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Chapter Three

Fun Isn't in My Vocabulary

I stayed mostly in the kitchen after my interaction with Black. The whole thing had left me blustering and confused, and I wasn't about to go out there and have Nic take the piss out of me and make it worse.

"What are you doing in here, honey?" Mum asked when she breezed into the kitchen, finding me sitting atop the counter and cradling a cup of tea in my hands. "And no sitting on the counter, young lady. You know the rules."

I slid down to the floor, watching as she retrieved her coin purse from the adjoining laundry room, where we kept all our shoes and coats. She looked nice in her royal blue robes and matching hat, but I was still surprised she was dressed up at all; how she had persuaded Dad to go into London tonight was beyond me. She must've tried extra hard to convince him that Nic wasn't going to burn down the house with all of us still inside.

"Mum, I'm the only girl trapped with a group of blokes," I pointed out, finishing the last of my tea and discarding the bag before washing the cup in the sink. "It's not that fun for me."

She frowned as she came back into the kitchen. "You know Sheldon, though, right? And the other boys seem very nice—I just talked to them when I passed through. Those Sirius Black and James Potter were perfect gentlemen—they even complimented me on my robes! Isn't that darling?"

I made a face, wondering if she would still think they were perfect gentlemen if I told her what they had done to Severus Snape before the term ended, but Dad entered the kitchen then, looking sullen in his navy robes—Mum must have forced him to match her in some way.

"We should leave now, June," he said, checking his pocket watch. "Our reservation's in ten minutes, and there's probably a queue for the Floo there."

"Oh, of course," Mum said, checking her purse one final time before taking his arm. "Have fun tonight, Georgina, dear! We'll see you later."

"'Bye Mum, 'bye Dad," I said, waving.

Dad turned back to me and winked. "Hold down the fort tonight, eh, Georgina? Don't let the lads get too wild."

"Will do." I smiled as they left the kitchen and then I returned to my perch on the counter when I heard them hassling over the Floo in our sitting room fireplace.

No sooner had the last POP! sounded than Nic was already moving. He cranked up the volume on the wireless we had, and then the sudden shrieking and wailing of The Siren's Fury (Nic's atrocious favorite band) echoed throughout the house.

"GEORGIE!" he bellowed over the guitar solo. "BRING THE CRISPS!"

"GET THEM YOURSELF!" I shouted back.

"I'LL TELL MUM AND DAD WHO I SAW YOU SNOGGING AFTER THE RAVENCLAW-HUFFLEPUFF MATCH LAST TERM!"

I immediately blushed to the roots of my hair, mortified. How did he even know about that? Resigning myself to the blackmail, I got out a bowl and dumped the bag of crisps into it, stalking out with as much dignity as I could muster.

"Here," I said, thrusting the bowl at him so hard several crisps fell into his lap. "Have your stupid crisps."

He gave me a triumphant smirk, picking up one of the crisps and tossing it at me. I tried to turn my head to avoid it, but all I succeeded in doing was getting it stuck in my hair, and I worked furiously to get it out.

"Don't look so put out, George," he said. I scowled at the stupid nickname he'd stuck me with since we were kids. "It's my job as your older brother to know what you're doing every second of every day."

"I believe you got the definition of an older brother wrong, Nic," I said, succeeding in untangling the crisp from my hair and throwing it so it bounced off his chin. "What you're describing is a stalker."

"Of course, you know what that means," he said, his eyes sliding over to where Black sat sprawled on our couch, a bottle of butterbeer in his hand. His hands gesticulated wildly as he chatted with Potter and Charlie Jordan, but luckily, he didn't notice Nic and me as my face flushed again.

"Stay out of my life!" I whisper-shouted over the wireless.

He gave me a smug grin. "Y'know, I'm a little disappointed," he went on, shoving a grotesque amount of crisps in his mouth and crunching them loudly. I wrinkled my nose. "Out of all the girls in Hogwarts, I never pictured you as the type to pine over Sirius Black."

"I do not pine," I insisted, but I knew arguing was pointless. Nic would never understand my fascination with Black—it was far too complicated. Even I didn't understand it at times. He wasn't someone I fancied; not at all. He was like a particularly interesting specimen I wished to dissect, in the most innocent way I could put it. I just wanted to know what made someone like that tick—something that Nic was far too shallow to grasp.

Instead of replying, he just shoved the bowl back into my arms with a wink and stood up. "Grab your coats, everybody! We're heading out."

I turned to retreat into the kitchen, but Nic grabbed my elbow and crushed me to his side. "You, too, Georgie. Mum and Dad want us to spend some quality time together, remember?"

