Hypnosis - Sirius Black x OC

A day to remember

Regulus Black, a fourth year Slytherin, was creeping through the halls at night, trying to find a place to smoke.

he had tried the astronomy tower, and was met with two Ravenclaws doing things he would much rather forget, and he even tried empty classrooms, with no luck.

So that's how the boy found himself making his way through the hallway, the pack of cigarettes hidden in his jacket, heading towards the bathroom commonly known as Moaning Myrtles.

He just hoped the ghost would shut up for one night.

He was expecting a lot of things by trying to smoke in the ghost's bathroom, but what he wasn't expecting was Florence Monet, laying in the middle of the floor covered in her own blood her eyes closed.

The boy looked around quickly to make sure no one was around, running down beside her and dropping on his knees.

His hands were shaky, heart was beating was to fast, as he held his hand to her neck to check her pulse.

"No no no," he murmured, as his hand felt for nothing. He tried to check her chest, and let out a sob before sprinting out of the bathroom to find his head of house.
_

Professor Slughorn was trying to do a muggle crossword when he got the knock on his door.

Years later if you asked him about this night his hands would begin to shake and he would have to drink a glass of Firewhiskey to calm his nerves.

He was expecting a lot of things when he opened the door to find the youngest Black, perhaps a homework question or a suggestion for extra credit reading, but what he wasn't expecting was for the boy to hold up a bloody hand and tell him in a shaky voice that he found one of his best students, a prefect none the less, was dead.

The face of the Black child, and the way his tone trembled with so much pain was something the Professor would never forget .

His face instantly paled and in bunny slippers and his sleeping robe, he walked down the hallway as fast as he humanely good, Regulus choking down sobs behind him.

He tossed the door open, taking in the sight of the teenage girl.

Her body was so small, face so innocent and peaceful, the youthful glow really emphasizing the fact that the child in the floor was in fact a child.

The tragedy of a life taken to young is something of the worst aches in the universe. Someone who had a future of memories, someone who had barely begun to actually live, was gone. A tragedy, in every definition of the word.

Slughorn rushed to the girls side, taking in the bloody cuts, and red shirt, instantly summoning a stretcher and speeding her off to Madam Pomfrey.

"Will she be okay?" Regulus asked in a whisper.

"I don't know," was all the Professor said, staring at the outline of blood where she was laying in the floor.

_

The news spread like wildfire the next morning. Had Regulus' told anyone?

Not exactly, but when he came back to the common room covered in blood and tears, he may have let something slip in grief to Nott and Rosier who had been sitting up late in the common room.

Naturally, they took it and spread the news to everyone they could:

Florence Monet was found dead last night in the moaning Myrtle bathroom.

It was something that even those students she had never talked to would remember twenty years from now.

They would remember that moment at breakfast the morning the news was leaked that Sirius Black had a break down, punching his best friend, James Potter in the face before running out of the great hall.

They would remember James Potter covering in blood and tears getting a hug from a sobbing Proffesor Mcgonagall as Remus Lupin ran out of the great hall, tears running down his face chasing after Sirius.

They would Remember Mallory Sunny, the one who was also so nice and sweet yelling at James at the top of her lungs before collapsing to the ground in defeat.

They would remember Dylan Cross loosing his shit on Professor Dumbledore, before being physically dragged out of the hallway by some of his fellow Hufflepuffs.

But most of all, they would remember the sick and twisted laughter coming from the Slytherin table as they watched grieving people get the news one of their best friends death.

The taunts, the smirks, the whispers were enough to make even those who didn't particularly like
Florence, want to yell at them in her defence.

But of course, they wouldn't remember the night like Madam Pomfrey.

Madam Pomfrey who was brought a girl an inch from death covered in her own blood because of her own doings.

Madam Pomfrey who had to spend her whole night, mixing just the right amount of ashwood to create the perfect potion for her patient.

They wouldn't remember the stress that she felt, or the way this might would forever haunt her as nothing she did seemed to be enough.

They wouldn't remember the tremble in her hand as she wrote the name Florence Monet in shaky letters on a certificate of death.

And they certainly wouldn't remember that as the Madam Pomfrey closed the window, sending off the girls death certificate to the ministry that morning, the way the girls eyes opened and she sat straight up gasping for breath.

Authors note:

Lol y'all this chapter is like hella short but i wanted to leave it in a dramatic cliff hanger because Imma hoe for drama.