Disclaimer: I do not own any Harry Potter characters or anything relating to Harry Potter
WE WERE YOUNGER THEN
God Lift Us Up Where We Belong
There is no time for Remus to pull on the invisibility cloak, no time for James and I to disillusion ourselves again.
"Well then, what do we have here? Students out of bed, students in the restricted section?" Filch stands there for a few moments, enjoying our shocked expressions. Glancing behind me, I see that James has had the presence of mind to slip the book back into the shelves.
"I really do wonder what a gang of second years like you would find interesting about the restricted section, don't you?" I stare at him, and for once, I am lost for words. We are really going to get it for this, I think,
"I'm sure the Headmaster would me interested to know that to, don't you think, Potter? Black?" James finally seems to have found his voice,
"The Headmaster?" his voice quavers, "Surely you only have to take us to Professor McGonagall?" Filch's grin broadens,
"Not that it's any of your business, Potter, but Professor McGonagall is not here tonight, and so the Headmaster will have to do. And besides, I am sure I can remind him of the seriousness of your being here at night and that you should face suspension at the very least-" I feel a rush of anger,
"Suspension?" I say indignantly, "It's not as if we were hurting anybody-"
"Shut your mouth, Black. All of you come with me!" he hustles us to the door, muttering darkly about students needing harsher forms of punishment. Throughout the journey to the headmaster's office, there is silence, each of us contemplating the consequences of our capture. I am so caught up in my thoughts that I step on Peter's heels as we come to a stop in front of a large and ugly stone gargoyle. For a moment, Filch looks at a loss, and I feel a sneer make its way across my face, but then the gargoyle hops aside, and Dumbledore emerges from a doorway that has appeared in the wall behind. He is dressed in a magnificent indigo dressing gown, and he raises his eyebrows as he looks down at us all. Filch smirks and says,
"Headmaster, I found these four in the restricted section of the library, sir, and since Professor McGonagall is away I thought it only fitting that you deal with them!" Dumbledore gives us a piercing stare and nods to Filch,
"Thankyou, Argus, I shall take them up to my office and er – deal – with them," with that he turns and gestures for us to follow him up the moving spiral staircase which has appeared in the opening behind him. Filch makes an outraged noise,
"But Headmaster! You must tell me, I can punish them you know, I mean, the number of times I've caught them breaking the rules-"
"I'm sure I can deal with it, Argus," said Dumbledore gravely. Stepping onto the moving staircase, we all rise up, to find ourselves at the doors to what must be, I think, Dumbledore's office.
~~~~~~~~
We are all standing in front of Dumbledore's desk, heedless of the room around us and only intent on the headmaster's face. We wait for him to speak,
"So, boys," he says, "What exactly were you doing in the restricted section of the library?" his face is unreadable, "Well?"
"Nothing, sir," says James weakly, "We were just interested in – er – learning some of the more advanced charms, that's all sir,"
"Yeah," I say, backing him up, "But we found they were too hard for us, you know-"
"All that difficult wand work," Remus puts in,
"Yeah," says James quickly, "So that's all we were really doing, and we're really sorry and all that-"
"And why may I ask, were you wanting to know advanced charms? Not thinking of performing some of the more dangerous ones on fellow students, I hope?" says Dumbledore, and this time I see a twinkle in his eye. I try to widen my eyes innocently,
"Oh of course not sir!" I say, more confident now, "Why ever would we do a thing like that?" Dumbledore raises an eyebrow, and Peter says quickly,
"A-are y-you g-going to expel us?" Dumbledore looks straight down his long nose at Peter and removes his half-moon spectacles.
"Not this time, boys, as it's your first offence. But I ought to remind you of the rule that forbids students to be out of bed at night, let alone in the restricted section without permission," he gives us a grave look, "And, if you were planning to try anything illegal, think again. School pranks are one thing, dangerous magic is another," we heave a collective sigh of relief and Dumbledore gives us a sudden grin,
"Now of to bed, though I don't suppose there's many hours of the night left," we all make for the door in a rush, and Dumbledore calls after us,
"Oh, and I'll leave it to Professor McGonagall to organize your detentions, shall I?"
~~~~~~~
After our latest escapade into the library, James and I feel that we should probably lay low for a while. It's nearly the end of year exams, anyway, I think, after that we'll have the whole holidays to research in peace…on the other hand, there are plenty of other things to do, such as tease James about one of the girls in our year, Lily Evans, who he has a quiet but quite obvious (to me anyway) crush on. It seems that I can get no end of pleasure from watching him squirm at the mention of her name. At breakfast, one blowy spring morning, Evans herself glides down from the dormitories and accidentally sits next to James at the Gryffindor table. I give a snort, and Remus chuckles into his orange juice. James glares at us and turns to Evans,
"Hey, Lily, how's things?" he says, grinning.
