Black Roses

Chapter One: I've Decided Against Shagging You Senseless, Love

"You creep, Potter! If you ever come near me again, I will not hesitate to hex you all the way to - to - to Manchuria!" shouted Lily after finally deciding on a place far enough from London. Apparently, she'd found a bee buzzing around her, a bee with a crystal detector attached to it to track her every movement. It was a brilliant spying weapon, and in my opinion, a brilliant reason to murder James. She pushed James inside the compartment, shut the door angrily, and stormed off with her fists tightly clenched and her eyebrows so close in fury that it appeared she'd a unibrow.

"Lovely gal, isn't she?" said James.

"James, mate, I've come to the conclusion that Evans isn't very fond of you," I said, sulking over the fact that I was, in some completely absurd way, related to James Potter. My sister, Christelle (sounds much like Crystal, but we partially-French people make a fuss about everything and must do every single thing our way) married James's cousin Timothy, who is quite the attractive bloke, and now James is my brother-in-law's cousin. Wow.

"Liz," he said to me in all seriousness, "she loves me. I just - I just know it."

He began his usual ridiculously long soliloquy about how he was positively sure that he and Lily Evans were meant to be. I noticed that I wasn't the only one tuning out: Peter's eyes were affixed upon the windowpane, not staring at anything in particular; Sirius went cross-eyed trying to see if the hue of his chin was different than that of his nose; and Remus was forming spit bubbles, which I would've drowned myself in, had I the opportunity.

Merlin, the train ride back to Hogwarts was tedious. Here I was, my head on Remus's lap, legs carelessly sprawled upon the cozy seats, just waiting for someone to say something. It wasn't that we were uncomfortable with each other, the five of us, just incredibly dulled out.

"I know exactly what I'm going to do when I get back," said James.

"Put an authoritative hex on Lily and demand she be your sex slave?" I suggested.

"While that's a most fantastic idea, I have one even better."

"Well, this must be really good, then," I said sarcastically, "although I really can't imagine a brilliant task not involving sex from Lily Evans."

"Because you need to think more broadly!" said James, clearly not detecting my sarcasm.

Sirius and I exchanged a quick glance of hopelessness for our dear, dear friend.

I looked around at my friends, the Marauders, they called themselves, and realized I needed some more estrogen in my posse.

"So what's your brilliant plan, Oh Genius One?" I asked, part of me regretting my sudden curiosity.

"Well, for one, it involves a soft pretzel--" began James.

"Aha! So it does involve sex with Evans!" interrupted Sirius.

"Sirius, mate, what does a pretzel have to do with sex?" asked Remus, although looking not so interested. The poor bloke had been dealing with Sirius's hormonal deficiencies since our first year. The four of them shared a dormitory, and Remus was unfortunate enough to walk into the first year boys' room to find a sexually intrigued Sirius attempting to shove his wand inside a hole much too small for it.

He hasn't been the same since.

"Pretzels are twisted and are very bendable unless, of course, they are stiff hard pretzels, which means that they've absolutely no flavor or use. The way I see it, pretzels are like girls - both have to be flexible in order to be good."

"That's your philosophy, is it? Honest to Merlin, I cannot imagine how you still manage to find girls willing to shag you, Black," I said.

"It's because of my astonishingly good looks, Cartier," said Sirius, feigning a French accent whilst saying my surname.

I narrowed my eyes at him wickedly. "Since when do you call me Cartier?"

"Since when do you call me Black?" he replied smartly.

His gray eyes met my own, and his rugged smirk symbolized that he understood the unspoken touché.

One of Remus's eyebrows rose, and Peter's eyes were gazing into the sky, oblivious to this entire conversation.

I've never been particularly fond of him. I love Remus - he's probably the best friend I've got out of the bunch. And James and Sirius are James and Sirius - hard to not love them even after six going on seven years of their imbecilic attitudes. But Peter - maybe it was because he was a bit of a James-fanatic, or because he was slightly more callow than the rest, but I can't say I love him. I mean, I certainly don't hate him, but I don't think I'd miss him very much if a hippogriff ate him is all.

The pleasant September day was nearing dusk, the sky appearing a vivid violet and the clouds a cotton candy pink. We don't see this too often in London - lucky if we see a cheery gray in all that smoke coming out from those gas-guzzling vehicles Muggles use.

"Can I tell you my plan now?" said James, clearly angry that my and Sirius's little chat disrupted his story.

"Oh, please do," Remus said encouragingly, then turned to me and muttered in a whisper, "So we know when to run for it."

"Those house-elves, or rather, school-elves, always make me and Sirius here a batch of pretzels in the beginning of each year," James began.

"Wait - do you call them batches? I know you call a group of wolves a 'pack', and I assume you know that too, Remus, and sheep a 'herd', but pretzels batches?" I asked.

"I think so," said Remus. "You'd say a 'batch of cookies' and cookies and pretzels are similar enough to be categorized together."

"You're mad, Moony," said Sirius. "Cookies and pretzels have no similarities. There's no such thing as a bad cookie, but there is such a thing as a bad pretzel, because you know those hard ones are just unbearable."

