Author's Note: Twitch would like to apologise for the horrible lateness (TWO MONTHS, PEOPLE) of this chapter. She does, however, hope that this will be rectified (Heh. Rectified.) by the incredible length of it. She also hopes that the next chapter will be up much sooner (but it's only a hope).
Aye would like to apologize for the astounding juxtaposition of moods in this chapter, as well as the awful emoness of practically every other scene. It will get better, she promises. Less emo, more randomness and possibly humor.
We cherish and cosset your reviews. We love you all so, so much. All of you! All! We'll get around to replying once we actually have time, which may or may not be soon. ROCK ON, REVIEWERS::hands out doggie plushies to all:
Disclaimer: Yeah, well, when Aye becomes a lawyer she'll sue EVERYONE and then we'll ALL own Harry Potter!
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Severus Snape walked out of the hospital wing, feeling like a new man (really, he had only changed his underwear, but that was change enough). The sun was shining, the birds were singing, and he, god of Odes to Blackmail, had written a letter.
He fairly nanced his way up to the owlery, much to the shock of his fellow peers.
"Oh, my god," whispered a second year, "Is he actually. . . dancing?"
The sun was shining, the birds were singing, and Severus Snape was dancing.
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"What's with Snivels this morning?" James asked, extemporaneously, poking disinterestedly at his toast.
"Yeah, he practically danced into breakfast," said Peter.
Sirius froze. This was Not Good. A dancing Snivellus was a portent of coming evils, disaster, DOOM. His eyes darted from side to side, searching desperately for an escape.
"Pads, pass the jam?"
"AUUUGH!" Sirius cried, and ran.
"Auuugh," agreed James. "Very polite chap, mannered, you know. Moony, jam?"
Remus handed it over while Peter giggled.
"Indigestion, maybe," Peter said, having finally overcome his sporadic fit of giggles, "The toast is looking kind of bad. Bit crusty, like."
"It's supposed to be crusty, idiot. It's toast," James replied.
"But I don't like the crust!"
Peter was prevented from continuing what was, no doubt, an extremely eloquent argument by the arrival of the owls, one of which dropped a greasy looking parchment onto the much debated, crusty toast.
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"You've a letter," Remus said, waving a rather greasy and grayish piece of parchment. Sirius peered out at him from under the covers of his bed, looking terrified.
"Give that here." Sirius snatched the letter from Remus and dove back under the covers.
"Funny, you know. The parchment kind of reminds me of Snape's underwear." At this Sirius gave a constricted yelp of horror.
"What was that?" Remus asked, inattentively.
"Ah, nothing!" Sirius sprang out of the bed and scurried towards the door. "Absolutely nothing. Er. I have to go. Now. Very important stuff and such. You know. Classes . . . things. . . ."
"But today's Sunday –" Remus' protest was abruptly cut off by the slam of the door.
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To the Poofter Who Is in Love with Remus Lupin,
I expect that you retrieve these ingredients by next Monday:
Goblin Snot (5 g)
Glumbumble Treacle (2 kg)
Venemous Tentacula Venom (10 g)
Horn of Bicorn
Quintaped Fur
12 Fwooper Eggs
I must warn you that getting deliberately caught will not cease my demands. You will more than likely be expelled for possession of these ingredients, so I suggest that you take utmost caution in obtaining them.
Sirius' hands twisted at the letter. He wanted to smash that greasy fuckhead's face in, hang him from a tree with his own intestines, break that oily, titanic nose, anything. His fingers twitched convulsively. The crinkling of the paper was magnified tenfold by the acoustics of the boy's bathroom, accusing, condemning, trapping.
His mind raced frantically in circles, hopelessly trying to find a way to circumvent Snape's orders.
Kill him! screamed a little corner of his mind.
EEEEEEEEEEE! screeched another.
DO SOMETHING! they shrieked in unison.
So he took a piss, washed his hands, and left the loo.
