A/N: You like me you really like me! Anyway now we move on to Sirius Black first person, which is so hard it's almost sad. To all of my readers this might seem a little offensive, but that's just Sirius's personality. Please don't take anything to heart! I don't like insulting people but Sirius is about to get very rude. Please read it anyway because it's only in the very beginning. I got major inspiration walking home the other day listening to the Shrek 2 soundtrack on Stanley, my iPod. (Tell me Puss in Boots and Donkey's version of Livin' La Vida Loca isn't the best thing ever!). The first song on the album "Accidentally In Love" by The Counting Crows gave me uber inspiration! I mean it's practically the anthem for this chapter! (So that's two songs whose copyright I may or may not be infringing on XD!) I must have listened to it eight times. So now without (much) further ado chapter 4! (Uncanon Black family tree. Way to lazy to go through book five and find it and it helps if the story just to use it like this. I mean...it's fan fiction anything is possible, right? LoL :D!)
-The Evil Duck!
PS: Lo's a' love ta everyone who reviews. Hugs, Kisses and CHOCOLATE! YAY:) I Less than three ( 3) you guys! w00t!
Warning! - Do not read on if you are easily offended or can't stand cursing. Very foul language to follow! XD!
The Child of The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black
-Part 3-
Accidentally in Love
January 1976
There are three things, three very obvious lies, that every idiot in the entire bloody universe seems to believe except for me: pure bloodlines, god, and love.
"Pure" bloodlines only lead to one thing: inbreeding. My family tree looks a bit more like a wreath than anything else. I'm surprised I haven't got flippers coming off the back of my head. My father was my mother's first cousin, by blood. Lucius Malfoy, who is officially going to marry Narcissa Black when she graduates whether she wants to or not (not that she seems to care), is my first cousin on my mother's side, Narcissa's by marriage. Narcissa is my first cousin on my father's side. Them marrying wouldn't seem like a big deal if it wasn't for the fact that my mother is my father's cousin meaning that Narissa and Lucius are cousins too. Cousins marrying cousins leads to one thing, IQs going down the drain and quickly. Every single pureblood in the world has the metal capacity of a grapefruit. Myself included. Muggle royal family too. But at least a lot of muggles view their royal family as a bit of a joke, not like here where old families are treated like fucking deities. All we are are overbred pedigrees. We're no better than dogs.
The second, god, is possibly the most depressing. Some people spend their entire lives begging some all-powerful dictator to let them live, thanking him for letting them breathe. Let's just look at this one logically for a second, shall we? If there was a Big Bloke Upstairs why would he allow certain things to exist? If he's all powerful, why are there people who don't worship him the way he wants? And don't give me that "free will" BS. If he really wanted the world his way there would be no free will. He can do whatever he wants anytime he wants so why does he allow things to exist the way they do? Why does god, or whoever, allow things like child abuse, the Dark Arts, racism, and Slytherins if they are fundamentally wrong? Why would he have a Holy Land that's filled to bursting with nothing but killing? Finally, how does he/she/it decide who's loyal or good and who isn't? There are loads of evil, and possibly genocidal, fuck heads who think they're good (Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Orion Black).
But there's also the reverse: Azure O'Connor has locked himself very deeply in the closet. Too afraid to tell his parents what he is, afraid that god's going to smite him in his sleep, afraid of his more-than-just-friend Alexander because of what he means to Azure. He told Amethyst that he was gay sometime in October, crying his eyes out, making her swear not to tell their mum and dad. She stayed up with him the whole night, listening to him cry. Why? Because god told him he's a sinner. God's a nice person, isn't he?
The third is the most painful. Love. You hear about it all the time, in books, in classrooms, from James, it's ground into every inch of pop culture. They even have a whole bloody day dedicated to it. An entire sick making, pink and red, frilly, lacy, disgusting day every February the bleeding fourteenth. Love is just another name for sexual desire, animal urges...right?
Here's where my rant ends, with me sitting at breakfast in the Great Hall, waiting for the owls. Usually it's not something I look forward to, before this year the only thing I'd ever get from the owls was a Howler from my bitch of a mother. I still get about three a week and it makes me wonder, if she didn't send them would she forget how to make them? Or does she just want to kill two birds with one stone and shower Regulus in gifts and burst my eardrums at the same time? But since the year started I've been getting letters that have been typed up on a muggle typewriter that's missing the 't' key. The 't's are always written in by hand with a purple ball-point pen.
I never told Am exactly how wizards get mail until I actually sent her a letter. Call me naive but I didn't realize owls aren't really pets in the muggle world. (I mean I assumed that even if they weren't ordinary pets they weren't terribly unusual. I didn't know owls are supposed to be strictly nocturnal. Wonder how long they've been like that?) Seemed totally ordinary to me, but she was ready to tear me to shreds before dying of an aneurysm or two when she got my first letter. But it's been almost half a year since then and, although she still doesn't love the idea of having owls flying through her window, (insert Irish accent here: "What am I supposed to tell my parents if they ever saw it? What if one dies in my room for some reason, or gets sick? What if one of them bites or something or...it isn't normal for me--it's not- look Sirius don't pretend you don't know what I'm talking about..." etc.), she's used to it.
