The Upside of Being Down

Chapter Three: Creepy Stalker-Types and Why I Love Them

Sometime later that night, I was awoken from a dream involving Sean Connery and the licking off of strategically placed whipped cream (really, I don't know what my subconscious was thinking--I was severely lactose intolerant). Though the cause for my abrupt awakening remained to be seen.

That was when I heard it. A low, slightly breathless voice, muttering the incantation for a Silencing Charm. The owner of the said voice sounded as though they'd just had a bit of a run.

And they were right beside my bed. Just what in hell had that Silencing Charm been for?!

As if in answer, the heavy crimson curtains surrounding my bed parted and, against the darkness of the room outside, I saw the silhouette of a tall, menacing, wild-haired figure leaning over my bed. Panting.

I lay frozen beneath my covers, staring wide-eyed up at my apparent attacker, without uttering a sound.

For all of two seconds.

I screamed like a banshee, then reared up, struggling furiously to free myself from the tangle of bed sheets.

The dark figure jolted in alarm and they looked round behind them in panic--but it seemed that their Silencing Charm had been quite effective, as my dorm mates didn't so much as roll over in their sleep.

Still thrashing about in the bed, I screamed again when the figure shushed me--the nerve!--and reached out to grab my arms--at the precise moment that I finally managed to get a leg loose and gave them a solid root in the stones with the side of my knee.

It was quite clear my attacker was male.

There was a loud, somewhat squeaky curse, before the figure doubled up and toppled over--right on top of me.

I throttled him repeatedly wherever I could reach him, attempting to kick him with my pinned legs, and screaming, "Bugger off, you perv! Get off me! I'll rip out your ballocks and shove them down your throat, I'll--"

"Jesus Christ, Tia! Leave me be a bloody minute!"

My fist froze mid-swing.

It was spoken hoarsely and obviously strained with pain, but the voice was familiar.

I couldn't see a thing, as the curtains had swung closed again, but I reached out blindly in search of my wand, instead grabbing hold of something warm. It felt like a nose, if I wasn't much mistaken.

"Dabbit. Would you led go of by flippid' face?" came Sirius' voice, somewhat nasally.

I jerked my hand back with a flood of relief. "Sodding hell," I gasped. "Sirius?"

He groaned in response then rolled over off my legs onto the other side of me, curling into himself on the bare stretch of mattress. He carried with him the smell of rain and the faint, not unpleasant male reek of exertion. He often smelled that way after Quidditch practice, and if the somewhat bulky feel of his clothes was anything to go by, he was still in uniform.

He lay there, coiled up and whimpering and moaning and groaning (honestly, how bloody bad could it be?) for what seemed like an eternity, before he cursed again and there was a soft rustling noise as I felt him shift. Suddenly a wand-tip ignited and his features were illuminated. They were set in a grimace as he clutched between his legs and said, with a wince, "Remind me to never sneak up on you in the dark again."

"Well, what were you doing sneaking about, anyway?" I hissed, my voice hushed despite his Charm.

"Can't a bloke visit his best girly-mate once in a bloody while?" he grumbled, defensively.

My temper suddenly flared, fuelled by indignation, shock, and also a certain amount of embarrassment.

"What in bloody stinking hell are you doing here? It's the middle of the night!" I sat up abruptly and gave him a sharp kick in the side through my covers, exclaiming, "Don't you ever scare me like that again, you inconsiderate, lurking git!"

His breath expelled in a wheezing gust when my foot connected a second time, this time with his stomach, and we spent several breathless moments locked in a pitted struggle--me, to beat the crap out of him for taking ten years off my life with fright; him, to keep me from permanently damaging a very crucial part of his person.

I was trying to gouge out his eyes, of course. Honestly, which crucial part did you think I was talking about?

It ended when he got my arms and legs pinned by dropping himself firmly on top of me, settling the matter.

"Get off!" I ordered, bucking up. "If you just came up here for a quick leg-over, you're about to be sorely disappointed, Black."

