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Chapter 4 : No means no
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Chapter 4. No means no
I said no.
"Black! I know you can hear me; wake up!"
"What?" I growl, putting my pillow over my head to block out the wand-light(and the annoying person causing it).
"We need to patrol," I hear Evans argue as she yanks the pillow away from me. Evil minx. "Come on; we were supposed to start half an hour ago. We're late."
"Time is irrelevant here in the seventh circle of hell," I croak at the irritating redhead, covering my eyes with my arm. She yanks that away too.
This is getting old.
"Get your arse out of that bed, Black! You promised you'd help with my rounds when Potter's not here."
"No, I promised no such thing; James did. I just never refused."
"Technicalities. Now, get up!"
I only get a few seconds of serenity before Evans grabs my t-shirt and noisily begins to try and drag me out of the bed. I don't budge an inch. I've got my hands clasped on the mattress, and have no plans of releasing the grasp anytime soon.
"No means no, Evans."
"But you're already awake," she whines, out of breath - she's clearly struggling. It humors me that she still tries. "You only need to get out of the bed."
"Which I intend not to do," is my calm response.
"I can't go by myself; we have to be two to patrol the castle. Those are the rules-"
"I don't abide by rules."
"Do it for me then. It's dark, and scary - come on, let's go," she drags the last word forever.†
She's still dragging it, actually.
"This isn't worki-"
She's smirking. I hate that. How come she got sorted into Gryffindor, and not that muffin-girl? Evans belongs somewhere evil.
"You find my stuff?" she asks, leaning up against the nearest bedpost. I glare at her as I pull out a bundle of clothes and her wand and throw it in her face. She glares back, but I'm way ahead of her; I'm not looking at her anymore. As previously stated; those eyes freak me out.
Not kind and sweet like that blonde, Slytherin cupcake chick.
"Cheers," she says in a not-so-thankful matter.
"So," I sigh, putting on my shoes. I do it slowly, just to annoy her. "How does this work?"
"We walk around the castle and check that students aren't roaming about, basically."
"But...there are like thirty-five left," I point out grumpily. "And that's including the professors."
"We still have to do it," she says, putting her stuff into a bag I just noticed she had. It's just as green as her eyes. Shudder.
"What's with this 'we' business?" I stand up now, but neglecting to follow the red hair flopping ahead of me. "I'm neither Prefect, nor Head Boy. This isn't my problem. There has to be another person who could do this; or do the gods just hate me that much?"
"No, everyone's gone. You think I like this any more than you do? I'm not really your biggest fan," she tells me, opens the door down to the common room and holds it there.†
"Then how come I faintly remember someone cheering my name last night, and- Ouch! What the hell was that for?!"
"For lying!" Evans hisses and picks up the bag she just threw in my face. That worm.
Okay, so I may not have told the utter truth(since I can't recall anything), but it's a commonly known fact that I could normally just as well have a cheering section by my bed. I mean, they'd make less noise compared to some... I'm not naming names. (Danielle Lovegood.)
And I bet Evans wasn't the odd one out there. So I was just pointing out a very (possibly) true fact.
"You're an idiot. I can't believe I had sex with you," she hisses before turning away from me again.
"The feeling's mutual," I mumble, and snag my wand from the table ninja-style before†grudgingly following Evans out.
We leave a yawning, and a tad annoyed, Fat Lady behind us, and start our rounds.
I should get an award. I'm doing Prongs a massive favour here.
Considering what I did to the quote, unquote: love of his life, I guess we're even.
Fine. I'm still in the red. And a terrible mate.
Couldn't just let me have it...
"Black, we need to talk."
Shit, crap, bugger, hell, fuck, damn.
I'm running out of swear words.
Want to see a neat magic trick, ladies? Okay, grab a bloke you've had sex with(or are in a relationship with; your choice) and say these exact words:
We need to talk.
And vožla! Where did the lad go?
"Black," Evans hits me with her bag, "stop freaking out."
"You hitting me is really helping with that," I inform her, jumping out of her reach as she prepares herself for another throw.
"Regrettably, I haven't been able to rip my ears off yet, so I don't really have a choice."
"Do you always have a sarcastic response to everything?"
We hold out our wands to light up the way ahead of us.
"We can't tell anyone."
I don't need to ask what she's referring to.
"I think I got that, Evans."
"Black, I'm serious. We-"
"No, I'm Sirius."
Oh, those eyes; they give me the chills. My grin fades away, and I step up the pace. We're walking in silence now, but I can still feel the demon's eyes burning on my skin.
"Would you stop?" I cry out, my voice echoing in the empty hallway. "You're making my skin peel."
