GOOD DOG || Sirius Black

(Twenty Eight: Maladroit)

Maladroit: awkward, useless

{===}

The world was in complete and utter chaos.

I mean, to be totally honest, for a second, Sirius had wondered if it had worked. Little sparks fizzled along the fireworks' trails in a moment of pure confusion, and then-

BOOM!

Sirius has often found that 'Boom' is perhaps the most rewarding word a person can voice aloud, particularly when expressed in capital letters. The roundness and completeness, when connected with the sheer brilliance of the implied blowing something up, was a feeling that was difficult to top, although the grin on Alex's face that matched his own was certainly doing its best to measure up.

His euphoria lasted only a moment. The enchanted fireworks had streaked out, honing in on the Trio of Doom like missiles, each one uniquely patterned and characterised. Sirius had to say, the visual image of four giant ninja turtles comprised entirely of little flares charging down his cousin astride a simply gigantic reincarnation of Pacman very much almost made up for what happened next.

There was a crash, and that was about the time that Sirius realised part of the roof was caving in. It was the opposite end of the farmhouse to the little hatch, far from where the others would be huddled, safe and inside, but far too close to Sirius and Alex. He felt the foundations shudder, shingle tumbled haphazardly down the sides of the building. Then the ground disappeared beneath him. He tried desperately to catch anything, anything at all, but it was too late. It was all falling apart.

For a second, everything was weightless. He was falling free, not clinging to any other thing, completely and utterly independent. But the ground, as it always did, caught up with him, smashing him down in a frenzy of vindictive rage. He managed to cushion his head with his arms, but his ankles weren't so lucky, slamming and crunching on the tough tarmac.

He stayed completely still until the rumbling stopped.

His head pounded. He was flat on his back on the ground. He didn't want to move, or assess the damage to himself, so instead he counted clouds. There were three. The game was over quickly.

There were feet on the ground, a lot of them, too many for Sirius.

"Padfoot? Padfoot, c'mon mate." James crouched over Sirius, shaking his shoulder roughly.

In response, the boy groaned and shook his head, "Shhh. Quiet. Silence is nice. I like it."

"Something's wrong with him." James implored Remus worriedly. He turned back to Sirius, "Are you hurt?"

"Physically? No. Emotionally? That's for my therapist to decide." Sirius grumbled, stretching out his back.

Remus and James exchanged concerned expressions over his head.

"I'm fine." Sirius whined, pushing James away as he sat up, "Although in need of much chocolate. Don't you think, Nurse Moony?"

Remus sighed, digging around in his pockets before removing a slightly sorry looking Crunchie and handing it to his friend, "Where's Alex?"

Sirius froze in midmotion, hand still half reaching for the chocolate bar.

The entire front yard of Logan's home was obliterated, with bricks and bits of plaster crushing the hydrangeas that someone had so carefully tendered in the flower beds by the little picket fence that was now less of a fence and more of a decorative wooden covering for the dirt. The house was mostly still standing, if by 'mostly' you mean 'slightly over half'. It was as if a giant cake cutter had descended from the sky with the shaky hand of a five year old desperate to get the biggest slice. The explosion had cleaved straight through rooms, leaving a sort of doll-house effect on the remaining portion of the farmhouse.