Disclaimer: Am I lucky enough to own any of these characters? No,
J.K.Rowling gets all the luck.
A/N: The title for this chapter is from a movie called The Man Who Came to Dinner, about a guy who came to dinner and slipped on the front steps and broke his leg as he was leaving. So when he finally healed enough to leave, he slipped on the steps again and rebroke his leg. This is probably not what I'm going to do with the story, but I figured the title was appropriate. I noticed that all of my ellipses are showing up as periods, and I think I fixed the problem, but even if I didn't you can probably figure out which one's which. By the way, if anyone knows how to get italic and bold lettering to show up in stories, TELL ME! Having to use the little asterisks drives me crazy.
The Dog Who Came to Dinner
Any amateur stargazers in Little Whinging that evening would have been astonished to see what appeared to be an extremely old and drunken broomstick careening through the skies. On closer inspection, however, it would have revealed itself to be simply an extremely old broomstick with a drunken rider.
This was scant comfort to Remus Lupin as he clung to the broomstick. In fact, Remus's state of mind could at this moment best be described as "miserable." He had failed in all his attempts to save the world from the horrors shortly to be unleashed upon it. Also, fast broomstick rides made him sick.
[Hang on, Remus,] he told himself sternly. [Yes, Sirius is apparently planning to visit his godson while drunk. And yes, he may get both of us killed by Harry's psychotic Muggle relatives. But other than that, there's really nothing to worry about.]
Somehow, this didn't help.
The broomstick screeched to a halt directly above the bushes along Number 4 Privet Drive's front walk. "Thish the right houshe?" Sirius muttered, peering down at it. "Yup." Abruptly, they dropped the last five feet and crashed into the bushes, which turned out to be a little pricklier than Remus would have liked.
As he tried to disentangle himself from the evil shrub, Remus was horrified to see Sirius emerging from the branches and staggering up the walk toward the door. He fought harder and earned himself a few more rips in his clothing.
It looked as if Sirius was having difficulty finding the doorbell. He poked at various bricks and door panels until he found it, apparently by trial and error. Remus had almost got free when a skinny, horse-faced woman opened the door, staring at Sirius suspiciously.
"Good evening, madam," Sirius slurred, extending his left hand to shake. "You musht be Mrsh. Durshley. I'm Harry'sh godfather and I'm here to shee him, if I may." Mrs. Dursley looked as if she was about to scream, but looked toward the dining room and changed her mind.
"Don't you dare come near this house!" she hissed in a venomous whisper, starting to close the door as Remus tore himself away from the bushes and dashed over.
"I'm so sorry he disturbed you, ma'am," Remus panted, starting to drag an unwilling Sirius away from the door. Before he could get him down the steps, a booming voice rang out behind him, freezing him in his tracks.
"Who's this, Petunia?" roared the enormous woman filling the doorway. "Traveling salesmen?"
"N-no, Marge, they just have the wrong house-"
Over Mrs. Dursley's feeble protests, she stumped over and seized Remus's arm. "They look half starved," she boomed heartily, giving him a good- natured shake that made his teeth rattle. "Better get some meat on these bones, eh?" Then she headed back inside with Remus and Sirius in tow.
Remus's only thought was to get out of the house before something terrible happened. Since this didn't seem likely at the moment, he decided to shoot for keeping Sirius quiet. Such a task was never easy, but it would be near impossible with Sirius drunk.
As Marge, whoever she was, dragged them into the dining room, Mrs. Dursley fluttered over to a large, beefy man (presumably Mr. Dursley) and whispered hysterically in his ear. He gave Remus a look of pure hatred that would have curdled his marrow if Sirius hadn't already done that several times that afternoon.
[Act normal, act normal, pretend you're not scared out of your wits,] Remus told himself firmly. At this point, he noticed Harry, who was sitting across the table from him and looking stunned. "What are you doing here?!" Harry mouthed at Remus.
