Printer Friendly Version ] [ Report Abuse ]
<< >>

My Possibly Crazy Neighbours by thecoolestdork13
Chapter 6 : Observations
 
Rating: 15+Chapter Reviews: 41


Font:  
Background:   Font color:  



Disclaimer: I am not in my forties, therefore, I am not J.K. Rowling, and in conclusion, I do not own any characters, words, phrases, and ideas you recognize from the Harry Potter series.



Chapter Six: Observation 


Mum is home. She usually has a few patients on Saturday, but, lucky me, today she doesn’t.

For most kids, with normal mothers, that might be a good thing. For me, it means a mad woman is running loose in the house, trying to get me to reorganize my wardrobe.

I do not want to reorganize my wardrobe, nor do I need to.

But for some reason she’s decided it smells “dingy” in there, and so here I am, stuck in my room on a fine summer’s afternoon with a bottle of cleaner and a pile of hangers.

There’s a knock on the door and I quickly jump off my bed, where I was previously lounging, and start throwing clothes around, to look like I’ve been hard at work.

“Come in!” I call, folding a random shirt and placing it on top of another random shirt. This is me, organizing. Mum walks inside and looks around, frowning. I frown right back at her.

“Melanie, it doesn’t look like you’ve made much progress,” she says after inspecting the clothes-strewn room. I sigh. It’s been about five minutes since I started, or, pretended to start.

“It’s only been five minutes,” I reply, but she doesn’t seem to hear me, and instead she walks over to the window.

“Well no wonder you haven’t gotten any work done, how can you with the window shut! It’s such a nice day, and it smells so dingy in here, you need the window open to let some fresh air in,” she exclaims as she flings it open. Sometimes my mum talks so fast I wonder if her patients can ever get a word in.

I roll my eyes, but she doesn’t notice, and instead she flits about the room, folding clothes and making piles. I roll my eyes again and plop back down on my bed.

“Mum,” I say, trying to get her out of my room before she really gets going, “I can handle it, honestly. You can go now.”

She stops scrubbing the back of the wardrobe and turns around to cast me a disbelieving look. 

“Are you sure, sweetie? Because I’m thinking you could organize by colour, you know, all your oranges together, and then the yellows, and –”

“Thanks, Mum, I’ll do that,” I interrupt, and then take the cleaner from her and set it on the floor, before steering her towards the door. “Thank you, good bye.”

I shut the door behind her with a sigh and flop back down on my bed. A colour-coordinated wardrobe? Honestly.

After a few minutes of staring at the ceiling and trying to decide if I should actually do some reorganizing, I get up and go over to the open window to see if there’s some sort of way I can climb out of it and escape.

I wish I was a monkey, because that’s the only possible way I could climb out of this window and live.

I dunno, the only thing the monkeys at the zoo do is itch themselves. It doesn’t look very fun.

Maybe if I was a lemur . . .

“So, Padfoot, you never told me what you were really doing yesterday.”

Ah!

Okay, near-death experience just avoided.

Note to self: Do not lean out of the window, because when surprised by loud voices coming from the Potters’ back garden, it is very easy to fall out.

“Come on, mate, spill.” I recognize the voice as James Potter’s. Figures. I always knew he’d try and do me in.

Well, I suppose while I’m trapped in my room I might as well get some eavesdropping in. I am, after all, on a mission for the good of the neighbourhood to see what exactly is up with the Potters.

I grab my notebook and a pen, and then position myself under the window, sitting very comfortably and out of sight, so there will be no repeat of the episode in the tree house.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” I’m pretty sure that’s Sirius.

“Well, it was a good cover-up, telling my parents you spent the day with that Muggle girl,” James says casually.

Weird things about PB: 
Keeps using term “muggle”. What exactly is a muggle? No boarding school is snooty enough to have a special name for people who don’t go there. I think. Must ask Courtney, who went to boarding school once.


“I mean, there’s no way you did something as boring as going to the park with her,” he continues, and I frown, insulted. The park happened to be kind of fun! “Unless, of course, you were snogging her.”

