Chapter Text
It had been about a few months since Cedric got petrified. School was almost over. Dumbledore was gone, for the time being anyway. Sloane stood in the astronomy tower. The twins had told her about it, back in her first year. After she told them she liked going somewhere secluded and quiet with open windows when she was upset, or sad.
They hadn't know she liked it for smoking.
Again, she didn't like smoking per se, she just didn't know how else to relive stress, and drinking was honestly her only other option. And she was not about to become an alcoholic. She saw how it could hurt not only the consumer, but the people around the consumer. At least smoking only hurt the person doing it.
She had gotten the pack from one of the seventh year Slytherins. She didn't tell them why she needed them. They didn't ask.
They gave her a look.
But they didn't ask.
Thats something she loved the most about Slytherins. They would do whatever you needed from them (Under the right conditions of course) and not ask a single question. Her kind of people.
She supposes the hat had put her in the right house.
But she'd never tell Tom or Draco that.
She sighed, letting out a puff of smoke. staring up at the stars. She wonders why her dad ever smoked. There were a few pictures of him holding cigarets. it could have been for the same reasons as her. But he also could have just done it because he liked it. Or wanted to look cool. Which, he did look cool. There wasn't a single picture he looked un cool in. Always laughing with his friends, doing something dangerous or stupid.
Or both, more often.
She reached into her pocket, pulling out her favorite picture of him, one she had gotten from the Potters.
The four boys were outside, under a tree. the Hogwarts castle in the background of the photo. There was a red and gold blanket under them, books were strewn around. James was catching and releasing a snitch, Remus was reading an essay Sirius had written up, clearly not impressed by it. Sirius was lying down, smiling like he hadn't a care in the world, a cigaret in his hands. And Peter, a boy who reminded Sloane of Harrys friend Neville, was smiling at his friends, butter beer in hand, talking with his hands as though he were reciting something he found amazing.
Sirius, in Sloane's eyes, looked just like her in this photo.
His hair was half down, falling against in his shoulders, the other half up in a bun, held together by his wand. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, showing off the tattoos he had on his arms, though James told her he would magic them on, since his mother would have never approved.
Jame's mother. Not Sirius's. No, Sirius didn't care much what his mother thought.
Sighing out another puff she stared at the photo, smiling softly at the image of her father. She liked this version of him much more than the one the other wizards had painted. Not the cold hearted murderer who not only betrayed his friends, but killed one of them.
No she liked the one of her father in this photo. The version that didn't care for homework, and called the boys around him his brothers. The version she could relate to. Because, according to James, Sirius hadn't had a great home life either. He too left to live with people who actually cared for him. Granted, he lasted in his home than she did.
He was so much stronger than her. He probably could have stopped the basilisk from hurting his friends. He could have stopped that innocent man whose name she could never remember, from going to Azkaban
-her heart broke at the though of another innocent being sent to that horrible place-
He would have. . .he would be able to admit how he felt for people.
He wouldn't have run off. He wouldn't have acted like nothing had happened. Pretended his heart hadn't broken for a fraction of a second. because he would have known how he felt. He wouldn't have been oblivious until it was too late.
Not that it mattered any more. It was the least of Sloane's worries. The Basilisk was still out there. People were still being petrified. Ginny was still. . .well she wasn't sure. She started to watch the girl, after harry was in the hospital wing. She never really ate. She acted scared most times, and was always looking around, as though she worked someone might pop out of no where.
Not to mention Tom was being weird. he hardly ever talked. Hardly made himself known. It was odd. It worried Sloane. Because what could be happening? She felt like slowly, everything was trying to fall apart, and like she was meant to hold the pieces in place before they could hit the floor.
She was tired. Thus, the cigarette.
Another puff blown out.
It's just a cigarette. It can't be that bad.
It's just a cigaret, like her father used to do. It's only every so often.
She can stop when she wants.
Another puff.
It's just a cigaret.
Trust her. She can't can stop when she wants.
lala. . .lalalalal. . . .lala. . .lalalala. . .