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It had to be admitted, Remus thought, that Sirius Black was in a Bad Mood. This particular Bad Mood was not like any ordinary bad mood. It was the sort of Bad Mood that made the entire Gryffindor common room an unpleasant place to stay, what with the smell of burned possessions, dungbombs, and scorched fur wafting through the air.
This was why Remus Lupin was hiding under his bed, studying.
It was also why a certain Frank Longbottom was bouncing on the bed, humming loudly and waving his arms. It made the springs creak dust into Remus' eyes.
"Frank," he said, tiredly, "can you stop? Or at least move to a different bed?" There was a pause. There was a long, slow creeeeaak as Frank bent over to peer under the bed.
"Oh, hello, Remus. What are you doing there?"
". . . Studying."
"Is it comfortable?"
"Not really, no."
"Then why. . . ?"
"Just. Because."
Frank looked at him in some confusion. His face was turning red, probably because he was very much upside down.
"You've dust in your hair, you know."
"Yes."
"Just making sure you knew, you know. I'm off, now! Ta! Have fun studying!" Frank jumped off the bed, still humming loudly, and as far as Remus could tell, waving his arms.
James burst into the room, followed by Peter.
"Moony!" James shouted. Remus sighed, and poked his head from under the bed. "Moo – oh, Moony, there you are. Why are you under there?"
"Studying!" Frank shouted on his way out the door, "Studious chap, you know!"
"Your head is dusty," Peter informed him.
"Sirius is pissed off," James interrupted, "He set off dungbombs and burned bits of things in the common room. Did I put frogs in his underwear or something?"
"Not . . . that I know of," Remus said cautiously.
"Well, it smells really bad and Kingsley Shacklebolt kicked him out of the common room for disturbing the peace and I dunno, didn't he say something about detention for a week?"
Remus froze, horrified. He had completely forgotten about last night. Suspension! Expulsion! If Sirius was caught, he might be expelled. He threw himself violently from under the bed, thrusting his books into a bewildered Peter's arms.
"Ah, bathroom! Indigestion! Bye!" The door slammed shut behind him. Peter looked unhappily at the books.
"I told you the toast was bad looking."
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"What the fuck do you think you're doing, punching eleven-year-olds?" Remus snapped, shoving Sirius into an empty classroom.
Sirius glared at the ground.
"They didn't even DO anything to you!"
"Yes, they did," Sirius snarled, "Got in my bloody fucking way is what they did."
"Sirius, that's no reason to punch a four foot tall firstie in the face," Remus paused, "Is there something wrong? You've been pissed all day."
"There's nothing wrong. I'm not pissed. Shut up and fuck off; it's none of your goddamned business."
Remus looked slightly hurt, but the hurt was drowned by rising irritation. "Are you asking for detention?"
Sirius sneered at him, "You don't have the balls, you fucking pansy," and sailed out of the classroom.
Remus looked at his hands, the door, his hands again. Something in his stomach knotted while his throat burned. Sirius was right – he didn't have the courage to stop him. The irritation died away, leaving only hurt that threatened to break over his head in endless, constricting waves.
Outside, small children dove frantically out of the way, frightened of the Terrifying Sixth Year Male who was currently storming through the halls. An unfortunate second year accidentally leaped headfirst into a particularly ugly bust of Petrovitch the Perverted, resulting in a concussion and copious administrations of obliviate.
Sirius fumed his way back to the bathroom, where he punched through two (2) mirrors, broke one (1) toilet seat, and snapped off three (3) taps. Flimsy things, school bathrooms.
He sat against the wall, nursing his bleeding knuckles. He could kill himself for being so stupid. He'd really done it this time.
The look of hurt on Remus' face loomed accusingly in his mind. His eyes burned, burned like his knuckles burned, burned like the rubbish he had exploded in the common room so recently before.
Remus had always been shy, and being ostracized from the rest of society from a very young age didn't do much to help. The taunts, the terrified parents, the struggle to find a school that would accept him all combined to make a sadder Moony, a lonely Moony, a Moony who knew that he would always be persecuted. He was a Moony with more hurt and wisdom than any normal teenager should have; he was a Moony that knew true friends were hard to come by.
