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My Possibly Crazy Neighbours by thecoolestdork13
Chapter 2 : Serious
 
Rating: 15+Chapter Reviews: 36


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Disclaimer: Any characters *coughsiriuscough* that you recognize aren't mine. And the superly cool chapter image was made by .ducky at TDA. She rocks. Another person who rocks is my awesome beta, redherring. 




Chapter Two: Serious

Since it’s Sunday, the parents are home, so I escape by going outside. I’m sitting on the porch drinking lemonade, with the notebook open on my lap and my trusty binoculars at my side. I came out here to observe the Potters, but it’s too hot and nothing’s happening, so right now I’m just doodling. It’s really hot. I bet I could fry an egg on the pavement.

Suddenly I hear someone coming down the Potters’ driveway, whistling. I quickly pretend to be very interested in my notebook, holding it up so it covers my face. I risk a peek over my notebook and spot a teenage boy towing a rubbish bin, smiling and looking generally happy, which is odd. If I had to take the rubbish out on such a hot day as this, I’d be cursing, not whistling. Oh wait, I do have to take the rubbish out on such a hot day as this, I have to take it out today. Oh well, I’ll do it this evening, when the horrid sun has gone down.

The boy is definitely not James Potter. He has darker skin, no spectacles, and longer black hair that goes just past his ears. Even from a distance I can tell he’s gorgeous. Also, James is a horrible whistler. I know this because I sometimes hear his whistling attempts from the back garden, and they hurt my ears.

“Hey,” the boy says, waving at me. I pretend to be so engrossed in my notebook that I don’t hear him. “Notebook girl!” Oh dear. That’s me. He’s reached the curb and is now walking back up their driveway, and he’s spotted me. I wave back, and then duck behind my notebook. When in observation mode, a spy should never be noticed.

“What’s your name?” he calls, smiling in a friendly manner. I put my notebook down, since my cover’s obviously blown.

“Melanie,” I say, and smile back. He’s stopped, leaning against the fence that separates the Potters’ driveway from our lawn.

“That’s a pretty name,” he says, still smiling. His smile is absolutely gorgeous. Honestly, if I was any closer, I’d be blinded by its shininess.

“Thanks, but I go by Mellie,” I say, “What’s your name?” He takes this as his invitation to hop over the fence and start walking towards me. Oh dear. I’m not ready for a fit-bloke encounter today. I’m all sweaty and gross. My hair’s in messy ponytail, and I’m wearing a boring tank top and short shorts that have mysterious stains all over them, that I think are paint, but I’m not quite sure. Gah! I’m practically indecent!

“Sirius,” he says. Oh! He’s that bloke James was talking about going to play “quiditsh” with! Unfortunately, I must’ve had a really big “light bulb over my head” look on, because he notices and raises an eyebrow. “What’s with the look?”

“Um, nothing. Is it spelled ‘serious’ as in ‘not joking’ or ‘Sirius’ as in the star?” I ask, improvising quickly. He looks confused for a second, but then smiles again.

“The star,” Sirius answers. He’s reached the porch and is now sitting down beside me, next to the binoculars. He picks them up. “What are these for?” Uh oh, time for some more improvising.

“You never know when you’re going to need binoculars. They’re very handy,” I say, trying to sound knowledgeable. Oh dear, now I just sound like a demented, binocular using, star name remembering, freak. Sirius holds the binoculars up to his eyes and looks at me through them.

“Whoa, these are pretty powerful,” he comments, sounding slightly surprised. Well they should be powerful, considering I spent three month’s pocket-money on them when I was twelve and going through my bird-watching phase. Don’t ask.

“Thanks,” I reply, even though that wasn’t really a compliment. Sirius looks at the house across the street with the binoculars, then at the big tree in my yard, and then sets them back down on the porch.

“So, what’s in the notebook that’s so fascinating that you didn’t immediately respond when me and my sexiness said ‘hey’ to you?” he asks, stretching his legs out on the steps and leaning back a bit. I tuck my own legs under my chin. I gulp and quickly try to think of an explanation of what’s in my notebook. When I can’t, I decide to change the subject.

“What makes you think the notebook is fascinating? Maybe you’re just not sexy.” I tease. Wow, that was quite flirty, especially for me. I am not a flirty girl. At all. I embarrass myself when I attempt to flirt.

“Ouch,” Sirius replies, placing a hand on his (well-defined, not that I’m checking him out or anything) chest dramatically. “That hurt. My sexiness is not to be questioned.” I giggled in a very girly -- so not me -- fashion.

