In the grand scheme of things, no, Sirius Black and I did not become best friends. I did not become the ‘fifth marauder’ as some delusional girls fantasize upon. In fact we weren’t even really friends, we were in fact just on friendly terms, by friendly terms I mean, rather awkward glances and tolerance of the other’s presence. Even though Sirius did seem to be always very tense around me undoubtedly due to the fork incident.
And about that.
The Fork Incident.
The Hogwarts population thinks I’m on some personal vendetta to kill Sirius Black.
Completely ridiculous, obviously because I couldn’t well kill him. I mean, not only would it be very hard to commit murder in school but he also would probably over power me in an instant…. Unless… I slipped something in his drink…
I’m kidding. Really. I am. He’s a nice guy. Well, actually nice wouldn’t describe him. Devilish? Nah, he’d like that too much. Charming? He’s as charming as a bunch of flobberworms. Handsome? Too superficial. Intimidating? Yes! Sirius Black is intimidating with his elegant hair; his devil may care attitude, his roguish charm, his complete disregard for rules and his undeniable confidence. Yeah, in between his gorgeous face and his I’m-the-king-of-the-world façade, it’s really hard to form any coherent thought or sentence in front of him.
Not that it ever stopped me.
So when he asked me why I refused him as my tutor, how in the world he found out I would never know, I had a response.
“I... you know… tutor?” I say speeding up my pace to avoid indulging him in my fear of cliché’s. Some response.
He stares at me as if he can’t quite comprehend what I’m on about, which he doesn’t.
“I’m doing fairly well in that class.” He says a bit miffed. “So honestly, it wouldn’t be a problem if I tutor you. I’m perfectly capable of---”
“I know what you’re capable of, Sirius” I sigh because I really know what he’s capable of. Like really and it has nothing to do with potions. And with my reaction from his stupid unexpected kiss, I can’t afford anymore of those incidents. Ever. Not that it would happen but hypothetically if he ever felt the need to… plant one on me again… I wouldn’t be able to stand it and would again faint.
Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me. Or however the saying goes.
“So than what’s the problem?” Sirius demands, entirely missing the whole hidden meaning in my statement. Boys are thick.
“The problem is I just don’t think it would work out. Think about all the things that could happen. I could make you like sterile for the rest of your life, providing that you choose to have children that is, and I would never, ever want to become a home wrecker. Wait…could you be a home wrecker if there isn’t a home to wreck considering you’d be sterile? Well in any case, I could never destroy your future happiness like that.”
I smile angelically up at him.
“On second thought…” He says his eyes darting frantically around.
“But if you really insist…” I simper.
“No!” He shouts, “ I mean no, I can clearly see the problem!”
And he’s off making polite retreat and I can’t help smiling to myself.
Chivalry is dead.
Why don’t you ever write? Not that I’m sounding like a nag or anything but Jaclyn is too busy with her American bloke or fiancé as she keeps reminding me, whatever, and mum well… it’s mum! I’m feeling sort of, I don’t know, COMPLETELY REJECTED? I swear even the vampires are better company than my family, you who have pledged your undying support and love for me. So come on lil sister, write back to Jacko and tell me about your kicking sixth year. You know you want to. And oh, I’ve enclosed a box full of chocolates that are not bribes at all.
Your loving, vampire hunting (truly), bra
Jacko p.s. Apparently bra’s some American lingo for brother( Jaclyn’s fiancé says this all the time) so it’s not the kind that you know put your… oh God… this is too disturbing… just write back Janie.
My brother is depressed. He always is when there are no vampires to catch and when Jaclyn doesn’t pay attention to him. I swear, they’re like the others better half or worse. So I quickly roll my sleeves and instead of writing notes in Binn’s class I bend over my blank sheet of paper with slight drool marks where I had slept only a few moments before.
Ah, so you only write to me when your twin is not available, huh? Well, I will have you know, bra (Americans are weird), that I will not have it, even though I have probably gained 870987897097 pounds from eating all the chocolates that you brought. Did you rob a sweet store? And as for my kicking sixth year, it’s going spectacularly! I fainted on the train ride to school because a boy kissed me! HURRAH! My school thinks I’m a killer! YAY! I stabbed a boy (said boy who kissed me on train) with a fork! JOY! I got a T in potions! ALLELUIA!
How do you think life is going, brother dearest?