"Unfortunately," I grumbled, reluctantly taking my coat as he held it out for me. I was still half-convinced that I was stuck in some horrible nightmare, but I clutched desperately to the light at the end of the tunnel that was Dottie's. At least there it would be easier to hide from him and his mates.

It was about a twenty-minute walk from our house to Dottie's, and I spent the whole time trailing behind the others, which was a feat in itself. They walked at the pace of sloths, which left me shuffling along like an idiot, my hands thrust into my pockets and my mind cycling through every hex I knew that I could use on Nic once we went back to Hogwarts.

I was ignored the entire time too, which I was grateful for, and I couldn't help but breathe a sigh of relief once we reached the grimy, dingy building and the boys took off without me, making a beeline to the arcade section.

I made my way to the diner section, sliding into a stool at the peeling linoleum counter, where a pretty blonde Muggle girl approached me, wearing the red-and-white striped waitress uniform.

"What can I get you, doll?" she asked me in a thick Irish accent.

"One chocolate malt, please," I said, just as there was a loud swear from behind us.

"Why are Muggle games rubbish?" Gregor Wood demanded of no one in particular. "I wasn't even ready and the sodding blinking thing ate me!"

I turned back to the waitress with a sigh. "Make that two."

I sat peacefully at the counter, content to drink my malt and be away from my brother's boorish company. But I couldn't help my eyes from wandering over the arcade floor, my traitorous vision always seeking Black. He looked like he was having fun, laughing and cheering every time he beat Potter in a game, but when no one was watching, his carefree expression would disappear, like a dark cloud obscuring the sun. It made him look sad; lonely; and I had an overwhelming urge to approach him before I slapped that thought away.

He's a git, G, I reminded myself. A handsome, bullying, enigmatic, arrogant git. Stop it.

I was on my second malt, swirling the straw around, when suddenly a body slid onto the stool next to mine.

"What are you doing over here, Ravenclaw?" asked James Potter, mussing up his already messy hair as he grinned at me. "Don't you know how to have fun?"

I scoffed, taking another sip of my malt and letting the chocolate sit on my tongue for a bit, savoring the taste. "Honestly, I probably don't. Fun isn't really in my vocabulary."

"Ah, I don't believe that," he said. "Everyone knows how to have fun. So, what do you do for fun?"

I opened my mouth, about to answer him, when suddenly it hit me—what did I do for fun?

I wasn't a prude; I'd been to House parties before, and—as Nic had pointed out so mortifyingly earlier—I had snogged my fair share of boys, but outside of that… My idea of hanging out with my friends involved us studying in the library after dinner, or sitting on the shores of the Black Lake to gossip. We never did anything spontaneous. And being home was no different. Under my parents' watchful eyes, I could never do anything like what Nic or Sam or Simon did. If I had asked to host a party at our house, my parents would have laughed in my face before telling me to go finish my Charms essay that was assigned over the holiday. It wasn't fair.

"Er…" Potter still looked at me expectantly, grinning like an idiot. "This." I waved my hand to the low-lying, shabby building around us. "Hanging out with my friends…"

I trailed off when his grin widened, and my shoulders slumped. "All right, fine. I don't know how to have fun. Happy now?"

"Of course not!" he cried. "That's a terrible way to live, Ravenclaw!"

"Yeah, well, there's not much I can do about it," I grumbled into my malt, but he slapped his hand on the counter.

"Then I'm going to change that," he said.

I looked at him as if he had sprouted not just one, but two heads. "Why?"

"Because everyone deserves to have fun," he said. "Even uptight, straight-laced Ravenclaw geniuses like yourself."

I spluttered, searching for any excuse I could give Potter that would get him away from me and off my back.

"I don't—it's not—" I groaned when he waggled his eyebrows. "Why me, Potter? I'm not even in your House, and I took points off you last year for Snape. Why would you possibly want to help me?"

Potter looked sheepish again at the mention of Snape, and he scratched the back of his neck awkwardly.

"Yeah, about that…" he said. "That whole thing was a mistake—even I can admit we went a little too far." I gave him a dry look that clearly read, Oh really? He grimaced. "Sirius doesn't agree, but, well, you saw Evans, and what Sniv—Snape said to her after I goaded him on…"

Ah, so Potter wasn't just doing this out of the good of his heart, then. I figured Evans would be involved in some way.

"Well, good," I said. "That means I won't have to take points off you again, and Evans won't want to destroy you utterly. It's a win-win situation, really."

"Do you think I have a chance?" he blurted out.

I blinked at him, my straw sucking on empty air and filling the uncomfortable silence that sprouted between us. "A chance at what?"

"With Evans," he said, and my brows nearly shot to my hairline. Was Potter asking me for advice? "I know I've been a prat most of the time—all the time"—he corrected when he saw my expression— "but do you think I still have a shot after this?"

