Encounters of the Future Sort

Who Gives a Flying Fwooper

Continuation of Chapters 9 & 10

Sirius
Dungeon Corridor
With Remus, Peter, Harry, and Ron

Sirius felt Remus' warm hand on his shoulder. "Er—Sirius, I don't think that's James…"

This had been a curious day and Sirius hoped, with reckless abandonment, that it would become curiouser still. Life had been kind of a drag lately. All studying and preparing for the future—neither of which interested him in the slightest.

"Who gives a flying fwooper about the future?" Sirius flopped down on his bed a few days earlier, after leaving his career advice meeting with McGonagall. There was a pile of job pamphlets at the foot of his bed. "I don't need an Outstanding in Defence Against the Dark Arts to know the whole system is full of shit!"

"Flying fwooper about the future..." Remus repeated off-handedly. "That's a tongue twister."

"I'm serious, Moony."

"For once in your life."

Sirius glared and tossed a pamphlet that read 'Muggle Relations' at Remus' head.

"You might not care," Remus sighed, batting away the paper. He was reading on his bed with several pillows propped up around him. "But not everyone comes from such prestige, Padfoot. Some of us actually have to prove ourselves."

"What the hell does that even mean?" Sirius bolted upright, glaring from across the room. "You're brilliant, Moony. And I'll hex anyone that says otherwise. They're all a bunch of featherheads in bowler hats, anyway."

"Somehow, I don't see that holding up well in court." Remus sighed. He looked up from his book and smiled weakly. "Featherheads?"

"I have an essay on the Revolutionary War for Muggle Studies," Sirius grinned slyly. "I focused heavily on Yankee Doodle."

Remus blushed as Sirius laid back down and began whistling the referenced tune, dark hair sprawled around him.

It was an inside joke to their first Charms lesson, in which they had learned 'wingardium leviosa'. Sirius, who had already mastered this spell at a very young age, directed his practice feather to stick up in Peter's pointed wizard's hat. Consequently, Sirius had caught Remus singing the tune to Yankee Doodle Dandy and Peter had reluctantly adopted it as a nickname for the next four years, until Wormtail came about.

"Well, I thought the one on the Werewolf Capture Unit looked particularly appealing." Remus shrugged nonchalantly, turning a page of his book. "I think McGonagall felt a bit awkward handing it to me, though."

"The grades, the leaflets—it's all unicorn shit!" Sirius pounded clenched fists on his bed and a few of the pamphlets slid off the stack to the floor. "Half my family works at the Ministry, and I've seen what they do. Even the best jobs—it's all red tape and bloody politics. If my future is mountains of paperwork and fraternizing with snooty blue bloods..."

Sirius crossed his arms and blew a strand of dark hair from his face. Remus gently closed his book, watching him.

"I dunno, Moony. I–I just want to do work that actually means something." Sirius sat up and brandished a pamphlet that read 'So you want to be an Auror?'. He tossed it to the floor. "I'm not going to find anything worth doing in this rubbish."

Remus was very still, eyes far away, as if he hadn't fully contemplated this before. He bit the inside of his cheek. "Yeah...I s'pose you're right. I thought maybe if I did well enough in exams, I could change things for...you know, my kind."

"We can change things, Moony." Sirius' silver eyes were blazing. "I don't need to see the future to know that."

At that moment, Peter entered the dorm and Sirius grinned.

"You know...that old nickname was rather fun, Wormtail." Sirius considered as he plucked a stray paperclip off the bed and reached for his wand. One swift wave and it transfigured into a long, fluffy blue feather.

Peter, who was holding a stack of his own pamphlets, had just enough time to sit on the edge of his four-poster before a flash of blue caught his eye.

Sirius doubled over in laughter. Remus blushed slightly, also cracking a smile, as the feather stuck upright in Peter's mousy hair.

"Aaand they called him macaroni!"

Ever since that day, Sirius had felt terribly antsy. The disconcerting pressure to grow up in a world he didn't agree with, coupled with the long Scottish winter, had left a precipitous sort of itch in his bones. He'd left Grimmauld Place for good over Christmas break, into the Potter's open arms and bottomless kindness, but he still had a lot of unprocessed emotions. They had been manifesting for months as the urge to do something crazy—something reckless. A little bit of chaos was always comforting.

