Unsure of what he had done, Sirius kept is mouth fixed shut. There had been one too many times when, as a younger and less experienced criminal genius, he had inadvertently given himself up for something he hadn’t been caught doing. He was not about to make that same mistake now he was an adult.
But then, Meadowes was yelling about something or other–a diary, which was quite useful information for the future–and waving some bit of parchment about.
“Your diary is a piece of parchment?” It was not likely to be the most helpful response, but Sirius had absolutely no intention of being helpful. He had simply been minding his own business in the library and waiting for Frank to finally confront Alice over why she had been spelling all his underwear to have dancing ducks on them (why Frank had believed it in the first place would have been a mystery had it not been for how desperately he wanted her to think about his underwear), when he had noticed the scrap on parchment on the floor by a table.
Curious, he had picked it up and given it a once over, and found it to be a poem someone had written. Not the sort he usually read–this one was far too sad, and it made his lips curl down as his brow furrowed–but it was lovely nonetheless.
A muggleborn must have written it, he thought. Muggles were always creating their own non-magical spells, and this one was almost as lovely as the ones he’d (secretly) picked up from a muggle bookstore during his last holidays in London.
The mystery poet had had familiar handwriting, though he hadn’t been able to place it. Their name had sat on the back of his tongue for what felt like an age before it slowly rolled forward, only to be knocked back by Alice’s laughter.
As he’d made his way toward Alice and (a now confused, pink, and slightly pathetic looking) Frank, he dropped the parchment off at the desk next to the one he’d found it sitting by. There were some kids there, so it was probably theirs anyway. A few jokes between Alice and Sirius, a low level hex from Frank, and another warning from Pince later, and he’d made his way back to the commonroom.
Not that any of that had anything to do with Meadowes, though.
“You might want some better security if you plan to write your inner thoughts on scrap parchment.” Really, what was she on about? “Wouldn’t want just anyone seeing who the future Mr. Meadowes is tipped to be, would you? Might skew the betting pool we have going.”
Something close to hesitation passed over Dorcas’ face as she stood there, suddenly hyper aware of how she must look to anyone who had dared remain behind. Suddenly she was unsure of herself, embarrassed, and maybe (dare she admit it?) just a little bit scared. But then Sirius opened his mouth again and every doubt she might have had erased itself in an instant.
“Don’t play games with me!” she snapped, raising her wand for emphasis. A threat, one Dorcas would follow through should Sirius decide to keep up the stupid act. “It’s a page from it, it was in there this morning!”
Well, it was probably in there. A lot of times Dorcas would write on whatever she could find when she was bored, or lost in thought. The pages of her diary were littered with little keepsakes and loose bits of parchment, pressed flowers and photographs from home. It wasn’t impossible that something had fallen out or gotten misplaced, but usually she was good about that sort of thing. Clearly Sirius was a thief.
And thieves deserved to be punished, did they not?
But no second curse came, leaving Dorcas standing there, torn. Every instinct had told her to find the culprit, to make him pay, and her anger had reigned supreme. But now...now she felt like hiding. She suddenly had the terrible urge to dash upstairs and hide her face for the rest of the school year and she didn’t know exactly why. Was it the fact that her secret writing had been discovered and read? Or that she had made such a fuss about it to begin with?
“Did you read it?” Her voice had gone from high in both pitch and volume to level, almost quiet. There was a steadiness that had not been there earlier, with perhaps the slightest bit of a falter somewhere in the middle. “Don’t lie to me, I know you did.”
It was probably just luck she had been so vague in her writing. The poem hadn’t even made sense when she read it back, and was far more ridiculous than she liked to admit. Sadness given physical form, or at least written form, she had thought. A ridiculous girl writing ridiculous things and nothing else.
“Why? Why take it? Did you want to humiliate me or were you just bored? This was private. No one was ever supposed to see it.”