Both Sirius and I have sudden coughing/choking fits. What the hell is wrong with James Potter? Insinuating that the only way Sirius could enjoy spending time with me is by snogging me! The nerve! What did I ever do to him? (I mean besides spy on him and maybe suggest that he was mad.)

Seems to be obsessed with snogging.

Okay, maybe that’s normal with teenage boys, but I’m still writing it down.

“I wasn’t snogging her!” Sirius exclaims, sounding indignant. “We went and got chocolate at a shop, and then to the park, and it was fun!”

Woot! Go Sirius! Way to attempt to get Potter’s mind out of the gutter! Only, why did he sound so annoyed? What, is the idea of spending the day snogging me repulsive?

“Really? You weren’t going to Zonko’s, or checking out the local pub, or something?” Potter asks, sounding incredulous.

Zonko’s? Huh?

“No, I wasn’t, I didn’t lie, why is that so hard to believe?” Sirius asks, sounding irritated now. I second that!

“Well, it’s just hard to believe that you let a whole day go by without causing any trouble at all,” Potter replies jokingly. Sirius chuckles, but I don’t. What was that supposed to mean? Is Sirius usually causing trouble? Is that because he’s a madman?

Seems to think that a day spent not causing trouble is a day wasted. 

Actually, that might be normal with teenage boys too. Darn.

“I decided to mix it up a little and be relatively good for a day,” Sirius jokes. I think he’s forgetting about how he almost killed me! And forced me to touch the gross old man’s clammy hands. And caused a huge lump to form on the back of my head.

“It still sounds like you had more fun yesterday than I did,” Potter says. “Mum forced me to clean my room all by myself, because apparently the smell of it made a house elf pass out.”

What’s a ‘house elf’? I mean, I know what an elf is, a little person that makes shoes and such, but a ‘house elf’?

Talks about mythical creatures in everyday conversation.

“And,” he continues, “Lily replied to my letter.” Sirius makes a sympathetic noise.

“Was it death threats or castration threats this time?” Sirius asks nonchalantly, as I sit here in confusion.

“A combination of the two,” Potter replies sadly. Um, okay, who’s this Lily girl and what did Potter ever do to her?

Gets letter(s) threatening to kill/castrate him.

“Sorry ‘bout that, Prongs,” Sirius says. I hear Potter mutter something, but I can’t understand it.

So, wait a second, did Potter just reply to ‘Prongs’? Is that his nickname or something?

His nickname is ‘Prongs’.

They are both strange, strange boys.

“So has Peter replied to your letter yet?” I hear Sirius ask. Finally, a normal name. Potter says something else I can’t here, and then Sirius says another thing I can’t hear, and then I assume they go back inside, because I hear the door slam shut.

Sigh.

I glance down at my notebook, reading the notes I’ve taken.

Weird things about PB:
Keeps using term “muggle”. What exactly is a muggle? No boarding school is snooty enough to have a special name for people who don’t go there. I think. Must ask Courtney, who went to boarding school once.
Seems to be obsessed with snogging.
Seems to think that a day spent not causing trouble is a day wasted.
Talks about mythical creatures in everyday conversation.
Gets letter(s) threatening to kill/castrate him.
His nickname is ‘Prongs’. 

I didn’t really learn anything from that conversation, or at least anything helpful to my mission. I already knew Potter was a weirdo.

I suppose the only thing moderately useful is that apparently Potter thinks Sirius is a troublemaker.

Which is weird.

Because if I’m being completely honest with myself, Sirius has shown signs of fancying me. And according to Potter, he’s some sort of hooligan. And hooligans tend to completely ignore me, much less do things such as hold my hand. Normal, slightly dorky blokes tend to fancy me, not blokes like Sirius (insane miscreants).

Examples:

First there was Tommy Miller, who asked me to the school dance in a note, when we were thirteen, met me there, gave me a corsage, and only danced with me twice, spending the rest of the time sniggering with his mates in the corner. That was fine with me, since he had clammy hands.

