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Slipping by FitzedOut14
Chapter 3 : Curious
 
Rating: MatureChapter Reviews: 7


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The sexy Sirius Black by !obsessed

 

They had steak and noodles, tonight.

So naturally, I thought that dinner was going to be some pleasant affair, very similar to lunch. People were too confused to actually approach me, whether it was because of my new ‘Cougar’ status or my snog session (I think I’ve caught an STD) with Davies, I’ve really no idea. But either way, it was nice not to be taunted.

And then some bold fourth year came up to me and ruined everything.

“Um,” a tapping on my shoulder alerted me that someone was trying to get my attention, so I turned to see a platinum blonde blushing next to me. I raised an eyebrow, not because I was suspicious, but more because I was intrigued. “You’re Beatrice Montgomery, right?”

I nodded, earning a large smile that lit up his little face.

It was almost comical.

“That would be me,” I admitted with slight reluctance. Honestly, does anyone actually enjoy being named Beatrice? I should have told people to call me Bambi or something back in first year—I would take sounding like a stripper over a grandmother any day. “And you are?”

I watched with interest as he sat down in the empty seat beside me, perhaps a little too close for comfort. He appeared to be mumbling a mantra under his breath, like ‘I am fit’ over and over, and then he helped himself to some of my pumpkin juice. Mine.

I don’t like to share.

“Me?” he asked, as if shocked that I would even be inquiring to it. But how could I not? He was the oddest—and boldest—person I’d ever met. It was no wonder he was in Gryffindor. “I’m only the man of your dreams. But if you want to know what you’ll be screaming tonight, my mates call me Roger.”

I couldn’t help it, so I laughed. There was something almost endearing about his courage, even if it was completely inappropriate and not helping my ‘cradle-snatching’ case at all. At least he was blunt and didn’t beat around the bush. I admired that.

“And why are you talking to me, Roger?” I asked, after finally having given up waiting. He was keeping me in far too much suspense, actually picking a piece of steak off my plate and chewing it slowly.

I was only slightly confused when he pulled out what appeared to be breath mints, and popped about twelve in. This time, I was certain that his mantra was ‘Girls like me, I am so fit,’ repeated four times quickly.

So happy was I about my ability to read lips that I didn’t even notice him pucker his lips—almost resembling a fish—or lean in closer so that I could feel his breath on my face, until he kissed me right on the mouth. I pushed him away immediately, wiping my mouth in horror.

But it was too late.

The whole entire hall was cheering, or laughing, or a mixture of both that was honestly the most annoying sound I’d ever heard. Davies was sitting directly across from me, and I definitely heard him mutter, ‘I’m bloody naming my first born son after him.’

We’ll see.

After I kill the cheeky little twerp.








It was only after a near death experience, getting chased by Mrs. Norris up three different floors, and feeling ready to pass out, did I realize that I probably shouldn’t have agreed to the note.

But there I was, mumbling ‘Naughty Nymph’ to the Fat Lady with flaming red cheeks, due to my recent exercise that I was so not ready for, and because I was just mortified at everything that had transpired.

“You are not a Gryffindor,” she scoffed, putting her small hands on her large hips and glaring at me. Thank you, Captain Obvious. Anything else you wish to share? “What are you even doing out of bed at this hour? A proper lady should not be tramping about the castle this late. Go back to your tower, trollop.”

“I live in the basement,” I snapped, completely fed up with everything. She just folded her arms, trying and failing to be intimidating. Does she think she has power? She’s a portrait. “And what’s with the twenty questions? Naughty Nymph, Naughty Nymph, Naughty Nymph!”

She let out a noise of protest, as the portrait hole swung open violently—oh, is it scared of me as well?

As I walked through, I couldn’t help but roll my eyes at the vibrant Gryffindor common room. The scarlet was so bloody bright that I could just feel a migraine coming on, and the furniture didn’t look nearly as soft as ours. But what else was I possibly expecting?

There was a large fire positively covering one wall, and the rest had various scarlet tapestries depicting witches and wizards and animals of all sorts. One in particular, a lioness, was growling at me.

Did she know I was intruding, too?

I noticed two separate staircases, and decided to use my nose and see which one smelled worse. I vaguely felt like a dog, but regardless I stepped up the one to the left, and the stench that hit me was horrid.

Using my deduction skills, I realized that while the younger students would most definitely be in my at this hour, the older blokes would not. Only two doors were making any noise at all, so I took a chance and stepped into the one closer on my right.

That would be my first mistake.

Four sets of eyes swiveled to me, some looking panicked, some looking guilty, and it was only when I did a quick survey did I realize. They were clearly doing something to the poor fifth roommate who was soundly sleeping, and without even thinking I narrowed my eyes and spoke up.

“What do you think you are doing?”

“We could ask you the same thing, love,” a deep voice, teased, belonging to a very handsome male with green eyes and brown hair. I think I’ve seen him before—he definitely plays quidditch. I’m sort of an avid fan. “I’m Logan Wood, but you can call me charmed.”