This was a good question. But before he could start thinking about the answer, Marge shoved him into a chair and pushed it in, knocking the wind out of him. Sirius was forced into a chair next to him. "Well, you shee, I really can't shtay very long," Sirius started. "Becaushe I'm really here to-"
"Talk with me about drills!" Mr. Dursley bellowed quickly, drowning out the rest of his sentence. Sirius looked surprised.
"But I thought-" Remus gave him a vicious kick under the table and he shut up. Harry was now staring from Sirius to Remus to Mr. Dursley with a look that said, "Why can't I ever just have a normal life like everyone else?" Remus understood perfectly, having had this feeling every time he had ever gone anywhere with Sirius.
"Why don't you introduce your little friends, Vernon?" boomed Marge, pouring what was obviously her third or fourth glass of wine. Remus kicked Sirius hard to keep him silent, but he had already started.
"I'm Shi-"
"-dney Brown," Remus finished, cutting him off before he could reveal his true identity. [If we get home alive, Sirius, I will personally kill you.] "And I'm Remus Lupin. Pleased to meet you, Miss, um, Miss..." He trailed off uncertainly.
"Marjorie Dursley," she said jovially. "Call me Marge, everyone does." She abruptly turned on Harry. "Well, boy?" she demanded sharply. "Why aren't you serving the gentlemen their supper? Go get some more plates!"
Remus was starting to feel nervous. The last thing he wanted was Sirius staying here long enough to let something slip. "Oh, no, we couldn't possibly," he explained. "You see, we have to get back home before...um..." [Before we're murdered by Harry's uncle and aunt? Before the Ministry of Magic catches us? Before I go insane and murder Sirius myself?] None of these sounded like good excuses to give at the moment.
"Nonsense, you must stay for supper. Isn't that right, Petunia?" Mrs. Dursley looked as though she had just been asked to agree that Harry was a wonderful child. Marge paid no attention to her silence and continued.
"This is my wonderful nephew, Dudley. Dudders, these nice men are here to talk to Daddy about drills." For the first time, Remus noticed the fattest boy he'd ever seen sitting next to Harry. Dudley looked bored out of his skull, but managed to give his aunt a sappy, sickly smile.
[Oh my gosh,] Remus suddenly realized. [I know absolutely nothing about drills. Guess I'll just have to bluff my way through. But how am I going to keep Sirius quiet?]
"Boy!" Marge roared suddenly. "I told you to get these men some supper. Get your rear in gear!" Harry jumped, surprised, and headed toward the kitchen. Marge turned back to Sirius and Remus. "Would you like some wine?" she asked, hiccupping slightly as she held out the bottle for their inspection.
Aghast at the prospect of Sirius having more liquor, Remus tried to hide it before he caught sight of it. "I think we'd better not," he told Marge. "Low tolerance." [For idiots who get themselves drunk making cake...]
"Low toleranshe? Nonshenshe," Sirius proclaimed indignantly. "Give me shome of that." He made a grab for the wine and luckily missed, tipping over Remus's water glass instead. Remus suddenly wanted to bang his head very hard against the nearest wall. Of course, he would happily settle for doing the same to Sirius.
Marge laughed. "Don't worry about the water, Mr. Brown. You!" she barked at Harry, who was returning from the kitchen with food. "Clean up this mess!" Harry unceremoniously banged Remus's plate down in front of him and did likewise for Sirius. Remus distinctly saw him roll his eyes as he went to fetch the paper towels.
The Dursleys, with the exception of Marge, had barely said a word since Sirius and Remus had entered the house. Now Mr. Dursley cleared his throat uncomfortably and spoke.
"So, uh, Remus, how's the drill business going?" Remus tried to think of something intelligent to say and failed miserably.
"Um, well, there are some good...uh...drill bits coming out these days, I hear," he hedged, silently grateful that he knew at least that much about Muggle power tools and that Sirius was now quietly playing with his green beans instead of making trouble. Meanwhile, he stealthily snatched the wine bottle and uncorked it under the table. Then he looked around for a convenient receptacle.
