31 Days of Fic: Fourteen
Yes, I know, this post is late. ::smacks self in head::
seriously, yesterday was insane. i cannot begin to describe it; suffice to say, I'm glad it's over, and here's yesterday's installment. today's will be up tonight.
May 14, 1976:
Sirius would like nothing better than to spend the day after the full moon in the Hospital Wing with Remus. Unfortunately, he's been banned from entering the Hospital Wing unless he himself is ill ever since third year, when he'd decided that fifty Chocolate Frogs were an appropriate sickroom gift. The resultant chaos had permanently soured Madam Pomfrey's opinion of him, though in his defence he really hadn't intended for them all to get loose.
As a result, he usually spends the day sulking under the Quidditch stands (or at the top of the Astronomy Tower during the winter) on the grounds that if Remus is miserable, he ought to be miserable too, out of solidarity. James and Peter (who are allowed in, the tossers, though only for twenty minutes at a time) always take Remus his best wishes, but it's not the same, and it's not fair.
Today, his usual spot beneath the Quidditch stands holds no interest. He smelled something last night in the Forest, and though he's not quite sure what it was, Sirius knows damn well that it means nobody any good. The memory of it is almost enough to tempt him to go to Dumbledore -- but if he does that, he'll have to admit to being in the Forest in the first place, and maybe even to being an Animagus, because really, how else could he explain having smelled Dark magic? Better to have a look around with human eyes, and see if there is anything he can justify reporting.
He momentarily considers bringing Prongs along, but discards the idea. He doesn't want to have to answer a lot of bloody questions, or to have to watch out for anyone else, not if Dark magic is involved. Despite his distaste for his family and everything connected to it, he's not so thick as to not pay attention when he's taught curse or countercurse, not these days. As a result, Sirius is fairly sure that he has a more comprehensive knowledge of the Dark Arts than anyone else in his House - hell, than anyone in the school, now that Bellatrix and the Rookwoods have graduated. It's far safer if he goes it alone.
He walks out of the castle and into the heat, which is as crushingly intense as it has been since the month began. He heads down to the Quidditch pitch, then crosses it, and slips into the Forbidden Forest. The five degree temperature drop feels far better than it really should, and Sirius pauses for a minute to let his eyes adjust to the dimmer light beneath the trees. This is probably not a good idea, but then, he's done a lot of things that have qualified as bad ideas in the past, and he's still in one piece. Four or five meters into the Forest, he finds the trail that he's looking for and heads determinedly along it.
The Forest is almost unnaturally quiet. The afternoon heat seems to have subdued the normal woodland sounds into a waiting hush that prickles uncomfortably at the back of Sirius' neck. He feels as if he's being watched, and for a moment the desire to turn back is nearly overwhelming. Instead, he sets his shoulders, pulls his wand out of his pocket, and keeps going. He is Sirius Black, and he is more than a match for anything he might encounter.
Last night's clearing is deep in the Forest, and it takes him nearly half an hour to get there. By the time he does, he's half-wishing he'd traveled as Padfoot; still, being able to get to his wand beats convenience, especially today. He can't help feeling that he's walking through hostile territory, and it's not a sensation he enjoys, especially on what he is beginningto feel is his own ground.
As he steps into the clearing itself, the feeling of being an unwelcome intruder increases tenfold, and the idea of continuing his investigation becomes almost unpalatable. It's some sort of Repulsion Charm, then; or at least Sirius hopes it is. If the magic on whatever-it-is he's come in search of is strong enough and Dark enough to spook him this badly, then he is way out of his depth.
"Spiritus Impervius," he murmurs, tapping himself once on the shoulder with his wand. The feeling of dread slides away, becoming remote and distant and no longer his, though it does not vanish. This particular spell works by separating the subject from his emotions. It is also restricted to use by mediwizards only, and carefully monitored when it is used. Sirius learned it from his father the summer after third year, and though it has proven extremely useful, he's never mentioned it even to James. He's in dead trouble if he gets caught using it - which means I'd better not get caught, doesn't it, he tells himself firmly, and presses onward, across the clearing.
The spot he remembers from last night is unremarkable at first glance: a tangle of underbrush that looks just like the rest of this part of the forest. Still, as he gets closer, the distant sensation of dread becomes heavier, and he knows he's in the right place. There must be something in that tangle of bushes, then, if someone has gone to this much effort to make the place unwelcoming.
He parts the bushes with his hands, not really expecting to see anything, and is startled enough by the flash of something metallic on the ground that he nearly bends over and picks it up before he remembers how stupid that would be. The flash came from a silver box that is no bigger than the palm of his hand, and when he stoops for a closer look, he can see that there is something engraved on the lid: a complicated, dizzying pattern of curved and jagged lines that seems almost to swirl before his eyes.
"Right," he mutters to himself, and straightens, letting the bushes close back over his find. Sirius is doubly glad that he came alone. Prongs has a distressing tendency to investigate things by picking them up and either shaking them or trying to open them, whereas a life at Grimmauld Place has taught Sirius that in the case of strange magical items, discretion is by far the better part of valour. He's not sure what, exactly, is in the box, but he could venture a few moderately educated guesses, and none of them would be pleasant. That the thing is clearly expensive only makes things worse. It's not the sort of item one leaves lying about unless one intends to do some very serious damage.