I rolled my eyes, chuckling slightly, and watched as the rest glared at ‘Logan Wood.’ Within seconds, they were crowded around him, whispering heatedly and spiking my curiosity even more.

That would be mistake number two.

“Sorry about that,” a blonde apologized, and I just shrugged, secretly pleased that they were finally leaving the sleeping boy alone. “We were just discussing something. We have this charity, you see.”

My ears perked up at once, for my mum had been nagging me constantly about doing something to ‘better the world.’ I always joked that me being born did just that, but I knew it was the opposite. This was my golden opportunity.

“A charity?”

I didn’t want to sound quite so eager, but I couldn’t conceal it completely. They exchanged glances, which I knew was slightly disconcerting. But what could possibly be wrong with a charity? Absolutely nothing.

“Yes,” Logan took over, sending a death glare to the blonde and a beaming smile to me. I couldn’t help but blush—he’s quite fit. Perhaps I am a cougar… “It’s a clothing drive. We donate to wizarding orphanages annually. It’s a great cause, really.”

“Seeing the looks on the young children’s faces when they get a new shirt, it’s just the best feeling in the world,” an Egyptian looking boy smirked, not sounding nearly as sincere as he should have. But I ignored it.

Mistake three.

“I can tell. I would love to help out!” I gushed, not even noticing as Blondie tossed something to Logan, who then smirked deviously and started leading me out of the room, a hand perhaps too low on my back and approaching dangerous territory.

Mistake four.

“Brilliant,” he told me, once he was standing safely in the doorway and I was just outside of it. “You never did tell us what you were doing, visiting us gorgeous Gryffindors.”

“I’m actually here on business,” I told him, rolling my eyes at his attempts—I wasn’t sure if they were even that—of flirting. “I was actually looking for James Potter’s room…”

His eyes twinkled dangerously.

“Love, you were one away,” he told me, gesturing to a door with far more scratches than the rest of them. I thanked him profusely, practically bouncing up and down, and he opened up the door for me. It was about to shut, when he yelled, “Accio shirt and shorts!”

It took me three seconds to realize why I was suddenly shivering; another two to figure out that the flashing that temporarily blinded me was from a camera, and then four seconds of bewilderment until I snapped.

I started pounding on the newly locked door, cursing myself for forgetting my wand.

Again.

There I was, standing in a room for blokes—oh, please be empty, please, please, please—in my most scandalous set of knickers, my only scandalous set. They were scarlet lace, revealing, pushed me up far too much, and made me look like a tart.

I wish the Fat Lady never granted me entrance.

When I turned around, I was relieved to see that it was empty. Clothing was strewn around the floor, including dirty socks that were probably what I’d smelled down in the common room.

I hastily bent over and picked up a powder blue Appleby Arrows shirt, which just so happened to be my favorite quidditch team. The sound of spitting into a sink altered me that whoever lived in here had just finished brushing their teeth, and I tugged on the length of my shirt, wishing it had at least reached mid thigh.

The door swung open and out Peter Pettigrew came, glancing at me briefly before going to his dresser and rummaging through the drawers. I raised my eyebrows, balancing on one hip, and trying not to look guilty.

“Padfoot, mate!” he called, which only made me even more intrigued—because I wasn’t here to see Black, I was here for James. “I thought you told your girlfriend to leave?”

I scoffed, crossing my arms and glaring at the short boy. I used to feel bad for Peter, because I’m taller than him by an inch. But now, oh, he deserves to be a little midget bloke for the rest of his life.

Prick…

Sirius Black sauntered out of the bathroom, rolling his silver eyes at Peter and then glancing at me, when his eyebrows furrowed and he motioned Peter out of the room—where to, I’ll never know.

“Nice shirt.”

“Oh, thanks,” I replied, looking down at the silver emblem and blushing slightly. “I think its Remus’s, although I can't quite be sure. He doesn’t seem as broad. It’s awfully soft though, and my favorite team.”

“Is that so?” he smirked, his dark pink lips looking almost appealing to me, which in itself is quite odd. His stormy eyes focused on my long legs, making me flush with color again. This is becoming an epic problem. “Well, they’re my favorite team as well. Remus is more a fan of the Chudley Cannons. Which is why you’re wearing my shirt, love.”

“Oh.”

“Oh?” he asked, shooting me a confused smirk.

“Well, yeah,” I sent him a toothy grin without actually meaning to, because my smiles were less than desirable. My teeth were too large and my gums too visible. “It’s not like I’m going to give it back.”

“Oh.”

“Oh?” Now, it was my turn.

“Well, yeah,” he mocked, casually flicking his elegant black hair out of his eyes, and I admired the way the curls fell perfectly into his face. It looks so soft… I wonder what conditioner he uses. “What else can I say to that? I can’t just demand you return it. We could come to an agreement, however.”

“I’m listening,” I told him.