"Much as the idea is tempting, Spencer," he returned sardonically, his breath warm on my face, "I seriously doubt my ability to get anything over after the number you did on my cock. Sore disappointment is right."

"In that case, you wouldn't have any reason to still be lying on top of me, now would you?" I spat back, wriggling underneath his weight.

He merely cocked a brow, then grinned in such a wolfish manner that I instantly knew that had been the wrong--so very wrong--thing to say.

"Oh, but on the contrary. Did you know you happen to be quite nice to lie on? All soft and cozy and warm, a bit like a pillow. I think I might just fall asleep." Then he promptly buried his face between my t-shirt covered breasts and pretended to snore.

I squeaked in outrage, my mouth falling open.

Oh, this was lovely. Here I was, having thoughts I most certainly shouldn't be having about my best mate, who currently was lying full out on top of me, looking dreadfully sexy in the wand-light, not to mention sending delicious tingles down my spine with his nose against my breast alone.

And I was a pillow.

"If you don't mind," I said, through gritted teeth, "you might tell me what the hell you're doing here. Some of us are trying to sleep, you know."

"You're right," came his muffled reply from my chest region. "So do be an angel and hush up, love."

"Sirius..." I growled, warningly.

He gave an all-suffering sigh that felt searingly hot through the cotton material of my sleeping shirt, then raised his head. His tone was amiable when he spoke.

"It's just that we're so busy and distracted during the day, with your extra classes and my Quidditch, I thought now was the best time to have a chat. You know, when neither of us has to run off to be somewhere else."

I had stopped squirming, but my eyes were narrowed in suspicion--though it could have also been because his face was in such close proximity with mine that I was forced to squint in order to see him properly.

"Wait a minute--geroff, I said, I'm not going to bloody hit you--" I pushed myself up into a sitting position as he hesitantly drew away from me "--you're telling me you went carousing about the school halls after hours to play your latest imbecilic prank, then, that done, came up here to have a chat?"

He smiled winningly. "And James said you were slow on the uptake. He's a ruddy liar, that one."

My perturbed gaze narrowed even further and I shoved my tousled hair out of my eyes in irritation and an attempt to clear my still bleary head. I wasn't very good company most mornings, but waking me up in the middle of the night, without a life-threatening situation at hand, was quite possibly the least sensible thing one could do to me, especially if they expected not to have their head ripped off.

Especially if I'd just been informed that my cousin thought me a bit dim.

I took a deep breath, however, and--with Herculean effort--managed to bank down on my homicidal urges, at least for the time-being. If he pushed me, though, I would not be held responsible for my actions.

Choosing to ignore his statement, mainly because I had a feeling it would delay the proceedings and I really just wanted to go back to sleep, I said, rather pleasantly, "Look, you reigning King of Utter Wankers, you're cutting into my beauty sleep and if I end up looking like a squat hag tomorrow morning, you, sir, will be the poor soul who has to answer for it. That said, you have five minutes." I crossed my arms and stared at him.

He blinked. "To do what?"

I threw up my hands. "To bloody chat!"

"Well, we can hardly have a proper chat in only five minutes. I'll need at least twenty."

"You'll get five."

"Now, do be reasonable, Tia..."

I glared at him with all my ire. "You tell me to be reasonable? I'll point out that it is the wee hours of the morning--"

"Er...it's eleven thirty."

"--I was woken up from a pleasant dream very rudely--"

"Actually, you woke up on your own, and you were the one who was quite rude about it."

"--and there is a boy in the girl's dormitories, who, if caught, will more than likely somehow get me involved in the trouble-making when I clearly had nothing to do with it. I do not have to be fucking reasonable!"

"Oooh, you are a cranky one when you don't get your nap," he said, shaking his hand as if to ease a sting.

Those homicidal urges were rising up again.

"Three minutes," was all I said, though, my teeth clenched.

"All right, fine. Any chatting topic that tickles your fancy?"

