'And he wasnae hurt? At all?'
'I told you he fell into the lake, Professor McGonagall. Nothing severe happened. Gave me quite a shock, though. I don't think I am going to do this awful job much longer.'
'Rubbish! I am sure you're a wonderful teacher. Ye merely need tae realize that students can be a wee bit... careless when it comes tae flying. Less than what we might be used tae, that is. My daughter is just the same. She -'
'Really, Professor, I cannot imagine what might have happened if Potter hadn't stopped his fall.'
'There, there. Dinnae blame yerself for a mere accident. And - will ye nae start calling me Minerva any time soon?'
'I am serious. I don't think I am going to continue.'
'Rolanda Hooch!' said Professor McGonagall sharply, 'There is a reason why the Headmaster hired you, and I am inclined to trust him in such vaguely important matters. He is rarely wrong. Do you doubt Albus Dumbledore's ability of choosing his members of staff?'
Sirius withdrew quickly as both teachers approached the door of the staff room, leaving the room in a swift walk, and headed in the opposite direction. Good thing he had heard Potter boast about his latest adventure. He knew exactly what those two had been talking about. He knew the story in detail.
Sirius did not like James Potter. He might be intelligent, yes, and he was, in fact, the only person whose presence Sirius did not mind so much, the reason being that they could start a pointless discussion about the good- or evilness of Slytherin house at any given time - and that those discussions were, frankly, fun. But that did not change the fact that James was an arrogant, careless little brat, suffering from obviously misguided education. As much as he enjoyed their bickering, this could not be tolerated.
Sirius stopped in the middle of a deserted corridor and considered his last thought very carefully. Yes, he made out, he did enjoy their bickering. It was intellectually challenging. Very surprisingly, although he was a Gryffindor and the most arrogant bastard Sirius had ever seen, James Potter took on his challenge and would not allow him to step a certain line, however hard he tried to provoke him. And Sirius found that he liked - that he admired this attitude.
Still, this truth had no influence on the situation that he, Sirius, had accidentally been placed in the wrong house, and it did not mean, of course, that he was beginning to mix with blood traitors... or halfbloods, for that matter. Sirius remembered Remus Lupin and only narrowly managed to suppress a smile. Another surprise. The second one this afternoon. A justified one, though. For a change.
Remus Lupin was... he tried to think of another term but could not find one... a sweetheart. How could anyone be like that? Always friendly and everything... blasted Lupin was an angel. Provoking him was art, not skill, and involved a lot more than just a few random comments on the stupidity of Gryffindor house. Very unlike other people's reactions. Totally unlike Ja- Potter. Totally. Unlike. Potter.
And yet, there was a certain amount of familiarity arising among them, Sirius had to admit as he was turning around a corner into a corridor that, apparently, led somewhere near the entrance to the Ravenclaw common room. He was not stupid. If even he was tempted to make a friendly remark every now and then, whenever Potter, Lupin or, in fact, Peter Pettigrew was around, then there was something seriously fishy in the state of Denmark. Some things were not taking their usual course. And yet, Sirius felt he had enormous difficulties putting his finger on the exact point where he had stopped hating -
'Mr. Black, a word, if you please!'
Sirius found himself addressed by his Head of House, who was hurrying down the corridor to meet and talk to him.
'Yes, Professor McGonagall?'
'I have bin looking for you, Mr. Black,' she said, panting slightly. 'All over the place. Why are ye nae in the Gryffindor commonroom with the others?'
'I felt I needed some privacy,' replied Sirius with just a dash of contempt in his voice, curiously watching the content of Professor McGonagall's spidery hands. 'Essays?'
'Grade sheets,' she said smilingly. 'For the first half of term. Here ye go. I should have given them to you during our last Transfiguration lesson, but I seem tae have forgotten. I am sorry for the delay.'
Sirius took his grade sheet and grinned. 'Not to worry, Professor,' he said, 'I don't - what?! No way! How come I only get seventy-eight percent in Potions? I've finished the last in-class assignment with a hundred and five.'
McGonagall smiled faintly. 'Nobody is perfect, Mr. Black. Perhaps you oughta try and bear your grades in mind next time ye interrupt a class with your unmistakable laughter, hm? Professor Jones seemed particularly... annoyed aboot that.'