“I get the shirt at night,” he suggested, and I immediately frowned. How is that possibly fair? Well, I mean it is his shirt, but still. “And you can have it during the day, for naps. We’ll have to swap it, come up with a place and a time.”

“Absolutely not,” I exclaimed, stalking over to him and poking him in the chest. He simply grinned at me, sitting down on his bed and patting the seat next to him. I easily complied, turning to glare. “This shirt is as good as mine now. And I will be the one sleeping in it.”

I didn’t add in that it smelt delicious—like mints and chocolate—and I was already too mesmerized, too dependent on the comfort of it to give it back. I’ve grown attached to an inanimate object in less than five minutes.

Merlin, I’ve got issues.

“I think I’ve reached a compromise,” he sent me a heart-stopping smirk that had my breath speeding up slightly, in a very unusual and noticeable way. “How about you get it at night, if you sleep with me?”

I scoffed, running my hands through my long hair and trying not to think about his unwanted, horrific suggestion. Because that’s what the idea was to me—I didn’t want to think about it for even a moment. Honest.

Although.

His soft lips hungrily covering mine…

The feel of his bare chest beneath my fingers…

The tension between us, as I can feel his muscles moving beneath me…

“Merlin,” was all I could say, practically panting at just the thought of it. I casted my eyes down towards the floor, suddenly remembering, all too clearly, that we were seated on a bed. It actually was rather comfortable, even more so than mine.

All the things we could do on a bed…

“Love, most people just call me Sirius,” he laughed, effectively tearing me out of my first naughty daydream. I wonder if he has chest hairs—that would certainly put a damper on things. But maybe I need it to.

So, for now, he has chest hairs.

How gross.

“From what I know, you’re called Padfoot,” I snapped, not actually angry but still feeling the need to bicker with him. It was like my calm exterior disappeared completely around from. “And ugh, I don’t care. Can we just get back to the matter at hand? I’m keeping your shirt.”

“You’re keeping your insanity,” he retorted, his captivating eyes saying more than words did. He thought he was clever, he thought I was interesting, but more importantly he thought that this was hilarious. “It’s my shirt, and I am keeping it as a guardian. Perhaps when I die, I’ll leave it to you in the will.”

I knew that I was being unreasonable, and that it was in vain. I couldn’t just bloody go gallivanting around the castle, stealing bloke’s shirts just for the fun of it. Or could I? The thought gave me shivers.

It’s just… could I?

I mean the material was like cashmere, soft beyond belief and unbearably worn in. The blue was so faded that it had a certain grey twinge to it. The silver logo was missing patches, but it was easy to tell what it was supposed to be.

I couldn’t give it up. I wouldn’t.

“You’re going to have to fight me for it,” I told him, my voice dangerously low and my eyes squinting in what was supposed to be a glare. I was challenging him, and he was a Marauder. He simply couldn’t turn it down.

“It’ll be a fight to the death.”

And then, without so much as a ‘1, 2, 3, go!’ he had us flipped over, pinning me down to his—I was right, it’s so much nicer and warmer than mine—bed, my arms above my head as he held my wrists.

“Bollocks,” I sighed.

“You know, I rather like this position,” he told me from his position above, and I couldn’t help but silently agree. I rather liked this position very much, indeed. “But that won’t deter me. Give it here, Montgomery.”

I shouldn’t have been surprised that he knew my name, but I was.

I choose solely to blame that for what my next actions, because I know that had I not been so shocked, I wouldn’t have been such a slag. Beatrice Montgomery has morals… mostly.

“You want the shirt?” I asked, my voice slightly lower than normal. He nodded eagerly, sending me a smug grin. The prick thought that he won—and I’m choosing to ignore that he did. “Take it, then.”

“What?”

“Take it,” I repeated.

He sent me a questioning, but undeniably smoldering, look, and I just glanced up at him with seductive—reality: squinted—eyes and pouted lips. It was then that both he and me threw all caution to the wind, and I flipped us over once more so that I was on top.

James and Remus came out of the bathroom, whistling, to the sight of me straddling their best mate as he pulled his shirt off of me, revealing only knickers—which I don’t think any of them were prepared for.

I hastily snatched it back, tugging it on, and faced them, guiltily.

Yet I never once left the position I was in.

I’m such a slag.

“Oh good, you’re here,” James laughed, completely oblivious to the growing tension between the black haired beauty and me. Or maybe he was just pretending. “I was just wondering, because tomorrow I have a quidditch practice and I need someone to take notes—will you come?”

“You’ve got to be joking,” was my dull response.

“Why would I be joking?”

His innocence wasn’t fooling me, and that’s exactly what I told him. Along with ‘How dare you drag me out of bed, consequently making me have the most stressful day in history, only to ask if I’ll attend a practice? For Merlin’s sake, it isn’t even a game! I have more important things to be doing.’

“So does that mean you’ll be going?”

I shot him the finger on my way out.


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