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Ever since Dorcas had given me that short peck on the lips, I couldn't stop thinking about her.

Seriously. It was like some unfair disease. My mind never really lingered on girls. This might seem kind of like an odd statement, as all of Hogwarts knew me well in the rule-breaking (and I suppose heart-breaking) dated-most-girls sense.

But it was true—outside of a few dates, snogs, breakups, I never really thought about them.

As I'm writing this I notice how superficial it sounds. And maybe it is.

The only two of the female sex that ever made me think were Lily and Dorcas. And I mean, really ponder over. I don't think there's a man on this earth who will ever truly understand a girl's mind. It's just much too complicated for the likes of us men—even though I AM undeniably brilliant.

There are some mysteries (like their minds) that are better left unsolved.

It sounds cheesy, but Dorcas was always in my thoughts. I couldn't get her face out of my head.

And it was driving me absolutely crazy.


I was awake, late one night—one in the morning, maybe. I looked over at the beds and saw all of my dorm mates sleeping soundly, a sliver of moonlight reflecting on Peter's hair as he slept innocently. I couldn't sleep. The issue with James had been keeping me up.

I hadn't done much—if any—sneaking about at night. After all, Prongs's invisibility cloak was always a large part of our much-practiced technique. Our technique of not ever being caught, I mean.

I looked listlessly my friends (if James could be considered my friend; I had yet to apologize to him and present my gift), peacefully sleeping.

Remus's light brown bangs were flopping over his pale forehead, illuminated by the slight moonlight. I briefly allowed a feeling of sadness for my friend's plight wash over me, then broke my musings.

I crept out of the dorm room, ghostly shafts of moonlight illuminating the way. I was wearing what I'd gone to bed with—a pair of sweatpants. It was warm weather, and so I didn't bother with a shirt.

Besides, my astonishingly well-defined quidditch muscles were visible. But that's besides the point.

I slowly crept down to the Gryffindor common room. The fire burned low in its grate, only a few flickering flames half-illuminated the gold-and-red chairs. It was as if the room was encased in shadows. A tired fifth year had his head flopped down in the middle of a large potions book, and was snoring soundly.

This picture, sadly, reminded me of something that the new, reformed, amazingly efficient student James would do. I stared at the fifth year for a few minutes, his snores the only sounds in the otherwise empty room, and then I crept on.

I exited the common room, the Fat Lady asleep in a pink silk ball gown, also snoring in quite an un-girlish like manner.

Making my way through Hogwarts's twisted and pitch-black hallways was a task easier said than done. I knew the school as well as Filch, who has been here for G-d-knows-how-long, but it's all different without any forms of light. We were accustomed to having the useful tool of the invisibility cloak, ensuring much more safety. I slowly made my way through the halls.

Every swish of the wind sounded like the Bloody Baron coming to get me, and once or twice I thought I heard soft stepping sounds. Once I heard the loud footsteps of a teacher, but fortunately I ducked into an empty classroom, heart beating loudly and cannon-like. I waited till the footsteps were all gone, and then continued on my way.

Every second seems like an hour when you try to find the correct door to pass through. Every muted creak you make is a thundering crash, sure to attract hordes of teachers madly waving detention slips in their hands.

Thankfully, soon (although my journey seemed to have taken hours upon hours) I reached the Astronomy Tower. A cool breath of fresh air wafted over me, and the stars winked at me like miniature diamonds. I savored the feeling of a breeze through my hair, the feeling of freedom.

The tower is walled—the hard, circular wall is made of old, gray stone. It extends quite a bit up, the tower—it's the tallest tower in all of Hogwarts. I idly looked down at the grass, wondering.

That's where, not so long ago, maybe a month ago even, we, the Marauders, ran around in our Animagi forms like we had no fear in the world. Reckless, free-spirited, and so young. Seventeen, and acting like the eleven-year old children that had entered this school .

I smiled sadly, a wave of sadness crashing over me, and I was helpless. I stretched my arms up to the sky, propping my arms up over the stone wall and gazing at the Whomping Willow. We'd spent so much time in that tree, hatching plans and making pranks and laughing and just—well, just being us, I guess. We were always us at that time, and it seemed like that was how it would always be. It was as if we couldn't be unstuck from one another.

