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| ooc: i suck. i died for awhile. but if you want me to stay, lemme know. once i get through finals and regents, i'll be back and i'll try not to suck as much. | | |
| You know I've come to realize over the last few months that mistakes are more common than we seem to realize. People usually only realize they've made a mistake when the mistake in question is a big mistake. But sometimes we make them without even realizing what we did was a mistake...
For example, my thinking that I could fix Lily and Isis' friendship if I just... backed off for a bit. They were obviously fighting though they seemed to think I didn't figure it out because Lily thought Isis'd rather have spent her time with me than with her (and who could blame her?).
Note to self: Trying to stay away from Isis and giving her and Lily time to talk... Not a good solution
Then there are those mistakes when you know that you've made a mistake and you just don't know how to fix it.
Like getting dozens of detentions so that you would have a reason to stop seeing a certain person in hopes that things would get better you had a reason to complain that you didn't have enough time to do all the homework that the professors had been assigning every night.
Guess what? That didn't doesn't work either.
But you know what? Either way, mistakes are quite fixable if you just make an attempt.. and pick the right method of fixing things.
For example, talking to Isis on Valentine's Day. Alright, so it wasn't the best conversation, but I apologized and I don't think she's mad at me anymore. We spent the rest of the night playing truth or dare and we had a nice time. Some mistakes really are fixable.
Did anyone hear any news of a cold front coming in? I need to build an igloo.
»SB | | |
| [So this is for Nat. Who recommended the incredibly awesome song on my site. And yay for new layouts. Don’t you love his shirt?]
This guy Mark Twain once said “Never let school interfere with ones education.”
He sounds like a pretty smart bloke.
So I think I’m going to listen to him on this one. Check this out.
School says: Add two pinches of powdered rootwood with an owl pellet into the mixture, then rotate your potion seventeen turns counter clock wise for best results.
My education says: Add three pinches of powdered rootwood with a crushed owl pellet, then turn the potion six times clockwise and eleven times counter clock wise for an O unlike the rest of the class.
School says: Don’t kick rocks at the flobberworms because they will try and hurt you.
My education says: Kicking rocks from a safe distance away while a Slytherin kid is closer to the worm than you are will get them sent to the Hospital Wing and leave you free to laugh in detention.
Minerva saysSchool says: Contact between the opposite sex is healthy if you’re so far away that you can’t make out any distinguishing features between each person.
My education says: Being so close to a member of the opposite sex that you can make out with them every freckle on their face is just so much more fun.
This Mark Twain guy was pretty smart. Some people should evaluate his work a bit more closely.
Now on a less intellectual level, I’ve been stuck in detention for the past sixty-seven-thousand, two-hundred-and twenty-one.... point five years. My crimes, you ask? Umm, let’s say everything from flinging peas at a nearby Slytherin to sending a rather disgruntled beast at Filch, and thus devouring the hair he had left (it was quite a feat if I do say so myself).
After all, I no longer belong to a society full of people I need to impress. I’m allowed to have some fun, right?
Prongs, I don’t know where you’ve been. But we need to do something fun. I’m bored out of my skull and you need to fix it.
Moony, are you avoiding me again? I swear, I didn’t put that sock on your face when you were sleeping!
Anyone with a green tie: Die, k?
»SB
[eh not great, but it’s a post.] | | |
| The train ride that morning resound with happiness, something that would become only a memory once the train had stopped.
They were waiting there as the train pulled into the station. The pureblood disdainful look as the “lesser ones” came off the train, scowls eroding from their mouths with each passing face that carried a smile not worthy of being a true wizards’.
He stepped off the train and caught their glares, looking away quickly to flash his mates a quick smile and nod good bye as they departed to be with the people that cared for them. As he watched them walk off, he felt the glares hardening as they drilled into the side of his head. He could hear there scornful voices and words replay in his head as he walked towards them.
His patience was growing thin, and this would be the last time he could bear to hear their words.
Twelve Grimmauld Place. The house had never changed at all since as far back as he could remember it. It was always dimly lit, candles aligning the wall with a chandelier in every room, purely to show they were wealthy and could afford such a ridiculously large method of lighting a room. The carpets rolled throughout the house, each with an equally displeasing pattern as the next. The ugliest of them all, however, was the one that led to the drawing room. The room that had the family tree hanging on the wall. The family tree that was a reminder of the pureblood system and all it’s pride, disgust, and hate for anything outside it’s self.
