The Shoebox Project

Part Nine: March, 1976 Five Very Old Photographs and One Accidental Prank.

Part Nine:
March, 1976 Five Very Old Photographs and One Accidental Prank. One Torn Page, Three Animagi

On most days, Sirius Black consults James Potter before effecting an idea. On most days, great tragedies do no
occur from simple lack of coordination, planning, or revision, or some arbitrary combination of both. On some days, however, Sirius Black skips the consultation step and moves directly into action. He often regrets it later.
Most of Hogwarts often regrets it later. This is one such day.

"Where is he, Black?" Snape asks. The light in the hallway is most unflattering to his complexion, waxy,  yellow, unclean. He runs his spindly yellow fingers through his hair, which separates greasily into individual,
thick strands over his forehead. Sirius shudders. "Another night of debauchery for the two of you? Really, really. You are a bad influence."

"He's off shagging your mum, Snivellus, since I got sick of her fat saggy arse," Sirius says casually, rolling up his sleeves with great deliberation and care. "Why do you care? Just hoping he was in the showers so you could catch a quick peek?"

"You're one to talk," Snape drawls. "Trailing around after him like a little puppy, trying to control who he talks
to, what he does, with whom he makes nice. It's pathetic."

"A state of being you know all about, after all." Sirius hopes, very much, that Snape will take just two steps closer and give him a good excuse to punch him right in the nose. It really does present an awfully tempting target, all shiny and out there. He does not, however, throw punches that require any kind of awkward setup, so he's willing to bide his time until Snape makes it easy for him which, as Snape learns quickly and well, might not happen without further provocation. "Do I detect a note of jealousy in your dulcet, harmonious whining?"

Snape snorts. "Don't worry, Black. Your toys are safe." He gathers his things up into his arms, eyes shifting to uncover the safest, most feasible escape route. Sirius is proud to note there isn't one, unless Snape is willing to venture just close enough to be in range.

"Don't know about you, Snivellus, but some of us have friends. We call them friends; they call us friends; it's a
mutual relationship in which we are friendly. Very complicated. Tough for you, isn't it? Well, keep trying.

You'll figure it out someday."

"Oh, I will figure it out," Snape says, very softly, while his black eyes flick up to Sirius's, cold and hateful. "I don't know yet, but I will figure it out. And when I do, this whole school will. I promise you that."

"Well, the student body will be itching to know when you unlock the mysteries of 'friendship,'" Sirius says easily, but a chill crawls down his spine

"I think you know what I'm talking about," Snape says.

"I think you're a loony," Sirius says, "and you need to find a hobby." He saunters a little closer, cracking his knuckles. "A hobby other than getting the shit kicked out of you by me because you can't shut up about things that are not your business."

"Not my business, hmm." Snape grins mirthlessly at him, spidery fingers closing around his books, and eyes the
space between Sirius and the wall like he might try to break through it. Sirius is still trying to decide whether, when the inevitable happens, he will a) stick out a foot and let Snape go flying, or b) try the riskier but probably more rewarding method of lunging sideways and trapping Snape between himself and a wall, when Snape adds, "I'm going to follow him. I know where he goes, and I'm going to find out what he does. And then you'll all be sorry."