Now I know better, I thought, pressing my elbows into the cold stone till it hurt. I lifted my feet clean off the dusty, gray stone floor of the tower, so I was held up by only my elbows on the thick surrounding wall. Pain, pressed from the small dents and rough texture on the stone, felt good to me, somehow.

My elbows hurt even more, and I knew I'd have two twin bruises the next day. I pressed my elbows harder onto the wall, furiously taking the anger out of myself, I let out a frustrated noise, grinding my elbows still harder into the wall, supporting all of my weight with them till I thought the bones would break because of the stinging, hurting strain—

A small, quiet sniffle echoed through the wide tower's turret.

I dropped from my elbows onto the tower's stone floor in shock. My heart, for the second time that night, felt like it was about to beat its way out of my chest. I tried to keep calm, and was acutely aware of my foolish, angry behavior. My heart was pounding loudly; I was sure that even a deaf person in the far recesses of an Egyptian desert could hear it loud and clear.

Ignoring the blunt shots of pain stabbing relentlessly through my elbows, I slowly wheeled around in the near-darkness. The moonlight shone a little on the tower, creeping its way across the dirty, stone floor, with its wide gray slabs of stone, worn smooth from time.

My eyes quickly scanned the tower. Was it a teacher? Was it a ghost? Did ghosts cry? I hadn't ever seen one do so, but one never knew. Was it a mirage? Was it something designed by the teachers to scare off snogging couples from this popular snogging spot?

I took out my want (which I'd thrust into the waistband of my sweatpants, just to be safe) and whispered, "Lumos."

A thin, narrow beam of yellow light shot out of it, stretching over the floor. My heart beat on, still gong-like.

I slowly pointed it around the circumference of the tower. Wall, plain stone gray wall, wall, wall, wall, wall, wall, wall, person, wall, wall…

Wait. A person?

My heart skidded to a breathless stop when I saw who it was.

Because I was pretty sure it wasn't a mirage or anything.

Dorcas was sitting, slumped against the wall, in a white bathrobe. Her hair was half-wet, and a comb lay forgotten, halfway-dragged through her drying hair.

And she was crying furiously.

Her face was wet with tears, and her eyes had lost their ever-present twinkle. The tears rolled silently down her cheeks, a river of tears. Her nose was running furiously, and presently she wiped it on the sleeve of her bathrobe.

I stood for a moment, just staring at her, with my wand pointed at her. She continued sobbing, although it was audible now, as opposed to her silent tears earlier.

We both appeared to be deer caught in the headlights of an—autowobile, I think that's the contraption we're learning about in Muggle Studies.

But anyway.

I stood stock-still for another moment, looking at Dorcas. She was always so cheerful; I'd never seen her cry before, ever. My heart pounded loudly in worry.

I slowly approached her carefully, still in shock at her unrelenting tears and depressed appearance. It was just so difficult to fathom a girl like Dorcas so all-out upset.

In coming closer to her, I saw the tears had nearly made pools on her bathrobe. Seeing her face close up made me start with worry. Her eyes were large, sad pools of blue, not the usual happy cerulean color I was used to. The bathrobe was much too big for her, and hung in a most depressing way around her slim frame.

I saw that she didn't protest when I moved cautiously closer to her, maybe just cried harder. Still worried for the life of me, I sat down next to her gently. She looked even more terribly upset up close.

"What's wrong?" I asked. This seemed to make her cry even harder. The whites of her eyes had taken on a reddish color, and her face seemed somehow swollen from crying so much.

She handed me a tear-stained letter, so smeared that in parts, in had to peer at it carefully to read the words. It was parchment. By my wandlight, and while hearing Dorcas's unbridled sobbing, I quickly and hurriedly read the letter:

April 4

10:47 p.m.

Miss Dorcas Meadowes:

We regret to inform you that your mother (Alexandra Meadows) died at 10:41 this evening, at Hampshire Road, murdered by a band of Death Eaters. We are deeply sorry of this most saddening event. The Ministry of Magic is attempting to catch these dangerous men and women.

Your father (John Meadowes) suffered major jinxes and curses, all while attempting to protect your mother (Alexandra Meadowes). He is currently being moved into St. Mungo's, but we assure you that he will recover, perhaps in a week or two.

