Black Roses

Chapter Five: He Just Might Burst Into Flames

Fascinating bit, really, learning that one of my best mates has finally recognized my (quite obvious, if I do say so myself) femininity after over six years. But I certainly was glad, and also a bit proud of him, when he dubbed his discovery 'The Obvious.' The bloody Obvious. Evidently not obvious enough if it took this long for this allegedly obvious discovery to penetrate his ridiculously thick skull, that royal piece of--well, anyway, I haven't enough time on my hands to worry about the extreme absurdity of Sirius Black.

Instead, I sat alone in the library, incredibly aggravated with my lack of competency for Potions, and attempting to write an at the least half-arsed paper on fluxweed. I even promised myself that I'd find a tutor for the wicked subject, whether it be James, Sirius, or hell, even Evans.

No, no, I've gone beyond mad. Definitely not Evans.

"Belonging to the mint family, fluxweed, also known as Isanthus brachiatus or False Pennyroyal, is used as a primary ingredient when brewing Polyjuice potion."

With an introduction as pitiful as that, I think Evans is perhaps my only hope. She or Snape, actually, but I can say without a doubt in my mind that Sirius would have my head if I took lessons from Snape.

And that was most definitely as far as I was going to get, anyway, because I'm very dispassionate when it comes to things I don't care very much for, and 'fluxweed and its properties and capabilities' was one of those things.

I collected my quill and parchment and several books on said topic and left the library, making as much noise as I could by shuffling my feet and erupting in a mock wheeze to irritate Madam Pince, who's been tetchy with me ever since I accidentally caught her--er--with Filch my fourth year, but that is absolutely not here, there, or anywhere at that. If I could just spit in one of her books, that madwoman, she just might stop shushing me and, with any luck, drop dead.

Anyhow, I managed to exit the library as boisterously as planned, annoying Pince and a few Ravenclaws, and then I bumped into one.

"Mark."

As soon as he'd realized it was me he'd ran into, his eyes narrowed in what I imagine was a small fury, and his shoulders hardened, becoming much more rigid than relaxed. He turned away from me, hardly acknowledging my presence.

Okay, now he was being a bit too melodramatic. He'd better come off it, and now, because he's taking this so seriously that he's completely bridged into the parallel of ridiculousness.

Look at me talking--'parallel of ridiculousness.'

"Mark, come off it," I said, my voice squawking in indecisiveness; I wasn't sure whether I meant for my tone to be mocking or dismal. "I've apologized several times, and you know it was accidental. I wouldn't purposely hurt you like that," I reasoned. "Let's at least talk about it, Mark, at least give me that."

"Why should I?"

"Oh, come on," I said, rolling my eyes, "don't be such a sodding baby."

He crossed his arms across his chest. "I'm not talking to you if you're just going to call me names, Liz."

"My sincerest apologies, love," I said, resting my arm around his shoulder. "How about a walk? Shall we? Yes, yes, I think a little stroll around Hogwarts is a superb idea," I answered myself, and then genuinely contemplated a visit to Weeblebee. Talk to yourself all you want, says Weeblebee, so long as you don't answer yourself. Er...

"So, Mark, darling, honey, sweetie, dearest, and all that rubbish," I said in an attempt to assuage the awkwardness. "Any idea as to what you're doing after Hogwarts?"

"Liz," he scowled.

"No, no, this is all a part of my plan. Answer the question, love."

He answered, albeit not without giving me another of his annoyed glares. "Quidditch," he said simply. "Professional Quidditch."

"Quidditch? Oi! Sounds lovely," I said. "Well, not quite lovely," I corrected myself, "but much more aggressive and rather audacious of you. You know, to sound more macho.

"Liz."

"I myself actually plan on becoming the Minister of Magic," I said. "Or would a female Minister be called a Ministrette? No, no, I think that's what the French call it. Wicked, those French people, always creating their own stupid words--'philosophe' rather than 'philosopher.' One ruddy letter, but they just can't let it go," I finished, subconsciously shaking my fist.

"Er... Aren't you French?"

"Partially, yes. And it takes one to know one, my dear, so I'd like to think I'm French enough to understand the French. Far more French than Napoleon, I am, I'll tell you that."