Your loving, disturbed ‘other sister’
p.s. Why are men always so scared of the well being of their … you know… ‘thing’?
p.p.s. Don’t let the vampires bite you.
I promptly fold it and so lost was I in my own thoughts that I stood up and began packing my things to which Binn’s stopped in mid-ramble and looked at me as if I were absurd.
“Oh.” I say, a dull blush rising to my cheeks as I slowly lower myself to my chair. There are scattered snickers from around the room and I’m not really surprised. I shrug and take out a clean sheet of paper and doodle. That’s what I’m good at, doodling. It’s not really drawing but its good, in a purely objective point of view. It’s sort of gibberish all crammed into one tight space, a blend of silliness and hidden meanings without ever really being meaningful.
I do believe that was the deepest thing I’ve ever said, or thought rather. Whatever.
Anyway back to my doodles, they are colorful and vibrant and not a ‘waste of my bloody time’ (according to McGonagall, who was rather enraged that I had resulted to doodling in her class instead of taking notes, hence the swearing). I want to be a professional graphic designer when I graduate, you know, the ones that design covers of products and whatnot. So really what will History of Magic teach me about drawing? I mean, sure I’ve incorporated rather angry and deranged Goblins into my doodles all of which are largely comical and would insult Binn’s if he ever saw them but in all honesty, nobody even pays attention in the class. It’s a pity really, considering the class would be somewhat interesting if Binn’s didn’t reduce the massacres of Goblins and Wizards to the commentary on the foliage of leaves, which he didn’t of course but he might as well.
And being dead does not excuse you from the fact that one could be so pitifully boring. Look at Moaning Myrtle, she moans and moans and cries and cries but at least she has some sort of definable personality and don’t get me started on Peeves….
“Miss Marriot?” A rather agitated voice suddenly asks me.
“I agree.” I start and reply automatically, at once interrupted from my doodling’s and most thought provoking thoughts.
I swear he rolled his eyes!
“The class has been dismissed.”
I look around, finally taking in the scene and realize that I am the only student left in the class. Binns is frowning at me with a frown that is such a change from the usually bland expression that permanently resides on his face that I frown in return.
“Let me see your notes.” He says thrusting out his hand.
“But you’re…dead.” I say sensitively. Hah!
“Oh you silly cad, I won’t hold them!” He replies as if that’s the most obvious thing in the world and as if calling a student a ‘silly cad’ is the most normal appropriate thing to do.
I open my mouth to retort but decide against it and begin to hand over my notes, which are not notes but doodles. I hadn’t even gotten a good look at this particular piece. I never know what I draw until the very end, till the fin, until the last stroke of color or the last shadow of a line. And so when I look down to examine my full-page doodle I have to stop from leasing a howl of laughter.
It’s Professor Binn’s as a. …woman.
“Oh, it’s beautiful.” I exclaim while examining it. “I’m sorry Professor, I’m afraid I won’t be able to part with this. This has to be one of the most revealing drawings I have ever created but I assure you next time I shall endeavor to take down more…. detailed notes.”
He looks stunned for a moment and then makes to catch a glimpse of my drawing, which I cannot allow if I want to retain my life so I hastily side step him and giggle.
“As much as this has been such a delightful experience, I really ought to be going.” I swoop to grab my bag and in the process hit him in the face; or rather my bag goes through his face considering he’s a ghost and all.
“Oh sorry but I’m sure that didn’t hurt you because you’re…” I struggle to find the right word, a more sensitive approach, a subtle way to tell the dead guy the obvious.
“I’m deceased. Dead. Gone. Vanquished from the earth.” He says dryly and because he’s had enough of me, shoos me away with a tired look while all thoughts of the drawing vanquish from his mind.
Well that was the end of that.
What a pointless life I lead.
I do need friends.
Operation MNF. Make New Friends.
Hmm… I think I should definitely scratch out the new part. I mean, new would imply a need for replacing my current friends, which are to say none at this point. I have acquaintances but never friends, I can’t be bothered really but what if I tried? What if suddenly I got rid of my awkward blathering ways and replaced it with one of charm and elegance and confidence? What if I actually stopped talking to myself like some lunatic? What if I didn’t make weird and unnecessary statements? What if?
Well I’ll tell you what; I’d be completely not me! Completely and utterly not me! Not who I am, not who I always was and always will be.
