Fic: Learn To Be Quiet for kingzgurl

[grandilloquism.livejournal.com]

Title: Learn To Be Quiet
Author:  grandilloquism 
Recipient: kingzgurl 
Rating: PG
Highlight for Warnings:*none*
Word Count: ~1700
Summary: Sirius spends his first winter break at the castle without anyone to entertain him, and finds himself in some rather serious trouble. 
Author's notes: Title from the poem of the same name by Franz Kafka.


    The trouble that began in the winter of their sixth year began with Remus.  Incidentally, it also ended with Remus, but that’s getting ahead of ourselves.  It started, really, at the end of fall term and the beginning of the Christmas break. 

    Though the Hogwarts library was as well stocked with muggle literature as it was with magical, it was no secret that Remus had a collection of muggle books, each carefully labelled ‘Ex Libris:  Remus J. Lupin’ in his mother’s careful handwriting.  It was not a very large collection, but that group of tattered, well thumbed volumes were his very favourites and made the trip from the Lupin family home every September. 

    He did not take them back home with him during Christmas break for a number of reasons.  Mostly, though, it was because they made for heavy, bulky travel companions and it was just the sort of eccentric impracticality that would cause his mother to scrunch up her nose and laugh at him for most of the holiday.  His mother was the most practical woman he knew.  So he left his tiny library with the rest of the things he would not need at home, and did not think anything of it.  Remus left the castle with Peter and James, taking the train back to London, and they left Sirius behind.

    Here it should be noted that this was the first time Sirius had ever stayed at the castle without any of his friends and though he had told them over and over that he would be fine, he knew before they had even gotten on the train that it was going to be the worst three weeks of his life. 

    He started the first week with the best of intentions, he finished all of his school work and discovered two more shortcuts hidden behind tapestries and one door in the third floor corridor that, when the knob was turned left instead of right, opened up into the dungeons.  He made careful observations on the handful of student that had stayed and came up with elaborate schemes tailor fit to each of them.  But, by the second week, he was mostly just lazing about in the dormitory.

    It was there that he discovered Remus’ books.  Well, perhaps ‘discover’ is not the correct word, for though he had never given them much thought he had known since first year that Remus brought books from home.  Sirius had never read a muggle book, not what one might call proper literature, and he was that fateful combination of bored and curious that has led to all the very best and all the very worst discoveries.  So he read.

    He read The Chronicles of Narnia and Alice in Wonderland, and Peter Pan and Wendy.  He read Jules Verne and H. P. Lovecraft and J. R. R. Tolkien.  In the end, though, it was Mr. Mark Twain and Ms. Harper Lee that finally did him in.  All those descriptions of sweltering summers in the southern United States, which to Sirius looked like the muggle film he and James had seen last summer, with cowboys and bandits and endless red deserts.  (That this image was in no way supported by either Mr. Twain or Ms. Lee had, of course, no bearing whatsoever.)  Sirius looked out the windows at the frigid Scottish winter and in his mind’s eye he saw Endless Summer, and after that there was no deterring him. 


    The letter went out the second day of January.  It read: 

    Dear Mr. and Mrs. Potter,

    I regret to inform you that your ward, Sirius O. Black, has been injured in the course of an act of vandalism to school property, and will be held in the infirmary until term commences.  From the books obtained from his dormitory and the state of the third floor corridor it is my belief that his attempt to raise the temperature of the castle resulted in a brief but torrential downpour of scalding rain.
    Besides the burns, which have been treated and are healing quickly, Mr. Black suffered a blow to the head, a resulting concussion, and inhaled nearly a litre of the hot water.  These internal injuries have also been treated, but are predicted to take the better part of a week to heal fully.  No doubt the injuries would have been worse, but it seems Mr. Black was pulled from the water by a small group of second years. 
    Though he finds speaking difficult, I’m sure any letter will find him in the infirmary.

    Sincerely,

    Minerva McGonagall,
    Deputy Headmistress


    The Potters sent two letters in reply, neither worth copying in their entirety.  The first was addressed to Professor McGonagall, assuring her that any penance the school administered would be considered fair, and inquiring if there was anything they might do.  The second was sent to Sirius, informing him that while they were glad to hear that he was well they were extremely disappointed in him and perhaps it would be best if he came home with James for future holidays.

