Hurricane Eyes {A Sirius Black Fanfiction}

Chapter 3: Making Hogwarts History

Now, don't get me wrong. I wasn't one for troublemaking normally. However, I did occasionally enjoy playing small hilarious pranks on unsuspecting students. I hadn't been caught yet, and I planned to keep it that way. With my gift, I was able to perform highly advanced skills such as non-verbal spells and wandless magic. The gift also gave me the power to shift forms. It wasn't quite like a metamorpagus because I couldn't morph my own features, but I could shift into anything I want. 

I sat in my bed until I was sure the other girls were asleep. I could hear Marlene's usual loud snores and Molly's Celtic music playing. Lily's normal sleeptalking began and I grinned as I heard her speak. 

"No, no. I don't want to marry you, James," she said, sounding pained, "It doesn't matter that you're attractive." 

Snorting slightly, I stood and silently opened my curtains. Shifting into an owl, I flew into the boys dormitory and shifted back into myself. The four boys were extremely messy. Clothes were strewn across the floor. I nearly died as I tripped over a toy quaffle. Shifting into a small fly, I prayed that none of the boys would wake up. Sighing softly when Sirius let out a loud groan and turned over, I shifted back into myself and began my plan. Quickly and carefully, I put charmed all their clothes so they were a lavender and blue. Smirking to myself, I charmed their hair too before grinning. Finishing the final touch, I smiled triumphantly at the black writing on their foreheads. James' writing said 'Hey Marauders,' Sirius' said, "you've been'. Peter's said, 'pranked by' and Remus' said, 'Rain xoxox'. 

Shifting into an owl again, I headed back to the girls dormitory and collapsed in my bed looking forward to the boys reactions. I had always wanted to prank the so called 'Kings of Mischief', but I had always been too nervous. 

I had never been a goody two shoes, but I always studied and got good grades. I was sassy, but I was also shy due to years of my mother telling me that everything I did was wrong. I had grown to realize that my mother would never be pleased with me, so I ended up deciding for myself what was right and what was wrong. Befriending people was right and caring about blood status was wrong. Being different was fine but being cruel was not. Accepting people was okay, but disowning wasn't. Away from my mother's influence, I had blossomed into a young girl. At Hogwarts, I found my voice. Before I attended school, I was soft spoken, scared of everything and everyone. I never had the strength to speak up for myself or stand up for what I believed in. I expected to be sorted into Slytherin, but that wasn't what happened. When I first got sorted into Gryffindor, everyone was confused. Yes, it made sense that this girl with fiery red hair was Gryffindor and even this loud spoken boy with glasses. But, this pale skinny girl hiding behind her dark hair? Surely, there was a mistake. Why was I put in Gryffindor? I felt so outcast the second I stepped into the dorm room. Marlene was absolutely bubbly and friendly--- it made sense that she was brave. Lily never failed to stick up for what she believed in. And Alice, well, Alice was one of the kindest girls I had ever met and despite the fact that she was shy, she didn't seem frightened of her shadow. I was. I flinched away from everyone who talked above a speaking voice. I kept my head down. But, Lily, darling Lily, never gave up on me. That spunky redhead became my best friend. And there, away from my mother and her pureblood beliefs, I became the storms I had always loved. I became the cool soft gentle rain and the thunder above that shakes the ground. 

It probably doesn't make sense how my mother, a pureblood fanatic, married a muggle-born. I never understood it either. Recently, I compared her hypocrisy to that of Tom Riddle's. From what I remember of my father, he was the opposite of my mother. While my mother was all harsh angles and sharp tones, my father was soft limbs and a gentle voice. I was devastated when we lost him. I cried for days. Even rain couldn't get me outside. I was just seven when he passed. Young children don't really understand the concept of death, but I understood one thing. My protector was gone. Without him there, my mother became crueler than usual. She beat me if I talked back so I closed in on myself, like an English rose that wilts before it can even bud.