Based off the song, Chelsea Dagger by The Fratellis.
I'm not the 12th richest woman in the world, I haven't got a 4.5 million pound home, I didn't write seven amazing books (the seventh being the fastest selling the HISTORY) and I'm my name doesn't rhyme with "Snow Bowling". I think it's safe to say I'm not Joanne Rowling.
This is my first Marauder-era fic. Please review and tell me how I did!
This was the fourth time I had visited the pub. It was dingy, small and far too cramped, but I liked it. It provided the entertainment I needed, and it took my mind off of serious things. And let’s face it; I, Sirius Black, am not a serious person.
It was a Muggle pub, one of those smoky ones with amateur burlesque. Well, mostly amateur. There was one girl there that caught everyone’s attention. Including mine.
I didn’t know her name. At first I had only came for a drink, and to get away from everything. The strain of no job, no proper house to call my own and no more school to tether me to sanity. I was free and unencumbered with aspirations or goals. The second time I had visited for just ten minutes on account of my running away from a certain girl that had been following me for at least two hours. The third time I returned because of a genuine, and odd, liking for the place. I had gotten there later than I had planned, and had arrived just in time for the end of a burlesque act.
There was only one woman left on the small stage (if you could even call it that). She was tall, curvaceous and extremely talented, it appeared. She had midnight black hair that curled down her back and harshly freckled skin. I never really liked a girl with freckles, but she suited them. Very much.
I had watched with a raised eyebrow as she retreated – very sexily I might add – away from the crowd of rowdy men that were booing the further away she got from them. I was the only one of the gentlemen there nowhere near the stage. I was standing there with an amused expression at the attention she seemed to be getting. I wasn’t particularly impressed, if I’m honest, but then she looked up, and winked at me. Winked. At me. No one winks at Sirius Black, especially not as successfully as that. I wink at them, not the other way around. It wiped the smirk off my face quickly, and then she was gone.
Pure spite brought me back to the damned pub, which obviously I had some unexplained hate for. Ahem.
She was there again, but not on the stage. She was actually walking around the pub, handing out drinks and occasionally flirting with one of the men, often completely ignoring said man’s girlfriend, which I grudgingly admired. She even went as far as too kiss one of the girlfriends (who had a mightily dirty look on her face), and sauntered off, smirking dangerously.
This was ridiculous. I had never seen anyone like this girl, and it infuriated me. You didn’t get girls like that at Hogwarts.
“Anything to drink, sir?” she said, her voice smooth and mocking. Either she hadn’t been educated, or she had and not paid much attention, because her vowels weren’t pronounced properly and she missed a few letters out. But then, who was I to judge? A quirk, Remus might call it, sap that he is.
I looked up, immediately making contact with a pair of extremely icy, blue eyes. They were sparkling with mischievousness, and there was a cheeky smile on her full, red lips.
“No, thank you.” I said coolly, my own dark eyes glaring into her face. I attempted to hide the annoyance, but I was sure she could see it.
“Anything I can do for you?” she continued, completely oblivious and uncaring to my irritated expression, a smirk tugging at the left side of her mouth.
“No, thank you.” I repeated more firmly. She was toying with me, as if I were a child.
She smiled indulgently, and nodded aloofly. There were males hinting heavily for attention, and my eyes briefly strayed to them and back, and she was paying them no attention. She was looking at me, one sharply shaped eyebrow raised.
“What?” I snapped, and she laughed. Laughed. At me. I wouldn’t have minded if it weren’t for the superior look on her face. She was getting the better of me and she knew it.
So I changed my tack. I would not let her get the better of me. “Tell me your name.” I said in a lower, softer voice, my signature lady-winning smile on, forcing myself to reduce the amount of hostility in my face.
“Dagger.” she replied. Her voice was captivating. I mentally kicked myself.
“Do I know you?” I asked languidly, with a soft smile.
“No one does, really. They like to think so,” she said slowly. “But they don’t understand how I work,” she concluded, saying ‘work’ with effective provocativeness.
The pub was gradually emptying, most of the men passing winking at the girl as they left, some even daring to slyly trail their fingers across the bare skin that they could reach.
Another man, much older walked by too, but he didn’t seem too bothered by the Dagger girl’s looks or the fact that men were trying to grope her. In fact, he threw a heavy looking pair of keys at her and left without a word.
“I’d better change,” she said, her lips pulling up to reveal some of her teeth. One of the front most ones was chipped at the bottom left. It was quite endearing, actually. I had never liked a perfect woman.
She was starting to annoy me. Her bad speech and too blue eyes was annoying me. Her curly black hair and freckles and curves was annoying me. These hints and extremely excellent flirting was annoying me. She was too good at everything. But I was better.
I stood slowly and took two strides, my toes flush with hers. She was still wearing that unbelievably foxy smirk, and it was definitely annoying me. Mines was still better than hers, though, so I stuck it on, just to prove it.
“Your name?” she asked, nonchalant as anything.
“Black.” I said.
“Dagger... and Black,” she said quietly, her voice light and smiley. There was a dangerous tone hidden beneath it.
“Black and Dagger.” I said. I only had to tilt my head down a little. I taller than her too.
She was still smirking, her eyes dancing with anticipation and distinct roguishness.
I paused, my eyes staring at hers. I couldn’t figure her out, but I knew what she wanted. I knew she knew she always got what she wanted. So I didn’t give it to her. Instead, my hands flew up to her arms, gripping them tightly and forcing her to step quickly backwards until her back hit the wall. My lips touched, not hers, but her cheek, grazing the skin there and down her sharp jaw line.
She had quite nice skin. It was really soft and smooth. She tilted her head back, her eyes closed, the damn smirk still in place, so I bit gently on her neck, adamant to remove it. There was an abrupt intake of her breath. Her first slip. I fought to keep the smirk off my lips as they moved up her neck again.
She had, without my noticing, moved her hand to the bottom of my shirt. The tips of her fingers were cool as they touched the skin at my waist-band of my jeans, but I didn’t experience that feeling for long, because I had grabbed both of her wrists and pinned them to the wall above her head. Her smile was challenging. Challenging. I cursed loudly and kissed her.
She wasn’t a good kisser. In fact, she was horrible. Her tongue was everywhere and her lips were flailing. Okay, I’m lying. She was the complete opposite. But not better than me.
Her hands were sliding up my chest, fingernails gently scraping my skin. My teeth were leaving small bite marks over her neck. Frustrated with the limited proximity, I, rather roughly, grabbed her and pushed her back against the wall. Her legs wrapped around my waist and her hands pulled me closer. She had bitten my lip and I was sure it was bleeding. If it did, she would probably suck it. Neither of us would think twice about it.
We pulled away at the same time, breathing heavily and glaring at each other, smirks gone. Her eyes were blazing into mine, her hair dishevelled and her lips swollen. I probably looked the same. My realization of this dawned on me, and the slightest frown broke my intense expression.
And then, the worst thing happened to me. It was humiliating and degrading. She smirked. A brilliant, triumphant smirk that stabbed my pride over and over again.
I should have expected this. She was probably an exact replica of her mother, always getting her way. Always winning. She perfectly suited her job. I’m not sure if that’s an insult or compliment.
I’d look out for her, if I were you. I still remember her, how she managed to manipulate my head. She’s a marvellous piece of work. A right Slytherin, if she wasn’t a Muggle. Somehow that still doesn’t lessen my... respect for her.
She doesn’t look intelligent. She isn’t. But she’s sharp.