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[A/N: *stares at her statistics*
17 on author alert and 28 on favorite authors? *shines up* I feel
appreciated! (for once in my life) *hugs everyone* I hope
you like this... it's weird, even for coming from me.
The idea for this came to me when I was at the Harry Potter
convention in Västerås the 2nd of June. Some of the stuff in
this story happened to me. Death to all sewing machines who goes
out of their way to piss you off.]
THE SEWING MACHINE
FROM HELL
Muttering curses under his breath he sat
down in front of it again.
A sewing machine.
He glared at the robes. They needed to be
patched back together, it was as simple as that.
Ever since he had resigned from Hogwarts he
had been forced to go back to his old habit of going through the
full moons without the wolfsbane. This meant that he had to lock
himself in somewhere alone where he couldn't hurt anyone –
not only because the thought of close he had been to attacking
Snape (for the second time), Sirius and even students that one
time still haunted him, but because the Ministry would have him
promptly put to death.
But being locked up alone as a wolf meant
that he bit himself again. So his only choice to attempt to spare
his clothes would be trying to hide them in the room (he couldn't
exactly go to there naked). That was of course fruitless. The
wolf always found them and took out its frustration on them for a
while, before going back to biting himself.
Remus sighed deeply and started to put in
the threads.
He hated muggle inventions. They were far
too complicated for anyone's good and took too long time to do
what they were supposed to do. Of course he didn't know any
sewing spell, he cursed himself for that when he desperately
tried to get the thread into the eye of the needle.
He missed. He missed again. And again. And
again.
And again.
Now the thread started to split up in the
end. There was no way it would go through the needle now. Under
silence he reached for the pair of scissors (which he always kept
within reach when sewing) and cut of the end.
He tried again.
And missed. And missed again.
Remus groaned and wet the end of the tread
in his mouth, while glaring at the sewing machine.
He tried again, and missed.
After another three tries he succeeded.
Suppressing the urge to jump up and scream out of pure joy to
finally have got it right (after all, the Potions teacher had not
appreciated it in his 5th year, since she had tripped over a
student (James Potter) that time – and the neighbors
probably wouldn't like it either. They weren't too found of him
as it was and if they heard him cheer they would probably think
that the werewolf had done some advanced Dark Magic or similar.)
Remus couldn't say he was too found of the thought of a mob, so
he settled for a victorious smile.
Click.
Darkness. Remus groaned. The little lamp
had just given in.
He was starting to get the feeling that the
machine didn't really care what its job was and that he wanted it
to do it.
Since the machine itself showed that it
worked he ignored the lamp. He didn't need it, he could work
without it. Right? Right.
Now to the thread that went under the whole
thing. He didn't know what it was called, nor did he care. There
was the over thread and the under thread. If those were not the
right terms for them, who would bother to correct him anyway?
Bitterly he took notice to the fact that he
was out of under thread. He had to fix that.
Remus glared at the machine and the robes
while he re-did he whole work of getting the over thread through
the labyrinth of possible placed to be hooked on to.
Scrumw.
Scrumw!
SCRUMW!!
Remus stared at the evil machine in
disbelief. It had stopped. It refused to do its work.
While carefully pulling out the robes he
noticed that it was the under thread that had behaved in an odd
fashion. It had somehow curled up, in no order at all, and made a
big mess on the inside of the robes.
Silently he wondered if the machine had
something against him. Maybe it didn't like werewolves. Maybe it
didn't like teachers. Maybe it didn't like men. Maybe it had just
simply decided to hate anyone who had a job for it to do.
He didn't know which.
All he knew was that it didn't like him.
He supposed that he should have taken it as
a sign when he had dropped the sewing machine an his toes (he
could have sworn that, while howling in pain, he had broken at
least two toes too for that matter) that the machine didn't like
him. No. It didn't dislike him. It hated him. Thoroughly. With
all that made it a sewing machine. He was sure of it as he fought
to get rid of the mess of threads. He even had a feeling that it
was laughing at him.
After finally getting the mess of threads
cleared out and removed he decided that he was only imagining
that the machine hated him.
It was a machine after all. It didn't have
feelings. Period.
Scrumw! Scrumw!!
He let out a long line of curses (which he
was glad that no kids were around to hear) and removed the robes
again to redo the work he had just finished not even half a
minute before.
came the voice. What's
wrong?
No, no kids, just Sirius. Sirius had
finally grown up, even if it had been in the harshest of ways.
Azkaban had not done him good in any way and Remus wished the
old, immature mischief-maker back.
he replied in a forced
calm voice.
Pause. The sewing machine seemed to be
grinning at him.
Should I leave for a while?
Yes, please, Remus said, not
wanting to snap at his friend.
Okay, I'll be back later then,
Sirius said and left, turning into a dog as soon as he had closed
the front door behind him.
Scrumw! said the sewing machine in a
mocking tone.
Remus glared at it. He was sure that it
did, in fact, hate him. Maybe he should go out and get Sirius to
help him? Maybe it preferred escaped prisoners from Azkaban to
teachers. Maybe Sirius would be able to...no. Sirius didn't know
a thing about sewing machines. There was no use to even let him
try.
He let out a relieved sigh. He had finally
been able to get rid of the mess of threads from the robes.
Looking carefully from the sewing machine to the robes he
carefully placed them under the needle.
Please work, he begged the
machine.
The sewing machine did not response.
Remus hoped that that meant that it agreed
to behave, just for long enough to let him finish patching his
robes back together. Deep down inside he knew he was too
optimistic.
To his surprise it didn't say anything
close to the awful noise it had done before. It actually sew...It
was behaving! He quickly finished sewing on the patch, and
removed the robes from the sewing machine's needle.
Without a sound the patch slowly fell to
the ground, landing softly by his feet.
Remus frowned. But it had gone so well...He
glanced at the machine. Obviously begging wouldn't get him
anywhere, as the under thread had decided not to work with him.
And now he noticed that when he had pulled out the robes the over
thread had left the needle. Wincing he picked up the patch and
sat down in front of the sewing machine again.
It hated him. It really did hate him. He
wasn't being paranoid, it did in fact despise him.
After trying to get the thread back into
the eye of the needle for a good while (and cut the thread three
times) he finally reached for his wand, mumbled 'lumos' and
used a piece of string to die it up against the sewing machine,
hoping that it was just because it was dark it didn't work.
He was wrong.
It took another minute before he finally
succeeded. Before continuing he carefully went through it all
again. What could go wrong? The threads were in place, the robes
weren't too thick for the machine to handle...no, everything
seemed alright. Carefully he placed the robes under the needle
again.
Scruwm!
Remus leaned his head back and let out a
crying howl.
The sewing machine from hell had taken
another victim.