And then, when I was fifteen, (that’s right, two years of absolutely no boy-action) Michael King, who was on Hartburton’s swimming team with me, told me I had ‘pretty blue eyes’ and asked if I wanted to go to the movies with him. I said yes, of course, and we had four more dates (three group and one private). I really liked him, but then he moved to the other side of the country and only ever wrote me one letter. He was my first kiss.

Oh, and I can’t forget Jacob Lowsley, who was the lead in the school play with Courtney. We went out for three solid months last winter, until Susan and I walked into my favourite ice cream parlour, and got a lovely view of Jacob snogging some girl with green hair. I’ve never seen Susan so mad, or heard her scream so much.

And five months ago I had a horrific blind date, but I prefer not to think about that experience.

I also just remembered Stevie Thomas from daycare. He drew me pictures every day. We had a wedding involving five other toddlers and the snack lady as the priest.

In conclusion, all my dating experience has consisted of average blokes, not hooligans like Sirius.

So why does he seem so interested in me?

Ugh, if I think about this too much I’ll get a headache. I have to think about something else. I know, I’ll make a list of the weird things about Sirius!

Weird things about Sirius _____ (note to self: find out last name)
Is friends with obviously mad PB.
Has coin(s) with dragon on it, claims it is Canadian dollar, but that’s false.
Has weird name.
Brother has weird name.
Has imaginary friend named Remus.
Held my hand for extended period of time.
Can’t take a hint.
His explanations for Potter’s weirdness were obviously false.
Thought hole in hedge looked like owl.
Has abnormally shiny teeth.
Is abnormally good-looking.
According to PB, is hooligan. 

Possible Explanations for Sirius’s and PB’s weirdness.
Are both mad. (Very likely)
Are both secret agents. (The odd coin is evidence of this, plus the abnormally shiny teeth)
Both were dropped on head several times as children. (Or possibly thrown)
This is just one long, strange dream, and soon I’ll wake up. (Hopefully)
Are both scientists. (Would explain random sparks, bangs, and weird words)
Are both superheroes in disguise. (Not very likely, as I can’t see either of them voluntarily wearing tights)
Are both mad. (Very, very likely) 

I think the first, third, and last explanations are most plausible.


Tuesday- 4:47 P.M. Discovered yesterday that if I sit on bedroom windowsill with binoculars, can see into Potters’ back garden. Is a bit tricky, balancing notebook on thigh with binoculars in one hand and pencil in other, but have wrapped one leg in curtain to help balance.
Anyway, was reading Frankenstein when heard noise coming from Potters’, so got into observation mode.
Have observed Sirius exit house with an owl perched on his arm.
An owl is a very unusual pet.
Sirius glances around, looking a bit shifty, and then removes a folded piece of paper from his pocket. Only, it looks funny, the paper, kind of old-fashioned-ish. Oh my. He seems to be giving it to the owl. The owl is taking the paper in its beak! Sirius pats its head, and says “Here you go, Harold. I’ll give you some owl treats when you get back.” The owl just flew off. With the piece of funny-looking paper clamped in its beak. Sirius looked at it for a bit, and then walked back inside.
What the bloody hell just happened?????
And is there even such a thing as owl treats??????? 

Tuesday- 5:10 P.M. Near death experience just avoided. Was carefully observing Sirius retreating into house, when Mum bellowed “Melanie, phone for you, it’s Kenzie!” and caused me to almost fall out window. For the second time this week.
But all is okay, only dropped pencil into stupid little duck pond Dad insisted we get because apparently “listening to running water relieves tension, especially in back, which leads to less backaches.” Rubbish. Told Dad if I wanted to listen to running water, would just flush toilet, but he didn’t listen. 

The good news is, Sirius didn’t catch me spying on him, I didn’t die, and Kenzie, my neighbour, is back, so now I won’t be bored out of my mind!

The bad news is, Sirius gave a piece of paper to an owl, and called the owl “Harold”.

I just can’t figure that boy out.


I’m sitting in the tree house, reading Frankenstein, trying not to think about anything other than the book. I’m trying really hard not to think about a certain boy who may or may not be a secret agent.

It’s not really working. This book is so boring it’s impossible not to let my mind wander. It’s almost as if I fancy him or something.