The three of us rambled on and on about cookies and pretzels, while James excluded himself, evidently annoyed at not being able to tell his brilliant idea, and we continued to debate, our little brawl somehow leading into an argument over whether or not the Italian Quidditch team had a chance at the Cup this year. I think we got into talking about it after Sirius mentioned that Marco Bellucci, one of the two beaters on the team, choked on a cookie. Terrible, that little incident was.

We finally stopped quarreling when Peter, who's maybe said two or three words since getting onto the Hogwarts Express, randomly started humming "Ode to Joy" when the train was nearing Hogwarts. Beethoven would've been thoroughly pissed.

The train gradually became slower and slower, and the tranquil, dark lake came into view. Many horseless (or so they appeared) carriages came forth, and in the distance I heard someone calling for first years.

It was too perfect a night to waste riding in the carriages or on the boats, and a nice walk to Hogwarts would do my now-numb arse some good. "Anyone fancy a walk?" I asked, and Remus, of course, agreed to join me.

James and Evans, Head Boy and Head Girl, respectively, held the doors open for everyone to exit, the latter hiding behind the door as if trying to protect herself from James' adoring stares.

"You know," I said to Remus as we walked unhurriedly towards Hogwarts, "I'm really excited about this year."

"Oh really?" he said. "And why is that?"

"I don't know, really. I just have this - this feeling that something terribly wonderful is going to happen."

"Terribly wonderful, eh? A bit oxymoronic, are we?"

"Remus," I said in all seriousness. "You know that my feeble, young mind cannot handle any vocabulary word longer than six letters."

Remus grinned and remained silent until we were at about three-quarters of the way to Hogwarts. "So, Liz, fancy anyone?" he said, his tone suggesting mock interest.

I eyed him strangely and decided to give a genuine answer to a not-exactly-rhetorical rhetorical question. "Well, maybe Davidson from Ravenclaw, but you know the same blokes I know and I think that our two brilliant minds can come into agreement that the lot are rather pathetic."

His white teeth twinkled in the night. "What about Peter?" he asked, although I knew he wasn't serious.

"You asking me whether or not I fancy Peter is like me asking you whether or not you fancy Peter, and out of dignity, I am not going to respond properly to that."

The pair of us had reached the huge doors that led into Hogwarts, each of its turrets rising unfathomably high, the Astronomy Tower especially. I remembered when the towers had once intimidated me, but now I looked at them indifferently, wondering why they ever did.

"And Sirius?" he asked, feigned interest replaced with genuine curiosity.

"Sirius, ha," I laughed. "Haven't thought about the bloke that way."

And then I wondered to myself why I haven't. True, he (along with Remus and James) were definitely my best mates, and he was ridiculously gorgeous with his long, ruggedly uneven black hair, and of course those perfect gray eyes of his, and that Quidditch-toned body that was the epitome of masculinity, and his--

Then I discovered that I had, in fact, been thinking about Sirius.

Damn it.

--

The incident with Remus and me on the first day of school hadn't replayed itself in my head until a Charms lesson when a note with a familiar, annoyingly illegible writing appeared on my desk.

Hey love,

Seems as if the queen of the world forgot about our date last night. Snuffles is siriusly pissed.

I laughed at this because I turned to see him feigning a disgruntled look. I wrote back, apologizing.

Hello back to you, "love,"

I forgot about our date because I had a more important one with a bloke I'd like to call Mark Davidson, who is certainly of more significance than you, mate.

-Insanely-attractive-one-who-sits-in-front-of-Snuffles-and-could-care-less-how-siriusly-pissed-he-is.

I passed it back to him and grinned as I heard him snort just moments later. I heard the scratching of his quill against a piece of overused parchment and subconsciously arched my back as he poked the small of said back with it.

Well, Insanely (for short), either that or you were chicken.

And sure enough, a rather well-done picture of a shrieking chicken was chasing a stick figure imitation of me. Horrible that Sirius was.

We can't all be daredevils like you, Oh Courageous One.

I had an aptitude for art to match Sirius's, and I gladly took advantage of it by drawing a big, black dog sporting a crown not unlike the one that beauty pageant winners wear, a white sash that, in bright gold letters, said 'Oh Courageous One,' and holding a dozen red roses in its front paws whilst standing on its hind legs.

I thought about having the dog wear a cutesy pink dress not unlike the one the Fat lady wore, but decided against it, as Sirius would probably have my head if I did so.

Ha bloody ha. Your sarcasm amuses me not in the least bit, Cartier.

I grinned to myself.

Sarcasm, love? I was being serious. Although, it would've looked more like you with a pink dress on, don't you think?

I heard him huff behind me, clearly irritated, and that made my smile widen even more so. I'd won.

But I did feel a bit annoyed with myself for being a coward. Sirius and I had planned to get random piercings the Muggle way for the fun of it, but my apprehension became more pronounced considering that it was Sirius who would be piercing my skin.

