HEIRDOM AND WHATNOT
Third in a growing series that started with Refresher Course and continued in Verification. Jumping the gun here and posting pre-beta (*gasp!*), so if you notice any mistakes, I'd appreciate it if you'd point them out. :) And love and squishes to Minnow, who is a deviant-link-trickster much like myself.The subject of one Sirius Black's sixteenth birthday was, it must be said, almost completely forgotten.
Ironically, it was remembered a mere day before when Sirius received a rather terse owl from his father at dinner to ask him how thick his third finger was, so that the traditional House of Black ring (pure silver and enchantingly inscribed with the family crest, then presented to each generation's heir upon his sixteenth birthday) could be properly fit before it was sent to Sirius.
"Bugger that," Sirius muttered, balling up the letter and chucking it over his shoulder. "Last thing I need is jewelry."
James snorted in his pumpkin juice. "What?"
"My dad wants to send me this ring. Couldn't wear it even if it wasn't hideous and I was a flaming poof who wears jewelry, 'cause it's pure silver and all." He inclined his head towards Remus, who raised an eyebrow and shook his head.
"You're supposed to be smart, Sirius. That silver thing is a highly exaggerated myth borne from a completely coincidental case of a lycanthrope who happened to be fatally allergic to silver . . ."
Sirius waved his hand dismissively, grinning. "Pish. That's nowhere near as exciting, Remus. Let a lad have his fun."
"Why's he sending you a ring?" Peter asked.
"Stupid bloody tradition thing. Back when inbreeding really meant something, family heirs got engaged just after their sixteenth birthdays, when they officially became the heir, and this ring is the symbol of, er, heirdom. Whatnot." Sirius shrugged. "More for show now, since kids are still in schooling and arranged marriages are fairly passé."
He rose from his seat and gathered up his bag. "I think I ought to pop off to the library. I need to look up a few things for that Arithmancy quiz on tomorrow."
Remus stood as well. "I'll go with you. Arithmancy is making as much sense to me as Potions this year; I could use some extra revision . . ."
James watched the two of them leave the Great Hall, waited until Sirius was well outside hearing range, before he loudly groaned, "Buggering hell. It's his fucking birthday tomorrow!"
Peter blinked. "Is it? I'm terrible with remembering dates like that. When's yours again? And isn't Remus in, er, May or some such?"
"I mean," James said, trying to reason with himself, "I always knew it was November twentieth, but I suppose I didn't quite realize how close it was . . ."
"Well," Peter said, with a hesitant sort of confidence, "it's not as though Sirius expects much, really. Just invite a bunch of girls up to the dorm and nip out to stock up on butterbeer and convince the house-elves to make a few cakes, right? Simple."
James began to nod, and rather enthusiastically, but one of the items on Peter's list didn't quite fit right. "I . . . I don't know about the girls, Pete. I'm thinking . . . maybe this year it should just be us. I mean, if his dad does send him that ring tomorrow, he might be in a right foul mood, and it'd not be nice to inflict a sulking git like him on perfectly nice birds."
While that was all very true (and Peter agreed whole-heartedly and began to detail all the lovely sorts of things the four of them could get up to without female sensibilities to take into consideration), James knew it wasn't the full truth.
Indeed, he thought Sirius would get hurt and insulted if girls were invited, what with James knowing where his thoughts were straying these days. The confession months ago had surprised him – Sirius had always seemed to enjoy flirting with the skirts who showed an interest – and if pressed for the truth, James would have to admit that he wasn't entirely sure that his best friend really knew what he was on about. Obviously James didn't think Sirius was lying to him about fancying Remus; rather, he wondered more if Sirius was simply misinterpreting the feelings he held for their mate.
Some of the first words out of Sirius's mouth were describing a protective urge, a desire to make life better. It made sense, of course; Sirius had been the one years ago to first propose the idea of becoming Animagi to allow them to help Remus out during his full moon nights. And James felt that same need to protect . . . except that for James, it quite felt like how he supposed he'd feel for a younger brother. Certainly a kind of love, but not really a fancying kind. Sirius had a younger brother, but the animosity between the two left no doubt in James's mind that their fraternal feelings were severely lacking. So, he mused, it made perfect sense that Sirius wouldn't recognize true brotherly protectiveness when it bit (er, no pun intended, Remus).