Inspiration struck suddenly. Of course! I knew exactly how to get him to leave in a hurry. Much as I enjoyed his company during the day, I wasn't in the mood for a chat just now, no matter whom with.

"Yeah," I replied. "How about you tell me why you left home and moved in with the Potters last summer. I still have yet to get a straight answer from you."

To my utter amazement, instead of smoothly changing the subject or making some excuse to leave, he appeared to be seriously considering my question.

At last, he spoke. "It's not something I want to get into with barely three minutes left to tell you."

I snorted derisively. "Or it's something you just plain don't want to get into. You never want to talk to me about anything important. You tell James everything, but you don't trust me, obviously, or you'd talk to me about things that matter, on occasion." My tone was becoming increasingly more petulant, the emotions I'd been holding in for some time now pouring out of their own volition. "That's all I'm good for, it seems--rolling about with in the dark and decoys."

I felt, rather than saw, him bristle.

"That's bollocks and you know it," he said, his face in the dim wand-light suddenly serious, his tone stiff.

"I don't know it. When was the last time we had a serious conversation?"

"We talk all the time," he stated defensively.

I shook my head, way beyond the point of trying to get him to leave. "Flirting and Quidditch scores don't count. Girls like to have some kind of emotional connection with the people they're friends with. Joking around is fine at times, but in case you hadn't noticed, Sirius, I happen to be a girl."

His hand shot out so fast I blinked down in shock at the fingers gripping my wrist tightly. It felt as thought my skin was burning.

"Of course I know you're a girl. You think that fact isn't painfully obvious to me? I can't--"

He stopped and his expression went blank, as if he'd nearly let himself go too far. He dropped my arm quickly.

"You can't what, Sirius?" I prompted, grateful for any opening I could get. My heart was beating curiously fast. I wondered if it wasn't slightly defective.

"I..." He was staring at me quite intently, and I got the slightly unnerving feeling that he was seeing me for the first time. Then he suddenly grinned broadly and said, "I could hardly help noticing. You've got the finest pair of dragon humps on a girly mate I've ever seen. They really do make great pillows."

I huffed out a breath, regarding him contemptuously. "Prig," I muttered disgustedly, rolling my eyes, and collapsing back against my headboard as I crossed my arms in disappointment.

"Hey, that was a compliment."

"Not in my books, it wasn't."

He shrugged good-naturedly. "So get new books."

"You are a grade-A arsehole, you know that?" I leaned forward, searching through the rumpled bed covers for his wand, where it had fallen during our earlier struggle. I shoved it at him.

"Here. Your five minutes are up. Let me sleep now."

He scooted to the side of the bed obligingly, rising to his feet, then shocked me quite thoroughly by leaning down and pressing a quick, hard kiss to my lips.

He pulled away just as abruptly and winked. He was oddly breathless. So was I, I discovered.

"Nighty-night, Spencer," he said, his voice low. Then he was gone, slipping silently into the night.

I flopped back onto my pillows--then cursed loudly on a pained sob when my skull cracked against the wooden headboard. Sliding further under the covers, massaging my abused scalp, I cursed again, much more softly and much less heartfelt.

I lay in bed, wide awake for a long time afterwards, listening to the quiet, even breathing of my dorm mates and the melodic drip-drop of the ever-falling rain on the eaves outside my window. I was desperately trying--and failing--to make sense of what had just happened. As far as I knew--and taking statistics into consideration--Sirius had never snuck into a girl's bed for nothing more than the express purpose of a chat, much less to leave with only a brief--albeit incredibly stirring--kiss. In fact, I'd been under the impression that he'd never gone to the trouble of sneaking into any beds unless he was sure he was going to get a properly sweaty romp out of it.

Which didn't really narrow the scope.

I knew, of course, that I was slightly more important to him than most girls. I was his one and only girly-mate, after all. But he'd never before expressed even the slightest interest in actually talking to me about something truly significant. Nor had he ever kissed me before. Certainly not like that and certainly not after giving me such an intense, soul-searching look.

Why now? What had changed?

