Chapter 5 : Dimples?
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Chapter 5. Dimples?
How can one species both be so alluring, but also so mind-bogglingly insane? Because that's the only reason we, men, cope with their Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde-breed; their alluring bodies. Not their heads - their heads are way too complicated for me, so I prefer to think of women as just very sexy bodies.
Sexy bodies with a bucket on top.
A bucket's better than a brain. If they have any. I do have some doubts about that, yes. And if you'd just been through what I've been through, then you'd be doing the same.
I haven't moved in ten minutes. I'm just staring into the nothingness where Evans stormed away.
What the hell had just happened here?
I do remember thinking that I could finally stop considering suicide when in her presence, and then...
Snap! Out of thin air - thin air, I tell you!
She should be locked away.
I'd throw away the key for good measure, but whatever.
Off to the kitchens, then.
It feels nice to move again after standing like a statue for the past fifteen minutes. These women, mate - if they keep up with this insanity, then I'll go permanently stiff.
No, not like that. Pervert.
Staircase after staircase, step after step; locate the picture, tickle the pear - there we are! Safely inside the haven that is the Hogwarts kitchen.
"Master Padfoot!" a familiar houseelf with green hair sprouting out of his ears scurries toward me with his friends in his heels. "What can we do for the Master?"
"Double the usual, Ned," I say to the houseelf with a sigh. I've told him a million times not to call me 'Master', but he never listens.
With a rather large yawn I slump down on a comically small chair. It doesn't break; and after years of sitting on this tiny chair, I still find it strange to find it in one piece when I leave.
"Has the Master had a bad night?" the houseelf inquires after giving out orders to the others.
"That's an understatement," I mumble, rubbing my right temple to try and relieve some pressure. "Do you have any females in your life, Ned?"
"Neddy does, sir," Ned admits, sitting down on the chair opposite mine. It looks perfectly propotioned to him - unlike me.
"Padfoot," I remind him.
"Sir Padfoot," he says, "Neddy knows what you mean." I shake my head uselessly, and then Neddy quickly turns his head and calls out, "Triple the Master's order!"
We stay silent until a large glass, full to the brim, is put in front of me.
"And one for him," I add to the two houseelves who'd shared the burden of carrying the glass.
"Master Padfoot, Neddy can't-!"
"I insist, Ned," I interrupt, and wait for his own glass(the size of his head) to be put in front of him. I raise mine in a salute, "Cheers."
"Ch-cheers," Ned mutters nervously. He stands up to reach the top of the glass, and then takes a big gulp.
I should probably explain what this divine liquid is; it's a rootbeer float. I developed a taste for it when I briefly "dated"(fancy word for 'boinked exclusively') Jenna, a foreign-exchange student from America, who was here for a short while.
That was a good month.
"So, Ned," I start, but pause when an impressive burp makes its prescence known, "who are these females of yours? Quite the flirt, are you?"
"Oh, no, Master Padfoot, Neddy hasn't done that for a while," he informs me and dries the foam around his mouth away with his hand. "Neddy has a partner, sir, and two small ones."
"Kids? I didn't know you had kids, Ned."
"They are females, sir."
"Oh," I say with an understanding grin. "I see."
"Ned prefers to not mix business with...pleasure."
"Handfull, are they?" I ask, deciphering the real meaning of his words.
"And earfull, sir," he adds with a sigh, and then dives back into the tall drink. I don't blame him; three women in the same place - and he has to interact with all of them. And here I was complaining about one. Although, I'd wager my family's entire fortune that Evans is in a whole other league. But just imagine; three Evanses.
That is a recipe for a successful assassination of Sirius Black.
The only reasons I associate myself with the other sex are 1) doing the horisontal tango, and 2) boobs. You might say that they are basically the same thing, but I beg to differ. A man can enjoy the sight of some boob without the 'happy ending', or the inevitable stress of trying to get said 'happy ending'.
I must admit one thing though(and I'm completely straight - I assure you, despite my next statement) that the first thing I notice about a woman is her eyes.
Then, when her eyes aren't looking, I notice her breasts.