“I’m questioning it,” I say. He shakes his head at me.

“Not really. You’re secretly in awe of it,” he counters. I giggle again. What is up with this giggling nonsense? I never girlishly-giggle! I giggle, but not in a flirty, girly, I-think-you’re-so-funny, way like I am right now.

“Fine. I’m in awe,” I say, since I can’t think of anything else. He grins.

“Now that that’s settled,” he says, “what were you doin’ before I distracted you?”

“Um, nothing really. Drinking lemonade. Doodling. Debating whether or not I should try and fry an egg on the pavement. You?” I answer. He smirks good-naturedly, and I find I like his smirk even more than his smile.

“I bet you could fry an egg on the pavement, it’s unbelievably hot,” he says. I nod, really not used to conversing with random boys that come out of my crazy neighbour’s house. Sirius doesn’t seem at all uncomfortable, but he seems like the type of bloke who never feels uncomfortable or awkward, like he’s one of those people who are perfectly comfortable in their own skin. I envy those people.

“I was taking out the garbage, since James is a lazy git who’s still asleep.”

I check my wristwatch, a digital one with a huge face that you can read from a mile away, and about a million different buttons and gizmos, some of which I still don’t know how to work. The alarm on it still goes off every day at noon, and I don’t know how to turn it off.

“But it’s three o’ clock!” He chuckles. I smile. I like his chuckle.

“Yeah, but try telling him that. That boy sleeps like a log,” he replies. Hhhmm, I should note that in my notebook. It’s not normal for a person to sleep so long. Two o’ clock is the normal sleeping-in limit.

“So are you like, his cousin or something, because I thought James was an only child?” I ask, trying to figure out who this “Sirius” character is.

“He is an only child; I’m not related to him. I’m his friend. I’m staying with him for the rest of the summer,” he explains, only this just makes me think of more questions. Why is Sirius staying with him? Can crazy people really have friends? Don’t crazy people’s friends have to be crazy too? Does this mean Sirius is crazy? I don’t want to seem nosy though, so I just smile and nod. A few seconds pass in a surprisingly comfortable silence, with me tracing a pattern on the porch with my finger, and him looking at the cloudless sky.

“So where do you go to school?” Sirius asks me. He’s still looking at the sky, not me, so I take this opportunity to admire his very nice profile.

“Hartburton High School,” I answer. I hope he doesn’t ask me if I like it, because then I’ll have to go off on my rant, and I think that might scare him.

“Where is it?” Oh. That’s a bit of an odd question.

“Just around the corner,” I say, pointing to my left. He nods, and I see a flicker of realisation cross his grey eyes. “Where do you go? The same boarding school as James?” I ask.

“Yeah, Hogwarts,” he replies, looking away from the sky and at me now.

“That’s a funny name,” I say. It is a funny name, just like ‘Sirius’. “And where’s that?” I ask, since he asked me.

“Up north somewhere,” he answers, “by a lake.” I raise my eyebrows at this interesting location. “How old are you?” he asks.

I smile. Usually I absolutely hate small talk, and the ‘How old are you?’ ‘ Where do you go to school?’ questions, but with Sirius, it’s actually fun, and interesting. Or maybe it’s just because he’s so fit, and his smile’s so shiny. Yup, I think it’s the shiny thing.

“Sixteen, to turn seventeen in exactly twenty-nine days,” I reply. Sirius laughs slightly at my preciseness. Or, at least I hope it’s at my preciseness. Maybe he’s laughing because I have a giant bogey sticking out of my nose! I do a quick nose scratch/bogey check. Phew, I’m clear. And oh, his laugh is lovely, I like it. It sounds like he’s barking. “You?”

“Seventeen years, one month and---”

“Melanie!” Mum bellows from inside the house. I groan. Sirius looks a bit alarmed. “Come inside! You need to practice piano!” I groan again. I practiced this morning, for a whole hour. I played almost every song I know. “Now!”

“Sorry, Sirius, I have to go, before Mum blows a gasket,” I say quickly, grabbing my binoculars and lemonade. He starts to reply but Mum yells again and I dash inside.

“Nice to meet you,” I hear him yell after me. I smile. Yes, it was very nice.



A/N: Yes, it was very very nice to meet Sirius. Did you like meeting him too? Thanks so much for the reviews so far, I'd love to get more! Tell me what you think of Sirius, and Mellie, and their chemistry, or lack thereof. And for anyone reading my other two stories, I'll update those soon!


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