Black Roses

Chapter Three: Lunacy of a Blackened Mind

"Blimey, Remus, how can your blessed taste buds allow you to drink that?" I asked disgustedly.

"It's not like I have a choice, now is it?" he replied calmly, albeit with a bitter tinge of annoyance in his voice.

He'd been transferring his wolfsbane into eight separate flasks, one for each day of the week he has to endure his dude-rag, as I've always called it, and the eighth for good measure. I couldn't help but notice his physical and emotional tweaking every time his 'time of the month' came, and I secretly felt a bit repentant because all I could do was commiserate with him, and pity was the last thing he wanted.

His skin, albeit already a tad pasty, becomes paler and colorless; his fingernails grow at freakishly alarming rates and become pastel yellow; and the fair hair on his arms becomes thicker.

The way he handles his emotional changes, though, is very admirable, meritorious even. I heard the 'Why me, Merlin, why me?' speech only once, and that was in third year when Laurie Henderson accepted his date offer, which he had to cancel due to his dude-rag. She refused to ever go out with him again because, and I quote, "You stood me up because my boobs aren't big enough! It's the shallowness of boys like you that convert innocent girls into insecure women that feel like surgical body modifications are the only way to go!"

Un-quote.

I suppose he didn't want much to date her after that anyway. If there was anything that Remus Lupin wasn't, it would have to be shallow.

The two of us, Remus and myself, sat comfortably (I did, at least) next to the cozy hearth in the seventh year boys' dormitory. He corked his flasks and lay on his bed, his chest heaving up and down and his eyes closed. The room was drenched in silence, the only sound being the cackling logs in the fire.

"Serene," I said.

"Hm?"

"Serene," I repeated. "You look serene when you think."

"Er..."

"It's a good look for you," I said, remembering the incident just days ago when I somehow got Sirius thinking. "Totally unlike Sirius's wacky facial distortions," I added as an addendum (er...).

Rising off the Persian rug that covered the golden wooden floor, I hopped alongside Remus onto the bed, closing my eyes just as he'd previously done. "I wish I could too," I said.

"Could what?"

"Go with you lot tomorrow night," I said, fully aware of what his response would be, "and every other night you go."

"Elizabeth--" he began.

"Remus, I know you're going to give me the same old lecture, so you might as well not waste your breath. But I'm merely saying, you know, I want to experience it."

"It's not glorious," he said, "it really isn't. It's horrible for all of us - I can't control my dude-rag, for a lack of a better word for it, and the others' kindness puts them in danger too. It's more of a chore than a chance to be with friends. And besides, Sirius would never let you come along."

"Well why not?" I demanded, becoming angrier. "I have the same talent as the rest of you, so why does Sirius get to decide everything?"

"Liz, it's not only Sirius," said Remus, "it's all of us. James, myself, even Peter--but Sirius makes the biggest efforts to--er--enforce it."

"What's got his arse in a pickle? Sometimes I really can't stand him and his ever-swelling head. It'll drag him down soon if he doesn't learn to control it, that git," I said, more to myself than to Remus. But my next comment was especially for Remus - "I feel like you lot don't consider me a part of your crowd, as if I'm just this random girl you just happen to know."

His hand leaped out and grabbed my wrist before I was able to even furrow my eyebrows in anger. "You will never be 'some girl we just happen to know,' Liz," he said, his voice icy and serious as Evans' voice sometimes sounds, and the grip on my wrist tightened with every word uttered. "You're special to us--all of us--in ways that I'm certain you'll never be able to fathom, and you just need to believe us when we say we love you. And everything that we do is for your benefit, Liz, because I can honestly say that seeing you hurt would cause me enough grief to kill myself with."

Well, that was quite beautiful.

By now, of course, I was blubbering up with tears, sobbing my eyes out at his words.

"Shh, Liz, don't cry," he said holding me in his arms, my face crammed in his chest. "Don't cry, Liz, don't cry."

