True to his word, Filch had informed their head of house and Mc Gonagall had promptly placed the two on the detention list with an annoyed flourish of her wand. She had merely brushed past Sirius but reserved the brunt of her anger and disappointment for Marissa. She hung her head ashamedly, answered meekly in response and failed to meet Sirius' apologetic gaze. On the solemn return to the common room, neither of them spoke, partly due to the presence of a flustered Filch who was delighted he finally served a purpose, but partly due to the sheer awkwardness of the situation they found themselves in. Quite simply their worlds did not mix, for why would they? Sirius had an array of ingenious ways to occupy his time, none of which included the library. She on the other hand, failed to live elsewhere; the library had always been a comfort to her. The only opportunity they would have to encounter each other would be during the brash, chaotic parties Gryffindor house was so famous for, not that she cared much for them anyway. There was always some silly feat involving spin the bottle and firewhiskey going on, that sort of thing never appealed to her in the slightest.
Argus Filch slammed the portrait door menacingly behind the pair. Marissa winced slightly at the rapturous echo of sound the impact made that flooded her bones. Without so much as another word to the witch he so vulgarly addressed earlier, he departed she stood there for a second longer before wordlessly re-embarking the stairs. It was only after she had pulled the cold but gentle sheets protectively around herself that she remembered she had left her book behind the curtain. On the other hand, Sirius lolled carefree back to bed, unfazed by the prospect of detention. What would be different about this one, waste a few hours and shine a few trophies. No big commotion- except this time there would be an exquisitely attractive witch to keep him company. Not that she would be the type to give him the 'company' he was used to. Marissa Gardner was the sort who wore her skirt regulation to the knee and spent more time fretting over the political correctness of her History of Magic essays than her hair. Obviously not his type then, unfortunately it didn't help that she had startling wide brown eyes and a smile that reflected everything right in the world. Lying in bed he willed himself to sleep, but it did not come as easily as he hoped.
After all their turbulent relationship with the rules of Hogwarts, it was no surprise that Sirius and James were familiar with the teachers who supervised detention and their respective practices of punishment. Thus Sirius recognised Professor Crawley of Muggle studies the minute he entered the room and rejoiced, aware he would be writing out lines tonight-the old-fashioned way. Professor Crawley also had a tendency to fall asleep in the empty classrooms, usually giving him and James an opportunity to engage in some enigmatic new hex to use on Snivellus later and resume their looks of angelic concentration by the time Crawley revived himself out of his sleep-fuelled trance. He strode in with an easy, graceful lope and relaxed into a seat near the window with a certain bravado. Uncaringly, He yawned widely and leaned back into the chair, stretching out. Instinctively he blocked the stares emanating from a stern but fuzzy looking middle-aged man, sat behind a withered desk.
Marissa had been there since exactly ten to ten. The watched patiently as the seconds jumped ever closer to the large golden number that read ten. She had waited, sitting expectantly with her quill panned out neatly before her, in an exact parallel line with the reams of crisp parchment waiting to be filled with her neat, careful script. Professor Crawley hadn't stumbled in until a quarter past, Sirius Black hadn't graced them with his presence until half ten, by which time loud, guzzling snores permeated the stillness of the classroom. If Marissa had taken a moment to disengage with her speedy, intent scribbling, she would have noticed how sweet the teacher looked, his head floating up and down with the rise and fall of his shallow breaths. She also would have noticed Sirius lounging in his chair, tilting it back on two legs. He hadn't bothered to write anything since he had sat down. Professor Crawley had fallen asleep so there was no need he thought thankfully and rested his arms behind his head with his eyes closed. Marissa was too focused on rewriting the lines again and again in neat parallel lines to notice how very, very handsome and peaceful he looked.
