When Guinevere wakes the next morning, she feels better rested than she has in days.
Maybe it's the talk she had with Sirius the day before, or maybe it's the fact that she has Quidditch practice later today; either way, she wakes up with a smile on her face in time for breakfast, a meal she usually sleeps straight through.
When she starts pulling on her robes, only Marlene still lingers in the dorm. The smaller girl is taking her sweet time tweezing at her brows in order to achieve the ever desired thin arch. Sometimes, Guinevere regrets introducing her to muggle fashions and trends. Even if it takes her twenty minutes without magic, Marlene insists on doing her makeup just like Farrah Fawcett.
"You ready to go, Marls?" she prods. "Or are you determined to rip out every last eyebrow hair before breakfast?"
Marlene blushes and sets the tweezers down on her dresser.
"There's no shame in wanting to feel pretty, Guin," she says in her usual soft tone. If she hadn't known Marlene for as long as she did, Guinevere might feel guilty for the jab at her tweezing obsession. But after nearly seven years of friendship, she knows that Marlene responds to all jokes with absolute sincerity.
"You're already feckin' beautiful," she deadpans. "Now move your ass before they run out of strawberry jam."
Marlene takes an additional minute to brush out her long, thick black hair before linking arms with Guinevere. From their close proximity, Guinevere can smell the strawberry scented shampoo that she has been using since 3rd year. Her stomach grumbles in response.
That jam is calling her name.
The two friends walk arm-in-arm down the stairs together on their way to the Great Hall, talking quietly amongst themselves. Guinevere cracks a cheesy joke that she won't even remember later, and the sound of Marlene's giggle rings out across the corridor. The two rarely get quality time to themselves. They're always flanked by Lily and Alice and Dorcas and Mary and, on some occasions, Emmeline. The rarity of these moments makes Guinevere treasure them all the more, where she has time to appreciate Marlene's sweet, subdued personality without it being tuned out by the more boisterous natures of her other friends. Being able to hear Marlene's gentle voice and fairy-like giggle is a rare gift for Guinevere.
From her right side, ever so faintly, she hears another sound; a word, being hissed at her with more malice than she has ever heard before in an already hateful word.
"Mudblood."
Guinevere stops dead in her tracks, feeling Marlene's body jolt back with her.
She turns to her right and finds herself staring into a pair of bright, cruel green eyes, partially hidden under curly blond bangs.
Delora Rosier.
One of the most infamously nasty girls in Slytherin house.
Guinevere feels Marlene tense by her side. Despite her quiet nature, Guinevere knows her friend would willingly jump to her defense. Someone else fighting her battles is the last thing she needs.
She squeezes Marlene's arm to calm her and send her a silent message, 'don't intervene, I can handle this'.
Guinevere smiles so widely that her fact hurts.
"Delora, you're looking exceptionally beautiful on this fine morning," she croons.
Kill them with kindness, she reminds herself for the hundredth time. It bothers them more than being mean back.
Delora looks thrown off at first, obviously having expected Guinevere to react with anger. However, she quickly regains her wits and smirks back at her.
"I can't say the same for you, mudblood. What is it that Sirius Black sees in you? Because I don't see much."
Guinevere flinches, losing some of her bravery. Usually, flashing a smile and throwing out a compliment unnerves her tormentors enough to make them leave her alone. At the very least, they'll consider her a lost cause once they see they won't get the rise out of her that they desire.
It seems Delora is the exception.
Guinevere recovers quickly and prays that her opponent didn't notice that small moment of weakness.
"And who exactly should he be interested in instead?" she asks. "You? Aren't the Blacks and the Rosiers related? I knew you purebloods were infamous for inbreeding, but it's not exactly something you should advertise, Del."
Guinevere smirks when she sees the nickname had the desired effect. Delora's face goes from a pale ivory to bright red like a tomato in a few seconds flat. Her hand fumbles in her robes before she pulls out her wand and points it at Guinevere. The two are so close that Guinevere can feel the tip of the wand poking her in the nose.
"Listen here, you ugly little mudblood -,"
Marlene rips her arm away from Guinevere and pushes her behind her back in a protective manner, brandishing her own wand at Delora.