But I obviously don’t. There’s some other reason I keep thinking about him.

Okay, I can’t think of another reason, but I will soon, I know it!

“Oi!” Oh, who could that be, disturbing my peace and quiet?

I poke my head out of the tree house window and am shocked to see James Potter standing in his garden, staring up at me.

“What?” I yell back down.

“Can I come up?”

Oh. I wasn’t really expecting that. I was expecting something a bit more hostile, or mental.

“Sure!”

I don’t really know why I said that. I suppose I just need someone to get my mind off Sirius, even if it is a potential nutcase and murderer. A few minutes later, Potter is sticking his head into my tree house and pulling himself inside. I scoot my legs over to make room for him.

“Sorry if this sounds rude, but why are you here?” I ask him once he’s properly seated.
“I’m here because Lily Evans, the future mother of my children, told me that it was impossible for me to have a mature conversation with a girl,” he explains very matter-of-factly. I stare at him. He really is quite odd.

“So?”

“So, you’re a girl.”

I have just concluded that James Potter is definitely not a secret agent, or a mad scientist, because he is, in fact, an idiot.

“Yes, I am a girl, glad you noticed,” I say, slightly irritated now. “I suppose you want to have a mature conversation with me now.” He grins and doesn’t seem to notice my irritation. Boys.

“That’s the idea,” he replies, leaning back against the wall. I hope he gets a spider in his hair.

“Well, to start with, who’s this Lily Evans and why does she think you can’t have a mature conversation?” I ask, since he doesn’t seem to be going anywhere. A dreamy expression comes over his face.

“Lily goes is in my year at Hogwarts and I’ve fancied her for two years now, except she’s under the impression that she hates my guts,” he explains. He picks up my dad’s boot, which had previously been lying in the corner, and examines it. “And why do you have a boot up here?”

“It’s to kill spiders with,” I answer. Duh. “Why does she hate your guts?”

“She doesn’t actually hate my guts, she’s just convinced herself she does. She’s actually madly in love with me,” Potter says, confident. I nod as if I understand but I really don’t.

“Why is has she convinced herself that she hates your guts?” I ask after a minute, because this “mature conversation” isn’t going anywhere fast.

“I dunno,” he replies, and I sigh. “I was hoping you could tell me that.”

Another sigh. I am not this boy’s therapist. I don’t have time to figure out why this girl hates his guts, even though I already have a sneaking suspicion it’s because he’s a nutcase. Okay, maybe I do have time, and plenty of it, but that doesn’t mean I want to.

“Well, nut—er, James, there’s the small matter of your hair,” I say patiently. He looks confused. “It looks like a comb has never once touched it.” An indignant expression appeared on his face.

“I combed it two months ago!” he exclaims. Wow.

“Maybe you should try combing it more often, to make it less . . . bushlike,” I reply, not meanly, just honestly. He frowns.

“Nope. My messy hair is my thing,” he says, and I stare at him, confused again. “At school, I have a reputation and my amazing hair contributes to it.” I can’t help but roll my eyes. He’s a bigger nutter than I thought.

“Fine. Don’t do anything drastic like brush your hair. She must hate you for some other reason,” I say, losing my patience quickly. James starts to say something along the lines of “she doesn’t hate me” but I interrupt.

“How do you act around her?”

“My usual charming self.”

I have just the determined that both Sirius and James have serious ego problems.

“And how does your, excuse me for a sec while I gag, ‘usual charming self’ go?” I reply, trying to get rid of him now, because I’d rather read Frankenstein than continue this conversation.

“I ask her out a lot.” Bingo. I have found the problem.

“And that’s why she hates your guts,” I explain. “Girls don’t like blokes who are over-eager.” James frowns and seems to consider this.

“Then how should I act around her?” How am I supposed to know? I don’t even know this Lily Evans girl!

“Just, er, have a mature conversation with her, like you are with me,” I answer after a second. James seems to consider this.

“I can’t.” I sigh for what seems like the millionth time.

“Why not?”

“Because, she’s . . . I’m . . . I dunno, she’s just so pretty!”