They'd been planning an epic April fool's day prank for months, so Sirius had poured this pent-up energy into battle preparations. Fortunately it appeared as though their efforts weren't entirely wasted...the exploding cauldron seemed to have produced rather peculiar aftereffects.

Could this truly not be James?

Sirius eyed him curiously. In the light of the dim corridor, he was the spitting image from his lanky frame to his wild raven hair. Remus certainly had his reservations, but it was like discerning between identical twins. What was he supposed to be looking for?

Sirius scanned over the lanky red head's, who let out a small yelp and looked down at his half-eaten food. "I hope this isn't a brownie from greenhouse seven…"

Greenhouse seven? Sirius mused. Everyone knew what shenanigans were produced from there.

"You're Sirius Black." The James in question said tonelessly.

Ah, he speaks. And they sound just the same too...

An electric excitement coursed through Sirius as he considered all the possibilities; making sense of the nonsensical was one of his favorite past times.

"Sometimes the simplest explanation is the most obvious," Sirius recalled their DADA professor saying. "Start from there before jumping to conclusions."

Perhaps it was simply a poorly delivered joke? It was April fool's day, after all. Or had someone slipped him a befuddlement potion?

They had been instructed to research befuddlement potions in preparation for their OWL's. James certainly seemed confused. Although, neither of these theories would explain the out of place objects or general confusion since they'd left the Room of Requirement. Let alone that trippy photo album...

Sirius felt Remus' hand squeeze his shoulder firmly, in more of a warning than a sweet sentiment. Sirius collected his thoughts.

"I'm glad my reputation precedes me." Sirius drawled sarcastically, in a way that would normally amuse James and provoke witty banter.

However, only silence lingered and the tension in the room remained arguably worse than before. On the subject of reputation, Sirius was reminded of the odd encounter with the first year who had confused their beloved quidditch star chaser with someone named Harry Potter. Sirius supposed the relentless pining after Evans had given James' ego quite a beating lately.

"Not still hung up on that little bloke from earlier, are you?" Sirius tried offhandedly. "Evans' really has done a number on you, mate."

James stared at Sirius like he'd grown an extra set of legs. Incidentally, Wormtail had actually grown an extra set of legs during a recent Charms mishap, but they had all found it quite hilarious rather than concerning (everyone but Wormtail, anyway). There weren't many circumstances that James couldn't make light of. In fact, his exuberant positivity could often be quite irritating.

It was then Sirius noted the brownie in Ron's hand and the mention of greenhouse seven. Suddenly it all made sense: there was a recipe for this vacant stare, paranoia, and obvious confusion. The lingering smell of burning plants, no matter how subtle, was always enough to throw Remus' sensitive nose off. The whole greenhouse experience caused Remus terrible anxiety and he could sniff out the culprit from a mile away—which was generally every Hufflepuff during their Herbology lessons.

Sirius raised his eyebrows and smirked. "Prongs, are you stoned?"

James' brow knit further in confusion, only affirming this speculation.

"Sirius," Remus whispered. "Look at his eyes."

Remus' eye sight was impeccable, but Sirius had to squint through the dim lighting. James' eyes looked a little bloodshot and much greener than usual.

"Well, just look at him Moony—he's high as a bloody kite!" Sirius barked in half-laughter. "That stuff from greenhouse seven does a number on you, eh mate?" He winked at the tall red head, who gulped.

James and the red head exchanged a bizarre look and Sirius burst out laughing.

"Oh this is brilliant! Do you have any more? And why in Godric's name wasn't I invited?" Sirius tucked a strand of dark hair elegantly behind his ear, eyeing the red head. "Who are you, anyway?"

The red head was very white. He clutched his wand in one hand and his half-eaten brownie in the other. "What the bloody hell is going on!"

Sirius snorted. "Blimey, must be good stuff?"

This theory was also falling apart by the second. It wasn't like James to casually partake in the fruits of greenhouse seven, and if anything, he'd certainly invite Sirius along so they could make a day of it.

Sirius held back a grin, realizing Remus had hit the gnome right on the head from the beginning.

"Moony?" Sirius turned quietly, curious to see what he was thinking.

Remus' lips pursed slightly as he bit the inside of his cheek. He looked at James. "Who are you?"

"I'm Harry Potter." James answered, in a way that quite convinced Sirius he was.

Sirius and Remus locked eyes. They had mastered the subtle art of non-verbal communication way back in first year transfiguration, when McGonagall had assigned them to sit in opposite corners of the classroom. A slight nod here, eye flick there, and Remus always bit the inside of his cheek when something was seriously awry.

