(no subject)

[essayel]

Silly quiz blagged from yunitsa's LJ:





Which of Henry VIII's wives are you?

this quiz was made by the proper Victorian ladies at Spookbot

What's not to like about handsome rogues?

Mike’s sixteenth birthday today so he spent a good part of it asleep and the rest holding hands with Mini-Goth – ah sweet. They have been an item for six months now, as of last weekend, which isn’t bad going really.
Paul’s brother, his wife and kids paid a fleeting visit and we were entertained by an account of how the youngest one, four and unlikely to reach five if his behaviour this morning was anything to go by, had told his mother off in the worst language he knows …”You are a disgusting girl and you have a banana on your head!” By this time next year, after three terms in primary school, he’ll be able to swear like a navvy so I suppose she’ll look back on this with great nostalgia.
Remember I said that my LJ was a bedsock free zone? Well,
camillabloom has put the bedsock pic up on hers. I really must do a proper background for it and reduce the size of Snape’s candelabrum – people will think he’s trying to compensate for something!
Just for fun, here’s another bit of Roseblade’s challenge.

Bill helped Remus carry the unconscious Sirius down to the house then, between them, they heaved him up the stairs to his room. Snape offered to help but, after he had twice allowed Sirius head to bounce against the wall, they decided they could manage without him.
“If you’re sure,” Snape said. “To be honest, I don’t envy you the next task. Somehow I don’t see Black as a flannel pyjama type of person.”
“Can we help?” Hermione and Ginny demanded.
Remus head appeared around the door at the top of the stairs. “Thank you for offering,” he replied, politely, “but I’m sure we can manage.”
His assurance was belied by the grumble of Bill’s voice demanding to know just how the heck Sirius got into those jeans in the first place.
Hermione sighed and she and Ginny continued charming Remus’s cottage into a more Christmassy appearance. Dumbledore looked on, applauding as they transfigured a clump of woodbine that Ron dragged out of the hedge into a passable garland that they strung across the mantel. Then Remus called from upstairs.
“He’s beginning to twitch, Snape. Is that supposed to happen?”
Snape calculated for a moment. “I would assume, with the strength of the potion coupled to the alcohol, that he is beginning to experience some of the appropriate sensations. Tell me, is he huddling under the covers? Yes? Well then, Jack Frost is probably nipping at his nose.”
“He’s moaning.”
“Well, obviously that’ll be the chestnuts roasting on an open fire. He’ll be waking any moment. You’d best get ready.”
There was a clatter on the stairs as Bill came down, grinning, then he paused and frowned at Snape.
“Would you usually be here at Christmas?” he asked. “We’ve got to make everything as normal as possible, I thought.”
“Absolutely not,” Snape replied, his lip curling in distaste at the very thought of it.
“Good point, Bill,” Dumbledore said. “We can’t have Sirius suspecting anything. Let me see.” He extracted his wand and made a pass with it.
Hermione let out a strangled squeal and Ginny clapped her hands over her mouth.
“Very nice,” Harry said, “but, Headmaster, it’s Christmas not Easter.”
Snape had been gasping his outrage at his sudden immersion in drifts of pale pink fur and turned and bounced, hoppity-hop, across the floor towards the door.
“Oh no you don’t,” Dumbledore said cheerfully and waved his wand again.
Snape started as the basket of eggs disappeared from his hand and scowled at his wand which was suddenly sporting a large glittery star.
“Eeeewww,” Ron said. “For pity’s sake, Headmaster….”
“So…not a fairy then,” Dumbledore agreed reluctantly. “Although, Severus, you certainly have the legs for it! Oh, I know.”
Snape started again and peered cautiously down at himself. The robes were a sensible black but his wand appeared now to be a parrot headed umbrella.
“Headmaster,” Hermione said gently, “are you sure about this? I mean it’s better than the fairy outfit and certainly that film is always on the t.v. at Christmas but if we are aiming for normality don’t you think that dressing Professor Snape as Mary Poppins is a little outré?”
Dumbledore looked disappointed for a moment then sighed. “Oh very well,” he said crossly. “I suppose we’ll have to do the obvious!”
Meanwhile, Bill was emptying his pockets onto the kitchen table, re-sizing the boxes, packets and jars and Ron was moving them to cool box, pantry or oven as seemed appropriate.
“Oooh, chestnut stuffing,” Ginny sighed, sniffing at one container.
“Yes, Mum’s done us proud,” Bill smiled. “She said if it’s going to be Sirius’ last Christmas she wants him to have a proper dinner – not rat like last year.”
“Pay attention,” Snape demanded. They all turned to face him and Ron hastily stifled a little squawk of laughter. “The subject of this…exercise will be waking shortly,” Snape continued, his voice only slightly muffled by his long white beard, “and it is important that we make it as easy as possible for him to believe in this…farce. It is imperative that everybody does their utmost to partake of what is so sickeningly known as Christmas spirit to enable him to maintain his fantasy and so I have prepared another similar potion for each of you that will allow you to share his experience to a certain extent while still remaining cognisant of our true purpose.”
“Which means,” Dumbledore added happily, “that if you drink the stuff in the bottles you’ll see what Sirius sees.”
The phials were handed out and the contents consumed.
“Since we really don’t want to waste the whole day,” Snape added, “Sirius will be on an accelerated time scheme so don’t be surprised if he suddenly decides its three in the afternoon and then skips on to bed time … assuming, that is, that he survives that long. Now, be quiet and listen.”
They obediently fell silent, apart from Dumbledore who was quietly and enjoyably humming “White Christmas” and waving his wand at the windows which had developed a good coating of facsimile hoar frost.
From upstairs they heard a thump and a curse, then a glad voice called, “Merry Christmas, Moony.”