Oh Merlin. Am I the absolute worst or what?

"I'm--just," I said, sobbing between every word, "--just--so--stupid--some--sometimes--Remus. I--I--mean--I--should--know--that--you--lot--want--the--best--for--me," I continued, sobs becoming shriller, "--but--I'm--just--so--so--stupid."

"No, no, don't be ridiculous," he said, attempting to console me, "you're not stupid, Liz, not at all."

I inched away from Remus, my nose red, my grays now bloodshot, and his shirt saturated with salty tears.

"I love you," I said, "and James and Sirius, and hell, even Peter sometimes."

"I think you should get your head checked, love. When on the brink of insanity," said Remus, "people tend to contradict themselves - loving what they once hated, and hating what they once loved. Peter, in your case."

I grinned and wiped my tears on my sleeve. "I said 'sometimes,' Dr. Lupin."

***

I daresay it's time to make a clean breast of it - and I suppose a clean arse and leg wouldn't hurt much either. I happen to be blessed with a gift very much like the one that James, Sirius, and Peter possess.

I'm a registered Animagus, albeit I haven't been allowed to make much use of said ability. My arse face of a friend, Mr. I-Haven't-a-Single-Lay-Since-the-Beginning-of-Term-so-I-Want-to-Bring-Everyone-Down-with-Me, won't let me. And that may sound superbly stupid, letting him tell me what to do, but I'm afraid no one knows Sirius Black quite like I do.

I'm terribly terrified of the man.

"What man?" asked James during breakfast the next morning.

"Huh?" I said, shaking my head perplexedly, "oh, thinking aloud, I suppose."

Sirius, I could tell, was attempting to stifle a mad grin behind a copy of Quidditch through the Ages.

My eyebrow arched. "And what, Black, is so utterly fascinating?" I said, sounding a bit like McGonagall if I do say so myself. I shuddered at the thought, mentally picturing myself with dark green robes, eerie glasses, and pasty lips thin as parchment. Er...

"According to Dr. Weeblebee, thinking aloud is the second sign of bridging into lunacy, after talking to one's self, of course," he said, not bothering to hide his amusement by repressing his crooked toothed grin.

I frowned. "I take it you know him, then, this Bumblebee fellow?"

"Not personally," he said, "why?"

"My mistake. It just sounded a bit like the two of you have spent much time in each others' company."

"If you're attempting to insinuate that a spurt of insanity suddenly took over me," he said, "I assure you of your incorrectness, and yes, that is a word."

"Well, I knew it was a word," I lied, "but the sudden 'spurt of insanity,' as you like to put it, was never sudden, love. In fact, I've come up with a rather brilliant theory on the gradual development of Black madness."

"Once again, Liz, abusing our blessed language," said James, eyes finding their way to Evans, whose flaming red hair was easy to spot at the other end of the table.

"You know, I think I might write a book," I said, seriously considering it. "Yes," I said after a few moments in thought, "yes, I shall write the book and title it, 'Lunacy of a Blackened Mind.'"

Sirius stared at me blankly.

"Yes. Remus, hand me a quill," I said, eager to note my ideas before they've made their way into the cobwebbed area that I call the back of my head.

Lunacy of a Blackened Mind by Elizabeth Amery Cartier, based on real-life experiences with Sirius Black

You know you're going mad when:

You begin to use words like, 'unhumanlike' and 'suggestionless'...

***

The two of us - Sirius and I - lay on his bed, me scribbling exuberantly and vigorously upon a piece of parchment, having completed nearly the first twenty-six pages of my book, and him clicking his tongue (annoyingly) in annoyance and boredom.

"Oh come off it, Liz. Let's do something," said Sirius, his voice monotonous.

I considered him for a moment, and then settled down my quill. My wrist was aching anyway. "What do you propose? And don't even think of saying truth or dare."

"Why not!?"

"May Merlin help you, love," I said, picking up my quill again and writing madly:

You value stupid games, truth or dare and such.