As Mr. Dursley started on some lecture about the increasing quality of Grunnings's products, Remus spotted a potted plant behind him and to his left. Nonchalantly, he transferred the bottle to his left hand and swung his arm over the back of the chair. Ignoring the incredulous looks he was getting from Dudley, he carefully took aim and tipped the bottle. He felt sympathy for the poor fern, which would most likely never get over this watering, but at least the rest of them were out of danger for the present.
"Where's your car, Mr. Brown?" Marge asked suddenly. "I didn't see it when I went outside." [Don't say anything, Sirius, keep building your green bean cabin,] Remus begged.
"It's parked down the street," he lied quickly before Sirius could tell her they'd arrived by broomstick and it was parked in the bushes. He felt he was getting into the swing of this conversation and was about to compliment Mrs. Dursley on the tough, stringy pot roast when a loud scratching sound issued from outside the front door, followed by a loud bark.
Marge jumped up at once and ran to the door. "Aw, is my wittle Wipper weady to come in now?" She returned carrying an enormous, fierce-looking dog, presumably Ripper, worrying a large stick. "Has Wipper been pwaying fetch with himself? Oh, what a cwever dog!"
As Marge sat down cradling Ripper, Remus got a better look at the stick the dog had. Smooth but dull wood, emblazoned with swirling golden script: Twiggy 300. He went rigid with shock, staring at the remains of the broomstick that had served him more or less adequately for the last twenty- odd years.
Terrible, frightening thoughts flashed through his mind in rapid succession. A half-forgotten memory of someone down in the village by the woods, telling him it was 13.65 kilometers to Surrey. [No way can I drag Sirius 13.65 kilometers...] Followed closely by a vision of the Dursley house reduced to a pile of smoldering woodchips, a victim of Sirius's borderline pyromaniac tendencies. There would undoubtedly have been still more horrific images if Remus's reverie had not been interrupted by a more immediate problem.
Sirius was growling at Ripper.
A/N: As you can see, neither Sirius nor Remus broke his leg in the course of this chapter. However, they are stranded for the present, a situation which is becoming increasingly dangerous. I'm afraid this chapter wasn't as funny as the second one, but I personally think that was the best and there will be no more quite like it. Oh well...Coming Soon: Who Let the Dogs Out?
A/N: The title for this chapter is from a movie called The Man Who Came to Dinner, about a guy who came to dinner and slipped on the front steps and broke his leg as he was leaving. So when he finally healed enough to leave, he slipped on the steps again and rebroke his leg. This is probably not what I'm going to do with the story, but I figured the title was appropriate. I noticed that all of my ellipses are showing up as periods, and I think I fixed the problem, but even if I didn't you can probably figure out which one's which. By the way, if anyone knows how to get italic and bold lettering to show up in stories, TELL ME! Having to use the little asterisks drives me crazy.
The Dog Who Came to Dinner
Any amateur stargazers in Little Whinging that evening would have been astonished to see what appeared to be an extremely old and drunken broomstick careening through the skies. On closer inspection, however, it would have revealed itself to be simply an extremely old broomstick with a drunken rider.
This was scant comfort to Remus Lupin as he clung to the broomstick. In fact, Remus's state of mind could at this moment best be described as "miserable." He had failed in all his attempts to save the world from the horrors shortly to be unleashed upon it. Also, fast broomstick rides made him sick.
[Hang on, Remus,] he told himself sternly. [Yes, Sirius is apparently planning to visit his godson while drunk. And yes, he may get both of us killed by Harry's psychotic Muggle relatives. But other than that, there's really nothing to worry about.]
Somehow, this didn't help.
The broomstick screeched to a halt directly above the bushes along Number 4 Privet Drive's front walk. "Thish the right houshe?" Sirius muttered, peering down at it. "Yup." Abruptly, they dropped the last five feet and crashed into the bushes, which turned out to be a little pricklier than Remus would have liked.
As he tried to disentangle himself from the evil shrub, Remus was horrified to see Sirius emerging from the branches and staggering up the walk toward the door. He fought harder and earned himself a few more rips in his clothing.
It looked as if Sirius was having difficulty finding the doorbell. He poked at various bricks and door panels until he found it, apparently by trial and error. Remus had almost got free when a skinny, horse-faced woman opened the door, staring at Sirius suspiciously.
