DISCLAIMER: I own nothing. You don't have to rub it in, you know. The only person I do own is Art, who I am damn proud to have come up with all by my onesy.

Still doesn't compare to J.K.R., but shut up.

Let me bask in my own effing glory for a sec, kay?

Napoleon Dynamite voice Gosh.

EDIT: Cetesy, you're totally right about the nicknames; sorry! Brain fart.

Thanks so much for the compliments; you are so on my Christmas list.

Update your story quickly please! pout oh please oh please oh pleeeeeease?

EDIT EDIT? : You're right, je suis une pizza, it does mean "tangible". I had thought it meant "friendly", but then I realized that that didn't fit either. So now it's "confident". There ya go, all better. And, also, Art does have dark blonde hair, but it doesn't flow beautifully down her back in gorgeous ringlets or anything. She doesn't have slow hair either (pantene pro-v hair that, when one flips his/her hair over their shoulder, time slows to observe such perfection), and she has dark eyes so no worries 'bout that.

Chapter 1: A Bit of a Mouth on Her

IN WHICH Our Friends Become Eachother's

"Sirius Black?"

Artemesia took a small breath as a boy, who was rather handsome indeed though it went unnoticed by her, walked up the steps to the stool and the Sorting Hat.

"That thing is ugly as sin," she had muttered under her breath as she had seen Professor McGonagall had brought it out, as well as the three-legged stool on which the boy called Sirius Black now sat.

"You can say that again," a boy had whispered beside her. Artemesia, who had been chewing on her thin ponytail, jumped, surprised by the voice and turned around, dark eyes set on a boy, just as handsome, standing there behind her, looking off into the distance where Sirius sat. He saw her attention on him, looked at her and grinned. "James Potter, nice to meet you."

"Artemesia Bray," she muttered, holding out a confident hand to him, though the air she portrayed was much contrary to her feelings. She lifted the ends of her lips in a tiny, gentle way that made her seem small. But then, Art had always felt so small, so it somehow fit her, no matter how much she wished it did not.

"That's a bit of a mouthful," James thought aloud, causing Artemesia to bite back a remark welling up in her head. This was the first person to talk to her at all; opening that rebellious mouth of hers could only do more damage than good.

"Gryffindor!" shouted the hat.

Sirius Black walked down the steps with a grin. With as much of a swagger in his gait as a pirate, he sat himself at the head of Gryffindor table. From where he sat, he had both a perfect view of the proceedings as well as communication range with his friend.

"Evening, Jamesy," Sirius whispered, "D'you reckon you'll make it into Gryffindor?"

"If you made it in, Sirius? Sure, I'm practically guaranteed," James said airily. He turned round to stare at the hat, and then saw Art from the corner of his eye.

"Oh, this is Art," James introduced just as hushed. He motioned his head in a pointed manner to Art, who stood frozen where she stood, trying to pay attention to the Sorting, but could not, it seemed, for the life of her. "Quite a wit, she is, or so it seems."

She blushed, adding a slight tinge to a flushed face. "Artemesia Bray, it's nice to meet you."

"Sirius Black, pleasure."

Her heart palpitations and the resulting pound of blood in her ears gave way to a feeling of light-headedness when she realized what was going on. Her name had been called.

"Oh Merlin," she whispered, and as quickly as she possibly could to make up for lost time, jogged up the steps and plopped down onto the stool. The noise it made was louder than Art would have liked. The Sorting Hat was lowered onto her head by a frowning McGonagall. It lay on her head for a little while, perhaps a few moments, but it passed like an awkward hour in her head.

Finally, the Sorting Hat opened its ugly mouth and shouted, "Gryffindor!"

"Huh?" Artemesia's face became the picture of confusion at that moment, and all concerns of being timid escaped her. Her eyebrows were knitted down over her dark eyes, her nose was wrinkled with nostrils flared, and her eyes were wide.

"Miss Bray, off you go," said Professor McGonagall quietly. Her voice was hushed, not nearly loud enough to announce to the Great Hall of her momentary lapse, but certainly loud enough to quiet the roar within Art's head.

"Huh? Oh, right," she said, coming to, and walked to the Gryffindor table. She sat slowly next to Sirius, though she hadn't noticed it even when he tapped her on the shoulder and spoke.

The Sorting continued behind her. "Briggs, Moria?"

"What was with the face up there?" he asked with a look of confusion on his face that looked like the one she had worn before, only to a much more tame degree.

Art only waved her hand, swatting an invisible fly. She scratched her head. "What were the chances of that?" she thought, "I thought I was a sure-fire hit for Hufflepuff. What happened?"

"Hm, maybe the hat is broken," she thought out loud; the fact that she'd said it, not only thought it had gone unacknowledged. Such is not something anyone would recommend, considering it often landed people with loose tongues in more trouble than they'd like. Art was no different.

"Maybe," Sirius replied, only slightly peeved, taking it into stride or so it seemed. "After all, Igot in here. Why do you think it's off?"

Art had barely been paying attention, therefore had no idea who it was. Eyes glued to the stool, she leaned slightly to the side, tossing her longish bangs to the side. "Stupid thing put me in Gryffindor."

He raised his brows and smirked. "Me, too." She recognized the voice suddenly. She jumped, and then proceeded to widen her eyes until they resembled saucers.