Moony was his best friend, his crush, his guardian and his charge, and Sirius had used his knowledge of six years to hurt, to wound more deeply than the mocking of –
He needed to pee.
Nothing like a good teenage angst over the toilet.
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Remus lay on his bed, twirling his wand between his fingers. If he were anything like Sirius, a mood like this would have prompted him to shoot sparks at the canopy of his bed, to rage and storm and perhaps knock Peter off a staircase. If he were anything like Sirius he could shout and rage and hex first years and not have to worry about being shipped off to a prison or executed for being a Dark Creature. If he were anything like Sirius, he noted, he would not be lying on his bed moping and contemplating lighting Sirius's bed on fire. Well, perhaps the last part, except the bed would already be on fire and there would be no contemplation involved.
He sighed and reached under his bed for a rather enormous book, burying his face in the pages and inhaling the scent of age-old leather and cracked yellow pages. If he were anything like Sirius, he would be in the process of hexing the book in question to bash people about the head and shoulders as they walked in the room.
Remus kind of wished he were something like Sirius.
He also kind of wished he had a vomit pail nearer to his bed.
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James was on top of the breakfast table, flailing madly.
"James!" hissed Remus, "What the hell? McGonagall is going to see."
James glanced over his shoulder. "Actually, I was hoping to get Frank's attention, but he's so bloody taken with that Alice . . . . McGonagall, you say? Maybe I should. Might cheer Sirius up a bit. He's been in an awfully . . . black mood lately, hasn't he?"
Peter giggled. "Black mood! Hah! D'you get it Moony? I get it. It's funny, you see, because his last name is--"
"Yes, Peter, I get it. James – no, don't, you've –"
There was a horrific crash and James tumbled headfirst off the table. Half of the Great Hall turned around to look as he grinned sheepishly and pulled his leg out of Remus' rather squelchy plate of eggs. Seeing opportunity in every mess and disaster, he picked up a handful and hurled them merrily at the back of Frank's head.
Frank turned around with a bemused expression on his face.
"Hallo, James!"
James waved cheerfully, "Hallo, Frank! D'you think I could get some syrup?"
"You wanted syrup? Syrup! There's syrup right here!" Fuming, Remus shook a large glass pitcher of syrup in James' face. Those eggs had been really quite tasty, and he felt obliged to avenge them.
"You don't understand, Moony! Frank's got this brilliant . . . woman syrup. It's fantastic, and I've got this idea–"
"Woman syrup?" Peter burst into another bout of hysterical giggles.
James looked at him curiously, "You know, I'd say that Pepper-Up Potion had made him a bit off, but I think he might have been like this before–"
James' words were cut off as he was violently strangled by his own robes. He swiveled, slightly blue, to see Professor McGonagall pulling him by his tie.
"Hallo, Professor," James choked, "Lovely breakfast, what?"
"Mister Potter," she snapped, "Great though your table dancing skills may be, we at Hogwarts do not advocate such behavior, especially during breakfast." Her lips pursed into a severe line, she surveyed the lovely shade of blue that was James Potter. "Detention, Mister Potter, eight o' clock. You will be helping Madame Pomfrey scour bedpans. Wandless." She released his tie, and swept off.
James gasped in relief, massaging his throat. Remus looked at him sternly.
"Really, James. Woman syrup?"
Suddenly cheered, James leapt up and shouted, "FRANK! When can I get that, then?"
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The first part of the day sped by in a blur for Sirius. He felt slightly drained and unreal, as if all the anger in the world had been released in a great big whoosh of air the night before. He felt tired and unfamiliar, and his mind subconsciously puzzled over why he felt so.
They walked through the halls towards the potions classroom. He could see, hear, feel the people around him, and yet, he felt strangely disconnected from them. James prodded him in the ribs.
