Roulette
Chapter Two: The Unexpected Lesson
"This boy's so spectacular / Not a boy, but a wealthy bachelor"
- Franz Ferdinand, This Boy
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Oh, I wanted to kill him. Murder him.
Or maybe just screw him. Pin him down right then and there, ravish him with my lips, delight in the flush of his swollen lips and the sensation of running my fingers through his amber hair.
Whatever the case, Remus John Lupin was driving me out of my absolute. Fucking. Mind.
The worst thing was, he was acting completely normal. He was still the same person as ever, the same books, the same voice, the same goddamn robes that were always two inches too short –
…So since when did everything about him become so gorgeous?
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"Sirius. Wake up. Sirius."
The sound of curtains being wretched apart, the unwelcome October sunshine on my face, the old pounding in my head, as if a cave troll was rampaging around in there, smashing everything within reach with heavy, dull blows. Not this again.
"Unghhhhh," I groaned, tasting the sharp tang of alcohol in my breath and suppressing the urge to vomit. I pulled the covers over my eyes to block out that irritating sunlight. "Piss off, James."
"I'm not leaving until you explain these" – the gentle clink of empty bottles – "to me."
Fuck.
With immense effort, I resurfaced from the blankets and cracked open one bleary eye. There James Potter stood, arms crossed, thin frame silhouetted by the blinding sunlight streaming in through the window behind him. He was holding three empty scotch bottles in his right hand and an empty beer can in his left, and he did not look happy.
"I thought you quit, Sirius," he said, making my bed creak as he sat down.
"I did."
"So what were these doing, strewn all around your bed?"
Damn. I thought I'd hid them better. I distinctly remembered – well, I couldn't remember anything, actually. But that was beside the point. I propped myself up on one elbow and sat up.
"I – it's –"
James was looking at me expectantly. For one second as I looked at his familiar, friendly face, I considered telling him. I thought about opening my mouth and casually explaining to him what was driving me to insanity, the kind of insanity that could only be temporarily overcome with a drink. Or two or three or eight.
"Is this about your family?" he interrupted my thoughts, reaching back to ruffle his dark hair. James only ruffled his hair on two occasions - one, when Lily Evans was near - the other, when he felt uncomfortable.
Forget it. He wouldn't understand.
I swallowed and looked down, blinking. "Yeah. Same deal. I don't want to talk about it."
James nodded, looking away. I suddenly wanted to laugh. Here I was – barely awake, half my brain cells fucked up from drinking myself to unconsciousness – and telling a flat-out lie to a completely sober, attentive James Potter. Merlin, people could be so blind when it came to things they didn't want to see.
"Don't tell Remus," I said quietly. "He'll flip out."
James pushed up his glasses and looked at me hard. "I won't tell him, but if you keep this up, he'll find out for himself. You should be grateful I woke up and found these first," he raised the empty bottles before taking out his wand and gently tapping them, Transfiguring them into little black dice, which he then placed on my nightstand. "You'd be suffering more than just detention if Remus knew you had a relapse."
I snorted as I threw off the covers, got to my feet, crossed to the bathroom and turned on the shower. "Who says I'll be getting detention?" I called, pulling my shirt over my head.
James was now leaning against the doorway, watching me with a rather amused expression on his face. "Well, seeing as how class starts in five minutes, you'll either have show up without your morning routine or thirty minutes late. Your call, mate." He winked before closing the door behind him with a click.
"Bloody hell," I muttered, and reached for my towel.
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The moment I stepped into the Transfiguration forty minutes and three cups of coffee later, the class began to actually pay attention. Girls hurriedly checked their lipstick and guys high-fived me as I passed through the room and slid down into my seat between James, who was grinning, and Remus, (oh God), who was not.
Likewise, McGonagall didn't look so pleased at being interrupted in the middle of her lecture. In fact, if looks could kill...well, you know the cliché.
"That's enough, Peter," she snapped. Pettigrew, who'd actually started clapping when I walked in, jumped about a foot at her sharp reprimand and slid his hands under his chair, his chubby face red.
McGonagall then rounded on me, lips pursed, the click of her heels echoing loudly as she neared. "Mr. Black, would you care to give a reason as to why you are so appallingly late to class this morning?"
"Overslept, Professor," I replied, stifling a yawn. A few girls behind me giggled.
"I see," McGonagall said in an icy voice, her eyes narrowed. "And do you always wake up in eyeliner and such liberal amounts of hair gel?"
The class laughed audibly. It was no secret in this school that I spent a lot of time in front of the mirror each morning – James made sure of that. But in all honesty, I didn't mind the jokes, because it would've been trivial to deny them anyway. It was simple, really. I was very aware of my good looks – and so was everybody else. End of story.
"My question is, Mr. Black," McGonagall continued, nearing me. "Do you honestly think the way you look each morning is more important than Transfiguration class?" she glared.
"Oh, you wouldn't want me to answer that, Professor," I grinned. The class roared with laughter.
To my surprise, McGonagall was not fazed; she simply walked away, sat down at an empty desk and faced me with a mild expression on her face.
"Well then, in that case, I see that detention will do you no good, Mr. Black. In fact, since you're so well rested and groomed and I'm obviously too incompetent of teacher to command your attention, why don't you come up in front of the class and finish today's lecture for me?" she smiled. "You can either choose this option or lose fifty points for Gryffindor."
The class went silent as all eyes fell on me.
Shit – I hadn't expected this. My nonchalant facial expression belied the frantic thoughts that were tumbling around in my head. Choosing to lose fifty points was out of the question – I couldn't put a dent in my reputation like that. All right, then, I'd give the lecture. But when was the last time I'd even read the textbook? Come to think of it, where the hell was my textbook?
It dawned on me that McGonagall, sitting there and smiling serenely at me, knew all this. That witch had trapped me into a corner, one from which there was no escape.
And, for the first time in my life, I, Sirius Black, was at a complete loss of what to do.
The silence stretched out. It was starting to get uncomfortably hot. A few nervous coughs rang through the room, making the silence seem even heavier.
"Well?" McGonagall said, still smiling.
I adjusted my tie and shot a sideways glance at Remus. He was looking down at his notes, his expression smooth and uninterested, but in the briefest of moments, he gave me an unmistakable nod.
I blinked and did a double take, my heart pounding loudly. Remus cleared his throat and continued to look down, but by now, his point had come across.
Slowly, painfully, I rose from my seat and walked to the front of the room. I turned around and faced the class. With the exception of McGonagall, who still had that irritatingly expectant expression on her face, and Remus, who was smiling wryly, everybody else looked just as tense and nervous as I felt.
"What is today's lecture topic, Professor?" My unwavering voice pierced the awful, heavy silence.
"Animagi, Mr. Black," she replied, one thin eyebrow arched.
A few seconds of stunned silence. Yes. Yes.
"Oh – ah – Animagi, yes," I repeated, disbelieving my ears. "I uh, daresay I do know a bit on this subject."
And as I picked up a piece of chalk to write, I caught Remus' eye again. For the first time in all the years I'd known him, his quill was not poised for note-taking before a lecture. Instead, his arms were crossed and he was simply looking at me amusedly. I could've sworn that little bastard even winked at me.
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