    Sirius resolved that they weren’t too disappointed, however, as Mrs. Potter had included a box of homemade caramels.  And, though his throat was still very sore, he spent a restful afternoon in the Hospital Wing, eating caramels and reading The Phantom Tollbooth. 

    It was his second day of infirmity that he received a letter with his breakfast.  It read:


    Sirius-

    You utter twat, what were you thinking?  James sent me a letter last night, calling you as many bad names as he knew, explaining what happened.  Scalding rain, Sirius!  Have you gone completely daft?  I hope the Potters sent you a Howler, you certainly deserve it.  Did you even--  I can’t-- What were you doing, messing around with weather magic? 

    R.

    P. S. I was glad to hear that you’re alright, but if you ever try something like that again I’ll see to it you get more than a few burns.  You stupid sod. 


    Sirius spent a long time grinning down at his letter, and then wrote his reply back just as soon as he could get Madam Pomfrey to give him parchment and quill. 


    Remus--

    At least now we know how long I can go being bored before I go stupid.  This has been the most exciting thing that’s happened in weeks, and it was fun before I nearly drowned.  Except for after.  After wasn’t very fun at all.  Did you know that Flitwick reapplies the temperature charms twice a year?  I think it might have been alright if he hadn’t of been through the castle back in November, replacing the warming charms. 
    The Potters sent me sweets.  A very forgiving sort, those Potters.  Unlike some, who sent no kind of holiday confectionary at all.  And here’s me, wasting away on my sickbed.  Languishing in the infirmary.  Growing thinner and thinner from this gruel Prison Guard Pomfrey is feeding me. 

    Sirius


    He read over his letter several times and, well pleased with his efforts, sent it off. 

    His reply came several hours after the lights had been turned out.  Sirius had been regretting not accepting the sleep draught he had been offered earlier when he heard the soft ‘hoot’ and scratch of talons against glass.  He eased himself out of bed, sore and stiff-muscled, hobbled across to the window and jimmied it open.  The owl flew off as soon as Sirius had the letter off its leg, apparently reluctant to be sent on a return trip.  Sirius tottered back to bed to read his letter by the light of his wand. 


    S--

    People who go about summoning boiling rain don’t deserve sweets.  The Potters are obviously deranged, encouraging you like they are.  Pomfrey has the right of it, nothing but gruel and water for a week should be enough to make even you think twice before going about playing with weather charms.  And James and Peter and I will just have to see to it that you’re never bored enough to repeat that particular experiment.  Or I will, at least, as James and Peter will probably just encourage you.

    In any case, I’ll be back tomorrow with your requisite holiday confectionary tithe.

    R.


    Sirius didn’t bother sending a reply back, he wasn’t sure if it would arrive before Remus left in the morning, and more pressingly, with Pomfrey asleep his only option was sneaking up to the Owlery himself and, however much time he had wasted trying to convince first McGonagall and then Pomfrey that he was perfectly fit, he really didn’t feel up to it. 

    So he extinguished his wand, folded the letter under his pillow, and went to sleep, as content as a person still covered in burns could be.


    The following morning was cold, but it was Scotland and it was January, so that was alright.  There was also a fresh layer of snow, which was disappointing, as he still wasn’t allowed out of the Infirmary, but wasn’t dire.  Remus would be back that evening, and Sirius’ world was looking up.

    So he ate breakfast and he annoyed and charmed Pomfrey by turns, and he read Sherlock Holmes and he ate lunch, and finally, hours after the sun had set, when he had closed his book and let Pomfrey talk him into a nap, Remus arrived.

    Sirius awoke slowly, warm and quiet after nearly three weeks of being too cold and too full of energy and realised he was no longer alone in his narrow hospital bed.  Remus had edged his way onto the side of the bed, sitting half on and half off the mattress, and he was staring down at Sirius with eyes that were very big and very bright.  “Sirius,” he said, with a bit of a catch in his throat.

    “S’not bad,” he assured him, though his own throat rasped the words out.  He coughed to clear it, and winced when it was only made worse, “Nearly all fixed up.”

    “I’m never letting you out of my sight,” Remus chided, a truly enormous frown pulling at his mouth and tilting his eyebrows.

    Well, that’s alright then, Sirius thought, burrowing down in his warm blankets and trying to hide his smile.  That’s perfectly fine.