"Pads, you okay?"
Sirius looked at him and wondered if he didn't look okay because he didn't feel okay, but it wasn't a bad not-okay, and for some reason, he couldn't muster up enough energy to answer.
But then he looked through the doorway and saw Severus Snape, and it was as if an entire world of furor had smashed into his face.
Snape raised one eyebrow and sneered.
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He crept silently down to the grounds, hidden securely under the invisibility cloak he had stolen from under James' bed. The moon hung above him, swinging heavy and watchful across the swirling mists of clouds. The greenhouses glinted in the light, waiting below him.
He felt so cool to be sneaking around like this.
"Do dooo do do dooo do dooo dooo, doo do do doo do dooo," he half-hummed, half-whispered. Agent Double-Oh-Twenty, codename Pants of Sex, he thought to himself. He slid smoothly down the slope of the grassy hill, only to trip over a protruding rock half-way,
"Owshitbuggerfuck," he said, and tumbled down the hill.
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Sirius hobbled painfully up the cursed hill that had caused him such injury, venom of Venemous Tentacula safely in his pocket. His sexiness felt much abated, due to serious contusions of arse and legs, and he cursed hills to a damnable eternity in hell as punishment for ruining his sexy agentness.
He was so taken with his cursing that he walked through the Hogwarts doors without even noticing, and promptly mashed into a column which he began cursing to a damnable eternity in hell, and on, and on, and on, until he found himself in a rather familiar corridor. A corridor which had once held a storming Sirius and squealing firsties.
He tiptoed towards the bust of Petrovich the Perverted, staring at his feet and hoping desperately that he wouldn't wake the sleeping statue. It might notice his torn trousers, which really would not end well.
Unfortunately, Petrovitch the Perverted was already awake.
Fortunately, its attention seemed to be taken . . . elsewhere.
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Sirius refused to get out of bed. Except he was already out of bed, because Remus had him by one pajama-ed foot, dragging him towards the bathroom.
"NOOOO!" Sirius yelped, clinging desperately to his bedpost, "ARRGH!"
Remus marched on, firmly grasping his prize Sirius foot. He shoved Sirius into the loo, saying quite sternly, "WASH."
Sirius collapsed into a protesting heap on the floor. "GNNARR," he burbled.
"WASH," Remus intoned, slamming the door behind him.
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Ten minutes later, he returned to the imprisoned Sirius, yelling through the door, "WASHED?"
Sirius replied with an extremely coherent, "EYARNNAHHHNNNGG."
Remus sighed. He placed a hand over his eyes as protection and threw open the door.
"GNAUGHNAUGH!" Sirius shrieked, scrambling for a towel.
After a few minutes or so, in which an extremely petulant Sirius got dressed, Remus returned to his captive.
"Why must you always smell of wet dog?" Remus muttered, "Even when you shower you smell of dog."
"Fnarrgghhh." Sirius was becoming more articulate by the minute.
"You know, there's this little thing called sleep, and some of us enjoy it, especially when said people have to get up for classes the next day, and, you know, bursting in at three in the morning screaming 'MY EYES, MY EYES' is a sure way to make sure said people don't get to enjoy it." Remus glared at the quivering ball of Sirius on the floor. "Yes, Sirius. Do go on and apologize."
"Ahhgg. Feechahhhggkazick." Sirius buried his head in his knees, muttering in such a way that he managed to sound angry and frightened all at once.
"What was that?"
"Ahhgg! Feechahhggkazick!" Sirius grunted more forcefully.
"Ogg? Filch Ogg what sick?" Remus ventured a translation, "You ran into Filch and/or Ogg?"
"Bohff. Tageddar. ZICK." Sirius mumbled, his mouth full of knee.
Remus puzzled over this statement. He attempted, for a very brief, painful moment, to empathize with Sirius enough so as to understand what was causing such trauma. It almost caused him trauma.
"What? Together? Like. . . ."
Sirius nodded.