"What are you talking about?" he argued, his face and body a lot less tense. "Napoleon was as French as they got! Ran the whole country--hell, ran the whole continent at that--and created the Napoleonic Code and everything!"

"The man was Corsican! Corsica was Italian just before he was born--then it became French. And he primarily spoke Italian."

"You're Italian too!"

"That's completely beside the point, Mark; my objective wasn't to insult the vertically retarded man. My aim was to apologize without apologizing."

He stiffened again, though not much. "That's not good enough."

"Oh that wasn't it," I assured him. "No, you see, you'll have to look at my lips pouting and my eyes tearing, you know, just to show how sorry I really am," I said, pouting my lips and looking as innocent as possible (quite a challenge, actually).

He smirked. "That's only a mediocre apology. I want bended knees and clasped hands," he said. "The whole shebang."

I narrowed my eyes sarcastically at him. "Number one, Mark," I said; "I don't get on my knees for just anybody, if you know what I mean, and two, you obviously haven't looked at my exceptionally flawless rack if you still refuse to accept my apology."

His eyes left my face and went--er--lower. "You're right. I forgive you."

"You guy! At least have the bloody decency to look at them while I'm unaware of it!"

He grinned.

We'd finally reached the Great Hall and headed off in opposite directions, him to the Ravenclaw common room and myself to Gryffindor's. "Suppose I'll see you and your 'exceptionally flawless rack' tomorrow, then, Ministrette," he'd said to me.

"Dream on, Napoleon."

***

Soon as I walked into the all but deserted Gryffindor common room, my eagle-owl--glossy black feathers, vivid, tempestuously grey, round eyes, and all that rot--sleekly circled around me, his silky wings eventually swooping elegantly onto my shoulders. Attached to his leg was a neat, crème-colored envelope sealed by a bronzed rubbery crest with a tiny 'T&CP' inscribed upon it, and a stylish, thin rectangular box with creamy, beige wrapping and a narrow piece of blue yarn laced around it. It was about as professional-looking as they got.

I suppose it's from Christelle.

Eagerly and a bit childishly anxious, I tore open the envelope and found a thick, pasty parchment with loopy blue ink writing, very much like my sister's.

"To Elizabeth, my beloved sister who writes to me perhaps once a year,

"I do hope the many schoolboys whom you're shagging are worth the ever-fading string of absurdity that is our relationship. Honestly now, dearest, we are family after all, so would rising off your arse and scribbling some nonsense about what is your life kill you? Perhaps one of your sex slaves can do it for you, because I'm afraid I'll die without the reassurance of your safety, good shagging, and er--wellbeing, I suppose, though no one I know really cares about that particular bit.

"Anyhow, the point of this letter (which has taken me thus far just under two minutes--surely two minutes you could spare to write me something yourself) is to inform you that the winter holidays will be spent at my and Tim's place. Mum has decided that she'd rather not have Uncle Jeremy, Aunt Simone, Daniel, and Victoria over for Christmas this year because of their apparently hereditary sleep walking, the former especially. And so poor Tim and myself get the burden dumped on us.

"On a lighter, much more pleasant note, though, this means that both my and Tim's families are staying over. So the expected list from our side will consist of Mum, Dad, Uncle Jeremy, Aunt Simone, Uncle Niccolo, Aunt Cindy, Uncle Edward, Daniel, Max, Victoria, Paige, and Lauren. From Tim's side will be his parents Michael and Genevieve, his Uncles Sam and Zachary, his Aunts Nina and Lynette, his sister Angela, and his cousins James, Adrian, Maggie, and Anna, and of course Sirius.

"I'm fairly certain you'll enjoy yourself, and if you don't, we live in a sixteen bedroom mansion. You can hide so long as you take me with you. Do try to write every once in a while.

"Love,

Christelle"

Grinning like an idiot, I ripped the wrapping off the box apart and stuffed my face with delectable French biscuits dipped in vanilla pudding and coated with bits of cinnamon.