So instead, I agreed to go out with Mark Davidson from Ravenclaw, whom I fancied. Not terribly, but I did like him. We agreed to take a walk along the Quidditch pitch since there wasn't much we could do at Hogwarts, and he proved to me what an incredibly superb snogging mate he is.

Maybe I did make the right decision by not going with Sirius.

Anyway, I agreed to go on another date with him as soon as the first Hogsmeade trip came about.

The bell rang and I quickly gathered my things and ran to catch up with Remus, James, Peter, and Sirius, tossing out the little paper conversation Sirius and I had on the way out. We were just a step or two out the door when Professor Flitwick, whom I was very fond of, called for me and Sirius. James raised his eyebrow, and the remainder of the group headed for Potions as Sirius and I went back in.

"Is everything all right, Professor?" said Sirius.

"I'm afraid not, Mr. Black, Miss Cartier," answered Flitwick in his squeaky voice. "I understand that the both of you are quite competent of properly performing the spells I assign, but I would appreciate it immensely if the pair of you would pay attention and kindly refrain from note-passing while in this class and all your other classes for that matter."

Sirius and I exchanged a "look". I thought we'd been discreet about it, honestly!

"You are excused," said Flitwick, and the two of us exited, smirk and giggle muffled.

"I bet you're happy now, Liz," said Sirius sarcastically, "Always getting me in bloody trouble."

"Me? It was all you, love," I said, emphasizing the ending in the way I'd presumed he'd say it.

We remained quiet, although I could swear I heard him mutter to himself, "Love. I'll show you love." Either that or I was going mad.

Probably the latter.

The silence came to a halt when we reached the barely lit corridor and Sirius grabbed my shoulder and gave me an odd look.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

He came a bit nearer to me and said in a muffled voice, "Are we really that awfully dim?"

I looked at him with a raised eyebrow, oblivious as to how close he was to me right now "Dim? What's going on in that disastrous mind of yours?"

"Why in sodding hell are we going to Potions when we've got the perfect opportunity to skip class?"

"Because," I began, but couldn't think of a response. "You're right, mate. I'd rather not sit through Slughorn's complimenting of Evans for an hour, anyway. Stupid genius with her sodding red hair," I said, coming to my senses.

And we headed off in the direction of the Gryffindor common room, unsure of what to do, but grateful for Sirius's brilliance.

"So what are we going to do?" said Sirius.

"I don't know, love. Did you have anything in mind?"

"Well, I was contemplating shagging you senseless, but I've decided against it. You're much too young and callow for my taste. Snapping Nippers," he said to the portrait of the Fat Lady in the pink silk dress that was the entrance of the Gryffindor common room.

"Funny. I was thinking the same about you," I said, feigning sincerity in my tone.

He smirked at me and I felt a sharp, abrupt pain on my arse. "Ow! What in bloody hell was that!"

I saw his mouth remain twisted in that lopsided smirk, and realized that he must've pinched me. What a sick bastard Black was. Attractive as hell, but sick nonetheless.

"Arse face," I said.

"But you love it," he said, failing to wipe that menacingly appealing smirk of superiority off of his perfectly masculine face. He leaned in closer just to tease me like he always did. "And you can't help it."

"Arrogant arse face."

I walked away from him sporting a broad grin on my face and sat down in one of the cozy seats next to the hearth, clearly pleased with myself. No matter how good looking he was, I would not let Sirius Black win that easily. No matter how much I wanted him to.

He came and sat across from me, apparently unfazed, but then contorted his face in a dangerously strange way. This could only mean one thing: Sirius Black was indeed thinking.

"What in sodding hell do you have that Merlin awful look on your face for, Black? Didn't the Healers down at St. Mungo's warn you that the average amount of thinking per human was far too immense for your exceptionally feeble mind?"

"Think you're funny, do you?"

"Very much so, love," I said, "And I'd appreciate it terribly if you'd feign a laugh here and there, you know, for my self-esteem."

He smirked again. This could mean great trouble, but at least the horrendous contortion which was Sirius in thought slipped off.

"Tell me, Elizabeth," he began. Uh oh - full first name. "Is there any logical reason as to why I'd give a sack of dragon dung about these unhumanlike things that you claim are your feelings?"

"Let me just point out, Sirius, that unhumanlike isn't even faintly a word. And secondly -"

"You never said 'firstly'."

"Thank you, Professor Black, but an English lesson coming from a bloke who uses words such as 'unhumanlike' is highly unnecessary. Firstly, you are an idiot. Secondly, you would care because you love me dearly and because your blessed Black heart would collapse into pieces as tiny as your brain if anything should interfere with my physical, mental, or emotional well-being."

"Well said, love, but it's too bad that your self-assuring words have no effect on said Black heart."

"Sometimes I wonder if the said Black heart has effect on my self-assuring words," I said, fully aware that I was merely talking a load of drivel to confuse his gentle head.

His face became disfigured again. When will the Devil surrender to my discouraging words? "What?" he said, shaking his head in puzzlement, having yet to realize that nearly everything I say is just a bunch of gibberish.

"Exactly, Black, exactly," I grinned.