FIC: Sir Cadfish and the Quest of the Scion
Title: Sir Cadfish Cadogan and the Quest of the Scion; Part I
Author: sirius_lurking
Rating: PG
Warnings: None
Summary/challenge: Response to challenge 101: Contrary to what many - and he himself - believe, Sirius wasn't the one to blame for the (THE) prank.
A humorous version, for the most part. Remus/Sirius
Sir Cadogan was a noble man at heart, but tended to gravitate toward the side of excessiveness, bringing a certain trait to the table that one might be inclined to call eccenticity, or, if one were feeling particularly critical, insanity. Sirius was feeling very irritable already, and supposed that it wouldn't be that much of a stretch to cross that gap over to critical, and call the knight insane.
Author's Notes: This is an...odd approach to the challenge. Many thanks to sam_can_do_it, who answered my plea for a beta when I've never had one before. Also, to summerwing, who wasn't able to carry through this time but was still very supportive and will likely help me in the future. LJ doesn't like the size of my post, so it will be coming in two parts.
This had been building inside of him for months now, he realized. It was a giant and tumbled mass of unresolved tension, festering and squelching inside his veins like some cruel parasite, sucking out his sanity and peace of mind bit by bit. A very harsh way of putting it, perhaps, but Sirius was miserable, and at those times he didn't mind one whit if he was exaggerating or whining; if he wanted to he would howl to the moon or shout to the stars or possibly even thrash Snape.
He supposed, rather morosely, that he was on some sort of ambitious streak, as he was asserting himself and growing into a new life. He was finally arranging his life to go the way that he wanted it to. Not his parents, not his family, not the school…Run away from home, and suddenly you feel like everything has taken a brand new turn. Nothing could touch him, because he had found a way to escape.
Forever.
So, carpe diem, right? Sirius felt that he was at some sort of undeniable level of hope and certainty, some kind of unbelievable and indistinct haze lifting his confidence and strengthening his resolve in every single aspect. Because, he had escaped. Sometimes he felt giddy, thinking about it, and then other times he felt it was all some wonderful astonishing dream that he wished very, very badly would never end.
The only problem was that his newfound sense of aspiration was constantly urging him to take bigger and bigger risks to bring him to what he wanted. He began to crave it. Impetuous and mercurial, Sirius went along with most of these impulses, laughing, enjoying the ride, and thinking, ‘hell, why not?’ Surely, he was indestructible. He had escaped.
That wasn’t the problem; he enjoyed the risks.
But he was discovering that the more you indulge in risk-taking, the more you screw the consequences and take whatever you want, the less self-control you seemed to have.
That was the problem. Especially, no, particularly, in regard to a certain Remus Lupin. It was that parasite again, seeping into his brain. An evil one. (“And what are parasites if not evil?” James had asked when Sirius had attempted to explain to his friend his sudden uncontrollable desires. Hypothetically, of course.). It fed off his every sense, growing by the day. His thoughts were driving him crazy, and he couldn’t control them. The Impulse was taking over. You want it; why not just go for it? You can do anything.
Sirius was becoming more and more convinced that 1) the Impulse was demonic, and secretly mocked him when he couldn’t hear it, and 2) it would not go away until it was satisfied. Try as he might, it would not be beaten. You’re invincible now! You can mold your life into the way you want it to be, the Impulse coaxed, in a silky, alluring manner, stroking and flattering in a way that should have seemed wholly degrading. Sometimes he became disgusted with himself, with his lack of resolve and self-control.
What it was, really, was a double edged sword type thing, Sirius mused. The Impulse was the evil, but clearly, Remus himself wasn’t evil. What he hated wasn’t his sudden infatuation with Remus (it was quite exhilarating, to be honest); it was losing his calm every time Remus came by, having a sudden gripping desire to stand and make an utter fool out of himself. He knew he was losing time, and if he didn’t confront Remus soon, he really would lose it and do something completely embarrassing.
Every time he attempted the undertaking, however, his nerve failed the Impulse, and every time without fail his common sense, smothered and held hostage in the back of his consciousness, held up a little victory flag and rejoiced. Because, really, Sirius thought, this was taking the carpe diem thing a little too far. What kind of insane exploit was he on, even entertaining the idea of actually taking action on a feeling like this? This was risking more than just his physical health, or even reputation (not that he had held much stock in that in the first place); this was a long-standing, devoted, and deep friendship that was not anything he would have ever expected to gamble, of all things.
It was all terribly unfortunate.
It was even more unfortunate that he chose to give in (and really give in, no chickening out) at a most inopportune moment in time.
***
Sirius went about it as he went about most things: passionately and excessively, throwing himself into the task with a fierce and boundless devotion. He was making a plan. The Plan. Designed (or rather intended) to be flawless and fool-proof. It was calculated at a 75-3 ratio of success; fairly good, considering the circumstances. He had even prepared three back-up Plans if he ended up in the “3” end of the ratio (arithmancy was never his strong point). With such an immaculate approach he was very optimistic, and was, despite himself, eager to see it turn out.
He walked back from the library in a merry fashion, glowing with confidence and determination and making sure to savor the feelings while they lasted; as he was quite sure once he actually came upon Remus that his nerves would strike back with a vengeance so zealous it is usually only matched by that of one Severus Snape. Normally so certain and content with himself, Sirius was completely unaccustomed to battling the last-minute anxiety, and it must be said that he held a special place for them in his mental Pit of Loathing.
He carried on; humming a senseless tune and checking the Map at every corner he turned, in order to make sure he did not have any premature run-ins with Moony. As the minutes stretched by and he remained alone in the corridors, skillfully dodging any and all life-forms, he began to frantically run over and over The Plan. He ran it sideways, frontward, backward, spiraled, flipped, baked, fried, and every-which-way through his head. He began muttering, at first little inarticulate, half-formed words, then bits and snatches of The Plan, as if to emphasize them for himself.
Sirius was heading down a particularly deserted corridor on the third floor to which no one usually ever traveled, as it was very out of the way for the average student or teacher. And it was this very corridor to which the portrait containing a certain Brave and Fearless Knight, by the noble name of Sir Cadogan, had been banished, er, sent, by his neighboring portraits. The knight had been told there was a very Essential and Legendary Quest, on which hung the very balance of the future, and which only he could carry out successfully. Eager as ever to prove himself, to avert evils and thwart wiles and the like, he willfully carried himself up to the remote corridor, and was now constantly on the look out for the this Quest to reveal itself, as all Quests do in time, and then hurry back to the frame where the three ladies cast in the nightgowns and flowers lay.
His clanking--as he practiced jousting and sword-play and spectacular ways in which to fall off of his horse--fell deaf on Sirius’ ear, who was entirely engrossed in his Plan.
“Ah…Doubt thou the stars are fire, doubt that the sun doth move*…doubt…doubt, erm…agh…!” Sirius’ faint muttering floated in echoes down the hall, accentuated at the end by a frustrated shout and the sound of something hard being thrown at the stone wall, followed immediately by an equally loud curse and a petulant cry. Traipsing through the frames, Sir Cadogan arrived near the source of the commotion, and saw Sirius Black slumped against the wall, cradling his own foot.
“Heigh-ho, fellow!” the knight shouted, tripping his way into the portrait behind the animagus. As he waved eccentrically, his armor caught on a fold of tablecloth. He stumbled as he tried to catch himself, but the momentum and weight of the whole suit brought him down in a great crash, creating shrieks and cries of outrage from the residents of the picture. Startled, Sirius twisted his neck around to look up at the frame, currently portraying a somewhat abashed knight who was trying valiantly to right himself, straighten his armor and apologize to the real inhabitants of the picture, a pair of disgruntled and distinguished old men.
“There now, no harm done, all’s in order!” Sir Cadogan reassured everyone happily. He bowed to Sirius, a tad too deeply, it must be said, because he began to lean forward more and more until it seemed he was unable to stop himself. His arms waved in front of him frantically as he tried to regain his balance, and he took a few steps before he was able to slowly begin to stand straight again. It clearly required a might of effort. When he was fully righted, he seemed to be breathing heavily, but no less enthusiastic. “There, there!”
