GOOD DOG || Sirius Black

(Twelve: Good For You)

"Fawley!"

Sirius yelled out the girl's name with what he feared was rather too much enthusiasm. In his defence, he had been waiting for her most of the morning, leaning against the wall opposite the library and straining his eyes for any sign of mousy brown hair that seemed to constantly shield its owner's face, like some kind of awful invisibility cloak. Finally she had appeared, standing awkwardly off to one side while she waited for a group of Fourth Year Slytherins to clear the path rather than dare to squeeze around them.

She spun around instantly at his voice, and Sirius found a smirk settling itself on his face. He had called her name, actually called her name, and she had responded. Anything was possible.

"Oh, um, hi." Alex smiled awkwardly. Such an odd, stilted atmosphere. Nothing like when he was a dog.

She took a few steps towards him, still maintaining that space-for-Jesus of about three metres, as if he were some kind of dangerous animal that she had been warned against approaching.

"So," Sirius grinned at her, "Tutor sessions with Snivellous, huh?"

Alex flushed red, and glanced down, "Yeah, I'm, er, I'm not the best at potions."

"Or astronomy." Sirius reeled off nonchalantly, "In fact, a certain teacher may have asked the best student in the class to assist you with that particular study."

Alex looked confused, "I thought Lily was too busy to help me with anything?"

"I meant me." Sirius grinned smugly. Alex's expression was one of unfiltered horror, "We're going to be the best of friends, Fawley. Just you wait."

I know what you're thinking: Oh my stars! What a convenient coincidence that Sirius Black just happened to secure once-a-week private sessions with our one and only Alex Fawley! Merlin must have been smiling down on our protagonists that day as the benevolent creator of highly predictable plot developments! Well, if by Merlin, you mean Sirius, having raced to his astrology teacher and charmed his way into being recommended for a tutor, then yes, you are one hundred percent correct, noble reader (also, in my imagination, you have a 1920s Brooklyn accent, so enjoy that).

Alex swallowed. She had the most unpleasant feeling that she was being laughed at, the same sensation you get when you know someone's talking about you, "Right."

"I mean it." Sirius Black grinned, all impish charm that worked on most people but scared the shit out of Alex, "By the end of the month, we'll be braiding each others hair and playing 'Fuck, Marry, Kill: Historical Figure Edition', although I warn you, my answer to Churchill, Ghandi and the Buddha may surprise you."

"One of those things is not like the others." Alex said without thinking. That surprised even her; Alex never spoke without thinking, it was one of the things that made it so difficult for her to conduct a conversation.

Sirius' grin widened, and it made his following pout look like it physically hurt, "What's wrong with good ol' Churchy?"

"I mean, well, you have two of the most peaceful people to ever exist, and then, like, a world-famous leader of two world wars. It's just, like, he doesn't... doesn't fit in." Alex pointed out. Her throat had gone dry, but this seemed to be going well. She was talking to Sirius Black, and, okay, she wouldn't make a habit out of it, but she had definitely earned an hour or two of photography that day.

Sirius leaned down to her level, and all self-congratulation went out the window immediately, "That's why the answer may surprise you."

"Well, um, I'll, er, I'll look forward to hearing it." Alex stumbled backwards a bit, waiting for Sirius to do something. After a tense second of oh-yes-the-awkward-silence-never-leaves-mwhahahaha, she turned and left.