"Oh, god. You've got to be kidding. But – Dumble – illegal – pedo – what!"
Sirius agreed mournfully, as if regretting the loss of innocence of his eyes.
"I think you need some chocolate. I think I need some chocolate. Chocolate is the answer to everything."
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The rest of the week passed without much incident, unless the daily rages of Sirius Black could be considered as incidents, which they couldn't, because they were carefully kept secret by Gryffindor Sixth Years, who felt it was their duty to prevent his expulsion. Sirius served his detentions dutifully, and contributed to the beating of only one First Year in the process. Happily, the Gryffindor Sixth Years managed to spirit the ill-fated Firstie away before word got out, and its disappearance was attributed to the Giant Squid, who was rather delighted to have such infamous publicity directed its way.
Despite the monotony of the school week, the Hogsmeade weekend proved to be a most remarkable experience.
"Ah. . . . Nice day," said Sirius. He looked nervously at the goblin, "Uh. . . ."
The goblin glared at him.
"Listen, er . . . ."
The goblin blew his nose menacingly.
". . .Can I have that? I mean, when you're done with it, of course, but I'd really like it soon, when you've blown your nose and everything," Sirius babbled.
"Do you not know what an insult it is to a goblin to ask for their snot!" The goblin frowned at him, eyes narrowed.
"Eep," squeaked Sirius, "I'm terribly sorry, I'm ignorant and just human and you know, ha, ha, human, and oh, my God, don't hurt me?"
The goblin grinned rather maliciously, and shouted something in Gobbledegook over his shoulder to his coworkers. They all burst into raucous laughter. Sirius froze, startled, and had begun to back away slowly, when something slimy and damp hit him in the chest. Looking down, he saw a very snotty tissue making its slow descent down his shirt.
"Oh! Thank you! I love you! I mean, not really, but, I am in debt to you and all your children and all your spawn and do you even have goblin women? Oh, but sorry, just asking, didn't mean to be rude, I'll go now," and Sirius disappeared, thankful to have emerged from this perilous encounter with his soul (and body) intact.
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That evening, Sirius turned up in the Great Hall looking suspiciously dusty and sweaty, as if he had run a mile and a half after emerging from a rather shady apothecary in which no one ever swept the floor, which was, of course, not true at all.
The Gryffindor Sixth Years were a determined lot, and they hastily hushed up any and all rumors by attempting to set Lucius Malfoy's knickers on fire, only to find that he wore no knickers and instead went commando. This discovery was far more interesting than a suspicious Sirius Black, to the intense glee of Lucius Malfoy, who now had girls left, right, and center. Especially center.
Sirius escaped to the dormitories, where he deposited a dozen tiny eggs, a packet of funny-looking treacle, and a bottle of what seemed to be fur into a heavy oaken trunk. He rested his damp, sticky forehead against the cool wood in relief. Maybe Snape wouldn't make him get any more ingredients. . . . Maybe he would develop amnesia or die or explode or. . . .
Unfortunately for Sirius, no matter how hard he wished, none of these things would come to pass. When Monday rolled around, the ingredients were exchanged for another list, and Snape, far from being exploded or amnesic, was in an incorrigibly good mood.
That night, several burnt and singed armchairs were mourned for by the Gryffindor Sixth Years.
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To be retrieved by next Monday:
50 Acromantula Eggs, collected at the full moon.
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Sirius swore at the toilet, filthy words, jinxes, hexes, curses pouring forth in a torrent from his mouth. Where the fuck would he find an acromantula? Where the fuck would a Ministry classified XXXXX, restricted, monitored, gigantic spider be? How the hell would he get its eggs!
In a rising fury, Sirius threw his bag at the unperturbed toilet. His bottle of ink burst, coloring the pristine toilet seat a dark purple while books flapped unhappily into the water.
"God! Fucking! Damnit!" Sirius cursed, scrambling to save his water-soluble wood pulp products. "Damnit, shit, fuck, bugger, fucking fuck fuck hell fuck. . . ."