Sirius gaped at him.
“Ah! Allow me to introduce myself! I--am Sir Cadogan!” He lifted his arms in a flourish, and stuck out his chest as if this announcement should have held some great significance. The two men in the picture glared at him disdainfully. “And you, sir,” he peered over the edge of the frame, “Surely you do not intend to fight me scattered down on the floor like some third-rate ruffian! Up with you, and show me your weapon! I shall take you down single-handedly, you foul sorcerer!”
Sirius made a noise that vaguely resembled a grapefruit being squished and then strangled.
Sir Cadogan scoffed. “Up, you lily-livered beast! Are you or are you not of the scion of evil, here to test me? Thou shalt be vanquished! Or are you yourself my quest? Get up and fight like a man, not a dog!”
“Well,” Sirius choked. “…I suppose I am from a scion of evil,” he grinned ruefully, “but I’m sure I’ve not come here to fight you.” He pushed himself up and turned to face Sir Cadogan, glaring.
“Pfft! You admit it! You are a scion of evil. Your tricks and lies will not work on me, foul tempter! Up! If you have no weapon, raise your fists, you yellow fiend!”
Sirius blinked. “Look, Sir Cadfish, I’m a tad busy at the mo’.”
“Busy? Busy, he says? Look here, everyone!” Sir Cadogan shouted to the corridor, comprised of less than four other people, all of which were in portraits. “The scion refuses to fight me! Such a coward mine eyes have never seen.”
Sirius’ eyes narrowed as he stared down the knight. “Coward? Did I hear you right?”
“You heard me perfectly, you loathsome bit of maggot innards! You are a chicken!” Sir Cadogan taunted, prancing about in the portrait, but being rather careful about it so he didn’t fall over again.
Sirius’ mouth dropped open and he gawked at the knight. “You’re a bloody painting! You can’t fight me.”
“Well, if you want to get technical about things! Poking about at something a fellow can’t help!” cried out Sir Cadogan in dismay. “If I’m a painting, you’re just flesh and bone and all that rot! So don’t go thinking so highly of yourself from now on.”
“At least I’m three dimensional. Bastard.” Sir Cadogan was a noble man at heart, but tended to gravitate toward the side of excessiveness, bringing a certain trait to the table that one might be inclined to call eccenticity, or, if one were feeling particularly critical, insanity. Sirius was feeling very irritable already, and supposed that it wouldn't be that much of a stretch to cross that gap over to critical, and call the knight insane. Sirius just shook his head Sir Cadogan, wondering if portraits could be classified as insane, and continued down the hallway.
“Come back here this instant! Chivalry demands that you stand and fight!” The clanking of Sir Cadogan’s armor could be heard echoing as he scampered through the rest of the frames, following Sirius.
“Chivalry can well hang itself for all the good it does me. You’re just not on to leave me alone, are you?” he complained, as he stopped at what was presumably the knight’s own picture: an empty landscape, save for a lone, rather obese dapple grey pony.
Sir Cadogan shuffled into view, huffing and puffing slightly. “There…aha…ha…I’ve…I’ve-caught you!”
“Sure, of course.”
“And now-a duel to the death!”
“And why not?”
“Just-just let me-here, ah…” Sir Cadogan struggled, trying to pull his sword out of its sheath, breathing heavily and moving clumsily.
“Perhaps another time, then?” Sirius suggested lightly, turning around.
“Wait, wait! Almost got it-now, just-oh, oh dear.” Cadogan had managed to unbuckle the sword, but it had fallen to the ground and was now caught under the weight of his own pony, which had decided to lie (collapse) down. He looked at it despondently, head tilted, and sighed.
“Well, then it will have to be some other time,” said Sirius firmly. “I have something else I need to carry out, if you don’t mind.”
Sir Cadogan looked up, curious now that his sword was hopelessly buried underneath his animal and all hope of carrying out the duel was buried with it. “Something you need to do? Ah! Is the lord perhaps on a quest?” The knight seemed very excited at this possibility.
“I-er, suppose so,” Sirius admitted reluctantly. Moments after he said it he realized it was the absolute wrong thing to say, especially when Sir Cadogan clasped his hands and was positively jiggling with delight.
“I will aid you in this Noble Quest! Indeed, thou shalt rise to victory with the aid of Sir Cadogan!”
“No, no, that’s quite all right,” Sirius amended hastily. “Remember, I’m a scion. Terrible, terrible, blood: wouldn’t want to touch me with a ten-foot pole. Madness. No, I’ll carry on myself, thanks.”
“Nonsense! A strapping young lad such as you shouldn’t bring himself down with all this talk! I shall make a nobleman out of you yet! Come, come, what is this quest?”
“No, it’s not a-”
“Yes! Talk!”
“I don’t-”
“Don’t be shy! We shall vanquish this obstacle and rise to the greatest glory!”
Sirius sighed in defeat. What the hell, right? What was the worst that could happen if he told the picture? It wasn’t like Sir Cadogan could do anything, anyway. No one came down this corridor! Maybe the loon would even knock some sense into him, and convince his brain that this was a Very Bad Idea. At the least, it would be bound to get the bloody knight off his back, and it was sure to be entertaining.
“All right, then.” Sirius looked the little man skeptically, gauging him. “There’s this-person, that I-I’m trying to, well-”
“Dispose of?”
“No.”
“Trick?”
“No.”
“Maim?”
“N-no.”
“Ah. Is this a quest of romance? Of love and all its virtues? Of wooing and starlight and red, glittery paper hearts?” If it was possible, Sir Cadogan seemed to become even more excited.
“Ah, everything-except that last one.” Sirius winced. If there was one thing he hadn’t worked into his Plan, it was most definitely the paper hearts, and rightly so.
“You have come to the right place, good sir! I am most skilled in all the trials of romance and love!”
A number of disturbed coughs came from the corridor’s other two-dimensional inhabitants. Sirius shuddered.
“Look-”
“Tell me about this lovely maiden!”
Sirius’ lips twisted into a grim smile. “It’s not a maiden.”
Sir Cadogan seemed momentarily dumbfounded. “Not a maiden?”
“Nope.”
That the object of affection should not be a maiden clearly seemed to never have crossed the knight’s mind before. Then something seemed to click.
“Aha! Then it is some foul curse! A lady that has been turned into a creature, awaiting true love’s first kiss?”
“’Fraid not.” Though admittedly, Remus was afflicted with a foul curse. Pity a kiss couldn’t cure it.
“Oh.”
Sir Cadogan was lost again.
Sirius sighed. He was wasting time. “Look, it’s a bloke.”
The knight blinked, and processed the information. “A bloke?” he parroted.
“Yes,” Sirius barely growled, ready to stomp off.
Sir Cadogan seemed thoughtful, and regarded Sirius. “What ist thou name, fair boy?”
Sirius frowned, brow furrowing as he considered the knight in turn. “Sirius Black.”
There was silence as both parties tried to measure up the other. It stretched on; a string of awkward awareness.
“…All right, then!” Sir Cadogan burst out cheerfully suddenly, startling Sirius so that he leaped back defensively. “We shall see that you and thy fellow are paired in bliss!”
Sirius gawked.
“Come now, come now! Let’s hear about this young man! Is he strong, charming and gifted? Is he fit with the courage of a thousand dragons? Does he make the heart a-flutter?”
“Uh…sure.” Had he gone completely round the bend? Sirius shook his head in an attempt to clear out whatever notion had decided to lodge itself in there without his permission so he would just abandon the knight and keep walking. No such luck. Something forced him to stay.
“The time is slipping past us! Hurry or we shall have no chance to win the lad’s worthy heart!” Sir Cadogan urged.
“Look, it’s quite complicated. You wouldn’t-”
“One will never know unless he first faces the lair of the dragon and peers through the darkness!”
“Oh, I’ve looked; and I think I’ll pass, thanks,” Sirius said sourly.
