Disclaimer: In the Beginning, I’ve been told, God created the H
Disclaimer: In the Beginning,
I’ve been told, God created the Heavens and the Earth. And some
six billion years later, JK Rowling owned Harry Potter, and I did
not.
It’s very disturbing to wake up
one morning to the realization that you’re pretty.
There are more disturbing things to wake up to, of course (often
involving foreign heads, blood, and the like)
but not as many as one might think.
Sirius didn’t quite wake
up with this revelation. He wasn’t even entirely aware of what
day it was (Sunday). The revelation occurred several minutes later
when he was looking in the mirror in the bathroom and wondering, “How
did Bella get in here?” Our story begins just as he realizes
that the face in the mirror is his own.
James was brilliant, if he did say so
himself. Any plan guaranteed to cause Lily Evans to lust after him
was brilliant enough, but this one combined his one of his two other
passions: embarrassing Snape and playing Quidditch. In this case, it
was Quidditch.
“Quidditch Cup and Lily. I should
clone myself just so I can give me a hug,” he muttered smugly.
His thoughts were interrupted, however, by a shout from the boys’
dormitory.
“SWEET MERLIN’S ARSE! I’M
BLOODY GORGEOUS!”
Someone has a problem with modesty,
thought James. Now, back to my brilliant plan.
Before James could return to his
brilliant plan, however, Sirius ran into the common room. “Look
at my face!” he exclaimed. “Do you see anything different
about it?”
James glanced at his friend’s
face. “No. Well, you have a spot on your jaw, but I don’t
know how long it’s been there.”
“You don’t see anything?
Anything at all?”
“Noooo…” said James
in a tone suggesting that Sirius’ mental well-being might have
been questionable. “Do you see anything?”
Sirius sighed and sat down. He rested
his chin on his hands and frowned. “How long has my face been
like this?”
“Like what?”
“Don’t mess around, Prongs!
You know! I’m… pretty.” He shuddered. “What
happened to the roguish good looks?”
“Padfoot, you are, and I say this
with love, an idiot. You look exactly the same as you always have.”
“So that’s supposed to make
me feel better? I’ve always looked like a girl?”
James rubbed his temples. Talking to
Sirius when he was in a mood such as this could be trying on one’s
patience—and sanity. “Sirius, do you—”
Something caught James’ eye. “Do you know you’re
not wearing any trousers?”
“What?” Sirius looked down.
“Dammit! Now I’m pretty and I don’t wear pants. The
transformation has begun.” He trudged sadly to his room,
presumably to put on clothes appropriate for mourning his manhood.
Remus’ favorite day of any given
month was the new moon. He was fortunate to be enjoying the second
new moon of the month, and was wondering what to call it. Perhaps, he
thought, if two full moons were blue, then two new moons were orange.
He was always up bright and early on
new moons, and was usually one of the first to eat breakfast. Peter
usually followed, but James and Sirius liked to sleep in as late as
possible.
“So anyway,” said Peter,
swallowing, “the Arrows really have a shot this year, after
they beat the Wasps.”
Remus, who only followed Quidditch as
closely as to know that James played it on occasion, tried to think
of something to add to the conversation. “But what if the Wasps
win? They’re certainly… um… waspish.”
“They won’t,” said
Peter coolly. It was the same tone of voice that James used when
someone suggested that Slytherin could win the Cup.
“Right then. Erm. Do continue.”
The chill in Peter’s voice
disappeared as he continued to explain the finer points of each
player, including the reserves. Remus turned his attention to his
stack of waffles as a few words and phrases (“Seeker…
but the reserve… the Keeper’s bum…”)
entered his ears unbidden.
“Moony!” Remus heard a
voice call. He turned to see James and Sirius approaching.
“Thank God,” he
muttered, though Peter couldn’t hear him. As they drew closer,
Remus said, “Wormtail was just explaining his support of the
Applemere Arrows.”
“Appleby,” corrected
Peter.
“Exactly.”
“Appleby? Not this year.
Puddlemere all the way.” James took a seat next to Peter and
loaded up his plate while debating Peter’s choice in Quidditch
teams.
Sirius slid morosely into a seat next
to Remus. “What’s wrong with you?” asked Remus.
“I’m beautiful,”
Sirius replied glumly. When Remus was unable to respond, as most
people would be in such a situation, Sirius continued, “And I’m
the spitting image of my evil cousin. Who is a girl.”
“You’re being ridiculous,
you don’t look like a girl,” said Remus. “You look
like… like… well, not a
girl, anyway.”
“You are terrible at cheering
people up, you know that? You’re worse than Prongs. I mean,
look at her!” They both turned toward the Slytherin table,
where Bellatrix was correcting her sister’s posture by force.
“Scary, isn’t it?”
“Oh, come on, Padfoot,”
said Peter, who’d torn away from his and James’
discussion. “You don’t look a thing like her.”
“She has bigger breasts, for one
thing,” said James. “And… well, I’m sure
there are other differences.” He and Peter chuckled.
“I’m going back to bed,”
announced Sirius crossly.
“Wait, we’re sorry,”
said James, trying to suppress a lingering smirk. “Look, if it
bothers you that much, why don’t you just try being more
masculine?”
“What do you mean?” said
Sirius suspiciously.