The mail comes in and Prongs stops talking. I'd hardly noticed he was talking at all until he suddenly stopped. He accepts a letter from home from his father's barn owl. Remus gets the "Daily Prophet" and as a reflex, I hold out my arm for the crossword puzzle. James probably makes a comment about this but I'm not listening. I can't hear anything except my own brain. I'm thinking too hard again.
"PADFOOT!" Prongs calls me away from my thoughts, "pay attention to me, I'm talking."
"Is this new?" I ask him.
"What are you looking for?" He asks his eyes replacing mine on the owls, "expecting a Howler, or a letter from your mystery girlfriend?" He arches his eyebrows and takes a long swig of pumpkin juice.
"She's not my girlfriend," I remind him watching the birds, "and I'm not expecting a Howler, I don't think" It's just then I catch sight of my mother's owl, Ammut, and I swallow hard. Out of need for survival I've learned to pass Howlers off as a joke. I got one on the second day of school first year for "betraying the family" and ending up in Gryffindor. I was reminded that the last person to be sorted outside of Slytherin married "disgusting muggle filth." And I was sorted into a "worse" house than Andromeda's Ravenclaw. I am the first Black ever to be sorted into Gryffindor, and that's probably the thing I'm proudest of. I had two options with that first Howler, I could have done what I really wanted to and killed every single smirking Slytherin, taking special care on Bellatrix and Narsissa, or I could do what I do best, laugh it off. Make everyone forget. I remember I stood up, cleared my throat and said, "that was Cassiopeia Malfoy-Black, the cruelest and most delusional bitch ever to walk the Earth. We'll probably be hearing a lot from her, my advice is to buy earplugs." People laughed and no one thought I cared.
I didn't.
I still don't.
I never will.
Why should I? But Ammut spirals down to Regulus who welcomes it and unwraps the chocolate tied to its leg.
The owl I sent, who doesn't have a name, lands next to me. I take the letter away from it. Her letters are always on the same paper: unlined, white, folded in half, stapled twice, with my name written on the front in her funny, half-cursive handwriting with very long 's's.
"Oi!" James calls, "I've been trying to insult you but it's very hard when you aren't paying attention!"
"Sorry," I say, "shoot."
"If she's not your girlfriend, then you're going through a bit of a dry spell, mate. When did you break up with Artemis, for what, the eighth time?"
"Sixth," I correct him. Artemis Neilson was my first girlfriend at Hogwarts and my first muggle-born girlfriend. Our first relationship lasted approximately three weeks, but we've had at least one "relationship" every year since. She's in Gryffindor, our year, beautiful, funny, smart, your typical description of a girl. Don't get me wrong, I do really like her. I just don't care that much.
"Whatever. So how long has it been?"
"I dunno," I'm lying, "a month or two."
"Right," Prongs says, "this is the first time you haven't had a girlfriend since I've met you. If you aren't dating the muggle in London, and you haven't decided to take up priesthood, then I don't know what's wrong with you. Loads of girls keep asking you out, why are you turning them down?"
Good question Prongs, I don't know. "I haven't been."
"Sure you have--" but James's attention has been diverted by a redhead and his mouth ceases to function. "E-e-e-evans...hi!" She keeps walking like she hasn't heard him (although I'm almost positive she has) and leaves The Great Hall.
"Prongs, what do you think when you look at Evans?" Why am I saying this?
"What do you mean what do I think? I think, I think 'god she's beautiful, she's perfect.' and I'm perfect too, so as I've said over the years, Padfoot, it's fate." I roll my eyes. He takes a wedge of his grapefruit, which now I can only think of as a pureblood, and swallows it, "why do you ask?"
"No reason," I'm reading the letter and can't be bothered. She sent a picture with it.
School photos, she explained, turned out horribly, but the yearbook committee says that if we're really unhappy we can send them a different one. So I'm thinking sending them this one instead. What do you think?
Perfect. She's in the garage, leaning up against her VW, (which is in perfect working condition now), in a pair of worn blue jeans, a purple top, and the amethyst necklace I gave her. Her hair is hanging loose and shimmering. It reminds me of summer. Her eyes are bright and intense, brought out by the purple she's surrounded by. She's smiling, and even in a picture I'm defeated by that smile. I can't think of anyone who wouldn't be---
"Oi! You're doing it again!" Prongs flicks a bit of egg at me.
"Sorry, what?"