Wincing, he flipped the first book out of the toilet. Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them, it said, Newt Scamander.
"Oh god, oh god, I am an idiot," he said, "Acromantula, here I come."
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Sometimes, James wondered why Sirius kept disappearing. Sometimes, he wondered why Sirius was in such a bad mood. Sometimes, he wondered why Snape was in such a good mood. And sometimes, he wondered why Lily Evans hated him.
He looked morosely at the syrup bottle he had transfigured. It looked strikingly similar to Lily, only Lily was generally found to be fully dressed and not nude.
Thanks, Potter. Now I have definite proof you're a creep.
Never yours,
Lily Evans.
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Remus followed Madame Pomfrey out to the Whomping Willow, feeling irate and betrayed. The sun gleamed angrily over the Forbidden Forest, drenching the clouds in blood. Above it the dark blanket of night hovered, waiting to be pierced with the harsh, unforgiving light of the moon.
"I have to do something," Sirius had said, "I just . . . listen. It's really important. Er . . . . I can't explain it right now. But I will! I will! I promise. Just as soon as . . . ."
A low snarl erupted from his chest. Liar! He would be punished, banished from the pack, hurt, killed!
Madame Pomfrey looked at him, startled. "Hurry, dear, wouldn't want to be caught out."
Remus slipped inside the tree, feeling the haunting cry of the moon already grating at his joints.
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The stag tossed his head impatiently. Below him a brown rat twitched, trembling. Together, they waited.
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Lengthening fingernails clawed at the floor, cruel teeth were bared. The sound of bones grinding against each other, snapping, twisting, filled the room. Lips tore as they stretched to fit a warped jaw; ligaments ripped apart only to be mended and distorted into rawer, inhuman shapes. Red gashes screamed across distended skin, soon disguised by coarse fur that thrust itself past in bloody patches.
The beast raged, and above it the moon swung, bright, piercing, pitiless.
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Sirius stumbled through the thick underbrush of the forest, flailing madly at the branches that threatened to mar his beautiful, prized, godly, dead-sexy-prized-godly face. Unfortunately, such flailing proved to be worse than effective, upsetting his balance and causing him to trip over a large, dead log.
"Agh!" With an extremely ungraceful pirouette, Sirius tumbled into something rather sticky. Rather sticky and rather large. He groaned, and had begun to grope about in the gluey darkness for his wand when he felt something tickling his ankles. Venturing a glance southwards, he espied what appeared to be thick black fur swarming over his ankles.
Wait, he thought vaguely, Thick black fur? Not transforming, am I . . . and fur hasn't got . . . oh, fuck.
"AUGH, CRAWLIES!" he shrieked. For someone so receptive to the whims of spider-sippy-cup halfbreeds, Sirius was a bit distraught over the fact that his ankles were covered in small arachnids. Perhaps it had something to do with the fact that the spiders were migrating quickly up his trouser legs and towards his. . . .
"AUGH, BITS!" he shrieked again. In an effort to maintain sanity, and some choice parts of his anatomy, Sirius began slapping frantically at his legs.
Try to remain calm, said the (very small) rational part of his brain, Try to reason with them. Not so rational, then.
"Hello. . . ." he began, speaking slowly, as one might speak to a very small child or someone who is very hard of hearing, "Could you. Perchance. Lead me to. Some eggs?"
The spiders persisted in their determined voyage bits-ward. Sirius cursed, attempting a rather complicated jig named the Gomg, Spiders up My Trou Dance in order to dislodge the creepy bits-attacking spiders. But Sirius never was a very good dancer, despite all claims to the contrary, and the spiders marched on past his knees unhindered.
"OHMYGOD," Sirius screamed, and with a small, almost inaudible pop, turned into a dog.
The spiders paused, confused. These were not bits! they proclaimed to each other angrily. Where had the bits-man gone?
The dog fled.
In the distance, a wolf howled.