Sirius scowled. McGonagall turned and walked away, and had she not been the competent teacher she was, Sirius might actually have been tempted to hate her at this specific moment. But he realised, grinning slightly at this discovery, that Professor McGonagall was someone you could not dislike - not for long at least.
He continued his walk through the corridor with some more thoughts on his mind, still rather inclined to brood over his dissatisfying Potions achievements, although he knew, of course, that this grade, if any, was highly justified considering his behaviour in class during the last months. He realised that the cold of the dungeons numbed his brain. Impaired his senses on a highly disturbing level. If this did not change soon, he resolved, Potions would most definitely turn into his least favourite subject. Well - except for History of Magic, perhaps, but even Professor Binns, an elderly wizard with no apparent clue of where he was and what he was teaching, had given him full marks for every single essay he had written during the last three months. The lessons in themselves might be boring, but the man certainly knew how to grade properly - as opposed to others. Sirius scowled again and decided to mess up his next potion on purpose. If he added Hippogriff quills instead of porcupine ones to a Sulphuric Solution for skin diseases and caused the cauldron to explode, the dungeons would be covered in thick yellowish smoke for at least half a day. Come to think of it - making a fellow student's cauldron explode was probably the wiser thing to do. Then again, Sirius noticed, taking himself by surprise, doing annoying things in Potions was not half as entertaining as doing them in, say, Transfiguration, where it was much more challenging not to get caught. All in all, this was a huge disadvantage you always faced when causing mayhem in classes: you were almost certainly caught, unless you managed to put the blame on another student. And that was not at all as easy as it seemed to be. First of all, the person in question had to be incredibly thick -
Sirius's stream of thoughts was once again interrupted by a person approaching him from the other end of the corridor. This time, however, it was not a teacher. Nor was it, in any way, a person Sirius thought worthy of attention. A student, from one of the higher years. Sixth form, possibly, perhaps not quite. He knew her. And she knew him. Sadly.
'H-hey there.'
Sirius looked up and his eyes met those of Balbina Cuncytaw.
'Hey, Sirius,' she said as pleasantly as ever. 'Strolling about the c-castle? Or looking for a specific c-classroom?'
'Seeking privacy from my brainless classmates,' he replied loftily. 'I find the corridors to be most useful in terms of leisure time walks.'
'Oh, you're not the only one,' smiled the girl. 'I've seen another one of your c-classmates c-come this way a few minutes ago. He seemed d-deeply absorbed in some sort of b-book.'
'Who?' requested Sirius, well aware that his voice was assuming a rather impatient tone.
'I d-don't know his name,' said Balbina shruggingly, taking a small wisp of her startlingly blonde hair and braiding it pensively. 'A small, b-black-haired one. The one always sitting in some c-corner, reading - or c-crying, for that matter.'
Sirius frowned. 'Three guesses,' he thought derisively. 'Why of all people...'
'Anyway, Sirius,' Balbina continued, not noticing the expression his face was assuming, 'I'll see you around. Nice t-talking to you.'
Sirius nodded. When Balbina vanished round the corner again he considered for a moment before choosing a left-hand corridor instead of proceeding on his way as planned. He had no intention to come across Severus Snape, especially not being in his present, atypically considerate mood. He found it hard to believe that the greasy-haired Slytherin was actually reading, though. Absorbed in a book, as Balbina had chosen to put it. Snape was an idiot. Everyone knew that. Even the second- and third-years had noticed the small, gawky Slytherin sit around in all sorts of unusual places, at any time of the day. At the back of the library, for instance. Leaned against one or the other bookshelf. Or behind one of the giant pumpkins that had been set up in the Great Hall during the Halloween festivities. Sirius actually remembered people telling him that Snape had been crying all day about some idiotic matter... he tried to remember what it was... his birthday, perhaps? Or simply homesickness again? He failed to recall the details.
'Ha,' he said, hearing his voice echo from the walls and the steely classroom doors in the corridors that were so strangely deserted on a Friday afternoon. 'No wonder he hasn't got any friends. He's always either reading or crying. Good one, Balbina. How pathetic can it be to walk through the corridors at this time of the day when he could be sitting in the commonroom, playing chess or talking with classmates? We've got enough Slytherins in our year, after all.'
He grinned and turned around another corner, realizing with surprise which part of the castle he had now reached.
'Go Hogwarts,' he thought. 'Who would have expected that corridor to lead directly to the entrance doors of the hospital wing?' And he made a mental note. Just in case.