"Ignoring me while I'm talking to you," he squeezes the grapefruit juice into an empty goblet, one rind at a time, before drinking it. "Why did you ask about Evans?"
"I told you, no reason," I tell him.
That's not true, but the real reason will cost me two galleons. James and I make bets on everything, one such bet was made in first year when James first decided he was madly in love with Evans. I must have been in a very, very bad mood because I all out said "there's no such thing as love." Usually I just let the idiots believe whatever the fuck they want and keep quiet. James told me that I was being jaded and that he'd prove to me love exists. So, as usual, we made a bet:
I guaranteed him that not only will I never fall in love (or even believe in it) but Evans will never date him. James, in turn, guaranteed me that even if I don't fall in love I'll believe it in one day and that Evans is already madly in love with him she's just afraid of the intensity of her feelings. This became very pricey four galleon bet total, two for he and Lily Evans ending up together, two for me and my supposed battle.
I think I just lost.
What am I saying?
I am NOT in love.
I can't be in love.
No such thing as---
"What did she send you that you're so interested in?" Prongs reaches out for the photo as I come back into the real world.
"No," I hold it away from him. Too embarrassing, too personal, now those are two things I never thought would come between me and James.
"Come on," he's grinning as we get up to go to lessons. I slip the photo into my pocket. First up is Potions so we head down toward the dungeons. Prongs, Moony, and Wormtail are talking. I don't know what they're saying, I can't seem to focus on their voices, or even where I'm walking. I think I'm going forward solely out of habit. It's weird, nothing feels like it usually does. I've been like this for the past few days, spacey, I guess you could call it. I haven't even taunted/beaten Snivelly Snape. My mind has been...elsewhere.
She's a lot like her letters in a way, more impulsive and wild than she seems. They look so neat and organized (except for the mix-matched 't's.) Then when you read them you realize she bounces from topic to topic as if on a sugar high, never indenting, writing until the pages are just solid blocks of text. Sometimes she bangs the keys too hard and you can feel the writing through the back, that's usually when she's angry or excited about something. She gets angry about things like someone picking or beating on one of her brothers or a friend of hers. She's fiercely protective over those she's close to. Would defend them to the death. She's a Gryffindor, or the muggle equivalent there of.
Boys have asked her out. She dated one of them, Jeremy or Jacob or Jack or something. I remember how mad I got. I don't know why...it's not like...I mean I was dating someone at the time, but for some reason that didn't matter. I wanted to be that guy. They broke up because she felt he was too dominating, too controlling. Cheers.
My head feels really light and I want to laugh. No reason why, I just do. I'm just happy. I haven't done anything to make me feel happy, no pranks, no snogging, no nothing. But there's just this overwhelming lightness.
"Sirius!" James says as Remus snaps his fingers in my face.
"What do you want?"
"Oh Mr. Snippy," says James across the table.
Apparently Slughorn has already given out the directions and now I can see them scribbled on the board. I don't even remember coming into the dungeons. I have no idea how long I was just...out there. In London.
I've been in her room, always with the door open though because her father would kill me if he ever thought something was up. A 6'6" Irishman with 200 pounds of muscles is not someone I want to have angry with me. I may have the IQ of a grapefruit, but even grapefruits want to live to see adulthood.
Her room faces the street and the parking lot in front of the garage. The window is small but lets in a lot of noise and light. She likes it that way and the curtains are always open. Her bed has an old quilt on it that a grandmother made. Her drawers have clothes rammed into them, no neater than mine. She has car magazines and newspaper clippings piled on her desk. She doesn't own any dresses and, aside from her school uniform, no skirts. She has a corkboard that was empty the last time I was there, but she says she has since filled up with pictures she wants to show me.
And one picture I gave her. A moving photograph just to prove they were mundane. People might think there's been another reason why I sent it.
Something stupid and pathetic.
Something about being there when I'm not there.
But I'm not like that.
Her typewriter is blue and predates the electric ones. It was her mother's when she was in art school, but Amethyst has chipped away most of the paint splotches. She has trouble getting the ink ribbons into place so the outside of the case is smeared with the stuff. She let me play with it on more than one occasion and actually saved a few pages of me just typing what I saw in the room. Typewriters are harder to use then they look. She thought my attempts were pretty funny and I suppose they were. I remember the first time I heard it 'bing' at the end of a line I nearly had a heart attack! Amethyst was laughing so hard at me she fell off the bed where she was sitting.
But I got my own back, I have what she wrote with a quill. It's funny. I never thought using a quill was a skill, it's just something I've always used that I thought everyone always used. I remember her sitting there with her tongue sticking out trying not to drip the ink on her carpet. Her fingers were stained jet black with the ink, the bottle was leaving rings on the paper. Her letters were thick, wet, and awkward. She ended up making something that resembled a Freud inkblot. She eventually was able to write semi-legibly. When I complimented her on the "improvement" she splattered me with ink from the quill.