"Hello James," She smiles at him slightly and returns to her conversation with the girl next her. I give James a mocking thumbs-up and get up to leave for the common room. Before I can escape, McGonagall, having returned from her mysterious trip, corners me in the doorway, waving a piece of paper in my face,
"Thought you'd escape without detention, did you?" she says, thrusting the detention slip into my hands,
"Oh, no, of course not Professor, I just didn't know when you going to pounce. I mean, our little adventure was about a week ago-"
"None of your cheek, Black. I'll see you in detention!" with that she stalks back to the Gryffindor table, presumably to seek out the others. Sighing, I look down at the small piece of parchment. It reads:
To Mr Sirius Black, Gryffindor second year,
Your detention will be held tomorrow night at seven pm sharp. Yourself and Messieurs Potter, Lupin and Pettigrew will be meeting Mr Filch at the said time in the entrance hall, where he will escort you to Hagrid's hut to take part in an exhibition into the forbidden forest. Do not be late.
Minerva McGonagall – deputy headmistress
The forbidden forest? I think, this should be interesting, I continue into the entrance hall and up one of the many flights of stairs leading from it. As luck would have it, I come across Lucius Malfoy. Malfoy is a fifth year Slytherin prefect, and even I know better than to deliberately pick a fight with him. Lucius Malfoy is a tall blond boy with a grey eyes and a pale, pointed face. He is also very rich, almost as rich as me in fact. We should really be friends, with parents like ours, but we are not, and there is a reason.
"Hello Black," says Malfoy, "Finished associating with the mudbloods and squibs yet?" I don't answer him, because I know that whatever I say will anger him more. But he is not to be deterred.
"What, nothing to say? That's not like you. Maybe some of Pettigrew's shyness is rubbing off on you. Your parents would be ashamed, Black!" I glared at him,
"Like I'd care what my parents thought," I mutter,
"What was that?"
"Nothing," I say, because I do not feel like getting bashed by his cronies,
"You're not so talkative without your little friend Potter, are you Black? It's hard to believe you're related to someone as sophisticated as Bella…" he trails off, leaving a deliberate silence, and I feel a sneer form on my face at the sound of my cousin, Bellatrix Black's, name. I decide to give him my full opinion, I can always run away, I reason,
"Bella? Sophisticated? If you call cursing first years until they cry sophisticated, then yes, I suppose she is. What are you doing associating with a lowly Gryffindor fourth-year, anyway, Malfoy?" For once in his life, Malfoy is caught of balance. I know about his relationship with my cousin, and now he knows I know. His pale face turns an ugly scarlet, and he snarls at me,
"Bella is not supposed to be in Gryffindor. The sorting hat obviously made a mistake. She is a true Slytherin at heart!" I give him a mocking smile. It is quite funny; really, because he is right, Bellatrix should be in Slytherin, like most of our family and even I cannot fathom what the sorting hat was thinking when it put her in Gryffindor.
"You're not wrong there," I say with a grin, "How would a vicious little cow like her get into Gryffindor under normal circumstances?" I wince as I sense that I may have just gone a little too far. Malfoy's face is contorted in rage and he is striding towards me, his hands out in front of him. I try to duck out of the way, but he moves with lightning speed. Probably why he's such a good seeker for the Slytherin quiddich team, I think. Odd the thoughts one has when one is about to have one's head smashed in. There, he's nothing to James, though, He is finally on me, and is reaching out to grab the front of my robes. Lifting me into the air, he forces open a nearby classroom and pushes me against the wall. As if called by some telepathic message, Malfoy's friends Christopher Rael and Leonard Golding enter the room. Rael is big and beefy, full of muscles. Golding is tall and handsome, with dark hair and olive skin. I raise an eyebrow at them,
"What? Didn't Bella come to watch the fun? Or is she too busy-"
"Shut it, Black," snarled Malfoy, giving me a stinging blow to the cheek. The pain is excruciating. I clench my jaw and glare back up at him. Golding sneers at Malfoy,
"What's this, Lucius, beating up first years again?"
"No," grates Malfoy, "He's not a first year, he's a second year. And he's a disgrace to his pureblood name-"
"Come on Lucius, just leave it. It's not as if he can do anything to you," says Golding in a bored voice, "It's a Hogsmeade weekend, you know,"
"Yeah, Yeah," says Malfoy, "You go ahead, I haven't finished with him yet. Do you know what he called Bella?"
"No, but I can probably guess," says Golding dismissively, "I really don't know you see in that girl, Lucius, especially when she possesses such uncouth relations," he gives me a nasty sneer, "I'll see you in the entrance hall, Lucius," He leaves the room, and Rael looks as if he is going to follow, but a glare from Malfoy stays him. Malfoy is looking more livid then ever after Golding's remarks and he raises his fist again.