But, if that was indeed the case, James knew such realizations would have to come from within Sirius himself. In his role as the best friend, then, he was bound to take Sirius at his word and assume that Sirius really did fancy Remus. And then, of course, it'd be rather insulting to invite girls to any sort of birthday party for Sirius.
A smaller part of James's mind insisted that he needed to look out for Remus's feelings, too. That part of him hadn't let some of Remus's lingering glances go by unnoticed. That part of him wasn't sure if he was pleased or annoyed that if Sirius was right about his own feelings, then everything might go really well for him.
(He didn't allow that part of himself to show itself too often.)
"I suppose we should get working on the rest of it, though" he said when Peter took a break in his rambling to nibble at some toast. "I'll get the cloak, you and I can raid Hogsmeade while those two are studying, all right?"
Of course, Peter agreed.
"So, is he really going to send you that ring?"
Sirius nodded, not pulling his attention from the book open before him. "No doubt. I've got until tomorrow night to decide if I'm going to chuck it at Regulus's head during dinner, or into the lake."
Remus raised his eyebrows, but didn't comment. They went back to studying quietly.
No owl from the Black residence arrived during breakfast the next morning, but that didn't seem to relax Sirius at all. He tried to act nonchalant about the whole thing, but beneath his cool exterior his friends could tell he was uncomfortable.
During that morning's Defence class, James nudged Sirius and pointed to a bit in their text about hexes used to enchant jewelry: rings and brooches and bracelets, all innocent items that were often given as gifts to the unawares.
Ripping off a small piece of parchment, Sirius scribbled, Oh shit, I've no idea! They WOULDN'T . . . would they?
James just shook his head. He had a nasty suspicion that they would.
By the time they were half-sloshed in their dorm that night, they'd nearly forgotten the impending package.
Despite the abundance of butterbeer (and one precious bottle of firewhiskey), the quartet was still fairly sober. After all, they did have classes the next day, and Remus had left them briefly earlier to do his prefect rounds.
They played several intense matches of Wizard's Scrolls (the alcoholic version, obviously). Sirius and James took on Remus and Peter, for while the two purebloods were the most brilliant boys in the school, Remus's ability to retain small bits of trivia more than made up for Peter's quickly-emptied three butterbeer bottles.
"Next time," said the smaller boy, pouting, "we play it so you take a drink when you get an answer right."
Sirius patted Peter on the back. "But you see, if we get pissed, we won't be able to answer the questions, and then we'll stop getting pissed, and then we'll start answering again and then we'll get pissed again . . ."
"You're doing an excellent job at answering questions and getting pissed anyway, S'rus," James said, removing his glasses to shine them on his shirt.
As they bickered, Remus drained his sole bottle, then idly started spinning it on the floor by his lap. It made several rotations before coming to a halt, and Remus quickly picked it up again before anyone could notice it was pointing directly at Sirius.
"I could go for some cake." James stood up quickly – apparently too quickly, if that wobble was any indication – and made his way to his trunk. "Anyone wanna come with?"
Peter and Sirius quickly agreed, and Remus resigned himself to going with them; they would walk under James's cloak, while Remus gave the impression of performing his prefect duties. He could feel his badge weep at the misuse of power.
But then an owl swooped up the tower stairs just as they'd stepped out their door, and the dejected look on Sirius's face told them all that there would be no birthday cake for their friend this year.
There weren't many places a boy could escape to in Gryffindor Tower, but this was Sirius, and Remus knew he could wiggle into more places than the average student. It was this talent that made so many pranks improbably successful.
He tried not to think about how Sirius had gotten so good at finding hiding places.
There was only one place Remus could think of that he knew Sirius hadn't told James and Peter about. Remus himself only knew because in second year, when Sirius wanted to know what it was like to turn into the wolf, it was the only way Remus could be convinced to share. Somewhere no one will find us, that's what Sirius had promised.