Toujours Pur. Always Pure.
His parents came in and the door clicked shut. That was the signal that triggered the reflex to go upstairs and not come down. His room was the only place safe from scorning and scowling. From the dirty and hateful looks that only meant so much when they came from the person who was supposed to be least likely to give them.
Sleep didn’t come easy in that house, but it came nevertheless. He awoke on Christmas morning to a house that banned half of the traditional colors that came with Christmas, mainly because of what they stood for. Bringing red into that house was like tempting a dragon with meat, but not giving it to him. You don’t attempt it unless you can afford to lose.
That Christmas morning was not like every other that he had been at for the last sixteen years of his life. This Christmas had an air of tension so thick that even a knife couldn’t cut through it.
“Get your elbows off the table!” She shrieked as she smacked the wooden spoon she happened to be holding, but not cooking with (after all, royalty doesn’t cook for themselves), on the table in front of him. “And tie your hair back. You look like a hooligan with it in your face. You obviously have no pride in who you are.”
He brushed these types of insults off now. They were nothing to him, yet deep down they continually struck a cord that was running rather worn out and thin these days. His elbows remained on the table and his hair lose, hanging in his face, hiding a glare.
A moment later, a green ribbon was thrown in his face. “Use it,” she ordered, “or you won’t have enough hair to tie back.” Her voice was hard and stern, not one ounce of emotion or compassion to be heard.
He stared at the ribbon for a moment, disregarding it’s presence until he felt the hard glare around on the back of his neck as his father passed by the kitchen. As soon as the glare had left his flesh and the hairs on the back of his neck had settled, he tossed the ribbon aside and spoke for the first time since he had gotten home the night before.
“No.”
She looked up at him, disbelief pulsating through her already violent eyes. “What did you say to me, boy?”
“You heard me. I don’t think you’re that thick that you couldn’t hear me.” He spoke, looking straight back into her eyes.
She stared at him, dumbstruck.
The cord had snapped, but all self control was no gone yet. He stood and left the room. Her eyes followed him up the stairs, but she did not. As far as he was concerned, that battle was won, but the war he had been fighting since he was eleven was just about to see its end.
- - -
The house was quiet for the rest of the afternoon, only the shrieks of his mother when the house elf brought the wrong type of tea, or her crumpets were degrees too cold because they weren’t brought quickly enough, or the creaking of the floor boards with every step taken in the crooked old house could be heard.
But nothing, especially silence, lasts forever.
His name shook the walls of the house as it was hollered through the halls of said crooked old house. “Sirius Procyon Orion Cygnus Black!” The words cut through him with each syllable screamed. It was a bother to repeat such a long name, but when it was spoken, you could always assume that bleeding knuckles would follow the one-sided conversation that was about to take place.
To the end of the hall, down a flight of stairs and to the hall on his right, and into the drawing room, standing beside the horrible family tree was where she was waiting for him. It was where she always waited. She knew him only well enough to know that that tree was one of the things he hated most about the house.
He took his place before her, slightly off to the side so he faced the tree. He stood chin up, with his arms behind his back. “You hollered.”
“Don’t take that tone with me, boy. You’re in enough trouble as it is.” For once she spoke almost softly, but still with the absence of sincerity that mothers spoke with.
Her lips curled into a delicate, loving smile as she turned her head away from him towards the family tree. “This is your heritage. This is your family line. This is who you are, Sirius. As you read through these names you should have a sense of pride flow through your veins. One that says how proud you are to be a Black. To be a Black makes you royalty, Sirius. It makes you the best. Toujours Pur. Do you know what that means?”
“Always- - “
“Always Pure!” she cut him off with her great pureblood enthusiasm and wanting to always speak above him. He liked to think it made her feel important, the family tree being the only thing she truly knew in her life.
“Now what burdens me is how you continually manage to disgrace our name. It was bad enough when you were sorted into that school with all those muggleborns and blood traitors, but we brushed that off our shoulders, didn’t we?” She was standing up high to make sure she looked down upon him, her chin pointed upward to show she was a dignified woman.
“Yet here we stand, before the line of your ancestors who would roll in their graves to hear about the shame and dishonor you have bestowed upon them.”
He had mastered the art of standing still while she continually spoke on about the greatness of his ancestors and how he disgraced them with ever breath he took and every word that passed across his lips.
“Our name is diminished by the shadow you cast upon it.”