"Neddy is very grateful to Master Padfoot, but he needs to prepare breakfast now," Ned tells me, and gives a short bow.
"Yeah, of course," I say with a sigh. I like Ned. He's simple, and simple is one thing lacking from my life. "Thanks for keeping me company, Ned."
"Oh, it was Neddy's pleasure, it was, yes! He always enjoys it when Master Padfoot and his friends visi- Oh, hello, Miss Mufflin!"
Did he say..? No. No, he didn't-
Yes. He did.
"Hello, Neddy!" I hear the singsong voice greet back at the houseelf, and Ned's face cracks into a surprisingly wide grin. It appears he approves of this particular female, despite our previous conversation.
"How are you, Neddy?" she asks, not noticing the frozen bloke(note: me) crouching on the child-size chair. "And what about your family? I miss little Suzu and- Sirius?"
I wish I had that bloody Invisibility Cloak now.
"Yo." Lame. That - was - lame.
And the Lame Award goes to.....*drumroll* Sirius Black!
'Oh, this was so unexpected! I-I don't even have a speech prepared! But I would like to thank my parents for never believing in me - you made me the lame person I am today! And thanks to-'
Ned is looking at me funny. A mate's low-point is reached when a houseelf with green hair out if his ears, and an old towel wrapped around his body like a dress looks at you like you're a mental person.
"Neddy was wondering if you wanted another ehm, rootie float, was it?" Muffin explains, and she's looking away while blushing fiercely. Neddy nods, and gives me a questioning look.
"Ehm, oh, no. I mean, no thank-"
"What about the Master's favourite cookies?"
"Ehm, I don't-"
"No. Definitely not firewhiskey," I tell him quicky before he can interrupt.
"I'd like some pineapple sorbét, if that's alright, Neddy?" Muffin cuts in, and I want to kiss her for diverting the houseelf's attention away from me.
But I don't. Cause this time I'm not 60% firewhiskey, and 40% sexually excited. I can restrain myself now.
"Of course, Miss! Right away, Miss!" Neddy's ears dangle with his enthused nods. He runs off and disappears behind a large saucepan.
Add 'awkward silence' to my list of things I hate.
I need to say something. Anything.
My mouth form the beginning of words, but all that comes out is mutters and stutters. Add that with my voice suddenly going through a bad case of puberty-breaking, and you get a sense of how I'm acting right about now.
This is just pathetic.
I don't even know why I'm reacting this way - it's completely unnecessary.
But I can't seem to stop!
Come on! Say something!
"I-I'm not wearing any underwear."
I may have overestimated my ability to break awkward silences just a bit.
Note to future self: Awkward silence is better than awkward words.
"I'm not wearing any underwear either. They're all dirty," Muffin confides in me, and I let out a cough.
I needed to do something, and taking into account that words and I aren't being exactly simpatico right now, I felt safer coughing than talking. I think this was a good desicion.
"I'm wearing my bathing suit instead," she adds, and the mental image of her naked self vanished. Instead I'm now picturing her in a grandma-panty bikini bottom. The first fantasy was better.
"Ah," is all I allow myself to say. Especially since - even during this short word - my voice cracks again.
"It's not very comfortable, is it? To wear one's bathing suit as an undergarment. Don't you agree?" She's asking this in a way that sounds perfectly innocent - as if the topic isn't what's covering our privates, but rather what nice weather we've been having.
I nod in agreement(even though I've got no idea what I just agreed to), and put my hands between my knees to stop them from flailing about. I tend to gesticulate when I'm nervous.
Not at I'm nervous.
"Here you are, Miss Mufflin!" Neddy - who couldn't have come at a better time - rushes over to the table where I'm sitting, and he puts the bowl of sorbét on the opposite side. With a bow, and a 'Bon apetít!', he disappears back into the chaos.
"Is it okay if I share your table?" she asks shyly, and I've got no choice but to nod. Her face reveals a smile that's toothachingly sweet, and I force myself to look away.