"Okay, then I have another suggestion, and promise you won't freak out," he said, holding out his wicked little pinky.

I eyed it apprehensively, and hesitantly unified our pinkies, symbolizing the most sacred promise in history. Oh yes, Thy Pinky Promise.

"No forget it," he said decidedly, "it was stupid."

"Sirius!" I said angrily. He knew perfectly well how much I hate it when people hint things, and appear as if they're going to tell you, when, in fact, you're getting not more than a hippogriff pellet from them. "Sirius, stupidity has never stopped you before! Why must you wait until I'm fully curious to give up on stupidity?"

"Trust me, love, you don't want to know this bit."

"Sirius! I want to knoooow," I bitched. "And I'll hate you for ever and ever if you won't conjure up the decency to fulfill my desire of knowing what the hell you were talking about."

"You really want to know?" said Sirius.

"No. I've just been pleading for the past minute because I enjoy doing so," I said, my voice more sarcastic than usual - and that's saying something.

"But remember--"

"Yes, yes, I pinky swore that I wouldn't freak out. Now would you kindly get on with--"

Well, what a lovely day it is - lovely day indeed. Or I suppose so, at least, because my eyes are closed at the moment.

I reckon it's because Sirius is kissing me. Hard. On the lips. And now he's not. Kindly do that again, please.

"Gladly," he said, short of breath.

Hm... maybe thinking aloud can do me good after all, because this was certainly good, to say the very least. No--this was unfathomably amazing. Lips so warm - growing gentler, but hungrier - hands - very eager. Fingers (my own) - curling around his neck possessively. I was positive that I was going cross-eyed at his scorching touch. Better cross-eyed than blind, I suppose.

Oh my. Oh--oh my.

I believe this is when I went blind. And I'm pretty certain this is when all my other senses crept away as well.

Well, no. I can still taste him - familiarly unfamiliar taste - haven't a clue as to what it was, and it tasted too perfect for me to contemplate its origins; I can hear him - short, rugged groans sounding into my mouth - into my ear; I can smell him - on his neck - a strange scent of somethingness (oh how he'd murder me if he ever heard me using that word) that was Siriusly fitting; and I can certainly feel him - his lips moving expertly around my neck, leaving a pleasing wetness - drying it with his cool breath - how could I not feel him?

But I was definitely blind. And I think I preferred it that way.

***

"Where's Padfoot?" said Peter during Transfiguration with the Ravenclaws the next day, and as if on cue, the said idiot walked into McGonagall's classroom, unusually low voice muttering a hasty, "Sorry I'm late, Professor," and then he took a seat behind Bethany McCullough , not his routine seat behind me.

McGonagall's eyebrow arched slightly at Sirius, a minute flicker of curiosity (or annoyance, I wasn't sure) in her eye. Nonetheless, she started the lesson with the same sangfroid and terrible intimidation enforced in the air that made her McGonagall. Made me want to check myself into a sanitarium, that McGonagall.

"I'm glad you're considering professional help, Miss Cartier, but kindly save your personal thoughts for another time, not during lessons, perhaps," said McGonagall.

My eyes found their way to Sirius, who was looking rather unfazed, as he would usually be bellowing with laughter. And he wasn't the only one. Mark apparently hadn't forgotten about the Sirius debacle. Some other students, however, were laughing madly - my blessed (let's call him cousin) James especially.

"Now class," said McGonagall, receiving full attention as soon as her voice was heard, "we will be discussing an extremely complex form of Transfiguration. Today's topic will be human-to-animal transformation and vice versa. Can anyone tell me what we call people with said abilities?"

Evans' hand went up. "Animagus, Professor, and plurally Animagi."

I giggled in my head. 'Plurally' is sooo not a word. Stupid Evans.

"Right you are, Miss Evans. And can anyone name an animal that that is typically mistaken as an Animagus form of a human?"

"Mr. Potter?"