Your sister (Juliana Meadowes) is unharmed, and is currently taken care of by your aunt (Violet Curie).

If you are granted permission by the headmaster (Albus Dumbledore) you are permitted to attend your mother (Alexandra Meadowes)'s funeral on Sunday, April 18th. (The funeral has been postponed because of your father John Meadows's need of recovery).

Again, we are deeply sorry of these disheartening occurrences.

Sincerely,

Anne B. Wellshire

(Anne B. Wellshire)

Official Correspondence Office of the Ministry of Magic

I finished the letter numbly, and a deep feeling (similar to that of a hundred pound dumbbell) settled in my stomach.

Feeling worse for somebody that I ever had, I turned to Dorcas, who was still sobbing even more heavily than before.

It was as if her very soul was cut open, and all her sadness had floated to the top, in unimaginable pain and suffering. I felt so terribly for her, I felt like crying out.

I'd never really seen Dorcas as a delicate china doll. She was always so strong and happy, even though her frame was so small.

Now though, she seemed delicate and vulnerable and astonishingly breakable. I feared that if I so much as tapped her, she'd shatter into a thousand of pieces.

I carefully placed my arm on her bare shoulder (the bathrobe was so big it had fallen off one shoulder). She didn't seem to mind the contact, even though I couldn't see a strap to tell if she was wearing a bra or not.

Her head slumped onto my shoulder, still crying. I couldn't find the words to say how deeply, powerfully sorry I was on her behalf.

Instead I put my hand under the crook of knee and her back, and in doing so, settled her small frame into my lap. She didn't protest, rather felt like a limp rag doll, a small child who had lost their shiny red balloon into the blue consuming sky.

But Dorcas had lost something much, much, much, much worse.

I felt her small, warm weight settle on me, and she continued to cry unbridled. The tears spilled like small streams all over my chest and shoulders. I tightened my arm around her waist, as small and delicate as a doll. She responded by pulling herself closer to me, clinging to me as if I was the only one in this world that was solid and whole.

And in that manner, her sobbing and crying furiously, her tears spilling over onto me, and me holding her on my lap, softly stroking her hair and holding her waist, we spent hours and hours. We didn't talk at all. Eventually she and I fell asleep as the dawn's early rays of light shone and reflecting off her rivers of tears, the rawness of pain out in the open.

And when Albus Dumbledore softly padded up to the Astronomy Tower, in slippers and a bathrobe, and read the crumpled letter, cast aside in the dawn's light, and saw the two seventh years asleep atop one another, he did not give a single detention.

Instead, he smiled sadly, so sadly, and a tear of his quickly fell to the stone floor, and was gone with a swish of purple robe and slippers.


Memory is a strange thing, and I think it, at times, tells you what you need to know at the time. It can be compassionate or cruel or it can just blank out completely, like a long, black hallway.

Memory does tell lies, and maybe my memory of that stretch of time with Dorcas might be falsely represented in my mind. Maybe it is. Maybe it's not.

But I guess my stiffness and soreness of holding her in the same comforting position for so long proved that we were really friends. She thanked me and apologized all at the same time, but I said it was nothing. It's what friends should do.

Dorcas asked me and Lily to come to the funeral. We were the two closest to her. Of course we accepted, and of course Dumbledore allowed us to go.

Sometimes I wonder what it would be like if we had a different headmaster, back then. I wonder if Hogwarts would have been even half as enjoyable without him.


I was still unsure about when the proper time was to give James his gift. I know I was extremely glad to be done with the whole artsy project (admittedly, I'm not one for the arts), but the Dorcas thing had just kind of blown us all away.

Made us realize what kind of world was going around behind the safe walls of Hogwarts. Made us realize that there were much bigger pressures than N.E.W.T.S and friendship fights and alcohol and sneaking out.

We were just kids, really, but now we knew what lay on the other side of our sheltered world.

Classes continued to be as dull as ever. Lily and James became closer; nearly as close as they'd been before the fight. It made me glad, even amidst all the horrible things that were going on, to know that they were okay again.

Somehow, people like Lily found the time to study through all of this, and still carry on a relationship (with James), be supportive and kind to Dorcas, and a friend to all.

She could snap at you pretty fiercely if you bothered her during her work, though.