It was only when the strong smell of smoke hit her that she looked up to see him leaning casually against the wooden window frame, cigarette in mouth, looking out the open pane with mild interest at the night sky littered with glittering specks. This was the second time she had been caught out by the odour of nicotine. Unused to the pungent, slightly bitter aroma, she tried to control her breathing. Perhaps that way she could minimise the chance of spluttering and coughing wetly like the way some of the first years did when smoking behind the greenhouses. A weightless blast of cool air blew in, that mixed with the stuffy air of the classroom and ruffled his dark hair slightly. The smoke mingled with the fresh air, billowing gently. It was true that Sirius Black was very handsome; it was probably the first thing you noticed about him. Her vision was directed immediately to his lazy charcoal eyes which gazed unfocused out towards the world beyond the castle. There was usually a set of Marauder groupies in every year, dedicated to foolishly fawning over and following (Some would call it border-line stalking) the small gang of boys around. Marissa knew she was too sensible for that sort of thing, besides one was wasting effort and energy unless one was prepared to make the passage to your knickers accessible.
Sirius rejoiced in his head, he knew a lot about women, far beyond his years in fact. What made them tick, what made them blush, what made them curse him as the "Bloody Black bastard!". This was one of those occasions and he waited patiently for the reaction he knew would come.
"Ehm, maybe, ehm could you?" she began unsurely, but with an undertone of definite annoyance laced into the unfinished sentence. Just to have anyone look at her was a source of squelching discomfort to her.
"Bothering you?" Sirius suggested sarcastically with a quick nod to the cigarette held proudly in his right-hand. Still, he made no move to dispose of it. It was true that she was so beautiful that it was acceptable to wonder whether you had imagined her. Her flushed-heart shaped face reflected youth and radiance; she was simply exquisite and completely absorbed in writing out the lines again and again. There was something endearing about the way she sniffled every so often and shifted her weight continuously in the simple wooden chair. He made her deeply uncomfortable, that much was painfully tangible.
In response she looked pointedly at the dozing Professor then resumed her work. She wouldn't be the one in trouble again this time she thought smugly and refocused her efforts on the task set. Marissa's thoughts spun awkwardly, searching for a way to explain her late return to the dormitory. If Gemma Colrain, a kind but over-enthusiastic seventh year, ever discovered the interactions she had with Sirius, there would be a rapid succession of very personal, very direct questions involving the words 'gorgeous' 'shag' and 'lucky'. Marissa unknowingly belched at the very notion.
No time had passed before she glared up again at the stronger, fresher smell seeping from the newly-lit smoke and turned away in annoyance.
"Why do you..?" she trailed off immediately regretting that she had let sound pass her lips in the first place. The dusty rouging of her cream complexion proved testament to this. She struggled to fully dedicate herself to copying down the phrase repetitively.
I must behave in school that includes after hours; the castle is not my social arena.
I must behave in school that includes after hours; the castle is not my social arena.
"What the fuck is your problem?" he spat back lazily, making the girl cower pitifully into her writing-embossed parchment. He idly surveyed the tawny girl that he had distracted. The looseness of the uniform magnified her rakish from. He caught sight of two sparrow like legs that dangled awkwardly from the chair. She was tall, so much that she had to sit in an uncomfortable position that Sirius knew all too well, in order to fit her legs beneath the table. Watching her redden at his use of profanities and her obvious struggle to contain a bout of coughing with each new cigarette was moderately entertaining (If not a bit below the excitement levels he was accustomed to).
Quite suddenly, the clock hit the point where the two hands pointed towards the large golden twelve. She bundled her quill back into the small worn satchel and left leaving Sirius feeling a bit sheepish at his mannerisms, but not by much. He could hear the fading click-clack of her retreating steps as he stayed to finish is last cigarette.
There was something oddly empowering about not replying to Sirius Black, giving Marissa a rare flush of excitement that tickled the sides of her mouth into a smile. Usually she had viewed her inability to form a coherent sentence without feeling utterly senseless as some kind of curse. Growing up she had longed for the apparent ease at which others participated in social interactions that had never been gifted to her. It most certainly was the first time in her life that her non-compliance with words had served a purpose, other than making her invisible. That comforting thought stood emblazoned in her mind as she urged drowsiness to come, it took longer than she would have found convenient and until it arrived her thoughts bristled with hazy images of smoke infiltrated classrooms and boys who lacked mannerly speech.