“You must have the strength and courage and will if you are to woo your beloved! Come, good sir, do not give up! I shall train you and aid you in this mighty endeavor of the soul,” said the knight encouragingly.
Sirius glared at the portrait. “I’m able to carry on my own, and I will. So thanks but no thanks, I really-”
“Don’t! The ways of the heart are shrouded in mists and mazes that will confuse and wound the ignorant passerby. One should have a guide, a leader of tremendous abilities!” Sir Cadogan stood straight with pride, staring ahead determinedly. “So tell me of him, and we shall succeed together!”
Sirius rolled his eyes in exasperation. “He’s my friend; it’s a little more complex-”
“Ah! And what is he like?”
This stopped Sirius dead in his tracks. What was Remus like? First of all, it would take hours to correctly answer the question, and second of all, he wanted to get out of there as soon as possible.
“…” He paused, his mouth open for a second as he grappled for words that were stubbornly lodging themselves in the back of his brain, refusing to come out. Giving that up, he stood silent, reddening under the absorbed gaze of Sir Cadogan until he was filled with frustration and embarrassment. He burst out, “He’s just oh so handsome and smart and brave!” gushing sarcastically.
“…” Sir Cadogan, not very well versed in the wide and profitable ways of sarcasm, took a moment to respond. And then: “A capable and gallant young man, it seems!”
“Yes, right, gallant. And all that. Because of course he has to deal with something so horrible most people would have caved years before, but he’s made it and is so much better than everyone--!” Sirius stopped himself short, somewhat abashed.
The knight seemed uncertain about where to go with this at first, but soon found some footing. “Such curses befall the best of us, I’m afraid,” Sir Cadogan mourned. “But now, we must get you alone together! Such must be the nuance, and it must be a symbolic place in which you sweep him off his feet.”
“Not literally, I hope.”
“A place where you will not be interrupted!”
“Er.”
“A place of majestic spirit!”
“Ag.”
“Where the both of you will meet and sense at once that it is a defining moment in your young lives!”
“The Willow?” Sirius raised an eyebrow, unwillingly caught up in the knight’s tirade.
“A willow tree! Magnificent! What soul there would be!” Sir Cadogan sighed blissfully.
“No, we’d go through the willow,” Sirius said dismissively, chewing his thumbnail and deep in thought.
“Through the willow?” he asked perplexedly.
“Yes, yes, of course. Just press the knot, you know?” he snapped, irritated, not concerning himself with the knight for the moment.
“Oh,” Sir Cadogan breathed confusedly, thrown off track.
“Well,” Sirius said after a prolonged moment of silence, looking up finally with a grin. “That is a brilliant idea, then. I’ll just go now.” He was very eager to both escape the company of the odd knight and go find Remus.
“God’s luck to you and your beloved!” Cadogan shouted after his retreating back, a stupid smile plastered on his face. The lad was all right; a little odd, a little stubborn, and a scion of evil, but those were things one could overlook if one tried hard enough. He sighed wistfully and made to turn around whimsy-like, complete with the full sigh and head-loll and loose-swinging arms, and a stupid smile on his face as he contemplated young love and all its virtues.
He failed miserably, succeeding in only the head-loll, which in the end caused his helmet to spear itself purposefully into the ground, as well as resulting in many hours of graceless tugging and struggling for the hapless knight.
***
Sirius was ready. He was lively and spirited, and buoyant to the point of being bubbly.
Sirius also hated Severus Snape. He was irate and wrathful, and infuriated to the point of exploding.
The abrupt switch in emotions was so sudden that he felt as if he had just fallen off a broomstick from miles up; the kind of height that makes you euphoric and giddy, and the kind of fall that makes you go SPLAT, only much harder, louder, and messier. Alive, then Dead. Such was the way of things.
To be frank, there was a Great Battle. A Black vs. Snape, all out, no holding back, one time only, winner takes all encounter. As primary attacks, tremendous verbal onslaughts were discharged from both sides. Insults, direct and indirect, were lobbed recklessly and in abundance. Each side suffered grievous harm.
With little time to recover, the wounds from the various insults and insinuations could not be assuaged, and they continued to eat away unnoticed at each faction’s psyche. As the fight drew on, the contenders became harsher and crueler than the second before, but also became more senseless and rash themselves. With five minutes past, each was already sunk deep in distress and disorder.
Then, the Snape faction made a desperate decision to wade into the arsenal and pull out the last resort weapon of the wand, thus plunging the fight into the final and most violent stage. Black was quick to react, however, and prevented any immediate injuries this action could have caused him.
Hexes and spells were thrown haphazardly through the air, some making their mark, but many more missing it; and at the end of it all, it seemed the losses were about equal. It was not quite clear who had won the final, no holds barred, match-to-end-all-matches, and each side left in a considerably weaker state than that which he had entered in.
Black may or may not have mentioned a Whomping Willow at some point throughout this exchange. He didn’t know himself; he had quite lost his head in the ferocity of it all.
***
Severus Snape was stomping dejectedly and rather blindly, it must be said, throughout the halls. He was feverishly clutching his nose, which was almost definitely broken, coughing up random bits of stringy slime at constant intervals, limping on his right leg (which seemed to be an unflattering shade of magenta), trying to blink itching powder out his eyes, ignoring the fact that his hair was now the shape of a roaring bonfire, colliding with everything solid that lay within a five-foot diameter, and cursing Sirius Black in as many ways as he knew how, in addition to creating quite a number of new ones. His left ear might have gone deaf, too.
So it was clearly random fate that he ended up lurching, toppling and thumping in all manner of graceless ways into the very same empty corridor that Sirius had just left, which housed a now slightly tipsy Sir Cadogan.
Sir Cadogan was singing: off-key and in a scratchy, slurry voice. The screeching sound echoed off the walls of the corridor, finding its way to Snape, who felt a terrible headache forming in response to the horrendous notes that clobbered his eardrums on top of his already compromised state. He groaned, tried to pick up his speed to get out of hearing range, wishing Black had had the generosity to hex him entirely deaf. This only succeeded in causing him to crash twice as hard into the walls. His nose bled harder in protest.
The knight up ahead ceased his drunken melody and appeared to notice the boy. He stumbled over to he edge of the frame, half of the time on his knees and the other half of the time on one foot (upon which he would hop--on average about once--before then falling on his face and having to work his way up to his knees again, then ultimately back onto one foot, and the whole cycle would repeat itself, never-ending). When he did manage to finally reach the edge of the frame, he was giggling idiotically, and Snape was standing on the other side of the corridor, doubled over and slouching against the wall, looking determinedly at the ground and not at the inebriated portrait.
Sir Cadogan blinked, trying to see through a blurry haze of his paint-alcohol-induced stupor (he had no idea how he had procured the drink in the first place, nor did anyone else), still laughing reflexively. He saw a figure with long black hair (yes, it was sticking a foot up in the air, but who was he to judge, as Cadogan solemnly reflected that fashions were changing awfully quickly these days). The person appeared to be holding his face, and bending over quite a ways. The knight blinked, and through his very thorough and precise deduction skills, thus deduced that the person was the same Sirius Black he had met…how long ago, now? Anyway, that charming young scion with the woeful romance.
Of course, Sirius would have been simply appalled, not to mention furious, that Snape had been mistaken for himself.
But, such was the way of things when a drunken portrait that was Sir Cadogan had to try to tell the difference between two black-haired boys. Very similar, that black hair. Even if they were sticking in completely different directions.
"Hallo there!" Sir Cadogan called out, though it came out through a snigger. He was clutching the side of the frame and waving desperately. Snape pretended not to notice. Sir Cadogan fell over. Snape pretended not to smirk.
"Oh, oh lad!" Cadogan shouted in a jolly voice. "Have thou'st achie-chi...Er. Quest! Yes. Win. Did you." He looked at Snape expectantly.
Snape pretended not to grunt.
"Don'…Do. Not. Not be shy!" Cadogan slurred. "Siiirius." The knight hiccuped and smiled ignorantly.
Snape stopped pretending not to notice. "What?"
"You-hic-know-hic. How did--? The other, er, boy."
