A/N: I am officially the most rubbish person in the universe at updating. But with Mesenta's constant whining at me to update and having beat my writer's block this fic might even get finished. As always this chapter is dedicated to my reviewers, particularly to Phinea who is the author of my favourite fic ever (see 'Potts and Kettles') and Mesenta who owns the most fantastic hat on the planet. I hope you all like this, if I get dozens of reviews maybe it'll inspire me to update quicker.
Disclaimer: Unless I blackmail J.K Rowling into giving me the rights to the HP universe in her will and then kill her I own nothing, as always.
Notes: I know my theory of underage magic doesn't work because it has been contradicted in THBP. However, I'm going to stick with it because a lot of my future plot revolves around using other people's wands etc. blah.
Chapter 13: Quidditch 1
At six Sirius rolled out of bed, unable to lie there, tossing and turning anymore. He crept from the room, humiliation rising in him once more as he remembered how yesterday he would have taken great delight in waking Snape at this hour. Then again: yesterday he would have been able to look Snape in the eyes while he did so. He still ached all over, repeated crucio-ing would do that to a person, but he had long since mastered the art of hiding that familiar pain. His parents had been using crucio as a punishment from the moment when, as a small child, he had contradicted his father's verbal abuse of an old muggle woman. His father had crucio-ed him until he had lain unconscious on the ground. He had been the subject when they'd taught Regulus the curse. That had been a bad week to have a letter sent home for winning Gryffindor fifty points. And throughout all of that he'd never given them the power over him that he had handed to Snape last night.
Pausing in his wanderings, Sirius considered his next move. He didn't want to run into any of the others, the last thing he needed was juvenile taunts from his brother and cousins, and last night had left him with a very real fear of Lucius. A fear that he would feel better able to deal with when he had a plan other than, 'Get down on your knees and beg for mercy. That's what you're good at!' He could go and visit Carina but he felt as though he'd been clubbed by a troll and he had only been crucio-ed three times and had ten years experience in dealing with the pain. She would surely need her sleep.
Looking down he noticed his hand gripped the mirror. He must have grabbed it by reflex on the way out. He strode to a cupboard just down the hallway; he opened the door and went in, settling himself as comfortably as possible on the floor. He would talk to James; he would have a nice long conversation with him and try to reel himself back to normalcy. He knew that this would probably wake James up; James was, after all, capable of sleeping until gone three in the afternoon, but on reflection he decided that he didn't care. He needed the comfort far more than he needed to worry about James Potter thinking him pathetic. 'And anyway Sirius,' his brain chipped in, 'you are pathetic. There must have been another way out. A way that didn't involve you sobbing and begging and kissing Snape's foot. For Merlin's sake, you might hate them but you were brought up a Black. You should have been able to talk your way out of it. You'd think living with my family would have some perks.' Sirius shook his head to clear that thought then raised the mirror and whispered softly, "James Potter!"
Instantly James's face swam into view. Not the tired, somewhat angry face, Sirius had been expecting but a cheerful wide-awake excited one. "Hi Sirius! You excited about the Quidditch? The portkey's at ten OK? So you need to be here at about half past nine right? I-"
"Woah! Woah! Quidditch? That's not 'til the fifth."
"Earth to Sirius! It is the fifth!"
Sirius ran some quick mental calculations. His friend was right. He usually was about Quidditch related matters. Damn. This was the worst possible day to spend with Snape. Still, at least he would enjoy torturing the little worm.
"Half nine? Ok, I'll see you th-"
James was ignoring him, "Are you OK Sirius? You look like a hippogriff sat on you."
"Or like I was crucio-ed to hell and back?"
"Yeah, like that," said James obliviously, not taking the hint. Sirius refrained from explaining. Whilst the image of what James would do to Snape was very funny, it was nothing to the look of disgust that would come into his eyes, even if just for a few seconds, as he looked at his best friend and thought of him grovelling before five Slytherins. 'James wouldn't have,' taunted his brain, 'James is strong enough. Even Peter's stronger than you are. He doesn't betray the things that matter to him.' He had a sudden mental image of someone tipping a shovel heaped with a glowing substance labelled self-loathing over his head.
"I couldn't sleep," he muttered, hoping James wouldn't ask why.
He needn't have worried.
James was clearly attempting to look sympathetic but the manic Quidditch excitement was back on his face. It was obviously all he could do to keep still.
There was a noise outside the cupboard. "I'm going to have to go," he mumbled, he really didn't need the grief if the other's thought he talked to himself in dark closets. "I'll see you at half nine."
"See you then," said James, mock saluting as his image faded.
Sirius emerged. Outside there was nothing, the noise must simply have been the old manor creaking. He sighed, he was becoming paranoid. 'Just don't let them see your fear,' he reminded himself. He stomped back into his room.
"Oy!" he shouted poking Snape, "Wake up Snivillus, it's the Quidditch today." The words, although spoken with his usual bravado, were spoken to Snape's shoulder, Sirius still being unwilling to see the mocking laughter in the boy's eyes.
"Quidditch?" Snape muttered drowsily.
"Yup," Sirius allowed himself a smile. "Today Snivilly, the rules change. Today it's me who'll have all the friends."
Snape sat up, "Black," he drawled, "if you even consider doing what I take your o-so-thinly-veiled-threats-to-mean, not only will I tell Potter and Co. about last night but I may tell Lucius that I would find it highly amusing to watch you hurt Carina…badly…under imperio."
"I hate you," hissed Sirius, injecting his voice with as much venom as he could.
"That's what makes it so fun Black. Watching you hate me yet need me so desperately (A/N: No, no, no this is one slash shipping I just don't agree with. Except in Desperately Seeking Severus when it is funny). And you do need me. You need me to protect you. To prevent Potter finding out how low his best friend sank last night."
Sirius kept his face impassive and Snape smirked, knowing how Sirius longed to grab him and beat his head not merely into the wall, but through it. Wasn't blackmail a wonderful tool? He got up an stretched, "And now for a day watching the Quidditch," he grinned.
A/N: The next three chapters are all the Quidditch bit (mostly because I like writing all four marauders). I would like to take this opportunity to beg shamelessly for reviews. I won't ask for a certain amount because after all this time without updating it seems harsh and somewhat arrogant to hold my story to ransom. But please do review. It makes me feel special.