( day thirteen)***(day fifteen)
Author's Notes: yeah, i have nothing to say right now. feedback is nice. i'm glad i'm not in georgia any more.
seriously, yesterday was insane. i cannot begin to describe it; suffice to say, I'm glad it's over, and here's yesterday's installment. today's will be up tonight.
May 14, 1976:
Sirius would like nothing better than to spend the day after the full moon in the Hospital Wing with Remus. Unfortunately, he's been banned from entering the Hospital Wing unless he himself is ill ever since third year, when he'd decided that fifty Chocolate Frogs were an appropriate sickroom gift. The resultant chaos had permanently soured Madam Pomfrey's opinion of him, though in his defence he really hadn't intended for them all to get loose.
As a result, he usually spends the day sulking under the Quidditch stands (or at the top of the Astronomy Tower during the winter) on the grounds that if Remus is miserable, he ought to be miserable too, out of solidarity. James and Peter (who are allowed in, the tossers, though only for twenty minutes at a time) always take Remus his best wishes, but it's not the same, and it's not fair.
Today, his usual spot beneath the Quidditch stands holds no interest. He smelled something last night in the Forest, and though he's not quite sure what it was, Sirius knows damn well that it means nobody any good. The memory of it is almost enough to tempt him to go to Dumbledore -- but if he does that, he'll have to admit to being in the Forest in the first place, and maybe even to being an Animagus, because really, how else could he explain having smelled Dark magic? Better to have a look around with human eyes, and see if there is anything he can justify reporting.
He momentarily considers bringing Prongs along, but discards the idea. He doesn't want to have to answer a lot of bloody questions, or to have to watch out for anyone else, not if Dark magic is involved. Despite his distaste for his family and everything connected to it, he's not so thick as to not pay attention when he's taught curse or countercurse, not these days. As a result, Sirius is fairly sure that he has a more comprehensive knowledge of the Dark Arts than anyone else in his House - hell, than anyone in the school, now that Bellatrix and the Rookwoods have graduated. It's far safer if he goes it alone.
He walks out of the castle and into the heat, which is as crushingly intense as it has been since the month began. He heads down to the Quidditch pitch, then crosses it, and slips into the Forbidden Forest. The five degree temperature drop feels far better than it really should, and Sirius pauses for a minute to let his eyes adjust to the dimmer light beneath the trees. This is probably not a good idea, but then, he's done a lot of things that have qualified as bad ideas in the past, and he's still in one piece. Four or five meters into the Forest, he finds the trail that he's looking for and heads determinedly along it.
The Forest is almost unnaturally quiet. The afternoon heat seems to have subdued the normal woodland sounds into a waiting hush that prickles uncomfortably at the back of Sirius' neck. He feels as if he's being watched, and for a moment the desire to turn back is nearly overwhelming. Instead, he sets his shoulders, pulls his wand out of his pocket, and keeps going. He is Sirius Black, and he is more than a match for anything he might encounter.
Last night's clearing is deep in the Forest, and it takes him nearly half an hour to get there. By the time he does, he's half-wishing he'd traveled as Padfoot; still, being able to get to his wand beats convenience, especially today. He can't help feeling that he's walking through hostile territory, and it's not a sensation he enjoys, especially on what he is beginningto feel is his own ground.
As he steps into the clearing itself, the feeling of being an unwelcome intruder increases tenfold, and the idea of continuing his investigation becomes almost unpalatable. It's some sort of Repulsion Charm, then; or at least Sirius hopes it is. If the magic on whatever-it-is he's come in search of is strong enough and Dark enough to spook him this badly, then he is way out of his depth.
"Spiritus Impervius," he murmurs, tapping himself once on the shoulder with his wand. The feeling of dread slides away, becoming remote and distant and no longer his, though it does not vanish. This particular spell works by separating the subject from his emotions. It is also restricted to use by mediwizards only, and carefully monitored when it is used. Sirius learned it from his father the summer after third year, and though it has proven extremely useful, he's never mentioned it even to James. He's in dead trouble if he gets caught using it - which means I'd better not get caught, doesn't it, he tells himself firmly, and presses onward, across the clearing.
The spot he remembers from last night is unremarkable at first glance: a tangle of underbrush that looks just like the rest of this part of the forest. Still, as he gets closer, the distant sensation of dread becomes heavier, and he knows he's in the right place. There must be something in that tangle of bushes, then, if someone has gone to this much effort to make the place unwelcoming.
He parts the bushes with his hands, not really expecting to see anything, and is startled enough by the flash of something metallic on the ground that he nearly bends over and picks it up before he remembers how stupid that would be. The flash came from a silver box that is no bigger than the palm of his hand, and when he stoops for a closer look, he can see that there is something engraved on the lid: a complicated, dizzying pattern of curved and jagged lines that seems almost to swirl before his eyes.
"Right," he mutters to himself, and straightens, letting the bushes close back over his find. Sirius is doubly glad that he came alone. Prongs has a distressing tendency to investigate things by picking them up and either shaking them or trying to open them, whereas a life at Grimmauld Place has taught Sirius that in the case of strange magical items, discretion is by far the better part of valour. He's not sure what, exactly, is in the box, but he could venture a few moderately educated guesses, and none of them would be pleasant. That the thing is clearly expensive only makes things worse. It's not the sort of item one leaves lying about unless one intends to do some very serious damage.
( day thirteen)***(day fifteen)
Author's Notes: yeah, i have nothing to say right now. feedback is nice. i'm glad i'm not in georgia any more.