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ontologyI do believe that I am being haunted by the ghost of Sirius Black.
Of course, that would mean that he is actually dead, and I am still clinging to the hope that he is simply lost, hiding, or stuck. Or something. In any case, he is trying to contact me. I am sure of this.
In conclusion: yes, he isn't dead. But why is he contacting me? I mean, me, of all people! I can't even drive! If I write about him, it will always be angsty! I own a cat! I don't have enough money to ship him off to England where he belongs and hopefully has god-grandchildren. Or something. (Furthermore, what the bloody plague is he doing in my small, insignificant Pennsylvania town? Twice?)
Of course, that would mean that he is actually dead, and I am still clinging to the hope that he is simply lost, hiding, or stuck. Or something. In any case, he is trying to contact me. I am sure of this.
Item I: The aforementioned Trader Joe's dog. I mean, really--if he weren't Sirius, why would he be hanging about at Trader Joe's? Sirius has taste, you know. And he looked at me. You know. Poor bloke.
Item II: "Stormy". I went with my father to the house of our friend Laura's son a few weeks ago. Said son has a digital recording studio, which is massively shiny and very professional and whatnot. Dad and Laura and several other people are part of a group of songwriters who meet semi-regularly to pass ideas about, attempt to get their songs out there, whether for them to sing or for other people, and generally hobnob in an artsy way. No one else showed up at what was supposed to be a meeting, so Dad and Laura and I sort of hung out for a bit while Laura's son wowed us with his shiny recording stuff and wedding photography. We also met his large black dog, who had been dubbed "Stormy". He was large and black and friendly, and he kept licking my wrist.ressie_noldo thinks he was making sure I wasn't a Death Eater. I believe that his "name" is Stormy because years ago, Laura's son and his wife found him sitting forlornly on their front porch in the middle of a thunderstorm. He was not wearing a collar, and nobody responded to the advertisments (because everybody lives in England, you prats!), so they kept him, and he's been trying to escape ever since. Or trying to re-unite himself with his now-split bodies, if you follow my theory. He somehow sensed that I might be able to help him, and attempted to speak with me, mostly by licking my wrists. Of course, Laura was terrifying him with a robotic monkey. Is Sirius afraid of monkeys? Was there a horribly backfired prank once upon a time involving monkeys, Snape, and a large quantity of bicycles? Will we ever know?
Item III: Today, Mum and the siblings and I were driving to the library. We passed a church where some function or another was being held. It was an odd time for a wedding or a funeral, so I have no idea what was up, but there were people milling about in suits and whatnot. As we were departing the grounds, I happened to glimpse out of the corner of my eye TEENAGED SIRIUS. I swear. He had long black hair. He was wearing a somewhat loosened tie. It was Sirius. It was. Don't look at me like that. I don't know what he's doing as a teenager thirty years after he's supposed to have been one. We don't know what sorts of mad things that curtain did to him. (I mean, really. Was it ever expressly stated that the curtain actually killed Sirius? NO. IT WAS NOT. It was implied. I don't know how likely this makes a teenaged Sirius wandering about in the twenty-first century--maybe he got some kind of funky Time-Turner which both made him younger and shot him forward into the future. *ponders*
Item II: "Stormy". I went with my father to the house of our friend Laura's son a few weeks ago. Said son has a digital recording studio, which is massively shiny and very professional and whatnot. Dad and Laura and several other people are part of a group of songwriters who meet semi-regularly to pass ideas about, attempt to get their songs out there, whether for them to sing or for other people, and generally hobnob in an artsy way. No one else showed up at what was supposed to be a meeting, so Dad and Laura and I sort of hung out for a bit while Laura's son wowed us with his shiny recording stuff and wedding photography. We also met his large black dog, who had been dubbed "Stormy". He was large and black and friendly, and he kept licking my wrist.
ressie_noldo thinks he was making sure I wasn't a Death Eater. I believe that his "name" is Stormy because years ago, Laura's son and his wife found him sitting forlornly on their front porch in the middle of a thunderstorm. He was not wearing a collar, and nobody responded to the advertisments (because everybody lives in England, you prats!), so they kept him, and he's been trying to escape ever since. Or trying to re-unite himself with his now-split bodies, if you follow my theory. He somehow sensed that I might be able to help him, and attempted to speak with me, mostly by licking my wrists. Of course, Laura was terrifying him with a robotic monkey. Is Sirius afraid of monkeys? Was there a horribly backfired prank once upon a time involving monkeys, Snape, and a large quantity of bicycles? Will we ever know?Item III: Today, Mum and the siblings and I were driving to the library. We passed a church where some function or another was being held. It was an odd time for a wedding or a funeral, so I have no idea what was up, but there were people milling about in suits and whatnot. As we were departing the grounds, I happened to glimpse out of the corner of my eye TEENAGED SIRIUS. I swear. He had long black hair. He was wearing a somewhat loosened tie. It was Sirius. It was. Don't look at me like that. I don't know what he's doing as a teenager thirty years after he's supposed to have been one. We don't know what sorts of mad things that curtain did to him. (I mean, really. Was it ever expressly stated that the curtain actually killed Sirius? NO. IT WAS NOT. It was implied. I don't know how likely this makes a teenaged Sirius wandering about in the twenty-first century--maybe he got some kind of funky Time-Turner which both made him younger and shot him forward into the future. *ponders*
In conclusion: yes, he isn't dead. But why is he contacting me? I mean, me, of all people! I can't even drive! If I write about him, it will always be angsty! I own a cat! I don't have enough money to ship him off to England where he belongs and hopefully has god-grandchildren. Or something. (Furthermore, what the bloody plague is he doing in my small, insignificant Pennsylvania town? Twice?)
