Sirius Black

#6: How did you lose your virginity?

As a sixteen year old with his own apartment and a motorcycle, what can I say? I was the wild child at school. Firewhiskey. Pranks verging on attempted murder. You name it, my friends and I did it. Sure we'd all take girls to some remote corner where we wouldn't get found - the old Divination tower was my favorite because no one ever looked up there. Even Peter did that - once - before McGonagall caught him and Irene Wimple in the janitor's cupboard. Going all the way, though, that never crossed my mind until it actually happened.

Her name was Maia, and there was a passing fancy there on my part but nothing serious. She was pretty enough and fairly bright, but demanding as hell. I learned that the hard way. We went up to the Astronomy tower because she insisted the Divination tower was too claustrophobic, and well, you don't need the details. All that tripe about it being magical? Not on your life. I felt like one of those bugs the female dismembers afterwards. It couldn't have been over soon enough. She thought it was great, though, and let’s not get into the great lengths I had to go to to squash those rumors.

Fireworks.
---

Someone tried to escape once. They failed, of course. They always failed.

Sirius shuffled down the corridor, alone with his own miserable thoughts, when a thin, high-pitched siren began to wail. One moment he was in the center of the corridor, the guards giving him a bit of space; the next, those hideous, black-cloaked dementors swooped down on him and pinned him to the wall with terrifying speed and ferocity. Crouching on hands and knees, hands clasped over his head, he cowered in silent horror at the thought that he'd somehow provoked them into sucking out his soul.

Only then did he hear the siren. They were hunting someone else.

The dementors hovered protectively above him, their black robes blocking everything from sight as they pressed him closer to the wall. He didn't move. Ever sense suddenly sharp as he listened. Running feet echoed from a corridor somewhere nearby. A shout. The rustle of fabric and scuffling feet. A scream. Silence. It was over.

The momentary excitement was over. His guards slowly fanned out again, the closest gesturing for him to get to his feet with a rotten, skeletal hand. Warily, he obeyed. They hovered closer than they had before, the thrill of the hunt and disappointment at having missed out heightening their predatory desires. Head down, his heart still racing in terror, he continued his monotonous shuffle back to his cell.

What are you hiding from?
---

“She’s going to kill me, Moony!” Sirius gasped as he burst through the dormitory door, slamming it open hard enough that the wood along the hinges cracked.

Remus looked up from the book he was quietly reading, resignation written on his face. “Who’s going to kill you?”

( Continued... )

Wake Up
---

It was one of those dreams you hung onto as long as you could. A warm breeze gently ruffled Padfoot's fur as the early-morning sun slowly baked away the years of mildew, warming him to his skin and making his paws curl with pleasure. He was inifitely comfortable, curled in a soft bed of long, fresh grass. He sighed contentedly, hoping he could keep laying there, but feeling consciousness slowly returning.

Something danced lightly across his face. He jerked into wakefulness, skittering backward, limbs flailing with ingrained terror. For an instant, his eyes snapped open and the nightmare flooded back. He was back on the cold stone floor of his bare cell, back pressed to the clammy wall; the only light a thin shaft of lighter grey streaming in through the narrow slit of a window high in the wall.

He scowled. The nightmare was wrong. It didn't smell right for one thing. Padfoot wrinkled his nose and snorted. The air was too clean, containing none of the damp, death, and decay that permeated every crevass of the prison. For another, it felt wrong. His eyes told him there were cold, slimy bricks underfoot, but his paws sank at least an inch into something too soft to be stone. As he stared, the light from the window got brighter and more golden, the slimy vision fading away to be replaced by the dream. Barred window and walls became warm, early-morning sun filtering through the scruffy evergreen trees. Mildewed stones underfoot became a thick tangle of matted grass, and he remembered.

He remembered swimming, every immense wave of icy water threatening to drag him down. After what seemed like eternity, the waves slammed him into the rocky beach so hard that stars swam before his eyes. It hurt, but he wanted to stay there, feeling the waves and the rocky sand. But they'd be looking for him by sunrise. Heaving himself to his paws and shaking the water from his bedraggled coat, he ran. The soft ground felt strange under his paws after years of nothing but cobblestones. He ran until long after his paws ached and his lungs screamed; it wouldn't be worth a damn if they caught him.

Padfoot shook himself, shifting back into Sirius, who yawned hugely before collapsing back into the soft pile of grass that had been his bed. A rock jabbed him painfully in the spine but he ignored it. He was finally free and that's what mattered.

What's that smell?
---

"Good God, Padfoot! What's that smell?" The three boys reeled away from the smell that wafted through the dormitory doorway. It smelled as if someone had smashed an entire bottle of cheep cologne, and the effect was dizzying. James coughed, waving his hand in front of his face, and felt his eyes start to water.

Sirius looked up from the mirror where he was yanking a comb through a particularly stubborn knot of hair. "Like it?"

"It's hideous!" James gasped, his eyes streaming as he ventured into the room. Remus and Peter followed, shirts held over their noses like gasmasks. "Smells like you were rolling in ogre dung."

"That's just because you don't know good taste," the dark-haired boy returned smugly. "I bought it in London. It's French." He gave the unruly knot a last tug and yanked out a clump of hair, which he casually removed from the comb before returning to his reflection in mirror.

Peter wrenched open the window and thrust his upper body so far out a good shove might have sent him completely through. "You spent money to smell like that? The kitchen garbage smells better."

"You're a guy. You wouldn't understand." He carefully picked a blue sweater from the pile of dirty laundry overflowing the steamer trunk at the end of his bed. He sniffed it, frowned, and pitched it back into the pile. Grabbing a grey sweater from the same pile, he sniffed it, shrugged, and pulled it over his head. "Girls love this stuff."

With his pillow pressed over his face as he lay on his bed, James looked as if he was trying to smother himself. "That explains it," he mumbled through the fabric. "They never make sense."

"This your big date with Mel?" asked Remus. He lay on his bed looking green and feeling nausious, but only partially because of the smell.

"Yep," Sirius replied with a devilish grin as he headed for the doorway. "Don't wait up."