*

Sirius stood up incautiously and paid the price by cracking his head against a rafter. Not a promising start to what he knew to be his last day on earth but that was no reason to be miserable. If he was to die today, around tea-time by choking on a turkey bone, there was no reason why he shouldn’t live life to the full until that point! Shuddering at the bite of the cold air he hastily snatched up his robe and shrugged it on then dragged a package out from under his bed. The door to Remus room was only a step or two away.
“Merry Christmas, Moony!” he said as he plumped down on the edge of the bed and pulled the covers back from Remus shoulders. “Come on, wake up.”
“I am awake,” Remus said mildly and shifted over to make some space. “What? Presents already?” he said but looked pleased, nevertheless. He accepted the heavy package that Sirius laid across his lap and Sirius smiled and leaned back against the headboard beside him.
“Go on, open it,” he ordered.
Remus eyed Sirius a little nervously. He had taken his own batch of potion a few moments previously and was slightly appalled at just how real everything seemed to be. There was a distinct chill in the air, the sky, through the dormer window was overcast and heavy with the threat of bad weather and, although the package was insubstantial, it looked heavy and showed every sign of Sirius’ characteristic over-kill style of gift wrapping. “I have something for you as well,” he said and passed Sirius the small package that he had been instructed to prepare. It doesn’t matter what’s in it, Dumbledore had told them all when he briefed them, because Sirius will see what he expects to see.
Remus made unwrapping motions with his hands and the package opened with eerie ease – Sirius-wrapped gifts tended to need more force, either a carefully applied severing spell or the carving knife. Sirius was also busy untying the string around Remus package and Remus had half an eye on him wondering what on earth Sirius would have expected as a gift from him…he feared that it would be something prosaic like socks. Then the last fold of ghostly paper gave beneath his fingers and he glanced down automatically.
“Good…grief,” he breathed and ran reverend fingers over the calf bindings of the book exposed. The Gestae Manibus of Iolo Ddu, written in Latin but with Welsh annotations in the author’s own hand. He had first heard of the book twenty years before and had spent five years and all his savings in tracking down an incomplete transcription that had proved to have the all important section on herbal treatments to ameliorate the worst effects of werewolf transformations missing.
“Oh, Sirius,” he said turning to face his friend. The shoulder against his own shrugged a little but Sirius face was shining with glee as he drew something small from the box he was holding. “Hell, Moony,” he whooped. “Where did you find this? I thought they’d stopped making them years ago.” Remus couldn’t see what it was he was holding but was in any case too overcome to try.
“Sirius,” he said, lifting the book, “I don’t know what to say…”
“Say nothing then,” Sirius suggested, gravely. His face had sobered and he was turning the little object over and over in his hands. Now Remus recognised it as a coin – a base metal token given away with Whizzcrisp breakfast cereal years ago to commemorate the various Quidditch Cup Finals. He vaguely remembered giving one to Sirius early in their first year, one that completed the set – probably the first gift he had ever given him. Perhaps it had meant more to him than Remus had guessed.
Sirius smiled wryly, almost mesmerised by the bright little disc of metal. “I’m glad you like it, Ree,” he murmured, the use of Remus’ schoolboy nickname odd upon adult lips. “You know…I don’t think I’ve ever told you how much your friendship has meant to me and I just want you to know…well…Remus, I…” He stopped speaking and there was the kind of agonised pause that always develops when an Englishman tries to express any emotion stronger than friendship. Sirius flushed and took a deep breath but Remus, agonisingly aware as Sirius was not of the half dozen people downstairs surely avidly listening to their conversation, interrupted him.
“Yes,” he said, smiling a little wistfully, “me, too. Thank you, Padfoot. This is …. a princely gift. I can’t wait to read it.”
“Hey, you’re not spending the day reading,” Sirius protested.
“Certainly not,” Remus agreed. “Don’t you remember – we have guests coming to join us and they will be here very soon!”
Sirius looked confused for a moment then grinned. “Harry?” he asked hopefully. “Brilliant! And who else? No, let me guess. Ron because Harry doesn’t go anywhere without Ron if he can help it and Hermione to add a little class. Hell, Ree, she’s growing up fast, that little lady…”
“Sirius,” Remus hissed but Sirius grinned unrepentantly.
“Don’t worry, Ree,” he said. “I know she’s off limits but a man can look can’t he?”