Moreover, I had been sitting there for over eight minutes (yes, I'd counted, what of it?) in boxer shorts and a none-too-baggy t-shirt, and he'd not made one single licentious suggestion or overture (unless you counted the basoomer nuzzling thing, which had been very non-sexual, because it was quite obvious he'd only been playing around--he'd tried to go to sleep, for Merlin's sake!) despite more than ample opportunity.

He'd been lying full-out on top of me, even, and he'd not so much as quirked a dark eyebrow in acknowledgement of the fact, much less tried to take advantage of the situation.

This got me wondering what the hell was wrong with me. Why was I so different from his usual slags? True, we weren't dating, and I was somewhat involved with someone else, but when had such a minor thing as a girl already being in a relationship ever stopped Sirius?

Was I really that horribly unattractive and undesirable that he wouldn't do more than his trademark flirtation?

Although, he had been giving me a rather intense stare just before I'd kicked him out. And he'd kissed me. Usually, though, I'd never known him to take 'no' for answer. Not to say he'd ever forced a girl into anything, but he had a reputation for being terribly persuasive. I couldn't think of anyone at present who would be more skilled at the art of seduction than Sirius Black. He'd only had to look at me, and I'd suddenly become all hot and bothered.

And another thing--why was he looking--I mean really looking--at me now, and not before? And why was I having such a strong reaction to it?

And why did I bloody care so much?

I gradually fell back into a restless sleep, these questions repeating themselves over and over in my brain, going unanswered each time. I was just sinking blissfully over the edge of unconsciousness when I realized I had completely failed to ask how their prank on Snape had turned out.

***

Not very well, it seemed.

Snape was his usual greasy, insufferably horrible self--no neon-coloured hair, no mysteriously sprouted antlers, no indelibly emblazoned swear-words across the back of his robes--and James was in an uncharacteristically sulky mood.

According to Remus--who eventually managed to get the whole story out, in between fits of hysterical laughter--it hadn't actually been Peter's unconvincing posture in a dress that had ruined the whole plan. That part had gone surprising well, in fact, given that Sirius was apparently quite skilled at transfiguring breasts onto a lad.

Don't ask me why.

Their downfall had, in actuality, been the victim himself, Severus "Shampoo-what's-shampoo?" Snape. A real let-down, not to mention a shameful display of weirdness, according to the Marauders.

Their plan, as it were, had been to lure Snape out to the lake, where they would then proceed to cast a Love Charm on the Giant Squid, so that Snape was the first person it saw, resulting in the terrible slimy thing--the squid, I mean--lusting after him so that he would have it following him around everywhere, trying to hump his leg or some other disgusting act of affection (one must keep in mind that it was not I who came up with this clearly cracking idea.)

The only fly in the ointment was that Snape was not, in fact, a flaming idiot with nothing better to do than follow around man-tarts in dresses. Though Peter-With-Humongous-Knockers succeeded in catching his attention, Snape--being the creepy stalker-type he was--had opted to admire him from afar, rather than actually approach Peterella (his undercover alter ego, as Sirius helpfully informed me.)

Their plans foiled by underestimating Snape's socially retarded nature (which Remus and Peter seemed to find uproariously funny), the lads had given up and gone back to their dorm--all except Sirius, who had made a brief detour, though I already knew where that had been to.

I was still thoroughly confused about the whole business, and though he never mentioned it during the day or acted any differently (the heartless, emotionless git) over the next week or so, I myself rarely thought of anything else.

Worse still, it seemed my big mouth and my equally crippling inability to keep it shut had once again done more harm than good. If anything, Sirius and I were talking even less, and about more and more trivial things (not that this last bit was a huge change for us, but it was the principle of the matter).

It was times like these I wished I had a close girlfriend to talk to. The lads were my best friends, but let's face it, they were still proud members of the male population and therefore completely clueless as to the complexities of the female psyche. Not that I had any idea what the hell was going on with me, either, but it still would have been nice to bitch to someone who understood.

***