The HMS STFU - More fic - I should probably get some sleep soon, shouldn't I?

[notmonkey]

Current Music:	Arooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!!!
Subject:	More fic - I should probably get some sleep soon, shouldn't I?
Time:	03:49 am
Current Mood:	Snarl

Title: The Curse Of The Werepoodle
Fandom: Harry Potter
Fic: Ariana Black
Prompt: #45 Moon
Word Count: 1287
Rating: PG13 - strong language and violence
Summary: What really happens when 'Uncle Remus' comes to play.
Author's notes: I first encountered Ariana Black via Hyde and Mervin's pant-wettingly funny sporkings on their site and to this day she remains one of my 'favourite' Sues. She's just so stoooopid.

“So, let me get this straight, Harry,” Sirius Black said, one moonlit night in August. “I’ve been exonerated from my alleged role in your parents’ murder?”

“Yep.”

“And Voldemort is still at large?”

“Yeah,” said Harry. “But he doesn’t actually do anything. He occasionally takes a hostage and does a bit of silent movie villain moustache twirling…”

“Does he have a moustache?”

“No, but he does it anyway.”

Sirius frowned. “That must look really stupid.”

“It does.”

Sirius leaned his head on the cool marble of the mantelpiece in an attempt to quash the confusion that felt as though it was overheating his brain irreparably. Strange things like this were always happening to him. If it wasn’t huge-boobed, violet-eyed witches with tresses of blackest midnight threatening him with paternity suits (He was sure he’d remember if he’d had sexual relations with a creature resembling a cross between a blow up doll and Bambi.) then he was being divested of clothes and invited to hang out (literally) with a bunch of pretentious, crap-spouting hippies who called themselves druids. He was sure none of this was right. He could never quite rid himself of the conviction that he should actually be dead, which would be a blessed relief compared to some of the crap he was regularly subjected to.

“Right…” he said, slowly, trusting his eighteen year old godson to make some sense of this mess. “So now I have a niece?”

“Ariana, yes.” Harry pointed to a dark haired teenage girl who was face down, fast asleep in the lap of a slumbering Neville Longbottom. “She falls asleep a lot. I think she might be…what do you call it? Narcoleptic.”

Sirius grasped the girl’s hair and lifted her face from Longbottom’s lap. Her mouth was open and she was drooling slightly, but she remained fast asleep despite her hair being pulled. “She doesn’t look anything like Regulus,” he said.

“She’s your sister’s daughter,” explained Harry.

“I don’t have a sister, Harry. There was just Reg, and he’s dead.”

“She says you did,” said Harry. “Called Tabitha. She was a squib and apparently a right moany mare about it.”

“Oh fuck,” said Sirius, replacing the girl’s head in Longbottom’s lap. She giggled vacantly in her sleep but continued to snooze. “This isn’t going to be good, is it? What the hell am I doing with not only Rip Van Gobjob here hanging around the gaff but her bloody boyfriend as well?”

Harry shrugged. “We all hang out here.”

“Don’t you have anything better to do?”

“No.”

“So let me get this straight – I have this surprisingly nice big house and basically you and your mates come round, bugger about, fail to do the washing up and just generally freeload and treat the place like a hotel?”

“Pretty much, yeah.”

Sirius blinked. “I think I preferred the paternity suits and the hairy hippies. At least there there was the suggestion that I might actually be getting a shag out of it. Did I really say ‘treat the place like a hotel’ just then?”

“Yep.”

“Help me, Harry. I’m turning into someone’s Mum.”

“Remus does the washing up sometimes,” said Harry, unhelpfully.

“Remus?” said Sirius. “Is he here too?”

“Yeah. He’s asleep too.”

“In the cellar?” asked Sirius, with a rising sense of panic.

“No. In his room.”

Sirius pointed to the window, drawing Harry’s gaze to the round, bright full moon that hung heavy in the summer night sky. Harry’s mouth opened and shut a few times without sound and then he foolishly said; “Oh.”