Though it was merely mid-October, I was feeling an extreme buoyancy and delightful anticipation at the events sure to come in December. I loved staying at Christelle's more than anything. She and Tim (who is so attractive that he just might burst into flames) own a mansion in France half the size of Hogwarts and is just as cozy as a nice country home. And big as egotistical prigs James and Sirius can be at times, the one Christmas holiday I'd spent with them was most definitely the one I most enjoyed.

We'd created our own brand of Dung Bombs, which were certainly more dung-filled than the regulars, and I watched maliciously as the love potion James and I had made forced my Uncle Eddie to chase about after Sirius, persistently and quite irritably proclaiming his "undying love for Sirius's superb arse." He'd finally resorted to coming off it after Sirius gave him a pair of James' boxer shorts, of which Uncle Eddie believed Sirius's. He has yet to return them, Uncle Eddie.

And then there was the drinking, because, after all, Aunt Cindy is Irish.

And such I was exceptionally excited for what was to come in two months. Even Slughorn's stupid Potions essay couldn't bring me down. Much.

"What are you doing up, Cartier?" asked an emotionless female voice. "It's nearly eleven-thirty."

I turned to face the Devil herself. "I'm not breaking any school rules, am I, Evans?" I said, my voice unnecessarily laced with vitriol. I could feel my face tensing, but really, what had this girl ever done to me? And then the realization hit me. She'd done nothing to me--ever.

It wasn't as if she'd ever ratted on the boys and myself when we one of our pranks went wrong. She'd never been particularly rude to me without reason, either.

"Well," she said, her voice hardening, "I was merely asking, you know. Just because I'm Head Girl it doesn't mean I'm not human."

My face relaxed and my voice broke in guilt. "Of course you are," I said, without the slightest hint of sarcasm, and rather a bit of sadness. Well, seriously now, she'd never done anything bad to me--at all, if I remember correctly.

She narrowed her eyes wryly, and bitterly said, "Sarcasm doesn't suit you, Cartier."

My eyes actually welled up at this. Was it people like me who'd made her act so hard-ass-like? Here Evans was, just an innocent red-headed, Muggle-born witch, who was much more brilliant than most of the purebloods, and just because of a stupid title that Dumbledore gave her, I've been treating her like dung. Completely unjustifiable, and I wasn't going to let myself be like this.

So I hugged her, or rather, glomped her. And that evidently wasn't such a bad idea because, after the few moments it took for her to realize what I was doing, she hugged me back and sobbed her pretty little eyes out, exactly as I was doing.

"I'm sorry Ev--Lily," I shrieked, my sobs caught in my throat. "I've been s-such a bitch to you and w-without a r-reason or anyth-thing."

She didn't say anything, merely held onto me desperately.

***

Sirius was second to inform me the next morning at breakfast. "Liz, you look like hell."

I lifted my face off the plate in front of me long enough to glare at Sirius and show him a particular finger I was rather fond of, and I felt sweet apricot jam sliding from my forehead and onto my nose.

The mirror in the girls' room upstairs was the first. After I hopped out of the shower and attempted to fix the tangled black mess that was my hair, she'd told me, "There's really no use, dear. There's just no hope for some of us." Then I'd squirted body lotion on the mirror to hush her up, but it bounced right off and onto my face.

If there was one thing that I would never again do in life, it'd have to be staying up until two in the morning bawling with Evans over unjustifiable hatred, idiotic men, and intense pressure that we Simply Cannot Take sometimes.

But it was somewhat relieving to find her at the end of the table with her usual crowd looking just as horrid as I did, though quite more buoyant than usual.

Look at me, maturing by the minute, I raved. I'd made peace with two people in one night--must be some kind of record.

"Is this the morning after, Liz?" asked Remus, who was looking as awake as ever, sipping on burdock root tea and skimming the Daily Prophet. How I envied that bastard...

Sirius stiffened.

"What?" I said, my voice extremely loud though I didn't mean for it to be. "No, no, I've neither gotten drunk nor shagged anybody."

Sirius relaxed, it seemed, after I said the latter. What the hell was up with this kid?

"What kid?" said James. Then his eyes became wide as dinner plates and his ears red as a baboon's bum, "Liz, are you pregnant!?"

Sirius not only stiffened, but actually stood up, knocking over a goblet of pumpkin juice whilst doing so. "What!?"