"Yes, Professor, I believe the answer would be 'werewolf,'" he said, grinning at Remus, who grinned back. Peter was smiling psychotically, appearing as if he might have a hernia in excitement. Sirius, however, was just centimeters from his yellowish parchment, which he was scribbling frantically upon. Taking notes, perhaps? How very unlike him...

"Correct. Animagi naturally..." McGonagall continued, and I soon drifted away from her world and crept into my own.

There are several mysteries in life that I deeply contemplate - electricity, the weather, Muggles, why the jelly side always ends up on the floor - and the current object of my curiosity is a Black one, one that seems to leap away every time I get close to finding the answer.

Exactly why was he being so--so unSiriuslike (oh boy, if only he heard that one...)? He hasn't spoken a word after apologizing to McGonagall, which he would've typically not done anyway; he was either completely not amused, or was able to hide his amusement terribly well. And then it hit me.

Maybe he was a woman under the disguise of a man! Or maybe he was acting to strangely (and not his normal Sirius-strange) because of me. Perhaps he thought he wasn't really much of a kisser? Nah, it's Sirius we're talking about--Snog Master (righteously) and Ego King. So if he doesn't think he's a bad kisser, then--my heart dropped--he must think I'm a bad kisser. Nah, it's me we're talking about--Snog Mistress (righteously) and Ego Queen.

Then I did something I never thought I'd do. I wrote Sirius a note. In McGonagall's class.

Hey Gorgeous, (I'd written Snog Master first, but shook my head embarrassedly at my flirtation method and used a Vanishing charm to remove it)

You don't seem to be as highly irksome and ridiculously obscene as you normally are. What's gotten you in a twist?

I handed the neatly folded note to Remus, who inconspicuously passed it to James, who surprisingly didn't open and read it, who sent it to Susie Locke, who passed it to Michael Samson, who threw it as he would a Quaffle to Jimmy Bradshaw, who sent it to Bethany McCullough, who handed it to Sirius, who then got permission from McGonagall to go use the loo.

As the children would say: burned.

And to top it off, Mark had somehow caught my eye, and was glaring at me. Not hatefully though, just sort of hurt, which was worse. This was certainly not my day.

***

"He's just so incredibly arse-like!" I said to Remus.

Peter was (thankfully) away somewhere that I didn't much care about, James was at Quidditch, and I quote, "Perfecting my Seeking skills for Lily" - un-quote, and Black, my mind left me to think, was probably off shagging some girl, which I sincerely hoped wasn't true.

"You know, I think that if you just leave your life to be, everything will fall properly into place and you'll be happy," he offered, working on an essay for Muggle Studies whilst sipping on his wolfsbane-spiked burdock root tea.

"Please, Remus, you haven't gotten laid in years," I said, holding in a smirk.

"Well, excuse my chaste, wholesome soul for deciding to wait until marriage!" he argued, hiding a grin behind his book.

I laughed at him. "If it's any consolation, love, I know many girls who'd love to shag you," I said. "There's Gianna Vetrinni."

"I can't comprehend a word she's saying her accent's so heavy," he said, shaking his head, and writing something that looked very much like, 'Muggles appear to be rather less than fascinated by the way plugs work. They actually treat them as common house-hold things.'

"Well how about the Hill twins, Amanda and Ashley?" I asked, taking his quill and scribbling random gibberish on my hand.

"I'd love to shag them," he grinned, "though I don't think they're willing to go bisexual and commit incest just for a good shag."

"Remus, you pervert, you," I grinned. "Then I have the perfect girl for you. How does Laurie Henderson sound?" I said, attempting (unsuccessfully) to stifle a huge, super-high pitched laugh.

"I don't think so," he said. "Her boobs aren't big enough. Sometimes I wonder, though," he continued, "if it's the shallowness of boys like myself that convert innocent girls into insecure women that feel like surgical body modifications are the only way to go"

I grinned obscenely at him. "Spoken by a true idiot. Who is in terrible need of good lay," I said as an afterthought.