Padfoot's Twelve Days of Christmas
So, it's day eight and boy are things heating up! Or are they cooling down? Lol! Either way, we are getting a lot closer to Christmas, and a lot closer to the end of this. Enjoy!
Day Eight
On The Eighth Day of Christmas, Severus Snape Gave to Me… Eight Dungbombs in My Bed!
Sirius Black was tired. He had been tired before, but this was completely different. He could feel it in his bones. Weary, he had heard his old Grandfather call it. Weary to his core. Remus's last transformation had been more violent than most, and he had been forced to gambol around the grounds at a ferocious pace just to tire him out. And keep him from getting into the castle. He had then been in lessons all day, and his tutors didn't let up on him. It wasn't easy being Sirius sometimes.
The end of the day couldn't come quick enough. Sirius darted into the Great Hall, ate as quickly as he could, and then traipsed up to the Gryffindor Common Room. People waved at him, trying to invite him into discussion, but he shrugged them off. He needed a bloody good rest. The bedroom, still bedecked in the finest and gaudiest Christmas decorations known to Hogwarts, looked a little different. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but Sirius could tell something was amiss. He contemplated investigating, but a loud, gaping yawn escaped his mouth. No, Sirius Black needed sleep.
He pulled the covers back on his four poster, and time seemed to slow down. He noticed them. Quick as a flash, he counted eight of them, and realised in a detached sort of way that he knew who did this. A stray comment by none other than the snarky git Snivellus had revealed his hand. There was barely time to groan before he was pelted in the face by eight powerful dungbombs.