"YOU'RE JUST CALLING ME FAT, AREN'T YOU, POTTER?" I shouted, rising off my seat as well. "YOU ARE TOO, BLACK, AND I BET THE TWO OF YOU ARE AS WELL!" I finished, pointing at Peter, whose spoonful of cereal was halfway in his mouth, and at Remus, whose eyebrow was arched higher than I've ever seen it before. And with that, I ran out of the Great Hall, tripping but not falling at least six times.

Alright, so maybe Evans and I had a bit to drink last night.

I reached the Gryffindor common room just seconds before Sirius did.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" he asked, a bit breathless as though he'd run a mile in one minute, and his voice also rather tetchy.

My response, "Nnngghhrrrrk," clearly meant, "Nothing, you sick bastard. Go away before I eat you." Though for some reason, he couldn't quite grasp the gist, because his eyebrows rose at my not unusual animalistic sound.

I climbed onto the couch and ended kneeling on both knees in praying position, except with my head between my knees and my bum out, like a sleeping baby. Though not quite as adorable because, for one, I was about five feet and seven inches tall, and two, I had an unruly, almost James-like mess of long black hair that spread out on the couch like a spider with its legs. I was most certain that my underwear was visible beneath my skirt in my current position, but I simply Didn't Care.

"Liz," said Sirius, sort of petting me. "What's wrong?"

"I'mthobeyondhunthover, Thiriuth," I mumbled with my face down on the sofa cushion.

That, he seemed to comprehend. "So then you're not pregnant?" he asked, and though I couldn't see him, I knew he was ready to run.

Good thing, too, because he bloody well had to.

***

I'd been in the boys' dormitory chatting away with Remus since the end of supper. The day had been exceptionally horrid, and even McGonagall sniggered on my thoroughly fucked up appearance. Sirius and James had made sure to stay on my good side today--which meant to not utter a single word to me. Evans waved to me in the corridor whilst heading for Ancient Runes, and I myself was walking to Muggle Studies. Peter, though, was probably still in the Great Hall, his spoon of cereal from breakfast still hanging halfway into his mouth. Stupid prig, that one.

"You know," said Remus, "we have an Astronomy lesson tomorrow night."

"Gah, but tomorrow's bloody Friday!" I moaned. "How evil is that, to make us waste our Friday nights on lessons?"

"We only have on bloody lesson a week," he reasoned. "And it's hardly ever on a Friday."

I attempted to stick my finger into the hearth without burning it, just out of boredom. Then my stupidity caught up with me and I burned not one, but three of my fingers. "Ow!" I shouted.

Remus lazily muttered a quick Augamenti spell and water poured over said fingers. "You're not a scientist, love. Don't experiment."

Just then Sirius and James walked in, James in his practice Quidditch robes and Sirius in a set of shabby old robes that he only uses when helping James practice.

"Brilliant one, here Potter," said a grinning Sirius, removing his robes to reveal a pair of dark blue denim jeans and a shirt with 'Led Zeppelin' written across it. I knew that he'd never heard of Led Zeppelin before he bought the shirt, but just wore it to annoy his parents, especially his Mum who was probably the biggest Muggle-hater alive. He took off the shirt to reveal beads of sweat running down his body, and said, "Going to win Gryffindor the Quidditch Cup."

"And Lily's heart," James added.

I snorted. Loudly.

Sirius jerked, obviously oblivious to my presence, before buckling his jeans back up again, and walking over to the bathroom to finish changing, which was extremely unusual since he usually loved having the chance to change in front of a girl because it would most likely end up in a good shag.

"What's wrong with him?" I asked.

"He loves you," said a sarcastic James, who apparently didn't mind an audience.

"Er--alright, then," I said. "James, you know our families are staying at Tim and Christelle's for the holidays this year?"

Remus tensed up at this.

"Yeah, my Mum wrote me," said James, grinning at Remus. "Don't get too excited, ye boy. Christelle's married and Tim used to play Quidditch. He'll knock you off your arse before you can--well, I don't know, but before you can do something quick, is the point I'm attempting to make."

Although he didn't say anything very loudly, I saw his ears turn red and could've sworn I heard him mutter something about a werewolf "accidentally and unfortunately" killing Tim.