the mad extrapolations of a hopeless fangirl
I 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.![[profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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?)
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But, yes, good theory and I'll be looking for him here too.
(Teenaged Sirius?
Did you drool over the utter HAWTness?)no subject
And I would have totally drooled if I'd seen more than a two-second glimpse of him. But he was WEARING A TIE. ♥
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Whatever the case, this post made me wonderfully cheerful. *clings to hope about Sirius* Yess...
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Um. Perhaps a large, friendly, bedraggled black dog will show up on your doorstep one of these days. And then you can be vindicated. And take out an ad in the Guardian asking for one R. J. Lupin, and whether or not he's missing anyone whose name rhymes with Shirius Shmack. (And I shall firmly believe that Remus reads the Guardian. Because it strikes me as being Remussy, and had a cool crossword.)
Speaking of crosswords, if said dog shows an undue interest in the crossword section of the newspaper, it is a sure sign. (Or if he tries to whack some alcohol.)
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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?
*sporfles* *dies*
These Sirius-lives entries of yours always bring out my inner crack-ficcer. I have half a dozen little snips of fic on my hard drive, with titles like 'Sirius and Da Vinci', 'Sirius in Windermere' (He was. HE WAS. I swear.), 'Sirius in 21st Century India, Exceedingly Confused'...! (And, of course, temporal-instability!Sirius (http://ressie-noldo.livejournal.com/66603.html?nc=14).)
</fanramble>
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Or perhaps I should get a crossword printed on a t-shirt. *ponders* Actually, that would make a nice t-shirt regardless of whether large black dogs jumped at me or not.
And the inner crack-ficcer I didn't know I had is coming out and making me want to write...strange things. Now if only my inner Bob Dylan fiend would come out again, as it would be considerably more useful. I keep getting scraps of conversation, but not much else. *headdesk*
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I WANT SIRIUS TO HAUNT ME, DARN IT. Though I do seem to be seeing an awful lot of black dogs about, but none of them really look Padfootish enough.
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Or the veil permanently unaged him to his mental age.
*snerk* No, actually, that would be a great theory. It doesn't explain why he's in America, unless the Ministry uses the curtain as a secret portal to America so they can...um...shop at Hot Topic? *imagines punk-goth!Cornelius Fudge* Er. Never mind. Anyway, Sirius goes through Secret America Curtain, and the Ministry won't let him come back because...er...the Secret America Curtain is illegal?
Eurgh. My mind hurts from hypothesising so early in the evening. (Really--sometimes I can't think at all until nine or ten at night. Soon afterwards, I am forced to betake myself to bed. This explains why I never get anything done.)