"Oh Merlin, I'm so sorry," she apologized hastily, holding up her hands in a placating manner for emphasis.

"It's cool," he said, smiling, "But it's true. I should have been sorted into Slytherin for my background."

"Why d'you say that?" she asked quietly, only just recovering from the embarrassment her mouth had caused again.

"'Cause he's as pure as they come," James said, sitting next to her. She jumped again, except this time her reaction was much less exaggerated.

"What do you mean?" she asked, and then fought down the slap to the forehead she was ready to give herself.

James smiled, seeing the look on her face, which displayed everything she thought. "He comes from the Black family, one of the few truly pureblood families left in the wizarding world. Never mind that he's more mischievous than I am, and that's saying something. Not nearly as smooth, though."

"Hey," Sirius protested calmly, "that time we got caught was completely your idea!"

"Yeah, but you didn't protest!" James retorted. He smiled broadly, "We got Kreacher good that time though, didn't we?"

"Yup." He returned a similar grin. "He was yellow and pink polka-dotted for a week. Mum nearly tore out my throat; she'd had to explain to the guests that he'd come down with a rare flu."

Art cleared her throat uncomfortably.

"Oh right," Sirius said, seeming to snap out of his reminiscing. "So, how come you think the hat's off its rocker?"

She opened her mouth to speak but was interrupted by James's name being called. He went up and both of the ones left behind felt little surprise when the hat wasted no time shouting, "Gryffindor!"

She waited for James to get back, smug mile-wide grin in place. He sat across from her, and Art was ready to slap that stupid smile off his face. "So what was it you were saying?"

"There's no reason in particular," Art murmured sheepishly, hating the spotlight burning her cheeks, "Just thought I'd make it into Hufflepuff, having my personality and all."

"Well, by term's end, that won't be a problem anymore. That is, if you hang out with us all year."

Another boy, who had been casting about for a bit, took a staid glance at the empty seat beside James.

"Hey there, mate," James greeted, earning a small jump from the sandy-blonde boy beside him.

"Oh, heh, hello," the boy said. He was shy; his face became tinged with scarlet red and his scarred face reflected such a state of demure to rival a blushing bride. Not that he looked like a girl, Art quickly filled in her head, No, he was quite a manly…er, masculine…boy? Hm, good enough.

"Wonky ride?" Art muttered, "You look like hell."

The boy looked up, and Sirius looked at her with a mixture of embarrassment and pride at her audacity. He faced the boy while Art's eyes widened until they were the size of Galleons. "You mustn't take it to heart; bit of a mouth on her."

The sandy-haired boy smiled good-naturedly. Art felt, for a lasting moment, very, very unworthy.

"Oh my, I'm so sorry…" Art began, then trailed off curiously, "What is your name, anyway?"

"Heh, Remus Lupin," he replied, a wan smile on his tired face. A feeling of both sympathy and stupidity overcame her. Her and her big mouth would get her killed someday.

"I'm Sirius Black, that's James Potter, and this-" He stopped with a quirked smile at an insurmountably abashed Art, "is Artemesia Bray."

"Nice to meet you all," Remus murmured.

A crash and a small hop from James caught the attention of Remus, Sirius, and Art to James, who was practicing a deep-breathing exercise, slapping a towel at his newly scorching, soaked lap. A boy, with a suspiciously rat-like face and what my mother would call "an unfortunate complexion", was panicking, jumping up and down like a mad bird.

"Oh Merlin, so sorry, so sorry, so sorry!" he was repeating over and over like a mantra.

"Oh Damnit, that's hot! That's really freaking hot!" James was gasping, trying to dry off the torrid soup stain on his pant leg.

"Are you alright there, James?" Sirius asked between hidden fits of giggles.

"No, not really," James said in a mock calm voice, though it came out quite high-pitched and cracked.

"Didn't reckon you were," Remus said, chuckling.

"Oh gosh, I am so sorry," the boy was still shrieking. "So, so, so, so sorry!"

Sirius grinned at the kid despite himself, "It's all fine, mate. You gave us a good laugh." This earned a glare from a now considerably euphoric expression. Art was drawn to the steam rising from his lap, and spotted a larger soak mark there than before. He held his emptied goblet in his hand.

Art hardly kept from grinning. He had poured water on himself.

"I'm Peter Pettigrew," said the boy, and then regaled the actions with exaggeration of his hands. They laughed. He did it over and over again until it quite irritated them.

"That'll be enough of that." Sirius cut him off in mid-reenacted-spill. In spite of that, he smiled. Art smiled. Remus smiled. James smiled. It seemed a chain reaction that would be repeated over the years to come.

A motley crew they made, indeed, but a very interesting one all the same.

Chapter 2: One Tentacle, Two Tentacle, Three Tentacle, Four

IN WHICH Our Friends Are Confronted with More Squid than Necessary

Progress started on the second chapter already. I suppose you can see from the title of the second chapter and the very very short description below it, what said chapter will be about.

I enjoyed writing up Art, who I can only hope is not a Mary-Sue, but with a mouth as big as hers, I didn't think so.

But I've been proven wrong, haven't I?

I have a friend just like her, who sometimes comes off as quiet and timid – mind you, timid, not self-conscious, cause when you start her up about herself, she'll never want to hear the end of it – but who has quite the mouth on her.

She'd hate me if she read this.

But then she'd love me because she loves Sirius as much as I do.