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Somebody was at her door.
Again.
She did not have to open it to know who was doing the knocking.
"I told you to leave me alone, Sirius," she called out, for the third time that hour. He had first tried to get her attention and been denied quite gently, but by the third time, Gwen was growing impatient. She threw a book at the door in the hopes that her resistance would stick this time. "I don't want to talk."
"Did you just throw a book at me?" he demanded, voice breathy with disbelief as he wrenched her door open. "Are you mad? What if that had been my face, Gwendolyn?"
"Get out of my room."
"You look like hippogriff shit."
She rolled over on her bed and ignored him, though perhaps he was right, curling her legs into herself and stuffing a pillow over her head to block out his obnoxious voice. Her guard only lasted for a moment as Sirius crossed the room, and, too, the pillow was wrenched away, landing across the room with the strewn book.
Sirius looked furious.
"You hated me for so long," Gwen reminded him. "Can't we go back to that?"
He crossed his arms, resolute. "Not if I'm going to be maid of honour."
"Get OUT."
"You hurt James's feelings," he said, still glaring down at her, firm grey gaze penetrating her broken hazel. She couldn't remember a time she'd seen him so angry. "He told me what happened. You were a right bitch, Gwen."
She rolled over again, and his glare was met with a furious head of dirty blonde hair.
"Why the hell are you telling me this?" she asked, finally, voice muffled by her pillows. "You don't think I know?"
"I know you know," he said, calmly. "I wanted to get my point across. That I'm very cross with you and will be for the unforeseen future until you pull yourself together and go apologize to him."
"I don't frankly give a damn," Gwen replied bitterly. "Why should I care you're angry?"
Sirius rolled his eyes. "Because. I may be very upset with you, but James isn't."
That, indeed, did the trick: Gwen's head picked up and she peered back over her shoulder at Sirius, confusion written over her face, lips parting in skepticism.
"I know," he continued with a hefty sigh, "I think it's mental, too. He should be right pissed with you. But he just keeps insisting you didn't mean it, that he's the one that stepped on some toes. He's upset with himself. Not you."