Still, pretty amazing. I probably couldn't have done it.

Random, little things set Dorcas off. It could be a word, a phrase—we all intuitively knew not to mention these things. Dorcas was later informed (by another owled letter from the Ministry) that her mother had been murdered by Avada Kedavra.

Lily told us all (well, she told me, James, Peter and Remus—Annie and Cat already knew) of this little tidbit of information, so we wouldn't mention it in conversations.

One day, a week later, at precisely 9:15, we were sitting tiredly in Transfiguration class. We were being lectured on the proper method of transfiguring a calf into a deer.

"Now, the proper incantation for changing a calf into a deer is Bovis Cervus." McGonagall explained crisply. "You must slightly twist your wrist to the right as you perform this spell. Catherine Jenkins, please hand out these calves to each student."

Cat rolled her eyes. She absolutely despised being called by her birth name. She untied a calf's rope from the communal ring, one at a time, and led it to a student down the rows.

When Cat was done leading the calves to the students, a brown-and-white-spotted calf remained in the ring. McGonagall rolled up the sleeves of her cloak and took her wand out.

"Now," she said, focusing her stare upon the calf, "you must say this particular incantation with force, but not so much that the spell goes awry. I shall demonstrate. Watch." She commanded.

"Bovis Cervus!" McGonagall said clearly, flicking her wand a bit. There was a loud snap and a deer reappeared in its place.

Everyone murmured in admiration. Lily looked particularly eager to try such a complicated spell. She was practically itching to try it, I could tell.

"I will be walking down the rows, measuring your progress and assisting those who need assistance." She said, and everyone began trying out the spell.

I was seated in the desk next to James. He appeared as businesslike as ever; clothes neatly pressed, paying rapt attention to McGonagall, although thankfully his hair was as haphazardly combed and generally messy as it ever had been.

I briefly glanced at him before attempting the incantation.

"Bovis Cervus!" James and I cried at the exact same time.

What happened next was little short of magical. It may even be on the prestigious "Top Ten Weirdest Moments of Sirius Black's Life" list. That's how weird it was.

As we both said the incantation simultaneously, our two calves snapped into the air and crashed into each other in mid-air. They made an even louder cracking noise when they collided, and formed a large, pink glittery cloud.

Mine and James's eyes briefly met, both totally confused and incredulous at this turn of events.

I think it was the first time we'd really looked at each other without thinking of the fight, since the actual fight had occurred.

We watched the large pink cloud rise up and up to the high stone ceiling of the Transfiguration classroom. It glittered and was garishly pink, and the sparkles sort of winked and shone at us as they ascended.

Nobody had any idea what in the world was going on.

Our eyes were transfixed to this strange, strange cloud. Our pupils rose along with the progress of the bright pink cloud, which was sparkling ominously.

Many students had joined us in watching the cloud's journey towards the ceiling. I could have bet Lily was sitting there with her perfectly transfigured deer, sighing loudly about our ridiculous antics.

The cloud was rising higher and higher—it seemed to be growing steadily, and now was as big as a good-sized, bright pink, sparkly chandelier-cloud—

It emitted a loud POP! that resonated throughout the stone classroom. Much to the surprise of James and me, about six baby deer dropped down from the ceiling. The cloud dispersed, and the pink glitter rained down on the class like dislodged dust.

There was a general uproar amongst the students—glitter had gotten into people's eyes, their calves had started from this odd event—

Me and James's eyes met once again, and the expression of utter shock surged between us. I fought the urge to laugh, because the pink glitter in James's hair made the messy strands look all the more hilarious.

I'm sure I looked hilarious myself.

Ah, now, if only we had a picture in the photo album for THAT.

Anyway.

When the pink glitter had settled (contrasting most oddly with the cold stone floor and the wooden desks), we found McGonagall standing sternly at the front of the classroom.

"Potter, Black—what is the meaning of this?" she demanded sternly.

James and I glanced at each other, and I could swear he was smiling, just as I was. Ah, it was so reminiscent of the old days—James, Remus, Peter and I usually got in trouble in Transfiguration every other day or so. It practically a ritual, back then. A way of life, one could say.

"Sorry, Professor." We chorused angelically, as we always had.

