look out for it in
good music shops in Diagon Alley, Hogsmeade and Belfast.") which heralded
my mother's awakening.
I don't know why, but I wasn't prepared for the shock I met in the kitchen.
Sirius Black turned around, hair tied back and a bowl of oozing yellow goo in hand with a sort of sheepish look on his face. He waved with the soiled whisk and sent tiny yellow spatters all over the kitchen. "Uhm... how d'you
like your pancakes?" he asked after the few seconds stunned silence.
I realized with mounting horror that my mother had a huge smile on her face. "Good morning, dear! I don't know if you know Sirius - he lives with
Mary Potter - her son's sick and she's staying with him at St. Mungo's so
Sirius will be staying here for a little while. Isn't that lovely?"
"Yes..." I said, feeling ill. "Lovely."
I shot a venomous look at Black behind her back and was pleased to find
that he looked just as disconcerted as I did. Without his friends, he
wasn't half the Gryffindor idiot... rest assured his stay will not be a
pleasant one.
Author: Antidisestablishmentarianist / Kitty-kitty
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter - he's the property of Ms. J.K. Rowling, Warner Bros, Scholastic, Bloomsbury and Raincoat books.
Author Notes: I'm actually writing this the same night as chapter one. Hush, it's fun. It's a pity I don't have a floppy disk or there'd be no chance of me getting caught using this thing at 12:45AM. Que Sera, sera, you can't have everything.
Bloody Irish Pessimists: Severus Snape
July 17th 1976
Murphy's law: Things can always get worse. Bloody pessimistic Irish bloke. Where does he get off making my life hell? Well, Irish or no, he's right. I
barely slept last night, I have all my homework for the holidays ahead of
me and... just my luck... somehow my household has managed to procure a
Marauder. (Is there any way to write a sneer? If so, there should be a
sneer in there) Dear god, someone call an exterminator!
I'd drifted off at two (head down in a book... did I mention I've got a
page of my Potions workbook printed across the side of my cheek?) at my
desk but awoke at three to the sound of my mother's voice.
"Shhh, try not to wake him. Here," there was a soft scuffle and the door swung open. I kept my head down on the book but cracked one eye open - but all I could see was a slightly towering figure silhoutted against the door.
"Goodnight, dear," whispered mum, and the door was shut once more. The figure stopped in mid step, sighed, and dumped what must have been a duvet
on the floor. Without further debate, he flopped down on it and pulled it
over him.
There wasn't another sound.
I waited for a few tense minutes for the mystery person's breathing to slow
enough that he couldn't be faking sleep, shut the book and replaced it on the shelf (I admit that I'm a pack rat, but I'm also a neat one.) I did try
to sleep, but only napped in stops and starts. My trepidation at this new
arrival was too strong to relax (... I swear, that idiot of a Divination
teacher gives me far less credit than I deserve.)
There were noises of distress in the small hours of the morning. Whimpers,
in a male voice, and small thumps of tossing and turning on the floor.
Doubtless, if I wasn't so alert I wouldn't have heard them - they were
obviously smothered and concealed but I've always had that useless little
talent of finding things I'm not meant to know.
Bleary from lack of sleep, I stumbled down the stairs at nine. There were
some neatly folded blankets in a pile on the floor and a bag with a wand
poking out from under the lid. Our mystery guest was a tidy one (and
obviously, much to my previous guesses, not the fourth year Regulus
Black... that boy is about as tidy as a sea turtle on heat. Believe me,
that's not tidy.)
Father was already at work (I thanked my lucky stars) and the WWN was
turned up high in the kitchen ("... and, of course, the lovely Celestina
Warbeck will be releasing that new single next week. Look out for it in
good music shops in Diagon Alley, Hogsmeade and Belfast.") which heralded
my mother's awakening.
I don't know why, but I wasn't prepared for the shock I met in the kitchen.
Sirius Black turned around, hair tied back and a bowl of oozing yellow goo in hand with a sort of sheepish look on his face. He waved with the soiled whisk and sent tiny yellow spatters all over the kitchen. "Uhm... how d'you
like your pancakes?" he asked after the few seconds stunned silence.
I realized with mounting horror that my mother had a huge smile on her face. "Good morning, dear! I don't know if you know Sirius - he lives with
Mary Potter - her son's sick and she's staying with him at St. Mungo's so
Sirius will be staying here for a little while. Isn't that lovely?"
"Yes..." I said, feeling ill. "Lovely."
I shot a venomous look at Black behind her back and was pleased to find
that he looked just as disconcerted as I did. Without his friends, he
wasn't half the Gryffindor idiot... rest assured his stay will not be a
pleasant one.