“I’m hoping,” Sirius said, rendered sarcastic by what was rapidly turning from panic into utter bowel-loosening fear. “That you’re about to tell me that his room has a solid metal door with at least forty locks on it?”

“No, but it’s got the en-suite bathroom. It’s very nice, actually.”

The girl woke up just then. It was a strange awakening. She disengaged herself from Longbottom’s lap, yawned langourously for about five seconds like a fairytale princess and then bounced to perky attention like a jack in the box.

“Oh, is it time for Uncle Remus to transform now, Uncle Sirius?” she lisped, in a voice so sweet it would make your pancreas leap from your body, scuttle under your bed and gibber for a week. “It’s so much fun when he’s a wolf, isn’t it? He’s just like an adorable little poodle. I know he doesn’t mean us any harm because I can read his feelings with my Empath Power…”

A series of snarls and an unholy howl from upstairs that suggested that if Remus was feeling anything at the present time it was a combination of pain, rage and ravenous carnivorous bloodlust.

“Harry,” said Sirius. “Wake the others and tell them to lock themselves in the cellar. Now.”

“Right,” Harry said, apparating upstairs. There was a sound that sounded a lot like an angry werewolf hurling itself against the locked door of an en-suite bathroom.

Sirius woke Longbottom and thrust him, still half asleep, down the cellar stairs. The girl, however, wouldn’t stop wittering long enough to move.

“…and he was ever so helpful with setting out my flower beds – for our Friendship Garden, Uncle Sirius, you know? It’s called our Friendship Garden because every flower has been planted by me and my friends who have bought so much love into my sad, shy, orphaned life…”

“Yeah, yeah…fantastic…” said Sirius, trying to usher the girl towards the cellar stairs. He was about to be torn apart by a werewolf. He didn’t want to spend his last moments on earth vomiting himself empty as well.

“…and they all represent the different personalities. Forget-Me-Nots for Hermione, cause she has such a good memory, poppies for Ginny, because she’s got red hair…” She checked them off on her fingers. Sirius heard the bathroom door give way.

The girl’s eyes turned misty and she touched her finger’s to her temples. “Oh,” she said, wonderingly. “Uncle Sirius – I’m sensing a very strange feeling coming from you…it’s almost as if I can smell your fear.”

“I’m not surprised,” said Sirius. “I think I’ve just shat myself. HARRY!”

“Down here!” Harry called from the cellar. “Everyone’s here. Get down here now!”

“I’m trying! How do you shut this thing up?”

“It doesn’t – unless it’s asleep!”

“Bollocks,” said Sirius, reaching for his wand. He’d have to stun her.

But it was too late. The bedroom door caved in. Remus came barrelling down the stairs. “LOCK YOURSELVES IN!” Sirius shouted.

“But what about…?”

“LOCK IT!” Sirius screamed, as Remus stuck his huge, hairy, fang-toothed head around the living room door. His muzzle was creased in a slow building snarl, revealing grizzled black gums and his great werewolf maw exuded breath that would make a skunk run in the opposite direction. Werewolves being werewolves, they were never in what you could call ‘good moods’, but escaping from an en-suite bathroom had clearly done nothing to improve Remus’ temper.

He growled, slowly and malevolently, deep in the back of his throat.

Sirius reached for the girl. He supposed that he might be able to apparate them both into the cellar then come back, transform and try to do his best to subdue Remus, but the girl had slipped from his grasp and skipped blithely up to the werewolf.

“Hello Uncle Remus!” she chirruped, clasping her hands together in glee. “Oh, I’m so happy you’ve come to play with us!”

Remus’ snarl broke into a roar and he lunged forward and took her head clean off with a single bite. Sirius was sort of sorry, but had to reach the conclusion that she hadn’t been using it anyway and probably would be better off without it.

comments: Poke a delusional shipper

April 17th, 2006

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