"Well, stop acting like fools and making nonsensical pranks, then!" she demanded, then turned to help Cat with her deer (which, for some reason, had large green horns shooting out of its head, as apposed to antlers), not before vanishing the pink glitter with a sharp swish of her wand (Niteo Dispero!)

James and I shared another look, and we both grinned.

I had gotten in trouble for a prank I hadn't even planned--and I was happier about it than I'd ever remembered being.

Ah, the crazy things we do in life.


Dorcas left a few days early for the funeral. After all, she needed to visit her father—who still remained in St. Mungo's, but would be let out soon. She left on the train with a small suitcase of clothes.

She missed two days of school. I think it was the first time that McGonagall didn't nag a student about missed work and what work they were required to make up once they returned.

Lily and I traveled to Dorcas's house by train. I brought my regular black robes, as did Lily.

Lily lectured me on funerary etiquette on the way over, as we drank butterbeer and ate chocolate frogs (I always brought a stash of the two wherever I went—they're necessities, food staples).

"Now, if Dorcas doesn't want to sit with you—or us—you mustn't insist on sitting with her, that's rude. It's a funeral; she'll probably choose to sit with her family." Lily lectured, taking a dainty sip from the bottle of butterbeer I'd given her.

I nodded, swallowing a chocolate frog whole. Lily looked positively repulsed by this, but didn't comment. She continued.

"And if any weird old relatives come up to you, you must be polite and charming and not trick them into thinking you were a model on the quidditch training-thing magazine last year for bolger-beating gear."

That one had been quite good; James's mother's half-sister-twice-removed or something (at their annual Christmas ball) had actually believed me.

"Thanks, Lily!" I replied. "Even though they're bludgers, not bolgers. That's a rather good idea; I haven't used that one in a while! Except, you know, I was featured in the June issue of last year, you forgot." I replied, knowing it would get on Lily's nerves.

She splashed some butterbeer on me in retaliation to my remarks.

And gosh, that girl does aim well.


I don't remember much of the funeral.

There were big purple flowers everywhere. They smelled nice, maybe a little too strong because there were so many of them. Dorcas informed me that they had been her mother's favorite flowers.

It was a small graveyard ceremony.

I wore my black dress robes, as did Lily. So did Dorcas. She wore a small purple flower in the pocket of her robes. She said her mother would have liked that.

Lily was partially right about the funerary etiquette. She did hold her Dad's hand on one side.

But she held mine on the other side.

"My mother—was an extraordinary woman." Said Dorcas. She had gone up at the podium and was speaking.

Her little frame looked much too small and fragile to stand up and talk in front of the masses of black-cloaked people. Her blue eyes stood out from her face though, and you could tell, if you looked at them, that she wasn't so small as she seemed.

At least not in the metaphorical sense, anyway.

"She loved making things grow. She had her own garden—full of the wildest flowers and plants imaginable. Every day, she'd go outside and tend to her plants, and would come back, with dirt under her fingernails and the happiest smile on her face."

Here most of the relatives smiled briefly. This was obviously a well-known characteristic.

"She liked giving life to things, to see small seeds grow into beautiful flowers. She loved life. My mother was passionate about everything around her."

Everyone was silent, absolutely silent, watching Dorcas deliver her speech.

"I think that should be a lesson to us all. Even though her life was cut short, she lived life to the fullest. And I bet that she's looking down to us, right now, silently reminding us to water the hydrangeas."

Everyone laughed.

So that's what those big purple flowers were.

"But what's more, we will be just as happy as her if we treat each day if it's our last. That's the way she lived life, and that's the way everybody should." Dorcas paused.

"Thank you." She finished.

Everybody clapped loudly, and Dorcas returned to her place between her father and I.

There were a couple more speeches, then the service was over.

The "meeting Dorcas's family" time commenced.

"Look, Sirius." She said urgently as we walked through the rows of chairs, trying to get to the refreshment table. "You mustn't judge my family too harshly—they're a bit--"

Just then, a rather large woman engulfed a rather surprised Dorcas into a hug. The woman was so huge, I'm surprised Dorcas lived through the encounter.

"Oh, hellooooo, Dorcas!" she cried. She wore the lipstick rather the color of the abundant hydrangeas (outside the lines), and a much too tight robes.