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The dog snuffled along the trees, scratching at the errant spider. The world blurred before him in a wash of grey, painted by all the delightful smells! of the forest, green smells, living smells, night smells. For him they arranged a clearer picture of the world than could any human sense, a picture with a path.
He ran, tongue lolling out his mouth towards the scents that so clearly spelled SPIDER across his brain.
Ran, ran, ran, and before him loomed a great gleaming sack – wozzat?nottreenotanimalnotfoodbadsmelllikedeath – that glinted in the moonlight. It quivered gently, pulsing to the gentle heartbeat of the forest, to the conquest of blood and prey and death.
The dog nosed it cautiously. He pawed at it, tearing the spiderweb to expose the eggs below. He paused – nohandswhatnow? – and carefully worked his jaw around a clump of eggs.
He felt them squirm in his mouth and shuddered.
There was a snapping noise behind him. SPIDER, his senses screamed, RUN.
Ran, ran, ran, but the spider was too large, too fast, too strong. It barreled into him, smashing his body against a tremendous oak. His jaws snapped together in pain, crushing the eggs, releasing into his mouth dozens of scurrying, crawling, half-formed things that fought to escape, crawling down his throat, biting his tongue, crawling, crawling.
A whimper of pain escaped him, and the spider flipped him over with its forelegs, stinger jabbing towards his body.
He tore himself from the grip of the beast and ran, ran, ran, feeling the swarming spiders smash to pulp beneath his paws, feeling the unformed spiders grate between his teeth and coat his tongue with spider guts, feeling the pursuit of the giant arachnid behind him.
Ran, ran, ran, away from death and blackmail and unhappiness and unrequited love.
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Sirius sat beside Remus' bed, forlorn, despondent. He felt like he'd betrayed his best friend, and, in a way, he had. He had never missed a full moon, not since the time Kingsley Shacklebolt broke his nose because he'd accidentally kicked him in the crotch while doing gymnastics.
He gave a great mournful whooof of air. Remus' fringe fluttered across his face, settling slightly askew. It was almost endearing, except for the fact that one of the hairs had almost flown into his nostril and instead settled right across his upper lip, giving the appearance of an exceptionally idiotic mustachio.
Sirius giggled. Remus looked ridiculous and not at all like a proper Moony. He looked older, more laughable, and far too much like a professor. Somehow, the idea was both hilarious and unsettling. The thought jolted in his stomach and a small crease marred his forehead. His fingers itched to flick it off and make things seem right again. . . . He didn't want Moony to change, didn't want him to grow up, didn't want any of them to grow up. He wanted to stay in Neverland forever, because life was too complicated and too harsh, and the very thought of ever growing old, ever having to live in the grown-up world, ever having to leave Hogwarts behind forever, well, it was enough to make anyone a little fidgety.
So Sirius fidgeted, twiddling his thumbs, wiggling his toes, unable to stay still or get comfortable. He felt he should do something; calisthenics, jumping jacks, a few quick laps around the room, anything.
It seemed that this nervous energy transferred itself spontaneously to Remus, who mumbled faintly and opened his eyes.
He seemed mildly startled to find Sirius' face not a few inches from his own, but managed to conjure up a cheery, albeit croaky, "Hallo."
"Er . . . why are you two centimeters from my face?" Remus asked.
Sirius had large, somewhat girly eyes, he noticed; the sort that make-up companies used on their bottles of mascara.
The make-up bottle eyes blinked at him ferociously for a few seconds. Remus rather hoped he hadn't said all of that out loud.
"Well," Remus said, uncomfortably, "erm, I'll just move . . . away. Ish."
"Oh. Er. Sorry. Um . . . I didn't mean . . . um," Sirius sat back quickly and continued to mumble nonsense syllables. "Um . . . er – I . . . AUGHILOVEYOU!"
There was a sudden explosion of movement, and Remus, to his utter bewilderment, found himself confronted with a rather startling amount of Sirius Mouth attached to his lips.
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End Note: Ogg/Filch. Because you know it's true.
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