"Refresh my memory." Snape's voice was sharp and strict.
"The will. Willll-ow. Willow. And through it. Knot. Press. Ing. Knot, or…somethinggggg…"
"The Whomping Willow?" Snape demanded. "Tonight?"
"What-hic--?" Sir Cadogan blinked dazedly. He was very confused.
Snape, on the other hand, was very thrilled. "Exactly." Sirius Black was doing something. Something synonymous with trouble, Snape was sure, and he was going to catch him at it. He ignored the only partly coherent protests of the knight and turned to rush out the corridor and down to the grounds.
He didn't make it very far before he crashed into another wall.
***
Sirius was slowly making his way back to the dormitory, in a similar state to that of Snape, but with noticeably fewer run-ins with inanimate objects. Stumbling over his feet, he giggled stupidly every once and a while, recalling the way Snape had looked by the time their confrontation had ended. It was his sole sense of comfort: knowing that somewhere, out there, Snape was wandering blindly and confusedly through the halls, with even more trouble than he.
As he approached the portrait, all thoughts of Snape and his hopefully-by-now-concussed-head had fled as he remembered the dilemma he had been struggling with all day. He stopped short, wondering once again, if he really intended to do this at all, never even mind the part about following a mental portrait’s advice, who was stuck in 1235 or some such medieval year.
Lunacy. Wasn’t it?
“Password?” droned the lazy voice of the fat lady, who was staring hard at Sirius, irritated by his vacant stare and inaction.
He blinked, muttered a word distractedly and climbed his was through the commons up to the dormitory. He ignored the harsh and curious whispers that immediately struck up upon his appearance. A dull, forlorn look about him, he slumped dejectedly into the bathroom and went about righting the visible injuries Snape had inflicted, with no apparent emotion.
He let his hair fall back into place, then came out into the dormitory, frowning when he saw his three roommates were still conspicuously absent. Grumbling and dragging his feet, he went to lean out the window, slumped boneless over the edge as the chill air brushed against his pale skin, lightly. Sirius sighed, glancing out into the dark without really seeing, his eyes ghosting over the features of the now so familiar courtyard, and they became unfocused as his mind wandered in indiscernible patterns, nothing completely distinguishable as a real thought. He was tired, he felt hopeless, and he resigned himself to continue his “quest” (god-awful curse) another day. Maybe he’d actually succeed by the end of the century, if he was really diligent about it.
A rustling, and a figure caught on the edge of vision stirred him from his self-pity. In shock, he recognized Remus, traveling down to the willow, accompanied by Madam Pomfrey.
It was a bloody full moon. That just takes it, doesn’t it?
He had been so focused on that boy all day, and he still somehow miraculously managed to forget that tonight was a full moon. Excellent job, Padfoot, Sirius berated himself. Swearing, he leaned out as far as he could, in order to see Remus disappear into the tree. Peter and James were no doubt laying in wait nearby. He whipped around as soon as Remus was out of sight, shooting out of the dormitory and propelling down the stairs, hoping he wouldn’t be too late for the change.
He happened to crash head-on into James Potter, who was running equally as fast up the stairs.
Newton’s third law of motion states: Whenever one body exerts force upon a second body, the second body exerts an equal and opposite force upon the first body, and vice versa.
Whether or not the wizards actually know who Isaac Newton is, is irrelevant. The fact remains that their bodies behaved in exactly the same way Sir Newton has just described for us. Mr. Potter (body one) was knocked flat on his back, and then proceeded to thump uncomfortably all the way to the foot of the staircase. Mr. Black (body two) was also knocked backward, but then gravity took hold and he also tumbled down the staircase, landing with perfect precision right atop the squirming mass of his best friend, body one. Bodies one and two were caught in a momentary battle of thwacking haphazard limbs, and Mr. Pettigrew, an inconsequential body three, watched on in apprehension, praying he would not lose an eye due to the combination of Sir Newton’s third law and basic human male instinct to grapple with anything that assaults them, thus presenting a most crude challenge.
By the time James and Sirius had righted themselves, plastered on mutually indignant looks, and chased off the various females that had gathered around to help them up, they had successfully disrupted the entire Gryffindor tower. Masked with identical ‘say a word and you’ll wonder just what happened to your left buttock for the rest of your life’ glares, they proceeded with as much dignity as they could muster up the stairs and into their dormitory. Peter was barely able to hold in his sniggers.
Once they safely settled themselves in the dormitory, they continued to ignore the incident. James straightened himself, and sat with an air of irritation, crossing his arms stiffly. Sirius merely stared back with an expectation, waiting with a sardonic smile for his friend to begin.
“First of all, what kind of idiot doesn’t look where he’s going when he’s coming down the staircase?”
“The same kind that doesn’t bother to look up the stairs when he’s running a sodding sprint up to the dormitory.”
“Says you.”
“And I also say: why aren’t we going down to Moony right now?”
This time James glared at him, and puffed his chest out defensively. “We came up here in the first place to find you, who was no where to be found! If anyone was late-”
“I know! That’s why I was heading down, I’d got, um,” Sirius paused, thinking of the best way to phrase it. “I’d run into Snape. So you know, you can’t really let him get away once or else he’ll think he’ll get off the next time too. Can’t have him going soft, and all that.”
James seemed to lighten up a bit at this news. “Oh really? What happened, then?”
“Oh,” Sirius smirked. “Well, he didn’t leave in quite the same condition as he had entered.” His lips turned in a guileful curve. “Hacked and mangled up, like.” His eyes took on a reminiscent quality. “I think he might’ve lost hearing in his left ear, too.”
“Ace. I should’ve been there!” James moaned.
“Eh,” Sirius grimaced, thinking of how he had looked too, when he had first come out of the fray. “But you know, Moony’s still waiting, out there. Isn’t that the reason we crashed each other down the stairs in the first place?”
James seemed to come to his senses, snapping out of whatever daydream he had been having about Snape, the words hacked and mangled, and a useless left ear. “Right, right. Let’s go then!” He stood up, ushering Peter out the door and waving at Padfoot to follow.
Sirius had gone over to the window again, to take a quick glance and check the grounds hurriedly. Nodding in assertion he pulled away, when at the last moment fleeting shadow caught his eye. Startled, he poked his head out the window to have a better view, stretching his arm out to steady himself. Beneath him lay the grounds, a dark and heady night outlining the landscape in faint greens and grays. Flitting between the long shadows was an obscure form, doubled over in attempted stealth but moving awkwardly. Sirius braced on the ledge and leaned out farther to see around the castle wall. The person was coming closer, and as they neared the Willow, Sirius could just make out a rather substantial-Snape.
Merlin help him, but no one could mistake that nose.
Snape. What the hell was he doing? There. Tonight. What possible reason…Sirius felt his chest seize up and his breathing quicken. Rasping unintelligible sounds, Sirius motioned frantically to James, eyes glued to the stalking figure below.
Had Snape found out about Remus? Why else would he be snooping around there? If he had found out, how? Where had they become careless?
James sighed, but saw obvious distress in the stiffness of Sirius’ body. Sidling up next to him, he looked carefully in the direction of his friend’s outstretched hand and-good God, that nose!
James fell back from the window in a spasm of coughs. “Wha-why-”
Sirius could only babble.
Peter came back into the dorm, about to complain that they weren’t coming, when he saw the pair of them apparently having fits. Shocked, he hurried over, and then looked out the window when they both seemed to motion towards it--be that in frenzied, convulsive fashion. Warily, Peter poked his head out and blocked the incoherent noises of his crazed dorm-mates from his mind as he tried to find what had gotten them so upset. Nothing seemed out of place at first, but-merciful Merlin what a massive nose that is. Peter started to choke, and he stumbled over to Sirius, who pounded with a bit too much exuberance on his back.
When they had all calmed down a bit, they stood petrified, gaping at one another.
The silence seemed to stretch infinitely.
Peter breathed softly, afraid to disrupt the suspended tension. “Snape’s not supposed to be out there, is he?”