"You aren't very nice," Marlene says through gritted teeth. "I think the instant scalping hex would help the outside match the inside. Don't you think so?"
Guinevere feels adoration for her friend bloom in her chest.
The prospect of losing her beautiful blonde curls is enough to make Delora take a few steps back. Marlene's jaw unclenches, but she keeps her wand raised, as if waiting for an opportunity to hex Delora into the next century.
Slowly, Delora pockets her own wand. Marlene lowers hers, but keeps it in her hand. With the immediate threat diminished, Marlene's signature dreamy smile returns. It never ceases to amaze Guinevere how quickly the normally sweet and reserved girl can snap when one of her friends is under the threat of attack.
"Now if you'll excuse us, Delora, we're gonna go get some breakfast before they run out of all the good stuff," Marlene says.
She grips onto Guinevere's arm. Then, as an afterthought, she adds with genuine sadness,
"And you really do have beautiful hair. It's a shame you have to be so nasty to people all the time."
As Marlene pulls her towards the Great Hall, Guinevere hears Delora shout after her,
"Enjoy it while you can, Driscoll! Soon enough, not even Hogwarts will be safe for people like you!"
Guinevere rolls her eyes, already putting all thoughts of Delora Rosier out of her mind.
It occurs to her halfway through breakfast that she never even bothered to correct Delora's assumption that she and Sirius fancy each other.
The heat is overbearing on the sunny Thursday afternoon. The ever present clouds that shroud the entire UK on a daily basis are curiously absent, and the temperature is well over 20 degrees Celsius. Quidditch practice only lasted for two hours, but Guinevere is covered from head to toe in sweat. It doesn't feel like an overstatement in the least to say she's dying.
When the entire team finally dismounts, Guinevere sucks in breath after breath like she'll never get enough air in her lungs. If she wasn't so determined to make a good impression on the new players, she would bend over and place her head between her knees to keep herself from throwing up. Living in the north of Ireland her entire life, her body is mostly adapted to cold and damp weather.
James comes up to her side and slaps her on the back.
"You good, Driscoll?"
He looks as sweaty and disheveled as she does, if not more so. His characteristically messy hair is dripping in sweat that beads down onto his forehead, slipping down onto his foggy glasses. James always tends to push himself harder than he pushes his team, which is pretty damn hard.
No one takes Quidditch more seriously than James Potter.
Guinevere nods and wipes some sweat off her brow.
"I'll live," she insists. "It's just hotter than the dickens today."
James raises a confused brow.
"The dickens? What is that?"
She sighs. Some muggle expressions have made their way into wizard vernacular over the centuries, but others are completely foreign to purebloods like James. The trouble is, Guinevere can never tell which ones are which until she says them out loud and receives a barrage of confused stares.
"It's a muggle expression, James. It's meant to emphasize something. I was just saying it's really, really hot."
He nods, but Guinevere can tell the explanation isn't quite clicking with him. She's far too tired to explain it in more detail, however, so she points at the brand new 5th year beater who is turning quite an impressive shade of green.
"You should stop wasting your time checking on me and go get that kid a bucket."
James looks over at the boy, who is starting to gag, and dashes away to deal with the situation. Guinevere laughs as she watches him transfigure the boy's broom into a bucket. No one can ever accuse James of not being a hands-on team captain.
She turns towards the stands, expecting to see Lily waiting for her. She promised that she'd meet Guinevere after practice so the two could walk to dinner together. However, her red-haired friend is nowhere in sight. In fact, the only person sitting in the stands at the moment is Sirius Black, who seems to be preoccupied with what looks like a textbook.
She looks back at James, no doubt who Sirius is waiting on. He's busy trying to get the 5th year to puke in the bucket instead of on his shoes. It's going to be a while before he's ready to leave. So she may as well just sit with Sirius while they wait for Lily and James, right? They're not friends, exactly, but after yesterday's conversation, she likes to think they're at least civil.
Guinevere starts trudging up the steps to get to the stands.
By the time she reaches Sirius, she's panting all over again.