"I'm glad. I'm using most of my brain power to do so."
"All that effort just to torture me?"
"After rejecting Potter, it's one of my favourite pastimes."
"But you hate it when he chats you up," I point out, narrowing my eyes at Evans. She's really tall for a girl.
Unlike Cookie. Or Pastry, or whatever.
She shrugs indifferently. But I note that she's not looking my way, and I find that suspicious. Not so suspicious that I feel the need to pursue the topic any further, though.
At least we got that awkward conversation out of the way pretty quickly. It seems Evans wants to forget it as soon as myself. Not that there's much to forget, since I don't remember shit.
"This castle is as quiet and empty as a zombie's grave, can't we just call it a night?" I try, but Evans shakes her head. At least she doesn't look at me with those basilisk-eyes.
"But I'm tired," I complain. "And still hung over."
"At least you don't have a hickey the size of Europe on your bleedin' throat!"
"No, but I have got a very sore lip and some suspicious claw-marks on my back."
It's true. I do have that. It looks like when I tried to dance with Filch's cat, Mrs Norris, at Prongs's last birthday party. Man, did that kitty go mental.
Evans looks down on her nails as if she just found out they're covered in dung.†
It'd be hilarious if they were.
With a subtle swift of my wand, actual dirt is smeared on her hands.
Evans shrieks when she notices, and tries to clean them by rubbing her hands on my jumper. Barking laughs echo through the corridor as I bounce away from the furious redhead who's chasing after me.
Her screams turn to hysterical laughter, and she pounces on me with the precision of a panther. This incidentally knocks me over.†
And it doesn't mean I'm weak; I was caught off guard, okay? Okay.
I quickly stop laughing when Evans lands on top of me with a loud 'oomph!', and she stops laughing as well. Her breath tickles my face, and it smells like dinner, which reminds me that I'm actually hungry.
"This is uncomfortable," she states after she's stopped wheezing.
I, on the other hand, am still wheezing - being this close to Lily Evans's eyes makes me dizzy. And when I'm dizzy, I'm nauseous. This is the reason why I'm a Beater. I only need to keep my balance and hit things with a bat.
"We've been through worse - but yeah, it is," I finally manage to say. I grab Evans around the waist and lift her off of me.†
It feels frightfully freeing to not touch her, I realise as I let go of her. I mean, her body's gorgeous and all that, but she's a real piece of work. And I'm not someone who's meant to deal with that - it's just not who I am. I come, I go. I love, I leave. I don't do fixing, or being emotionally involved in anything.
Prongs calls me damaged - I just call it being realistic.
Emotions lead to relationships, and relationships lead to drama, and drama leads to a shitload of more drama. And you get zits from all the ice cream you binge on to try and heal when the situation eventually implodes. Now, I've never gone through this myself, but I've seen enough of my mates do it to know I'm never even going to try to endure what they call a relationship.
Because relationships, you see, are like fat people; most of them don't work out.
There are the odd few who stand out, though. Like Frank and Alice. I wish I could vomit my pessimism and cynicism all over the pair of them, but it's physically impossible. They're too...perfect.
This confession does not make me less of a man.
I'll fucking flog your arse if you even suggest it.
Whoop-ah! See that? Skills. Mad skills. So be careful†- be very careful.
I'm still lying on the floor with my limbs sprawled out as if I'm trying to make a snow angel.
"Comfortable down there, are you?" Evans teases as she looks down on me.
"I am, as a matter of fact," I answer coolly, and put my arms under my head, and close my eyes. "The hard surface really does wonders on my back. I seem to have pulled a muscle recently, if you can believe it."
Even though my eyes are closed, I can feel hers shooting green daggers a me. It's not a pleasant feeling.
"Ha, ha, very funny. Now, get up."
"Not feeling like it right now, Evans."
"Are we going to have a repeat of when I dragged you out of the bed?"
"First off all, you didn't drag me, I got out perfectly on my own. Second of all, I'm taking a break. People need breaks." At least from you.
Oh, self; you are too funny!
"But we're not even halfway through!"
"Oh, my gosh! I think I- no, sorry, don't care."
"You want me to just leave you here? Because I will. I will leave you here," she threatens.
I gesture with my hand toward the dark hallway before her. "Nothing's stopping you."
"I really am! This is no joke, Black."
"Thus the reason of the complete lapse of laughter."
"Don't blame me if you get lonely, and scared, and-"
"Wouldn't dream of it."
"Either you move very quietly, or you're not moving at all, despite your rants," I observe, and open my eyes to find a very gloomy Evans standing over me.
No, not gloomy, sad.
Why, Merlin, dost thou hate me so?