*Shakespeare:
"Doubt thou the stars are fire, doubt that the sun doth move, doubt truth to be a liar but never doubt that I love."Part II
Author: sirius_lurking
Rating: PG
Warnings: None
Summary/challenge: Response to challenge 101: Contrary to what many - and he himself - believe, Sirius wasn't the one to blame for the (THE) prank.
A humorous version, for the most part. Remus/Sirius
Sir Cadogan was a noble man at heart, but tended to gravitate toward the side of excessiveness, bringing a certain trait to the table that one might be inclined to call eccenticity, or, if one were feeling particularly critical, insanity. Sirius was feeling very irritable already, and supposed that it wouldn't be that much of a stretch to cross that gap over to critical, and call the knight insane.
Author's Notes: This is an...odd approach to the challenge. Many thanks to sam_can_do_it, who answered my plea for a beta when I've never had one before. Also, to summerwing, who wasn't able to carry through this time but was still very supportive and will likely help me in the future. LJ doesn't like the size of my post, so it will be coming in two parts.
This had been building inside of him for months now, he realized. It was a giant and tumbled mass of unresolved tension, festering and squelching inside his veins like some cruel parasite, sucking out his sanity and peace of mind bit by bit. A very harsh way of putting it, perhaps, but Sirius was miserable, and at those times he didn't mind one whit if he was exaggerating or whining; if he wanted to he would howl to the moon or shout to the stars or possibly even thrash Snape.
He supposed, rather morosely, that he was on some sort of ambitious streak, as he was asserting himself and growing into a new life. He was finally arranging his life to go the way that he wanted it to. Not his parents, not his family, not the school…Run away from home, and suddenly you feel like everything has taken a brand new turn. Nothing could touch him, because he had found a way to escape.
Forever.
So, carpe diem, right? Sirius felt that he was at some sort of undeniable level of hope and certainty, some kind of unbelievable and indistinct haze lifting his confidence and strengthening his resolve in every single aspect. Because, he had escaped. Sometimes he felt giddy, thinking about it, and then other times he felt it was all some wonderful astonishing dream that he wished very, very badly would never end.
The only problem was that his newfound sense of aspiration was constantly urging him to take bigger and bigger risks to bring him to what he wanted. He began to crave it. Impetuous and mercurial, Sirius went along with most of these impulses, laughing, enjoying the ride, and thinking, ‘hell, why not?’ Surely, he was indestructible. He had escaped.
That wasn’t the problem; he enjoyed the risks.
But he was discovering that the more you indulge in risk-taking, the more you screw the consequences and take whatever you want, the less self-control you seemed to have.
That was the problem. Especially, no, particularly, in regard to a certain Remus Lupin. It was that parasite again, seeping into his brain. An evil one. (“And what are parasites if not evil?” James had asked when Sirius had attempted to explain to his friend his sudden uncontrollable desires. Hypothetically, of course.). It fed off his every sense, growing by the day. His thoughts were driving him crazy, and he couldn’t control them. The Impulse was taking over. You want it; why not just go for it? You can do anything.
Sirius was becoming more and more convinced that 1) the Impulse was demonic, and secretly mocked him when he couldn’t hear it, and 2) it would not go away until it was satisfied. Try as he might, it would not be beaten. You’re invincible now! You can mold your life into the way you want it to be, the Impulse coaxed, in a silky, alluring manner, stroking and flattering in a way that should have seemed wholly degrading. Sometimes he became disgusted with himself, with his lack of resolve and self-control.
What it was, really, was a double edged sword type thing, Sirius mused. The Impulse was the evil, but clearly, Remus himself wasn’t evil. What he hated wasn’t his sudden infatuation with Remus (it was quite exhilarating, to be honest); it was losing his calm every time Remus came by, having a sudden gripping desire to stand and make an utter fool out of himself. He knew he was losing time, and if he didn’t confront Remus soon, he really would lose it and do something completely embarrassing.
Every time he attempted the undertaking, however, his nerve failed the Impulse, and every time without fail his common sense, smothered and held hostage in the back of his consciousness, held up a little victory flag and rejoiced. Because, really, Sirius thought, this was taking the carpe diem thing a little too far. What kind of insane exploit was he on, even entertaining the idea of actually taking action on a feeling like this? This was risking more than just his physical health, or even reputation (not that he had held much stock in that in the first place); this was a long-standing, devoted, and deep friendship that was not anything he would have ever expected to gamble, of all things.
It was all terribly unfortunate.
It was even more unfortunate that he chose to give in (and really give in, no chickening out) at a most inopportune moment in time.
***
Sirius went about it as he went about most things: passionately and excessively, throwing himself into the task with a fierce and boundless devotion. He was making a plan. The Plan. Designed (or rather intended) to be flawless and fool-proof. It was calculated at a 75-3 ratio of success; fairly good, considering the circumstances. He had even prepared three back-up Plans if he ended up in the “3” end of the ratio (arithmancy was never his strong point). With such an immaculate approach he was very optimistic, and was, despite himself, eager to see it turn out.
He walked back from the library in a merry fashion, glowing with confidence and determination and making sure to savor the feelings while they lasted; as he was quite sure once he actually came upon Remus that his nerves would strike back with a vengeance so zealous it is usually only matched by that of one Severus Snape. Normally so certain and content with himself, Sirius was completely unaccustomed to battling the last-minute anxiety, and it must be said that he held a special place for them in his mental Pit of Loathing.
He carried on; humming a senseless tune and checking the Map at every corner he turned, in order to make sure he did not have any premature run-ins with Moony. As the minutes stretched by and he remained alone in the corridors, skillfully dodging any and all life-forms, he began to frantically run over and over The Plan. He ran it sideways, frontward, backward, spiraled, flipped, baked, fried, and every-which-way through his head. He began muttering, at first little inarticulate, half-formed words, then bits and snatches of The Plan, as if to emphasize them for himself.
Sirius was heading down a particularly deserted corridor on the third floor to which no one usually ever traveled, as it was very out of the way for the average student or teacher. And it was this very corridor to which the portrait containing a certain Brave and Fearless Knight, by the noble name of Sir Cadogan, had been banished, er, sent, by his neighboring portraits. The knight had been told there was a very Essential and Legendary Quest, on which hung the very balance of the future, and which only he could carry out successfully. Eager as ever to prove himself, to avert evils and thwart wiles and the like, he willfully carried himself up to the remote corridor, and was now constantly on the look out for the this Quest to reveal itself, as all Quests do in time, and then hurry back to the frame where the three ladies cast in the nightgowns and flowers lay.
His clanking--as he practiced jousting and sword-play and spectacular ways in which to fall off of his horse--fell deaf on Sirius’ ear, who was entirely engrossed in his Plan.
“Ah…Doubt thou the stars are fire, doubt that the sun doth move*…doubt…doubt, erm…agh…!” Sirius’ faint muttering floated in echoes down the hall, accentuated at the end by a frustrated shout and the sound of something hard being thrown at the stone wall, followed immediately by an equally loud curse and a petulant cry. Traipsing through the frames, Sir Cadogan arrived near the source of the commotion, and saw Sirius Black slumped against the wall, cradling his own foot.
“Heigh-ho, fellow!” the knight shouted, tripping his way into the portrait behind the animagus. As he waved eccentrically, his armor caught on a fold of tablecloth. He stumbled as he tried to catch himself, but the momentum and weight of the whole suit brought him down in a great crash, creating shrieks and cries of outrage from the residents of the picture. Startled, Sirius twisted his neck around to look up at the frame, currently portraying a somewhat abashed knight who was trying valiantly to right himself, straighten his armor and apologize to the real inhabitants of the picture, a pair of disgruntled and distinguished old men.
“There now, no harm done, all’s in order!” Sir Cadogan reassured everyone happily. He bowed to Sirius, a tad too deeply, it must be said, because he began to lean forward more and more until it seemed he was unable to stop himself. His arms waved in front of him frantically as he tried to regain his balance, and he took a few steps before he was able to slowly begin to stand straight again. It clearly required a might of effort. When he was fully righted, he seemed to be breathing heavily, but no less enthusiastic. “There, there!”