"Good evening, madam," Sirius slurred, extending his left hand to shake. "You musht be Mrsh. Durshley. I'm Harry'sh godfather and I'm here to shee him, if I may." Mrs. Dursley looked as if she was about to scream, but looked toward the dining room and changed her mind.
"Don't you dare come near this house!" she hissed in a venomous whisper, starting to close the door as Remus tore himself away from the bushes and dashed over.
"I'm so sorry he disturbed you, ma'am," Remus panted, starting to drag an unwilling Sirius away from the door. Before he could get him down the steps, a booming voice rang out behind him, freezing him in his tracks.
"Who's this, Petunia?" roared the enormous woman filling the doorway. "Traveling salesmen?"
"N-no, Marge, they just have the wrong house-"
Over Mrs. Dursley's feeble protests, she stumped over and seized Remus's arm. "They look half starved," she boomed heartily, giving him a good- natured shake that made his teeth rattle. "Better get some meat on these bones, eh?" Then she headed back inside with Remus and Sirius in tow.
Remus's only thought was to get out of the house before something terrible happened. Since this didn't seem likely at the moment, he decided to shoot for keeping Sirius quiet. Such a task was never easy, but it would be near impossible with Sirius drunk.
As Marge, whoever she was, dragged them into the dining room, Mrs. Dursley fluttered over to a large, beefy man (presumably Mr. Dursley) and whispered hysterically in his ear. He gave Remus a look of pure hatred that would have curdled his marrow if Sirius hadn't already done that several times that afternoon.
[Act normal, act normal, pretend you're not scared out of your wits,] Remus told himself firmly. At this point, he noticed Harry, who was sitting across the table from him and looking stunned. "What are you doing here?!" Harry mouthed at Remus.
This was a good question. But before he could start thinking about the answer, Marge shoved him into a chair and pushed it in, knocking the wind out of him. Sirius was forced into a chair next to him. "Well, you shee, I really can't shtay very long," Sirius started. "Becaushe I'm really here to-"
"Talk with me about drills!" Mr. Dursley bellowed quickly, drowning out the rest of his sentence. Sirius looked surprised.
"But I thought-" Remus gave him a vicious kick under the table and he shut up. Harry was now staring from Sirius to Remus to Mr. Dursley with a look that said, "Why can't I ever just have a normal life like everyone else?" Remus understood perfectly, having had this feeling every time he had ever gone anywhere with Sirius.
"Why don't you introduce your little friends, Vernon?" boomed Marge, pouring what was obviously her third or fourth glass of wine. Remus kicked Sirius hard to keep him silent, but he had already started.
"I'm Shi-"
"-dney Brown," Remus finished, cutting him off before he could reveal his true identity. [If we get home alive, Sirius, I will personally kill you.] "And I'm Remus Lupin. Pleased to meet you, Miss, um, Miss..." He trailed off uncertainly.
"Marjorie Dursley," she said jovially. "Call me Marge, everyone does." She abruptly turned on Harry. "Well, boy?" she demanded sharply. "Why aren't you serving the gentlemen their supper? Go get some more plates!"
Remus was starting to feel nervous. The last thing he wanted was Sirius staying here long enough to let something slip. "Oh, no, we couldn't possibly," he explained. "You see, we have to get back home before...um..." [Before we're murdered by Harry's uncle and aunt? Before the Ministry of Magic catches us? Before I go insane and murder Sirius myself?] None of these sounded like good excuses to give at the moment.
"Nonsense, you must stay for supper. Isn't that right, Petunia?" Mrs. Dursley looked as though she had just been asked to agree that Harry was a wonderful child. Marge paid no attention to her silence and continued.
"This is my wonderful nephew, Dudley. Dudders, these nice men are here to talk to Daddy about drills." For the first time, Remus noticed the fattest boy he'd ever seen sitting next to Harry. Dudley looked bored out of his skull, but managed to give his aunt a sappy, sickly smile.