She doesn't like to sit at her desk so she probably writes to me sitting on her bed facing the window and the world outside, or even on the steps to the garage just for the sake of being there. I call them oil fumes, she says it's her favorite smell and that I just don't understand. She likes to be able to watch over her flock of cars. It's like she's baby sitting them.
Sometimes I've caught her talking to them about their V8 engines (whatever the hell that means), kilometers per gallon, and weird things like that. She throws out fuzzy dice and the other stupid things people hang from the rearview mirrors of their cars. Or she tries to throw them out and her dad stops her. "It's insulting!" she says, "positively hideous and stupid. I would never ever subject my Kombi to that!"
I remember how happy she was when she got the VW working. Her Kombi. Her baby. She drives it everywhere now whether she needs to or not.
"Sirius!" Prongs throws something heavy at me, "pay attention! Bloody Hell, it's like talking to a wall!"
Remus is trying to take notes and is peering over the edge of the cauldron, "you know what's pathetic?" he says, "my mum can make this potion and I can't." Remus's mum is a muggle. Peter is looking nervously at me. With me off in god-knows-where James is basically doing all the work. Most all the tools we use in potions have some silver in them, and along with Remus's Furry Little Problem come an allergy to silver that basically gives him third-degree burns every time he touches it. This is one of the reasons why he's awful at potions. Aside from that he hasn't really got an excuse, but then again I haven't really got an excuse for being bad at History of Magic.
Everything seems to be reminding me of her. I'm walking down the hall to Transfiguration now, apparently slower than usual and Prongs falls back to walk with me. He's looking at me like he's worried. "What's gotten into you?" he asks.
I don't know.
I think I'm in love.
But love isn't real.
I think I'm in love with Amethyst.
But love doesn't exist.
I can't stop thinking about her.
I want to be in London.
I want to be there with her now.
Everything reminds me of her.
"Nothing."
"Right. Look mate, you haven't been entirely like yourself for the past week, something's on your mind. You've been down right...peaceful, and it's starting to get eerie," James says, "what happened? You're like a bleeding zombie today, just tell me what's up."
What do you want me to say James? I have no idea what's wrong with me.
Or rather I do know and that's what's worrying me.
My life is beginning to sound like a bad song and I can't stand it.
But I love it.
And I'm happy.
So here goes nothing. I reach into my pocket and I pull out two galleons and hand them to James.
"What are these for?" he asks.
"Well you aren't with Evans you are you?" I tell him.
James looks confused for a fraction of a second, then he smiles, then he starts to laugh, "I knew it! I knew it! What did I tell you, mate? So it's your girlfriend, right? Amethyst O'Connor."
I'm grinning and I think for the first time in my life I'm blushing. My cheeks are burning. "Shut up."
James laughs harder and I hit him on the arm.
Love.
It's such a funny feeling.
I've never been...happier.
So what's the problem?
Why did I hate it for so long? Why do I...Why did I hate love?
I feel like the world has just been taken off my shoulders.
Three words I never thought I'd say:
I'm in love.
A/N: Tell me that's not kind of cute! Like I said Sirius is a prick., I believe in God(dess/higher power) and love (not bloodlines though thank -you-very-much). So no hate mail on that account. (He calls god the Big Bloke Upstairs strictly because it made me laugh.) Maybe I should just get some less opinionated characters! LOL! I just realized the timing thing between he and Amethyst doesn't work (I mean if he came out of the broom closet two weeks before he went back to school, they seem to have spend a lot more time together than that. Christmas Holidays probably... I dunno, I should stop nerfing myself XD) (Note on James's grapefruit: you can't tell me you don't do that everytime you eat a grapefruit, squeeze all the juice out of the rind I mean. XD!) In addition to this long fic I've got some other things I'm working on. I've decided to unoffically take up the fan fic 100 challenge to make my friend Josh, who is an awesome artist, unoffically take up the fan art 100 challenge. Anyway if you don't know what it is you're given a bunch of single word prompts (100 to be exact XD) and you have to write one fic for each. Let's see...if I ever finish the September 1st thing (which I do hope to eventually do!) that will be "beginnings". The weird parady I have up is for the prompt "what." This one will either be "Purple" or "Family" I don't know which. XD! "Purple" will probably be for another more mushy kind of fic later. Like this isnt't mushy enough! (To see the full table click my blog. Homepage link.) Don't you wish you didn't have to go to school and just write fanfics all day? Or maybe instead of something pointless like gym we could have...fan fic courses. That would be the most awesome school: Slash 101, Smut-shop, Character Class (class one, keeping your OC from becoming a Mary Sue), Lingo, 'Ship building (OMFG it's a pun! A really bad one (okay on par with Sirius/serious but you know) but a pun none the less!), etc. A girl can dream can't she? XD!