And during this personal crisis of mine a certain dark haired boy pops his head in my vision and smirks rather arrogantly at me. It doesn’t register as I begin to mutter incoherently under my breath and ignore the poor bloke. He doesn’t take to kindly to this. Can’t he see that I have no friends? That in order for me to even acquire some friends I must totally change who I am? If that isn’t a personal crisis I don’t what is.
“Well, Good Morning to you, Marriot!” He says affronted, regarding me coolly underneath his silver gaze.
“And if being myself is not enough… then what shall I do…” I continue to mutter. “Cos if I change then what will I be? I’ll be a scam! A bloody scam!”
I grab unto Sirius Black’s collar and pull his face down to mine in a feverish haze.
“I’ll be a bloody scam!” I repeat, searching imploringly for some answer in those silver eyes. But my soul searching answer is stopped from his look of utter confusion that brings me with a BAM, back to reality.
I look slowly into his eyes finally realizing the beauty that’s there, the extreme closeness and air we are now sharing and my fingers that are clutching his collar with a fierce intensity. He wretches his gaze from mine and looks down at them. My hands, he looks down at my hands, I mean.
“Oh.” I say releasing my grip on his collar to which he straightens up and smiles cheekily. Oh God.
“I’m terribly sorry, oh jeez I’m a wreck aren’t I? I can’t believe I just flipped out on you about my personal crisis, which I’m thinking isn’t really a personal crisis, more of a melodramatic thought on my part rather. I mean, sorry. I should just stick to sorry shouldn’t I? Having a good morning?” I ask desperately.
“Actually, yeah I am.” He says smirking at me, knowingly.
What a cad.
“And I’m sure it has nothing to do with me.” I say.
“No, nothing at all.” He brushes an elegant piece of hair that falls casually over his eyes.
“You’re a liar.”
“You’d be right.”
“What do you want, Sirius?”
“Why, dear heart, come to my annual party.” He says so seriously that I know that he’s joking. It is a known fact that only the coolest, most beautiful people get invited to his sodding parties. Go figure. “I was thinking more along the lines of salvaging your reputation.”
“My reputation doesn’t need salvaging thank you very much.” I reply insulted. “And to be quite frank, as you have been so kindly, I think that I have no reputation to begin with.”
“Really, being the lunatic resident of the Ravenclaw House who is on some vendetta to kill Sirius Black, isn’t a reputation?” He crosses his arms in a smug way.
“Okay, wasn’t quite ready for the utter bluntness in which you proclaimed my lunacy,” I say and he rolls his eyes as if I’ve misinterpreted him in some way, “And did you just really refer to yourself in the third person? Anyways, no, no, no. I will not attend your drunken fest in the hopes of ‘salvaging my reputation.’ Do you not know how completely backward that is?”
“Maybe going backwards will be a good experience for you.” He says raising an eyebrow.
“How exactly do you know what would be good for me or not?” I ask enraged. “You barely know me at all, you scoundrel. Also, maybe I don’t show it enough but I don’t appreciate being called a lunatic!”
“Sorry, but I fail to see what’s so wrong about having your well-being in mind.” He says equally as angry.
“Why would my well-being be any of your business?” I say.
He falters. He actually falters and looks at me and then angrily growls at me. Yes. Growls. What a dog.
“I… I like a challenge.” He says defiantly.
“So now I’m a challenge?” I grate furiously.
“You’re clearly showcasing it now.” He replies back bitingly. “Am I so dull to be around? Is that it?”
“Of course not. You of all people should know what happens when I’m in close proximity with people. Look at you, you’re tense just standing close to me!”
“I’m nervous, woman!”
“Of what? Me stabbing you with another utensil?”
“No!” He spins around in frustration. “You’re so god damn infuriating.”
“Well, that will convince me to go.” Sarcasm drooling off my tongue.
“You’re going.” And with that he stamps off to join his little cult of thieves.
I was not going to his annual bash. Never. I’d soon as go when McGonagall lets down her hair. It’s beyond me why Sirius Black is so eager to have me attend his damn party as if it’s the Second Coming. Well, screw you Black and you’re arrogant tendencies. He’s probably just miffed that somebody rejected his invitation. What a joke.
I wasn’t going to his stupid party, no matter how cool it usually was, no matter how this would totally benefit Operation Make Friends, no matter how much Sirius wiggled his eyebrows and stared expressively, there was no way. No way in Merlin’s trousers.
Eat that, Sirius Black, the lunatic has spoken.
Please review please. :] All my love
Write a Review Accidentally on Purpose: Of Party Invitations