Across from the door to the third years' dorm, Remus prodded at one stone, and at his feet a stone square disappeared. Checking quickly to make sure there were no witnesses, Remus stepped down into the uncovered hole. He crouched low, knees to his chest, and pressed his back against the wall behind him, covering the hole once more.
"Lumos," he muttered, holding his wand out. Carefully, he inched along the tight tunnel, until it opened up further down into a small nook, complete with a window and ever-lit flame for warmth.
In the corner furthest from all light sat Sirius, hugging his knees tightly, though the space wasn't nearly as cramped as the entranceway.
"Should've known you wouldn't let me sulk, Lupin." Despite the claim, his voice sounded quite sulky.
Remus sat next to his friend, crossing his legs and looking out the window at the inky, quarter-moonlit sky. "I had no intention of coming, but you ran off with the lone bottle of firewhiskey, and James was insistent that I bring it back."
"Left it outside the dorm, actually."
"I saw that. Figured if you were so upset to leave behind alcohol it must be bad."
"'S'not that bad." There was a rustle of clothes, and Remus turned his head to see Sirius pulling the ring from his trouser pocket. "Cor, it's an ugly piece of jewelry." He held it out, and Remus took it gently.
Indeed, it was rather hideous. It would look right at home in the Slytherin common room. (Not that Remus knew what the Slytherin common room looked like, of course.) "You reckon it's cursed, like James thinks?"
Sirius shook his head. "Nah. I've already put it on. Just a piece of disgusting symbolic . . . symbolism."
"What are you going to do?" He knew Sirius would understand the question.
"I . . . I think I'll keep it. Just because I don't like my family how they are now . . . well, I reckon that doesn't mean I can't change things. When Dad kicks it, I'll be the one who can call the shots. I can kick Mother out, destroy that dusty old house . . . maybe build the headquarters for the, er, Society for the Proper Education of the Wizarding World About Werewolves and How Brilliant They Actually Are, If You Take the Time to Know One." Remus felt his eyes widen. "Or something," Sirius said, shrugging. "Something the Ever So Pure and Noble Arcturus Black would spend loads of Galleons trying to destroy."
Remus edged a bit closer to Sirius, enough to feel his body heat, but not quite touching.
"I know you don't want us to, but . . . I got you a birthday present," he said, a bit shy.
Sirius rocked sideways, bumping Remus's shoulder with his own. "Why'd you do a thing like that?"
"I just . . . I saw it over the summer hols, and I just had to get it for you. It's nothing expensive or spectacular, but—" Remus gestured to their little hideaway "—we'll need to get out of here first. Need more space."
The idea of something needing a fair amount of space was always guaranteed to intrigue Sirius, so the boys carefully worked their way out of their nearly-too-small hiding place and snuck into the common room, which was properly empty at nearly one in the morning.
"All right then." Remus reached into his pocket and pulled out a small plastic ring. He held it out in his hand, palm up.
Sirius raised an eyebrow. "A ring? Why Remus, you shouldn't have . . ."
"Shut up, Black. Give a man a moment . . ." Trying not to act as flustered as he felt, Remus pointed his wand at the ring and muttered, "Finite incantatem," and took a step backwards as the little ring suddenly grew huge in size. It was about four feet in diameter, but still just a plastic ring.
"What the hell?" Sirius asked, not bothering with polite manners.
Remus grinned. "It's a hula hoop. A Muggle toy. Frighteningly fun, and you'll look utterly ridiculous trying to get good at it. But it's completely Muggle." He added the magic words: "Your parents would hate it."
Sirius reached out to grab it quick as a snitch. "Brilliant. What does it do?"
For the next hour, despite the yawns that started to become more frequent than their words, Remus taught Sirius exactly how to properly gyrate his hips to keep the bead-filled plastic ring swirling around his waist. By the time they called it a night, all thoughts of an ostentatious family ring had fled their minds, and it would be months before it was thought of again.
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