Sirius looks up from his book and glances over at Guinevere. Once he realizes it's her, he sets his book down next to him and gives her a glance over.
"You're very sweaty," he states simply.
She plops down next to him.
"How observant of you."
Silence falls over the two of them while they stare straight ahead at the Quidditch pitch. The height of the stands means the wind hits Guinevere in the face every so often, providing her some relief from the heat. She closes her eyes and relishes in it.
"You were good today."
Her eyes flit open and she turns her head to look at Sirius.
"Huh?"
He grins. It's not impish and infuriating as it usually is. If Guinevere were to describe it, she would call it genuine. Sweet, even.
Well, sweet for Sirius Black.
"You were good today," he repeats. "You had some pretty decent defensive maneuvers. But you'll need to watch out for the new Ravenclaw chaser. I hear she's the master of fake-outs. She made one of her teammates crash into the stands during one of their practices. Work on the offensive as well."
Guinevere cocks her head to the side, scrutinizing him. Sirius comes to every game and nearly every practice, but she always assumed it was in support of James. He's never tried out for the team once.
"If you know so much, why aren't you on the team?" she asks. In a different tone, that question could seem mocking. But Guinevere asks out of pure curiosity.
Sirius's jaw clenches and something shifts on his face. His entire demeanor instantly darkens. Guinevere remembers the look in his eyes when she grabbed him by the arm in the corridor yesterday. It's the same look she sees in his eyes now: defensive.
"My little brother is Slytherin's seeker," he admits.
Something curls in her stomach at the mention of Sirius's brother. She had nearly forgotten all those nights ago, seeing the younger Black and being chased by his brutish friends. She briefly toys with the idea of telling Sirius about what she witnessed, but decides against it. If the look on his face says anything, now isn't the best time.
Still, she can't squash the guilt she feels for keeping it from him.
"Why would that stop you from playing?"
He purses his lips together, letting the question hang in the air for a few more seconds than necessary. When he finally answers, he turns away from her to stare out at the Quidditch pitch.
"After he made the team, everyone thought I would too," he continues. "Professors kept asking me when I was going to try out. Every single time I went to Slughorn with a question after potions class, he somehow managed to bring up my brother's "natural talent" on the Quidditch pitch and asked me when I was going to "follow in his footsteps". As if he was the older brother. One time I even heard the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw team captains arguing over what position I would play. Hufflepuff figured seeker, like my brother, but Ravenclaw figured I was too big for that. He wagered I'd be a chaser. And I just…."
He trails off, but Guinevere gets the idea.
"You don't want to be compared to him," she finishes for him.
He looks back at her. Grey eyes lock on brown, and she can see his defenses lowering. He's not vulnerable, not in the least, just… not so tense. He no longer seems like he's a cobra poised to strike.
"Mum and Dad always expected the best of Regulus and I. He can be the world's best seeker for all I care, but I want no part of it."
Regulus. That's the younger Black's name.
She needs to tell him. Even if they aren't close, he's still Sirius's brother and Guinevere has a sinking feeling that he's getting himself into some deep trouble.
"Sirius… I -,"
"GUIN!"
Guinevere looks out at the pitch and spots a head of fiery red hair. Her best friend is waving at her, trying to get her attention. She feels like sighing in relief. This is her chance to escape. Once she's away from him, maybe the mounting guilt will disappear.
She turns back to Sirius, who's still waiting for her to finish her sentence.
"I… I'll see you later."
She gets up and hurries down the stairs towards the pitch to meet Lily.
On her way down, she comes to a decision; she needs to tell Sirius what his brother is up to at some point. But before she does, she needs to know exactly what it is he's doing.
She's going to find out, and soon.
A/N: I guess you guys can tell I'm on a kick for this story lately. I'm inspired! I also decided to characterize Marlene in a way that she usually isn't. People usually make her a female Sirius, but I wanted to do something different. I also wanted to show a little more of the defensive, slightly unstable Sirius that we see in the books. I don't believe ALL his problems came from Azkaban. His upbringing had a little to do with it.
I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter! As always, reviews are welcome. I really want to know what you guys thing. :)