Did I mention that I fail at doing this? No? Well, I do. I can't keep from staring at Muffin as she steps over to me and sits down - still smiling. The funny thing is that the kid-sized furniture is just about proportioned to her.
I'd almost forgotten how small she is. And now that the gigantic coat isn't covering her, I see how petite she really looks. Almost fragile. I glance down at my hands, and calculate that I can very possibly lift her with three fingers.
"Mmmm," she all but moans when she eats a spoon of sorbét, and my breath is caught in my throat. I like when girls moan, so sue me. "This is delicious!"
Why does she have to make eye contact with me?! I find her eyes very distracting, and I don't like it!
"Want a taste?" she asks and holds up a spoonful of something very yellow. Well, since I seem to have dropped my resistance somewhere between the Gryffindor common room and the kitchen, I open my mouth and let her feed me. Like an infant... I disgust myself.
I might throw up. And it'll be yellow.
That would be too cool!
She's smiling at me. "Good, right?" Still smiling; this time a pair of dimples shows up.
Wait... Slytherins have dimples? This is all too much for me. I think I need to sit down.
You're already sitting down.
Shut up, brain.
"You're not very talkative, are you?"
"You have dimples- No! I mean- I just-" Shut up!
But she doesn't fall to the floor convulsing in laughter while pointing at me, she just blushes.
"I know," she says quietly, and fiddles with her spoon. "I got it from my mother. She had dimples too."
Oh, no. She's gonna start crying, isn't she? What did I do that was so awful in my last life to make me deserve two crying women in one day?!
Dead mother = sobfest. Even I know that. So bring on the tears, lady - I'm ready to bolt whenever you're-
Why is she laughing?
"Oh, sorry, I just," she tries to calm her giggles, but fails, "I just remembered something she said about our dimples. You see, she had this theory that we got them in order to warn others when we were about to get silly. Because we both only got dimples when we were enthusiastic about something, which meant we were only seconds away from bouncing or singing, or something."
Ladies and gentlemen, I have an announcement to make: I, Sirius Black, actually listened to a woman's sensitive story - without wanting to jab a fork in my eye.
One small step for-
"I'm sorry, I-I didn't mean to bore you," she apologizes, and bites her lip nervously. She does it differently than Evans - I don't feel like rolling my eyes when Muffin does it.
"Oh, no, I didn't, I mean...you didn't bore me. I-I was just thinking," I splutter and narrowly avoid knocking over the entire table with my flailing limbs. Stupid nervous twitches. "Your mother, she-she sounds, ehm, nice."
"Yes, she was," Muffin chirps, and I can't help the smile that's spreading across my face when she looks at me. "But all mothers are nice, aren't they? That's like their job, isn't it?"
This makes me laugh bitterly. "Not all mothers, I can assure you."
Getting deep alert!
"Yeah, well. You know."
"I'm afraid I don't," Muffin admits with her brows pulled down, and pushes away a wavy lock of blonde hair. "Sorry."
I haven't really noticed her hair before. It's nice. A bit long, and wavy, but nice.
"That's alright, it wasn't important," I assure her and give a shrug. She looks unconvinced, but doesn't press the matter. This is a feat I haven't seen practiced by a woman ever.
"I-I think I'll go catch a few winks before breakfast," I hurry to say while getting to my feet. My jolts crack after sitting down for too long, and I grimace as I roll the stiffness away from my shoulders.
"Oh, right, of course," she says, and I can feel her smiling at me. I don't allow myself to look at her - I've gotten too involved already.
I vaguely register her calling a 'sleep tight' after me as I almost fly out the exit, and I draw a long breath once out of the room.
I was closing in on some very dangerous territory back there.
I need to be more careful. Which means that I have to stay away from girls with names like a pastry.
And, of course, firewhiskey.
I can't believe how much inspiration I have for this story! I think I really find it refreshing to be writing in the pov of a male, and I am having way too much fun to stop :D
Do you find Sirius's reaction pattern believable? And his thoughts, the way he behaves, how he speaks? Any guys out there who can help me in the right direction? Any tips? Please tell me!
As always, thank you for reading!
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