“Cut your hair, maybe,”
suggested Peter.
“Develop some muscle tone,”
said James.
“Grow a beard,” added
Remus.
“Remus, I take it back. You’re
not worse than James.” Sirius, epitome of maturity,
stuck his tongue out and left.
Sirius sulked for the rest of the day.
James, who knew Sirius better than anyone, suggested that they just
let him alone until he either came to his senses or got distracted by
something shiny or dangerous. Sirius being Sirius, the three assumed that it would end up being the latter option, sense not factoring into their experiences with him.
The next day at breakfast he
seemed to be in good enough spirits. He was humming, and had a smile
on his face as he buttered his toast. This probably meant that Sirius
was back to normal, for a given value of ‘normal’.
“’Morning, Padfoot,”
said James cautiously. “Feeling better?”
“What do you mean? I feel great!”
He took a bite of his toast. “R’lly gr’t!”
“Oh, that’s good.
Possibly.”
“I took your advice. Well, Remus’
advice. I didn’t see where you had any right telling me to
develop muscle tone.”
“What do you mean?” asked
James.
“Well, you’re all skinny,
and the other day Lily beat you up—”
“I mean,” said
James, blushing, “what advice?”
“Oh. He said I should grow a
beard, and look at this!” He jutted out his chin.
“What?” asked Remus.
“This!” He pointed at his
own chin proudly. Remus dabbed at it uncertainly
with a napkin. “No! The whiskers!”
James leaned in and squinted. “Ah,
I see one. Or else it’s a blackhead.”
“Ah, you’re just jealous of
my manly… machismo.”
Just then, Peter took his seat across from Sirius. “Wormtail!”
Sirius stuck out his chin again. “What do you think?”
Peter glanced at Sirius. “I’ve
got a lotion back in the tower that’ll clear that right up,”
he said uncertainly.
“Look, we’ll see who’s
laughing when I have a handsome, luxurious beard that rivals
Dumbled—oh, Merlin’s arse, what is that on Snape’s
face?”
They turned to look at the Slytherin
table. Snape had sat down, a goatee under his overlarge nose. “That’s
disgusting! I can’t wear something that Snape’s wearing!”
“He didn’t have it
yesterday,” said Remus. “It’s probably just a
glamour, or a potion.”
“It doesn’t matter,”
said Sirius sadly. “He beat me to the masculine glory that is a
beard.” He tapped his chin with his wand and muttered, “Raso.”
A few wispy hairs fell to the table.
“I am trying to eat, you know,”
said Peter.
“You’re always trying to
eat,” snapped Sirius, but his heart wasn’t in it.
History of Magic seemed to drag on
longer than usual. It
was a mark of his mastery of the subject that Binns could make the
Russo-Japanese Goblin War of 1904 seem boring. Remus read the paper
during class, noting that the Arrows lost to the Wasps, 300 to 140.
Sirius had tried to mourn his
masculinity some more, but his angst over his looks was wearing thin.
By the time lunch rolled around, Remus’ sympathy for Sirius’
plight had run out. James’ and Peter’s had been drained
dry not far after meeting Sirius that morning.
“I think I see what the real
problem is,” Remus said finally, hoping that he was as
brilliant as his marks indicated he might be.
“What’s that?”
“You’ve lost your touch.”
The look that Sirius gave Remus could
be called doubtful, but it’d be wasting a perfect opportunity
to use the word ‘incredulous’.
“What?”
“Oh, I remember in fourth year,
when you discovered girls. You were dating right and left. Your
tongue was in so many foreign mouths that it had a passport. And then
in fifth year, you started cutting back, picking girls by your more
and more strict standards. And now… well, when’s the
last time you had a date?”
“I went out with Emily Rigby just
last month!”
“An entire month? Tsk tsk. The
Sirius Black of the past wouldn’t stand for that.”
“Where do you get off telling me
I don’t date?” snapped Sirius.
“This isn’t about me, is
it? You’re the one without any confidence with women.”
Sirius’ eye twitched. “I’ll
show you.” He marched into the Great Hall and grabbed the arm
of the first girl he saw—in this case, a Slytherin named
Victoria Ficus. “Do I turn you on?” he asked.
“Buh?” she asked
eloquently.
“I’m going to kiss you now.
And when I kiss someone, they stay kissed for some time.” He
then proceeded to do just that.
“Buh?” she said again after
they parted, this time with a broad smile on her face.
“Let’s go to Hogsmeade next
weekend,” said Sirius. The girl nodded. “Thank you. See
you later.” He returned to Remus. “Lost my touch. Pah. I
can get girls, androgynous or no.”
“Oh, you certainly showed me,”
said Remus. Another crisis averted. Well, not averted, so much as
finally shut up. Now to find Peter before—
“Nooo!”
Hell.
End.
Well, not for Remus, obviously,
but this is as far into the story as I’m taking you.
My thanks to Tori, who inspired
this. Our conversation went something like this:
“Why do they always make
Sirius look so girly?” “He probably was.” “Nuh-uh.”
“Yeah-huh.” “Nuh-uh.” “Yeah-huh.”
Et cetera, et cetera.
Also thanks to those who've taken
the time to read this. So good for my ego, it is. Not that my ego
needs much help, mind.