Sirius gaped at him.
“Ah! Allow me to introduce myself! I--am Sir Cadogan!” He lifted his arms in a flourish, and stuck out his chest as if this announcement should have held some great significance. The two men in the picture glared at him disdainfully. “And you, sir,” he peered over the edge of the frame, “Surely you do not intend to fight me scattered down on the floor like some third-rate ruffian! Up with you, and show me your weapon! I shall take you down single-handedly, you foul sorcerer!”
Sirius made a noise that vaguely resembled a grapefruit being squished and then strangled.
Sir Cadogan scoffed. “Up, you lily-livered beast! Are you or are you not of the scion of evil, here to test me? Thou shalt be vanquished! Or are you yourself my quest? Get up and fight like a man, not a dog!”
“Well,” Sirius choked. “…I suppose I am from a scion of evil,” he grinned ruefully, “but I’m sure I’ve not come here to fight you.” He pushed himself up and turned to face Sir Cadogan, glaring.
“Pfft! You admit it! You are a scion of evil. Your tricks and lies will not work on me, foul tempter! Up! If you have no weapon, raise your fists, you yellow fiend!”
Sirius blinked. “Look, Sir Cadfish, I’m a tad busy at the mo’.”
“Busy? Busy, he says? Look here, everyone!” Sir Cadogan shouted to the corridor, comprised of less than four other people, all of which were in portraits. “The scion refuses to fight me! Such a coward mine eyes have never seen.”
Sirius’ eyes narrowed as he stared down the knight. “Coward? Did I hear you right?”
“You heard me perfectly, you loathsome bit of maggot innards! You are a chicken!” Sir Cadogan taunted, prancing about in the portrait, but being rather careful about it so he didn’t fall over again.
Sirius’ mouth dropped open and he gawked at the knight. “You’re a bloody painting! You can’t fight me.”
“Well, if you want to get technical about things! Poking about at something a fellow can’t help!” cried out Sir Cadogan in dismay. “If I’m a painting, you’re just flesh and bone and all that rot! So don’t go thinking so highly of yourself from now on.”
“At least I’m three dimensional. Bastard.” Sir Cadogan was a noble man at heart, but tended to gravitate toward the side of excessiveness, bringing a certain trait to the table that one might be inclined to call eccenticity, or, if one were feeling particularly critical, insanity. Sirius was feeling very irritable already, and supposed that it wouldn't be that much of a stretch to cross that gap over to critical, and call the knight insane. Sirius just shook his head Sir Cadogan, wondering if portraits could be classified as insane, and continued down the hallway.
“Come back here this instant! Chivalry demands that you stand and fight!” The clanking of Sir Cadogan’s armor could be heard echoing as he scampered through the rest of the frames, following Sirius.
“Chivalry can well hang itself for all the good it does me. You’re just not on to leave me alone, are you?” he complained, as he stopped at what was presumably the knight’s own picture: an empty landscape, save for a lone, rather obese dapple grey pony.
Sir Cadogan shuffled into view, huffing and puffing slightly. “There…aha…ha…I’ve…I’ve-caught you!”
“Sure, of course.”
“And now-a duel to the death!”
“And why not?”
“Just-just let me-here, ah…” Sir Cadogan struggled, trying to pull his sword out of its sheath, breathing heavily and moving clumsily.
“Perhaps another time, then?” Sirius suggested lightly, turning around.
“Wait, wait! Almost got it-now, just-oh, oh dear.” Cadogan had managed to unbuckle the sword, but it had fallen to the ground and was now caught under the weight of his own pony, which had decided to lie (collapse) down. He looked at it despondently, head tilted, and sighed.
“Well, then it will have to be some other time,” said Sirius firmly. “I have something else I need to carry out, if you don’t mind.”
Sir Cadogan looked up, curious now that his sword was hopelessly buried underneath his animal and all hope of carrying out the duel was buried with it. “Something you need to do? Ah! Is the lord perhaps on a quest?” The knight seemed very excited at this possibility.
“I-er, suppose so,” Sirius admitted reluctantly. Moments after he said it he realized it was the absolute wrong thing to say, especially when Sir Cadogan clasped his hands and was positively jiggling with delight.
“I will aid you in this Noble Quest! Indeed, thou shalt rise to victory with the aid of Sir Cadogan!”
“No, no, that’s quite all right,” Sirius amended hastily. “Remember, I’m a scion. Terrible, terrible, blood: wouldn’t want to touch me with a ten-foot pole. Madness. No, I’ll carry on myself, thanks.”
“Nonsense! A strapping young lad such as you shouldn’t bring himself down with all this talk! I shall make a nobleman out of you yet! Come, come, what is this quest?”
“No, it’s not a-”
“Yes! Talk!”
“I don’t-”
“Don’t be shy! We shall vanquish this obstacle and rise to the greatest glory!”
Sirius sighed in defeat. What the hell, right? What was the worst that could happen if he told the picture? It wasn’t like Sir Cadogan could do anything, anyway. No one came down this corridor! Maybe the loon would even knock some sense into him, and convince his brain that this was a Very Bad Idea. At the least, it would be bound to get the bloody knight off his back, and it was sure to be entertaining.
“All right, then.” Sirius looked the little man skeptically, gauging him. “There’s this-person, that I-I’m trying to, well-”
“Dispose of?”
“No.”
“Trick?”
“No.”
“Maim?”
“N-no.”
“Ah. Is this a quest of romance? Of love and all its virtues? Of wooing and starlight and red, glittery paper hearts?” If it was possible, Sir Cadogan seemed to become even more excited.
“Ah, everything-except that last one.” Sirius winced. If there was one thing he hadn’t worked into his Plan, it was most definitely the paper hearts, and rightly so.
“You have come to the right place, good sir! I am most skilled in all the trials of romance and love!”
A number of disturbed coughs came from the corridor’s other two-dimensional inhabitants. Sirius shuddered.
“Look-”
“Tell me about this lovely maiden!”
Sirius’ lips twisted into a grim smile. “It’s not a maiden.”
Sir Cadogan seemed momentarily dumbfounded. “Not a maiden?”
“Nope.”
That the object of affection should not be a maiden clearly seemed to never have crossed the knight’s mind before. Then something seemed to click.
“Aha! Then it is some foul curse! A lady that has been turned into a creature, awaiting true love’s first kiss?”
“’Fraid not.” Though admittedly, Remus was afflicted with a foul curse. Pity a kiss couldn’t cure it.
“Oh.”
Sir Cadogan was lost again.
Sirius sighed. He was wasting time. “Look, it’s a bloke.”
The knight blinked, and processed the information. “A bloke?” he parroted.
“Yes,” Sirius barely growled, ready to stomp off.
Sir Cadogan seemed thoughtful, and regarded Sirius. “What ist thou name, fair boy?”
Sirius frowned, brow furrowing as he considered the knight in turn. “Sirius Black.”
There was silence as both parties tried to measure up the other. It stretched on; a string of awkward awareness.
“…All right, then!” Sir Cadogan burst out cheerfully suddenly, startling Sirius so that he leaped back defensively. “We shall see that you and thy fellow are paired in bliss!”
Sirius gawked.
“Come now, come now! Let’s hear about this young man! Is he strong, charming and gifted? Is he fit with the courage of a thousand dragons? Does he make the heart a-flutter?”
“Uh…sure.” Had he gone completely round the bend? Sirius shook his head in an attempt to clear out whatever notion had decided to lodge itself in there without his permission so he would just abandon the knight and keep walking. No such luck. Something forced him to stay.
“The time is slipping past us! Hurry or we shall have no chance to win the lad’s worthy heart!” Sir Cadogan urged.
“Look, it’s quite complicated. You wouldn’t-”
“One will never know unless he first faces the lair of the dragon and peers through the darkness!”
“Oh, I’ve looked; and I think I’ll pass, thanks,” Sirius said sourly.
“You must have the strength and courage and will if you are to woo your beloved! Come, good sir, do not give up! I shall train you and aid you in this mighty endeavor of the soul,” said the knight encouragingly.