[Oh my gosh,] Remus suddenly realized. [I know absolutely nothing about drills. Guess I'll just have to bluff my way through. But how am I going to keep Sirius quiet?]
"Boy!" Marge roared suddenly. "I told you to get these men some supper. Get your rear in gear!" Harry jumped, surprised, and headed toward the kitchen. Marge turned back to Sirius and Remus. "Would you like some wine?" she asked, hiccupping slightly as she held out the bottle for their inspection.
Aghast at the prospect of Sirius having more liquor, Remus tried to hide it before he caught sight of it. "I think we'd better not," he told Marge. "Low tolerance." [For idiots who get themselves drunk making cake...]
"Low toleranshe? Nonshenshe," Sirius proclaimed indignantly. "Give me shome of that." He made a grab for the wine and luckily missed, tipping over Remus's water glass instead. Remus suddenly wanted to bang his head very hard against the nearest wall. Of course, he would happily settle for doing the same to Sirius.
Marge laughed. "Don't worry about the water, Mr. Brown. You!" she barked at Harry, who was returning from the kitchen with food. "Clean up this mess!" Harry unceremoniously banged Remus's plate down in front of him and did likewise for Sirius. Remus distinctly saw him roll his eyes as he went to fetch the paper towels.
The Dursleys, with the exception of Marge, had barely said a word since Sirius and Remus had entered the house. Now Mr. Dursley cleared his throat uncomfortably and spoke.
"So, uh, Remus, how's the drill business going?" Remus tried to think of something intelligent to say and failed miserably.
"Um, well, there are some good...uh...drill bits coming out these days, I hear," he hedged, silently grateful that he knew at least that much about Muggle power tools and that Sirius was now quietly playing with his green beans instead of making trouble. Meanwhile, he stealthily snatched the wine bottle and uncorked it under the table. Then he looked around for a convenient receptacle.
As Mr. Dursley started on some lecture about the increasing quality of Grunnings's products, Remus spotted a potted plant behind him and to his left. Nonchalantly, he transferred the bottle to his left hand and swung his arm over the back of the chair. Ignoring the incredulous looks he was getting from Dudley, he carefully took aim and tipped the bottle. He felt sympathy for the poor fern, which would most likely never get over this watering, but at least the rest of them were out of danger for the present.
"Where's your car, Mr. Brown?" Marge asked suddenly. "I didn't see it when I went outside." [Don't say anything, Sirius, keep building your green bean cabin,] Remus begged.
"It's parked down the street," he lied quickly before Sirius could tell her they'd arrived by broomstick and it was parked in the bushes. He felt he was getting into the swing of this conversation and was about to compliment Mrs. Dursley on the tough, stringy pot roast when a loud scratching sound issued from outside the front door, followed by a loud bark.
Marge jumped up at once and ran to the door. "Aw, is my wittle Wipper weady to come in now?" She returned carrying an enormous, fierce-looking dog, presumably Ripper, worrying a large stick. "Has Wipper been pwaying fetch with himself? Oh, what a cwever dog!"
As Marge sat down cradling Ripper, Remus got a better look at the stick the dog had. Smooth but dull wood, emblazoned with swirling golden script: Twiggy 300. He went rigid with shock, staring at the remains of the broomstick that had served him more or less adequately for the last twenty- odd years.
Terrible, frightening thoughts flashed through his mind in rapid succession. A half-forgotten memory of someone down in the village by the woods, telling him it was 13.65 kilometers to Surrey. [No way can I drag Sirius 13.65 kilometers...] Followed closely by a vision of the Dursley house reduced to a pile of smoldering woodchips, a victim of Sirius's borderline pyromaniac tendencies. There would undoubtedly have been still more horrific images if Remus's reverie had not been interrupted by a more immediate problem.
Sirius was growling at Ripper.
A/N: As you can see, neither Sirius nor Remus broke his leg in the course of this chapter. However, they are stranded for the present, a situation which is becoming increasingly dangerous. I'm afraid this chapter wasn't as funny as the second one, but I personally think that was the best and there will be no more quite like it. Oh well...Coming Soon: Who Let the Dogs Out?