Disclaimer: Not mine, never will be
Dedication: To Sophie, who's birthday is on the 11th
Day Ten
When Sirius set his mind to something, a prank say, the outcome was always rich with his work and the work put into the outcome phenomenal. That was only his mind. What of his body? And no, not his body in a sexual manner. It would appear that his body had decided to give Sirius the flu, complete with all the... crap that comes with the flu. Remus secretly blessed the flu, and the way that it ravaged Sirius body.
It was a Saturday. The sky was cloudy and dull, but the air had was clear and crisp, the kind that nips at you. It was in these conditions that James left for Quidditch practice that morning, Peter in tow, and pressing a piece of paper in Remus's hand on the finer points of caring for The Fancy Cold (as Sirius called it.)
Today was the worst of the flu, which, as Remus explained, meant it could only get better. Remus secretly enjoyed this… caring of Sirius. It was like having a small child, complete with unreasonable requests.
"Moony, sing me a lullaby." Sirius pleads, staring at me with large eyes. Half of the normal brilliance of that gaze is lost as the eyes in question are red and generally tired looking.
"Why?" I ask. It's a weird request. I'll end up singing, he knows I will too.
"I need sleep. Now." He accentuates his statement with a yawn.
"Fine," I secretly love singing, but he doesn't need to know that "funny song, or sweet song?"
"Fun-" another yawn "-ny" sounds good.
"When I was a wee wee tot,
They took me from my wee wee cot,
They put me on my wee wee pot,
To see if I would wee wee or not"
Ordinairily, this would illicit a laugh from Padfoot. Today, I receive yet another yawn. I sigh and say:
"Sweet song then?"
"Yeah," he says "just as long as it isn't weird."
"Charming." I mumble, before starting my song.
"If I were a meadow lark,
Soaring so high,
I'd bring you a silver star,
Out of the sky.
And were I a buttercup,
Brimming with gold,
I'd bring you the wine,
That my chalices hold.
And were I a breeze,
From the whisp'ring deep,
I'd peep through the lattice,
And sing you to sleep"
"Nice voice." He says, before proceeding to snore.
"Happy tenth to you too mate…" I mumble, before resuming my (formerly ignored) reading.
GAH! The format on this one is weird. The bold is me, the initial italic writing is third person (no duh) and the rest of the italic denotes a song. Ach, hopefully this is alright... I was in a music-y mood...