I chewed the inside of my cheek, weighing my answer. I wanted to say "no;" that would have been the easiest route. But… I'd been around Evans when we were prefects last year, and I'd even gone on rounds with her a few times. She wasn't as bad as I had imagined her to be, and she was actually quite funny, her humor reminding me of Potter's, almost. And even though she'd gone on dozens of rants to me about James "the-bane-of-her-existence" Potter, I'd seen the way she looked at him when he wasn't staring at her. Perhaps it wasn't outright adoration, but it was…thoughtful; curious.

"I think you might," I told him honestly, and his face lit up like a human version of Lumos. "You just have to show her the real you, Potter. Not the 'you' you displayed last year with Snape, but the actual you," I said, holding up my hand when he tried to interrupt. "You have the capability to be mature, I know that, so just…be yourself around her. Don't hound her every second of every day; let her come to you once she realizes that you've toned down your buffoonery. And for Merlin's sake, leave Snape alone this year."

Potter swiveled on his stool, the metal squeaking, but he appeared to be lost in thought, as if seriously reflecting on my words. Finally, he nodded and heaved a sigh.

"Thanks, Georgie," he said, and I started at the use of my name. "I'll keep that in mind."

We shared a tentative smile, but I nearly shrieked and toppled off my stool when a heavy hand clapped my shoulder.

"Am I interrupting something?" Nic asked, smirking down at us.

I opened my mouth angrily, but he cut me off before I could speak.

"Billiards tournament," he said to Potter. "You're up against Sheldon. Let's go."

Potter gave me an apologetic look, but I glared at Nic.

"You only have seven people," I pointed out. "How can you have a tournament with equal players?"

Nic shrugged, though I could tell he hadn't thought of that. Idiot.

"Someone will go twice," he said, but to my surprise, Potter spoke up.

"Georgie can play someone," he said. "Then we'd have eight and it'd be equal."

Nic snorted. "She won't want to play." He looked to me with a scornful expression. "Don't you, George?"

"Actually, I do want to play," I said, jumping up from my seat and slapping a few crumpled bills on the counter. "I'm in."

Nic looked between Potter and me, as if realizing that he was outnumbered.

"Fine," he said grudgingly. He suddenly glanced to me with a glint in his eye I didn't like. "You can play Sirius."

I froze, gaping, and Nic grinned triumphantly. He had me cornered, and he knew it. Either I could back out and look like a ninny, or I could play against the object of my fascination and make an embarrassment out of myself.

I drew myself up, attempting to hide my panic and eyeing Nic with a steely gaze.

"I'm in," I repeated, and though he frowned, he simply waved us after him as he led the way to the billiards table.

On our way there, Potter leaned down to whisper in my ear.

"Good call, Ravenclaw," he said. "Now let's have some fun."

I'd been watching them play for an hour, and I was bored out of my mind. Really, what was it with boys and sticks? Whether it was a broomstick or a billiards stick, they became rambunctious and overly competitive, and I watched them with a tiny frown on my face, wondering why I had even agreed to this.

I glanced up to see Black standing on the opposite side of the table, cheering on Potter while he played Sheldon. He hadn't glanced my way since I had joined them in circling around the table, but I reminded myself that that was a good thing. I was already on Potter's watch list, apparently, and the last thing I needed was to be on Black's, as well. That was just begging for trouble at that point.

"And that round goes to James," Charlie Jordan announced, scribbling something down on a piece of paper. "Last game is Georgie versus Sirius, and then we can move on to the second set."

I tried not to feel nervous as Sheldon handed me his stick, giving me a small smile and a pat on the shoulder. "Good luck."

I only managed to grimace at him, stepping up to the felt-lined table as Gregor Wood racked the balls. Black came forward after punching Potter for saying something, and he was still chortling when he looked up and locked eyes with me, giving me a slight nod.

I looked away, attempting to swallow past the sudden lump in my throat.

"You can break if you want," Black said to me, and now I felt like an idiot as I shifted my gaze back to his.

"All right," I said quietly, approaching the triangle of balls and taking a deep breath. I had this. I had been playing at this exact table for years, and I was a decent player. I just might be able to pull this off.

I lined up my shot and broke, watching the balls scatter. The red-striped 11-ball went into the right-side pocket, and I nodded to myself. I usually preferred solids, but I'd take stripes.

I prowled to the other side of the table, looking for a shot, acutely aware that Black was right beside me. He hadn't moved, even when I bent down next to him, scoping which pocket I wanted to hit the 9-ball into.

Far right side. It was mine.

I hit the ball, and it sank into the hole.

I heard a low whistle behind me, and the unmistakable sound of coins clinking against one another. I didn't dare look at Black, too invested in the game now.