"Harry," Peter thought aloud, causing Ron jump, "that's what that first year called Prongs earlier..."

"We're all there, Wormtail." Sirius rolled his eyes.

Harry suddenly went quite rigid, and the red head gasped, eyes nearly popping out of his head. Judging by how white their knuckles were, they both seemed to be exercising great restraint from throwing hexes.

Apparently Prongs' doppelganger has a bigger ego than the original, Sirius mused. Figures.

Thinking quickly, Sirius noted the Gryffindor crest on their robes as well as a shiny 'P' on the red head's. The mood did not often strike him, but Sirius was as well versed in diffusing emotionally charged situations as he was at provoking them. He was a bred politician, after all, even though he resented the fact ninety-nine percent of the time. He side-eyed Remus, who gave the smallest of nods.

"Well I'm Sirius Black," Sirius smiled his dashing, disarming smile and extended his hand. "Of course, you already seem to know me?"

The red head let out an exasperated laugh. "Yeah, right—Sirius is old!"

Remus, Sirius, and Peter turned to stare at him.

The red head flushed. "And erm, we wouldn't know him, anyway…right nutter, that one."

"So my reputation does precede me," Sirius bowed his head, as if adhering to dueling etiquette. He jutted his chin out, eyes flashing.

Harry did not seem to take this as as challenge. In fact, he even untensed a little.

"I dunno about this, Harry…" the red head's fingers shifted around his wand.

"You know us, don't you?" Remus asked softly. Harry's eyes flickered to meet his and nodded slowly.

"Well, if I didn't know any better, I'd say you were the spitting image of our best mate." Sirius grinned charmingly, clasping his hands together as if this was all great fun.

Harry suddenly fixed his eyes intently on him. "Tell me something only Sirius Black would know."

Sirius continued to grin, playing politely along. "What do you want to know? Moony here tells me I'm a bit of an open book—"

"Become Padfoot." Harry said firmly. "I'll know you're really Sirius if you can."

Sirius raised an eyebrow, glancing quickly at the red head. "Only Prongs would know that..." Sirius crossed his arms. "You've got to be pulling our leg."

"I don't think he is..." Remus said quietly.

"How do we know for sure?" Sirius murmured back.

Remus' eyes flickered to Harry's. "You must know about me too, then?"

But it was the red head, not Harry, who nodded. "If you are who I think you are, unless we've all gone barking…" he shook his head incredulously. "Lupin has the same scar on his face—so you're a werewolf."

Sirius was very alarmed. "And who the bloody hell are you then?" He rounded on the red head. "And how d'you figure?"

Remus grabbed Sirius' arm, keeping a reserved disposition. "You know Prongs would never tell anyone, Padfoot."

Sirius glared at the red head, who's ears were now as bold as his hair. "I-I've never told anyone either…" he said sheepishly, with an apologetic glance towards Remus. Then he exchanged a look with Harry. "Er—I'm Ron. You know, Ron Weasley?"

"Wait…" Sirius was reminded of what the fat lady had said earlier. "Arthur Weasley's kid?"

Ron nodded. He scrunched his eyes closed tightly, then opened them again, blinking furiously. "Blimey, it looks like you lot took a bloody anti-aging potion…"

Remus eyes widened and he suddenly yanked Sirius' sleeve as if they needed to leave as quickly as possible. "We should not be here Sirius—"

But Sirius planted his feet firmly, staring at Harry as the pieces finally clicked in his brain. A wave of electrical excitement washed over him. "You're Prongs' kid, aren't you?"

Harry nodded. "Now your turn. Become Padfoot—"

Remus suddenly flicked his wand towards Sirius with a yellow flash of light.

"Xor a woofum?" Sirius asked very seriously, like it wasn't utter gibberish. He glared at Remus, blowing a stand of dark hair out of his eyes. "Nieb groble plum, werefloof!"

Remus flicked his wand again, which unlocked the door on their right. "Excuse us for a moment!"

To everyone's obvious confusion, Remus quickly pulled the other two Marauders through the door as Sirius continued to babble in nonsensical protest.

"Boobasnot Moonsini—!"

Notes:

Loads of kudos for anyone that can guess the gibberish dialect! Hehehe. The flashback at the beginning ties in with my other WIP fic, The Three of Swords. Next chapter we'll check up on Lily and Sev :)