The words drilled into him like the pain of one-thousand rulers across his knuckles.
“We have all become ashamed of a name once so great, that people bowed to us as purebloods of highest respect.”
Somewhere deep down, a fuse was lit and the spark traveled the fuse.
“You don’t deserve your name. You don’t deserve to carry the noble and most ancient name of Bla- -”
And then it hit.
“Don’t call me that. “ he spat out without a second thought.
“This is the second time since you’ve been home that you’ve opened your mouth to me, boy! Do you think it wise to continually insult your mother? I gave you life boy and I can take it away!”
“I don’t want your name! I don’t want any of this! I don’t want to be a pureblood who people bow to, and I don’t want to be someone who ties their hair back with a green ribbon. I don’t want to be here in this house, and I don’t want to be on that stupid tree!”
If there was one way to ever tell they were related, it would be their tempers and the vein that pulsed just above their right eyes when they yelled.
“You don’t deserve to be on this tree!” she yelled as the vein pulsated quickly, threatening to burst open.
“Then take me off. I’m done with this. I’m done with this family, and I’m bloody well done with you.” He turned on his heal and exited the room.
“Take one more step boy and you’ll wish you’d never been born!”
“I’ll do you one better. I’ll take two steps!” He halted in the middle of the hallway, screaming back to her. “I’ll take one to my room to gather my things, and I’ll take a second out that door!”
And that’s exactly what he did.
- - -
That night he found himself back in his bed at Hogwarts, sleep the farthest thing from his mind. Rage, anger, and relief were the only emotions he could feel until finally exhaustion over took him and engulfed him in sleep for the night.
The next morning as he opened his eyes, the family owl stood perched on his night stand. There was a letter tied to his leg.
To Whom It May Concern,
Ungrateful child. Despicable Traitor of purity and reason. Defiler of Blood and Line. Incessant Thorn in our sides. Dirt beneath my heel. The Filth of my loins…
I may have brought you into this world and once rejoiced in naming you, my firstborn, but never again will your name pass through my lips. Never again will I flinch or wince in society at the mention of your lesser ways, and never again will you enter 12 Grimmauld Place, the door is locked to you, and shackled so. This House is no longer you home.
I cast you aside, insolent boy. Your Father has disowned you, and your brother will take your place in our line. He always was the more deserving of the two… And now he is the only one.
Go now, hang, beg, starve, die in the streets, do as you will, for I am done with you, Bloodtraitor.
Toujours Pur,
Walburga Black
- - - - - -
[welcome to my first fanfic. I hope that didn't suck something awful. the whole thing is private, but comments are appreciated. let me know if it was okay or if i should quit rping right now. oh and the letter by mummy was written by linda because I wasn't feeling evil enough. oh and sorry it was so long >>;] | | |
| Christmas is coming. You know how I know? I looked at a calendar and it told me.
I bet you were expecting some sort of philosophical explanation for that one, weren't you? Nope. Not this time around.
Then again.. I have a cold. And Christmas is coming. And for me, Christmas never signifies anything good. So maybe that's why I got the cold. That's something that'll keep you pondering.
While the part about Christmas never being anything good was utterly true, and thus possibly being a reason for the cold, that's not entirely it. Turns out that's what happens when you fall through a frozen lake.. or well.. almost frozen.
Or maybe it's Isis' fault. Yes, Isis' fault. She gave me the cold. Although I have to thank her.. This cold is the perfect excuse for being lazy. I mean, hell, I never need the excuse, but I think I should take complete advantage of it.
I don't know if I really have an excuse for the other night though... I woke up in the middle of the night and Isis was still there. I didn't remember her coming up to my room, and when I looked around... we were in the Common Room. What I don't have an excuse for is staying there for the rest of the night with her... I'm going to call it "I was sick and lazy and I didn't feel like moving" whether that's the real reason or not.
I wonder if a cold is reason enough not to go home for the holidays. After all, they hate germs and viruses and anything that can make you sick in the house. Maybe I should collect all my tissues and throw them around and see how fast my mum brings out the wooden spoons...
I never liked going back home, but I'm actually dreading and absolutely despising it this time around. I have a feeling heads will roll and I mean that quite literally. I should probably wear some ear plugs too...
Hey Hogwarts? Guess who has a birthday coming up on the 26th?
»SB
[eh.. not the best.. next entry is fanfic time] | | |
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