Ouch. I have discovered another possible reason why Lily Evans, who I have more and more sympathy for, hates his guts. He’s got all the sensitivity of a blunt fork.

“Just letting you know, my self-esteem has just been severely lowered,” I informed him. He frowns, puzzled.

“Why?”

“Oh, James, my not-so-charming neighbour, you basically just told me I wasn’t pretty,” I explain, being absurdly patient. I’m trying to figure out why I haven’t kicked him out of my tree house yet. James, being the idiot that he is, takes a few minutes to think about this, and then I watch as realization dawns upon his good-looking, but not as good-looking as Sirius’s, face.

“I didn’t mean it like that!” he exclaims quickly. “You’re pretty too! It’s just, er, I really fancy Lily, and I don’t really fancy you, not that you’re not fanciable, because you are, I mean, I’m pretty sure Sirius fancies you, but I don’t, so I have no problem talking to you, and that’s why, not because you’re not pretty, because you are.”

Okay, I didn’t really understand all of that.

“Can you repeat that, only slower?” I ask, seeing as it’s my turn to be the confused one. James sighs.

“I didn’t mean to hurt your self esteem. You’re pretty too, it’s just that I fancy Lily so much that it makes it hard to concentrate on the conversation when I talk to her. Sorry,” he says. I nod.

“You’re forgiven,” I say brightly, and he smiles in relief. “Now what was that about Sirius fancying me?”

James looks slightly embarrassed. “How about we just forget the past few minutes ever happened? I don’t want Sirius to shave my head while I sleep or something equally awful.” I can’t help but giggle at that.

“All right,” I reply. “So here’s my advice to you, next time you see Lily, just pretend she’s not there, and don’t that thing where you mess up your hair when you’re nervous.”

“How’d you know I m---“ James starts to ask, but I interrupt him.

“You’ve done it four times since you got here.”

“Oh.”

“And don’t say anything to her until she says something to you first, and when you do say something, make it sound semi-intelligent,” I continue, and then am a bit proud of my own wisdom, especially considering my own woefully lacking love-knowledge.

James nods and considers this for a second. “I’ll do that then. Thanks a lot, Mellie!”

“You’re welcome,” I reply, and then pick Frankenstein up and put it in my lap, hoping he’ll take that as his cue to leave. I don’t think I can take much more madness, even if this conversation wasn’t particularly mad. Actually, it was semi-normal.

“Well, I’ll be going then,” he says, and gets up, almost bumping his head on the roof of the tree house. “See you later, Mellie.”

Whew. That boy is quite something.

I wait until I hear the Potters’ door slam shut, and then reach behind me and grab my notebook from where I hid it before James climbed up.

Wednesday- 4:13 P.M. Had a not-exceptionally-mad conversation with PB. Was interesting. Probably was trying to lull me into false sense of security so he can kill me in my sleep more easily. 



A/N: Two near-death experiences in one chapter! Poor Mellie! Anyway, did you like it? I'm not positive if I do. It
might be changed, but I had to post it before I went away to camp, because I love you all too much to keep you waiting for another week. 
So who saw the Half-Blood Prince at midnight? Me! Who loved it? Me! Who dressed up? Not me. :( My friends wouldn't let me. All I had was my henna tattoo of a dragon in honor of the event. Just call me Hagrid. :)
Another long author's note, but I've been informed that some people actually like them! So that just encouraged me! 
Review pleasums!
Oh, and one more thing. I am insanely excited that this story has reached 101 reviews, and 101 favorites. That siriusly made my week. So thank you all for reviewing and adding my story to your favorites list! You rock!


Previous Chapter Next Chapter

Favorite |Reading List |Currently Reading

<< >>


Review Write a Review
My Possibly Crazy Neighbours: Observations

Review

(6000 characters max.) 6000 remaining

Your Name:
Rating:

Prove you are Human:
What is the name of the Harry Potter character seen in the image on the left?


Submit this review and continue reading next chapter.
 




Other Similar Stories


Those Darn C...
by litlives

Water Guns a...
by LeaMalfoy

Stags and Se...
by maraudertte