Sirius glared at the portrait. “I’m able to carry on my own, and I will. So thanks but no thanks, I really-”
“Don’t! The ways of the heart are shrouded in mists and mazes that will confuse and wound the ignorant passerby. One should have a guide, a leader of tremendous abilities!” Sir Cadogan stood straight with pride, staring ahead determinedly. “So tell me of him, and we shall succeed together!”
Sirius rolled his eyes in exasperation. “He’s my friend; it’s a little more complex-”
“Ah! And what is he like?”
This stopped Sirius dead in his tracks. What was Remus like? First of all, it would take hours to correctly answer the question, and second of all, he wanted to get out of there as soon as possible.
“…” He paused, his mouth open for a second as he grappled for words that were stubbornly lodging themselves in the back of his brain, refusing to come out. Giving that up, he stood silent, reddening under the absorbed gaze of Sir Cadogan until he was filled with frustration and embarrassment. He burst out, “He’s just oh so handsome and smart and brave!” gushing sarcastically.
“…” Sir Cadogan, not very well versed in the wide and profitable ways of sarcasm, took a moment to respond. And then: “A capable and gallant young man, it seems!”
“Yes, right, gallant. And all that. Because of course he has to deal with something so horrible most people would have caved years before, but he’s made it and is so much better than everyone--!” Sirius stopped himself short, somewhat abashed.
The knight seemed uncertain about where to go with this at first, but soon found some footing. “Such curses befall the best of us, I’m afraid,” Sir Cadogan mourned. “But now, we must get you alone together! Such must be the nuance, and it must be a symbolic place in which you sweep him off his feet.”
“Not literally, I hope.”
“A place where you will not be interrupted!”
“Er.”
“A place of majestic spirit!”
“Ag.”
“Where the both of you will meet and sense at once that it is a defining moment in your young lives!”
“The Willow?” Sirius raised an eyebrow, unwillingly caught up in the knight’s tirade.
“A willow tree! Magnificent! What soul there would be!” Sir Cadogan sighed blissfully.
“No, we’d go through the willow,” Sirius said dismissively, chewing his thumbnail and deep in thought.
“Through the willow?” he asked perplexedly.
“Yes, yes, of course. Just press the knot, you know?” he snapped, irritated, not concerning himself with the knight for the moment.
“Oh,” Sir Cadogan breathed confusedly, thrown off track.
“Well,” Sirius said after a prolonged moment of silence, looking up finally with a grin. “That is a brilliant idea, then. I’ll just go now.” He was very eager to both escape the company of the odd knight and go find Remus.
“God’s luck to you and your beloved!” Cadogan shouted after his retreating back, a stupid smile plastered on his face. The lad was all right; a little odd, a little stubborn, and a scion of evil, but those were things one could overlook if one tried hard enough. He sighed wistfully and made to turn around whimsy-like, complete with the full sigh and head-loll and loose-swinging arms, and a stupid smile on his face as he contemplated young love and all its virtues.
He failed miserably, succeeding in only the head-loll, which in the end caused his helmet to spear itself purposefully into the ground, as well as resulting in many hours of graceless tugging and struggling for the hapless knight.
***
Sirius was ready. He was lively and spirited, and buoyant to the point of being bubbly.
Sirius also hated Severus Snape. He was irate and wrathful, and infuriated to the point of exploding.
The abrupt switch in emotions was so sudden that he felt as if he had just fallen off a broomstick from miles up; the kind of height that makes you euphoric and giddy, and the kind of fall that makes you go SPLAT, only much harder, louder, and messier. Alive, then Dead. Such was the way of things.
To be frank, there was a Great Battle. A Black vs. Snape, all out, no holding back, one time only, winner takes all encounter. As primary attacks, tremendous verbal onslaughts were discharged from both sides. Insults, direct and indirect, were lobbed recklessly and in abundance. Each side suffered grievous harm.
With little time to recover, the wounds from the various insults and insinuations could not be assuaged, and they continued to eat away unnoticed at each faction’s psyche. As the fight drew on, the contenders became harsher and crueler than the second before, but also became more senseless and rash themselves. With five minutes past, each was already sunk deep in distress and disorder.
Then, the Snape faction made a desperate decision to wade into the arsenal and pull out the last resort weapon of the wand, thus plunging the fight into the final and most violent stage. Black was quick to react, however, and prevented any immediate injuries this action could have caused him.
Hexes and spells were thrown haphazardly through the air, some making their mark, but many more missing it; and at the end of it all, it seemed the losses were about equal. It was not quite clear who had won the final, no holds barred, match-to-end-all-matches, and each side left in a considerably weaker state than that which he had entered in.
Black may or may not have mentioned a Whomping Willow at some point throughout this exchange. He didn’t know himself; he had quite lost his head in the ferocity of it all.
***
Severus Snape was stomping dejectedly and rather blindly, it must be said, throughout the halls. He was feverishly clutching his nose, which was almost definitely broken, coughing up random bits of stringy slime at constant intervals, limping on his right leg (which seemed to be an unflattering shade of magenta), trying to blink itching powder out his eyes, ignoring the fact that his hair was now the shape of a roaring bonfire, colliding with everything solid that lay within a five-foot diameter, and cursing Sirius Black in as many ways as he knew how, in addition to creating quite a number of new ones. His left ear might have gone deaf, too.
So it was clearly random fate that he ended up lurching, toppling and thumping in all manner of graceless ways into the very same empty corridor that Sirius had just left, which housed a now slightly tipsy Sir Cadogan.
Sir Cadogan was singing: off-key and in a scratchy, slurry voice. The screeching sound echoed off the walls of the corridor, finding its way to Snape, who felt a terrible headache forming in response to the horrendous notes that clobbered his eardrums on top of his already compromised state. He groaned, tried to pick up his speed to get out of hearing range, wishing Black had had the generosity to hex him entirely deaf. This only succeeded in causing him to crash twice as hard into the walls. His nose bled harder in protest.
The knight up ahead ceased his drunken melody and appeared to notice the boy. He stumbled over to he edge of the frame, half of the time on his knees and the other half of the time on one foot (upon which he would hop--on average about once--before then falling on his face and having to work his way up to his knees again, then ultimately back onto one foot, and the whole cycle would repeat itself, never-ending). When he did manage to finally reach the edge of the frame, he was giggling idiotically, and Snape was standing on the other side of the corridor, doubled over and slouching against the wall, looking determinedly at the ground and not at the inebriated portrait.
Sir Cadogan blinked, trying to see through a blurry haze of his paint-alcohol-induced stupor (he had no idea how he had procured the drink in the first place, nor did anyone else), still laughing reflexively. He saw a figure with long black hair (yes, it was sticking a foot up in the air, but who was he to judge, as Cadogan solemnly reflected that fashions were changing awfully quickly these days). The person appeared to be holding his face, and bending over quite a ways. The knight blinked, and through his very thorough and precise deduction skills, thus deduced that the person was the same Sirius Black he had met…how long ago, now? Anyway, that charming young scion with the woeful romance.
Of course, Sirius would have been simply appalled, not to mention furious, that Snape had been mistaken for himself.
But, such was the way of things when a drunken portrait that was Sir Cadogan had to try to tell the difference between two black-haired boys. Very similar, that black hair. Even if they were sticking in completely different directions.
"Hallo there!" Sir Cadogan called out, though it came out through a snigger. He was clutching the side of the frame and waving desperately. Snape pretended not to notice. Sir Cadogan fell over. Snape pretended not to smirk.
"Oh, oh lad!" Cadogan shouted in a jolly voice. "Have thou'st achie-chi...Er. Quest! Yes. Win. Did you." He looked at Snape expectantly.
Snape pretended not to grunt.
"Don'…Do. Not. Not be shy!" Cadogan slurred. "Siiirius." The knight hiccuped and smiled ignorantly.
Snape stopped pretending not to notice. "What?"
"You-hic-know-hic. How did--? The other, er, boy."
"Refresh my memory." Snape's voice was sharp and strict.