"You won't be able to do this for much longer, Malfoy," I remark before his fist descends, "I'm nearly as tall as you." By the time Malfoy and Rael are finished with me I have two black eyes, a swollen lip and a broken wrist.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I wander into the common room around lunchtime, and most people are out on the grounds enjoying the sun. I clutch my wrist, for the pain is horrendous. I really must be crazy. Only Remus and James are in the common room playing chess. James looks up from the game,
"Christ Sirius, you've got to stop provoking Malfoy! You've got some cool bruises though," he exclaims. I give him a weak grin,
"Provoking? I wouldn't call it provoking; it's more responding, if you know what I mean." Sometimes I really am pathetic. I've just been bashed up, and I'm trying to come across all cool to my friends. But then again, I think, I am cool, so what's the problem?
"Healing bones is more painful the longer you leave it, you know," says Remus, the voice of reason.
"Yeah, maybe you should go see Madam Pomfrey," adds James, peering at my broken wrist.
"Yeah, I know. But hey, how many times can you fall down the stairs in a week?"
"Is that what you tell her?" asks Remus accusingly,
"Well, yeah. What, do you expect me to tell her that I pick fights with Malfoy and he bashes me? Can you imagine what he's do to me?" I shudder comically, "It doesn't bear thinking about!"
"Why don't you just wait till you're bigger than him?" asks James, turning back to his game. Choosing not to dignify that with an answer, I drift back out of the common room and up to the hospital wing.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The next day in Herbology, my least favourite lesson, our teacher Professor Carlin is late, and the class begins to get rowdy. I am to blame for the excitable behaviour of our Gryffindor-Hufflepuff Herbology class. Seizing the perfect opportunity to throw a balloon full of Magnolia-worm pus at Maurice Tyler, a snotty Hufflepuff boy with an attitude problem, I have caused a sizable ruckus. He is yelling loudly and everyone is backing away from him as large purple boils appear all over his face. Standing in a corner, James and I stand and chuckle to ourselves. The smile is wiped of James' face as Lily Evans shoots us the death-glare and rushes over to help poor Tyler. I make a face at her back and James' smile returns. When Carlin, our nasty and slightly unstable old professor whom we have nick-named 'The Weed' finally arrives, the hubbub has subsided and sweet little Miss Evans has escorted Tyler-the-Turd up to the hospital wing. The Weed stalks into the greenhouse with a face like thunder. This may or may not mean anything: Professor Carlin always has a face like thunder. He is a thin, gnarled old bugger with sharp black eyes and hardly any hair. He stands at the front of the class, his stick-insect limbs giving him an awkward, permanently tense look. Glaring around at us, he pulls out the role and produces a quill from his dark-green robes. A nerve twitches in his eye,
"Right," he says waspishly, "I am not going to take any crap from you lot today-"
"Hey Sir," I shout gleefully, "Isn't there some rule against you swearing at us-"
"Black. Did you or did you not here what I said?" asks The Weed in a slightly hysterical voice. Thinking of my detention later tonight, I decide not to push him any further, and I simply nod my head. Carlin curls his wrinkled lip into a sneer and looks back to the role,
"Alright then. Miss Appleton is here, Black, is here – unfortunately – Mr Denkins…" He continues down the list of names until he reaches Evans. I give a smirk of anticipation. Carlin has obviously had a very stressful morning, and is getting steadily more red in the face.
"Miss Evans?" There is silence. Someone coughs.
"Miss Evans? Not here? I thought I saw her this morning! Skip class, will she? I'll have none of that-" Miss Evan's friend Lauretta Gordon, and several other people, pipe up,
"But Sir, she had to take Tyler-"
"She had to go with-"
"She was only helping-"
"Be quiet I say!" shouts The Weed, who is not in the mood to listen to reason,
"Oh, look," shouts a Hufflepuff girl, "There she is, coming across the cabbage patch!" By this time Miss Evans has burst in through the door and is apologising profusely to The Weed who is clearly in such a state that he is not taking in a word of it. I give fleeting thought as to why he is even more highly strung than usual.
"Professor," gasps Evans, "I had to take Maurice up to the hospital wing because-"
"What I have to put up with!" yells Carlin obliviously. I decide to lend a hand,
"Sir," I say in my best little suck-up voice, "Don't you think, that since Miss Evans is late, that she should-"
"Yes! You are late!" he practically screams at her, "You're twenty minutes late! I won't stand for tardiness, girl, so it's detention for you-"
"But sir," begins Evans, her eyes wide with shock, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean-"
"I don't care! Professor McGonagall's got detention with Black and the others to night, hasn't she? Well, you can join them, Miss Evans, and report to me-"
"No!" shouts Evans, and immediately looks appalled at herself for yelling at a teacher,
"I mean, can't I have detention with you professor?" She must be truly desperate to be asking for a detention with Professor Carlin. I really must be in her bad books, I think, you never can tell how much dislike you can generate in a class mate you hardly talk to.
"Absolutely not, Miss Evans," grates The Weed, trying to regain his composure, "Now, where was I?" He continues with the role, sitting down on his desk and wiping the sweat from his brow. Just as it looks like he has got himself together, he reaches the T's,
"Where the hell is Tyler?"
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
~Elbereth-Gilthoniel~