"Fhhggello, Ffwwaannt Myuldrffd" Dorcas attempted to say, as she was squashed firmly into the woman's stomach.

"And who is this young man?" Aunt Mildred asked, setting her eyes on me. I smiled charmingly.

"My friend Sirius. And this is my friend Lily." Dorcas explained, but Aunt Mildred took absolutely no notice of Lily.

"Oooh, he's a looker for sure, Dorcas! When did'ja snag him?"

I swear, she talked exactly like this. I didn't really know how to react to being branded a "looker".

"Aunt Mildred, we're—"

"Nonesense, nonsense! Let this Sirius boy talk for himself!"

I looked at Dorcas, then at Lily, who cast me a stern look.

"Hello, miss!" I said cheerfully, extending my hand. "And how do you do today?" I said, in my most charmingly win-the-adults-over sort of voice.

"Very fine, very fine indeed, thank you!" she replied, grinning madly. "Now, when did you say you and Dorcas got together?"

"Well, now that you mention it—two months ago." I replied.

"Yes, March 12th. I remember it well." Dorcas said, pretending to swoon.

I grinned, glad Dorcas was joining in the game.

"Well how did it happen?" Aunt Mildred asked excitedly. She clearly lived for this sort of stuff.

"Well," I began confidentially, "I noticed on February 14th how—perfectly lovely—Dorcas looked with a rose in her hair." I began, making it up as I went along.

Aunt Mildred nodded eagerly.

Lily looked stern.

I took no notice.

"I decided then and there—because of her beautiful appearance, sparkling personality, and unmatchable wit—that Dorcas was the only one for me. I could never love another."

Dorcas nodded like this was a familiar story to her, and I could see that she was trying to conceal giggles.

"Sirius bought me a bouquet of roses to match the ones in my hair." Dorcas continued. "With a, er, note written in script beside the roses."

"What did the note say?" Aunt Mildred asked excitedly.

"It said—it said—" Dorcas was about to collapse into giggles. I cut in.

"It said: Be my valentine, Dorcas, or I will perish from my lovesickness!" I finished grandly. "And now, if you'll excuse us—young love must not be kept waiting." And with that, I swooped an arm around Dorcas's shoulder, and wheeled her around.

We both burst into a fit of laughter.

"Do you know," I said in between laughing, "I quite like your family after all."

Her giggles mixed with tears and without further ado, stood up on her tip-toes and kissed me hard and long on my lips.

A/N: Okay. I'm so sorry if that chapter was a bit…all over the place. I didn't plan some of it; perhaps that's why it came out the way it did.

As for my infrequent updates, especially for Love is a Funny Thing—GO TO MY LIVEJOURNAL. I WILL BE POSTING (LONGER) REVIEW RESPONSES, CHAPTER SNIPPETS, INFORMATION ABOUT UPDATES AND MORE. THE LINK'S ON MY PROFILE PAGE. FEEL FREE TO FRIEND ME OR COMMENT ON MY PAGE!

So…hmm…how has life been, everyone? It's been a while. Okay. So…this fic is kind of longer than I've planned. I'm pretty sure next chapter will be the last though.

Well… please review, with a cherry on top? ;) Gives me tons of motivation to write quickly. Thanks!

As always, thanks a ton to my wonderful reviewers: flowing-starlight: Yes, I quite like Dorcas and the whole canon thing., shadowy dreamer, Rebel Rose: Thanks a bunch for the compliments, astraeos: Thanks. The reason I didn't put in Snape's pensieve thing though, is because…do you think it would have left such a lasting imprint in Sirius's mind? This is a story told from Sirius's point of view, meaning it's things that are important to HIM. The Snape thing was probably not such a big deal for Sirius. Anyway…yeah. I'm glad you like it though, crazy turtle: Thanks. And by the way, your story was a really funny one (the parody thing). What kind of beta do you want…a kind of grammar one, one that helps you with plot or characterization, or what, taniita: Thanks so much! I'm sorry if there was tension confusion…I wasn't wholly awake when I edited it for mistakes :). I'm also glad you liked the portrayal of Sirius—I really like his character, and I do my best, watervolleyhp: Thanks a lot, Jeran: lol Yeah, I like canon stuff. She was definitely in the Order picture, though I don't quite recall who she was standing next to at the time., akagenius04