"The will. Willll-ow. Willow. And through it. Knot. Press. Ing. Knot, or…somethinggggg…"
"The Whomping Willow?" Snape demanded. "Tonight?"
"What-hic--?" Sir Cadogan blinked dazedly. He was very confused.
Snape, on the other hand, was very thrilled. "Exactly." Sirius Black was doing something. Something synonymous with trouble, Snape was sure, and he was going to catch him at it. He ignored the only partly coherent protests of the knight and turned to rush out the corridor and down to the grounds.
He didn't make it very far before he crashed into another wall.
***
Sirius was slowly making his way back to the dormitory, in a similar state to that of Snape, but with noticeably fewer run-ins with inanimate objects. Stumbling over his feet, he giggled stupidly every once and a while, recalling the way Snape had looked by the time their confrontation had ended. It was his sole sense of comfort: knowing that somewhere, out there, Snape was wandering blindly and confusedly through the halls, with even more trouble than he.
As he approached the portrait, all thoughts of Snape and his hopefully-by-now-concussed-head had fled as he remembered the dilemma he had been struggling with all day. He stopped short, wondering once again, if he really intended to do this at all, never even mind the part about following a mental portrait’s advice, who was stuck in 1235 or some such medieval year.
Lunacy. Wasn’t it?
“Password?” droned the lazy voice of the fat lady, who was staring hard at Sirius, irritated by his vacant stare and inaction.
He blinked, muttered a word distractedly and climbed his was through the commons up to the dormitory. He ignored the harsh and curious whispers that immediately struck up upon his appearance. A dull, forlorn look about him, he slumped dejectedly into the bathroom and went about righting the visible injuries Snape had inflicted, with no apparent emotion.
He let his hair fall back into place, then came out into the dormitory, frowning when he saw his three roommates were still conspicuously absent. Grumbling and dragging his feet, he went to lean out the window, slumped boneless over the edge as the chill air brushed against his pale skin, lightly. Sirius sighed, glancing out into the dark without really seeing, his eyes ghosting over the features of the now so familiar courtyard, and they became unfocused as his mind wandered in indiscernible patterns, nothing completely distinguishable as a real thought. He was tired, he felt hopeless, and he resigned himself to continue his “quest” (god-awful curse) another day. Maybe he’d actually succeed by the end of the century, if he was really diligent about it.
A rustling, and a figure caught on the edge of vision stirred him from his self-pity. In shock, he recognized Remus, traveling down to the willow, accompanied by Madam Pomfrey.
It was a bloody full moon. That just takes it, doesn’t it?
He had been so focused on that boy all day, and he still somehow miraculously managed to forget that tonight was a full moon. Excellent job, Padfoot, Sirius berated himself. Swearing, he leaned out as far as he could, in order to see Remus disappear into the tree. Peter and James were no doubt laying in wait nearby. He whipped around as soon as Remus was out of sight, shooting out of the dormitory and propelling down the stairs, hoping he wouldn’t be too late for the change.
He happened to crash head-on into James Potter, who was running equally as fast up the stairs.
Newton’s third law of motion states: Whenever one body exerts force upon a second body, the second body exerts an equal and opposite force upon the first body, and vice versa.
Whether or not the wizards actually know who Isaac Newton is, is irrelevant. The fact remains that their bodies behaved in exactly the same way Sir Newton has just described for us. Mr. Potter (body one) was knocked flat on his back, and then proceeded to thump uncomfortably all the way to the foot of the staircase. Mr. Black (body two) was also knocked backward, but then gravity took hold and he also tumbled down the staircase, landing with perfect precision right atop the squirming mass of his best friend, body one. Bodies one and two were caught in a momentary battle of thwacking haphazard limbs, and Mr. Pettigrew, an inconsequential body three, watched on in apprehension, praying he would not lose an eye due to the combination of Sir Newton’s third law and basic human male instinct to grapple with anything that assaults them, thus presenting a most crude challenge.
By the time James and Sirius had righted themselves, plastered on mutually indignant looks, and chased off the various females that had gathered around to help them up, they had successfully disrupted the entire Gryffindor tower. Masked with identical ‘say a word and you’ll wonder just what happened to your left buttock for the rest of your life’ glares, they proceeded with as much dignity as they could muster up the stairs and into their dormitory. Peter was barely able to hold in his sniggers.
Once they safely settled themselves in the dormitory, they continued to ignore the incident. James straightened himself, and sat with an air of irritation, crossing his arms stiffly. Sirius merely stared back with an expectation, waiting with a sardonic smile for his friend to begin.
“First of all, what kind of idiot doesn’t look where he’s going when he’s coming down the staircase?”
“The same kind that doesn’t bother to look up the stairs when he’s running a sodding sprint up to the dormitory.”
“Says you.”
“And I also say: why aren’t we going down to Moony right now?”
This time James glared at him, and puffed his chest out defensively. “We came up here in the first place to find you, who was no where to be found! If anyone was late-”
“I know! That’s why I was heading down, I’d got, um,” Sirius paused, thinking of the best way to phrase it. “I’d run into Snape. So you know, you can’t really let him get away once or else he’ll think he’ll get off the next time too. Can’t have him going soft, and all that.”
James seemed to lighten up a bit at this news. “Oh really? What happened, then?”
“Oh,” Sirius smirked. “Well, he didn’t leave in quite the same condition as he had entered.” His lips turned in a guileful curve. “Hacked and mangled up, like.” His eyes took on a reminiscent quality. “I think he might’ve lost hearing in his left ear, too.”
“Ace. I should’ve been there!” James moaned.
“Eh,” Sirius grimaced, thinking of how he had looked too, when he had first come out of the fray. “But you know, Moony’s still waiting, out there. Isn’t that the reason we crashed each other down the stairs in the first place?”
James seemed to come to his senses, snapping out of whatever daydream he had been having about Snape, the words hacked and mangled, and a useless left ear. “Right, right. Let’s go then!” He stood up, ushering Peter out the door and waving at Padfoot to follow.
Sirius had gone over to the window again, to take a quick glance and check the grounds hurriedly. Nodding in assertion he pulled away, when at the last moment fleeting shadow caught his eye. Startled, he poked his head out the window to have a better view, stretching his arm out to steady himself. Beneath him lay the grounds, a dark and heady night outlining the landscape in faint greens and grays. Flitting between the long shadows was an obscure form, doubled over in attempted stealth but moving awkwardly. Sirius braced on the ledge and leaned out farther to see around the castle wall. The person was coming closer, and as they neared the Willow, Sirius could just make out a rather substantial-Snape.
Merlin help him, but no one could mistake that nose.
Snape. What the hell was he doing? There. Tonight. What possible reason…Sirius felt his chest seize up and his breathing quicken. Rasping unintelligible sounds, Sirius motioned frantically to James, eyes glued to the stalking figure below.
Had Snape found out about Remus? Why else would he be snooping around there? If he had found out, how? Where had they become careless?
James sighed, but saw obvious distress in the stiffness of Sirius’ body. Sidling up next to him, he looked carefully in the direction of his friend’s outstretched hand and-good God, that nose!
James fell back from the window in a spasm of coughs. “Wha-why-”
Sirius could only babble.
Peter came back into the dorm, about to complain that they weren’t coming, when he saw the pair of them apparently having fits. Shocked, he hurried over, and then looked out the window when they both seemed to motion towards it--be that in frenzied, convulsive fashion. Warily, Peter poked his head out and blocked the incoherent noises of his crazed dorm-mates from his mind as he tried to find what had gotten them so upset. Nothing seemed out of place at first, but-merciful Merlin what a massive nose that is. Peter started to choke, and he stumbled over to Sirius, who pounded with a bit too much exuberance on his back.
When they had all calmed down a bit, they stood petrified, gaping at one another.
The silence seemed to stretch infinitely.
Peter breathed softly, afraid to disrupt the suspended tension. “Snape’s not supposed to be out there, is he?”
*Shakespeare:
"Doubt thou the stars are fire, doubt that the sun doth move, doubt truth to be a liar but never doubt that I love."Part II