There was a reason all my brothers had gone to Gryffindor, and that was because they were all impulsive. They thought fast on their feet, yes, but they weren't very patient. Me? I was the epitome of control. I often wondered if it was my mind itself that got me put into Ravenclaw, and not just my thirst for knowledge. While I wasn't as quick as my brothers when it came to thinking up plans, I always went through mine methodically and slowly, probing for any flaws and weaknesses and then correcting them. Calculation was my savior, and analysis my redemption. And unfortunately, Black got to witness both during this game.

I tried my luck with the 14-ball, but barely missed. Still, it was enough, and then it was Black's turn. He managed to sink the 2-ball, and I grinned to myself when it edged my own 12-ball nearer to the pocket I had been aiming for. He scratched his next shot, to the groans of the others, and it was my turn again.

We spent the next fifteen minutes stalking around the table, intent and focused. I was only ahead with one less ball than he, but we became tied when he made his 5-ball into the bottom left pocket, leaving us with two balls each, and the 8-ball.

Black sank only one of his two, but by Rowena's wisdom, I made both of mine. I tried the 8-ball but missed, and Black was up again.

He had to walk past me to get a good shot, but suddenly his lips were at my ear.

"Not bad, Ravenclaw," he murmured. A shiver went down my spine, though not necessarily in a bad way. "But your streak is over."

He moved away, and the air behind me felt a lot colder as I watched him sink his last ball before turning on the 8. His hair fell into his face as he leaned over the table, his grey eyes intense. His shirt snagged on the edge of the table, pulling it down past his collarbone and revealing a sliver of olive skin that I forced myself to look away from.

Don't get distracted now, G. You're going to win this.

Black missed, to the groans of the others, and I lined up my last shot. I had a gut feeling the ball was going to go in. I pulled back, lifting myself onto the balls of my feet to shoot—

Someone let out a loud and painfully fake sneeze just as I shot, and the stick jumped in my hands, my concentration snapped. I watched in anguish as the 8-ball ricocheted off the pocket I had been aiming for, and thirty seconds later, Black had won after retaliating my hit.

I whirled around to Nic snickering at me, tears in his eyes, and I brandished the billiards stick as I stormed over to him.

"Seriously?" I demanded. "You couldn't let me win one game? How immature are you?"

"Calm down, George," he said, still chuckling, and my irritation flared at the terrible nickname. "It's not like you were going to win anyway."

"Why? Because I'm a girl?" I said. "Going up against one of your Quidditch blokes? Is that why you aren't allowing girls on the team, Nic? Because you think they're inferior to you and your bloody band of berks?"

He rolled his eyes. "Bloody hell, Georgie, it's a joke. You don't have to turn it into one of your feminist rants." He turned to Gregor and Charlie, who both looked extremely awkward with the situation. "Ever since she read this stupid feminist theory book last year, she's been insufferable—hasn't shut her mouth about it—"

"Oh, shove this up your arse, Nic!" I thrusted the billiards stick at him and glared. "Maybe you'll find it better than having your own head up there!"

Nic flushed angrily as his mates choked on their own laughter, but I made my way back over to the diner, flinging myself down on a stool.

"Another malt?" the waitress asked me, and I nodded, rubbing my temples.

"I'll have whatever she's having."

Black sidled into the seat next to me, but I was too annoyed and humiliated to focus on my pounding heart within that moment. The waitress smiled prettily at him, glancing him over with appreciative eyes, and suddenly I wanted to punch something.

"That game should have gone to you," he said after a moment.

I grunted.

"It's fine, Black," I said. "It's just a game."

"True," he said, "but you're competitive, like me, and I know how it feels to have victory snatched away from you at the last second."

The waitress came back with our malts, sparing me from having to answer him as I stuck the straw in my mouth and sucked.

"What is this?" he said, taking a sip. "It's bloody wonderful."

I grinned slightly.

"It's a chocolate malt," I said. "Some kind of Muggle thing. Don't drink it too fast though, or you'll get—"

He grimaced, clutching his head, and I couldn't stop myself from laughing.

"Brain-freeze," I finished.

"Oi! Sirius! We're starting the next round!"

"Be right there!" he called, polishing off the last of his malt in one go and shuddering at the cold.

"Well, I'm off," he said. "Nice chat, Ravenclaw."

I waved as he slid off the stool, but before he left, he leaned in again, and my stomach flipped uncomfortably.

"Oh, and I haven't forgotten you taking points off us," he said. "We'll worry about that when we get back to Hogwarts, though."

He moved off, leaving me alone, and suddenly I didn't feel so good anymore. I hadn't expected him to forget, but the tone of his voice still made me uneasy.

Whatever it was Sirius Black was planning, I had a feeling that it was going to make my life a living hell.

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