"I-I," she starts, and her arms are holding the green bag tightly against her chest, "I don't really like the dark."
Bugger, I forgot about that. I know Prongs told me about it once, but I tend to only listen with one ear when he goes on about his Evans fun-facts.
"Oh, yeah. Of course," I say as casually as I can, and get swiftly to my feet.
"You already knew about that?" she asks, and I try to ignore the tremble in her voice and that damn sniffling.
"James," I explain, and shrug. "Now, where are we off to?"
Evans looks puzzled for a moment. "Potter? How did he-?"
"Look, Evans, if you as much as breathe a word of how your one toe bends unnaturally to one side, he'll memorize it."
"Does your toe really do that, though?" I interrupt, my mind getting hung up on this. "Cause I didn't notice it when-"
"Gross." I cast a look down at Evans's feet. "Can I see it?"
"No, absolutely not!"
"Come on, I've seen everything else," I remind her. This earns me one very unsettling glare from the girl.
"You're a sick man."
Man? Yes. Man. She called me a man. This is one time Lily Evans has been completely, one hundred percent right about something. And that 'sick' part isn't untrue, either. Sickly handsome.
This is a moment to cherish.
"Did you forget to take your normal-pills this morning?"
Now, why did she have to go and ruin our moment?
"I took them all. And how many spoonfulls of bitch did you have today?"
Evans growls. Her hands are still dirty, and she holds them out in front of her. "Fix."
Let me repeat: I don't do 'fixing'.
"Come on, I don't know the counter-"
"What is this?" I gasp in fake astonishment. But really, this is another moment to cherish. "Lily Evans admits to not know every damned thing on God's green earth?"
"I never said I-"
"Shh!" I put my hand over her mouth. "I need to savour this moment. I will revisit the memory time and time again."
"You're a strange individual," I hear her muffled voice say, and my palm tickles. I remove my hand unceremoniously and dry off the imaginary bacteria on my trousers.
"Never claimed to be normal," I tell her and wink.
We're walking now, and the silence is actually not too uncomfortable. Nobody's crying, nobody's yelling, nobody's abnormally green eyes are freaking people out.
It's nearly nice. She's still horrible, and she still looks like an animal/insect - but I don't feel the need to hurl myself off a tower anymore.
"Ehm, Black, I-I need to ask you something," Evans stutters as we walk down from the seventh floor.
"How do I smell so fantastic? Well, I put a few drops of musk oil in my bath-"
"Not really what I had in mind, but good to know," she interrupts, and I daresay she sounds very uninterested. I must've heard wrong. I'm a very interesting person. "I was thinking... No, never mind."
"It was nothing, just forget it."
"Black! Stop forcing information out of me! I said it was nothing!"
Okay, where did I go wrong here?
Females. They will be the death of me, I know it. And if not death, then they will at least be the sole reason for my lifelong stay in the loony ward at St Mungo's.
"What did I-?"
"Why can't you just let things be?! Can't you see I don't want to talk about it?!"†
Oh, no. She's crying. Ugly-crying. With snot and sobbing and grimacing and everything else on the ugly-crying list. Check, check, check.
"You boys never understand anything!" she cries. "None of you do!"
"No, stop it! I don't want to talk about Potter! Just leave me alo-"
"Back the fuck up, Crying McSnottington," I call out and put my hands in the air. "Back - the - fuck - up."
"Don't you dare talk to me like th-"
"I'll talk to you however I want, Snotty, so just shut it for like two seconds," I tell her. And I regret to inform you that I did a move resembling a ghetto-fabulous snap with my fingers in front of her face. Well, at least it shut her up. "First, what the hell did I do to make you go all Shrieking Shack on me? And second, why did you bring James into this?"
"I-I didn't - you did," she says quickly. Oh, she's playing the blame game, is she? I haven't lost that game since I was seven, when Reg blamed me for peeing in his bed. Of course Mother believed him.
So I do not take the blame game lightly. It's a vicious game. Vicious.
"Yes. You. Did," I growl, enunciating each syllable through my clenched teeth.
Visualizing it? Yeah, that's how badass looks like.
Evans squares her shoulders before turning around and marching away.
"Hey!" I call after her, but I refuse to run after a woman. Especially one I don't like. "What about the rest of your precious rounds?"
Well, that's nice, I think to myself when all Evans does to respond to my roars is to give me the middle finger as she continues to flee.
And how had I come to find myself being screamed at, tackled, hit several times, and then endured a crying-spree that'd take many miles of dog-running to get over, and in the end been given the finger to by a crazy-person?
Answer: I'd gotten drunk.
Hey kids, listen to your uncle Sirius; firewhiskey is poison.
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