Attempted suicide. [open]

[newperson]

Sirius Black took two steps into the dimmed room that was the library, sharpened quill already in hand, and honestly considered suicide.

When was the last time he'd actually stepped foot into this place? Second year? First, maybe? And it didn't seem to have changed at all in the lengthy span of time. The set-up was the exact same as he remembered it: long tables scattered around the room (though they were far enough away from one another to discourage any form of talking), stiff and uncomfortable chairs, piles upon piles of books that would probably eat you if you got too close-- literally. It was almost silent, apart from the flipping of pages, stiffled coughs, and the librarian's heels clicking on the floor as she stalked up and down aisles. Hell, even the smell was the same: the musty scent of old, moldy books and the librarian's over-applied perfume rushed to greet him almost immediately, and Sirius had to choke back a gag. When properly aimed, one quick stab to the throat could probably be enough to save him from the torture chamber that lay before his eyes.

Damn professors, assigning a paper that couldn't be invented. Most of the time, when faced with the absolute necessity of completing a homework task, he asked Remus to help him write it, or at least mention a few key points he should add in, and he went from there to add fluff for length. Or, when the boy absolutely refused to help out for fear of Sirius' brain being rendered completely useless (or when he was suffering from his 'furry little problem', the poor bloke), the dark-haired boy would crack open his text book for one of the first times that year and attempt to focus long enough to understand some of it.

But no. The Herbology professor had decided to give them a research project, of sorts, by assigning them a plant they would have to take care of, and they were forced to write an essay demonstrating the proper care of it beforehand. The problem? She made certain that none of the assigned bloody weeds were in the text books they were required to have for class. The result? Sirius was forced to actually... work.

Standing in the doorway to the eerily-quiet library, blocking anyone who actually intended on studying from entering, he considered his options. He could go with the suicide route; his quill was looking almost tauntingly sharp. Would it go through his neck cleanly enough? It would probably cause a bit of blood, which, in turn, would probably give the overly-cautious librarian a heart attack. It would be hilarious to watch; too bad he wouldn't be around to witness it. And on that note, what would the rest of the Marauders do without him? They would spend months, years clad only in black, speaking only about how perfect he was, and how they could've done something to prevent his tragic, early death. They'd probably have a statue erected in front of Hogwarts in his honor, made of pure gold, and people would sob at the sight of it, for it would invoke painful memories of how he'd been the best person the school had seen. In fact, he wouldn't be surprised if it became some sort of mandatory class for all first years-- the study of Sirius-ology, for everyone would strive to live up to the high standards of pranking he would leave behind. And, while all of that was good and well, he wasn't willing to put his friends through that sort of anguish.

He smiled to himself as he stood, amazed by how selfless he could be. Then frowned again in the next moment, as he realized that he was left with no other option but to sit himself down at one of the torturous tables and actually attempt to do something... productive with his time. The funeral march ran through his mind as he did just that, dropping his school bag at his feet with an unceremonious crash (earning him a stern glare from the librarian herself). But, instead of grabbing a book and working so that he could escape as soon as possible, he lay his head down on the cold wood of the table and allowed himself to sulk quietly.

[Remus John Lupin]

Remus was well on his way of wrapping up the first draft of his essay, to be honest. He didn't like postponing things and had started gathering information the day the assignment had been given; he knew that, a day or two after the class, the other students in his year would most likely raid the library and there would be little left about herbology at all. So he had gathered his information (carefully documenting the books and pagenumbers he'd gathered it from, in case he wanted to reread a particular source) and had started writing this morning.
Writing the actual thing was the most time consuming of all (especially as Remus read rather fast). After reading his sources, he 'd first invent an outline, then he'd write the body paragraphs, re-read them, re-write them and then he was about half way through (and his hand would hurt - it was silly that no matter how much you wrote your hand would never get used to it, somehow). Either way, before starting on the introducti0n and conclusion and then, after all that, copying the whole thing so it was actually legible, Remus had decided to take a short break. Werewolf metabolism required him to eat more than regular humans. He usually didn't, really, but he had to admit he was hungry, so he had at least gone to lunch to get a few bites.

While walking back into the library, he was pondering about whether to turn the whole thing into an actual essay or more of a manual on how to take care of the plant he'd been assigned, and he almost passed his friend at the table without noticing him. Thing was, though, that Remus could never pass by any of his closest friends without not noticing them - they were so immensely close that the wolf immediately picked them out of a crowd when he entered a room, so of course he'd notice Sirius when he was sitting a mere armslength away from where he was standing.
Sirius didn't seem to notice him, though, and Remus had to hold in a chuckle. The poor thing really didn't like libraries, did he? Lily had often scorned Remus for helping his friends out with their homework, telling him that they were only taking advantage of him, but seeing his friend like this, with his head miserably on the table, almost made Remus feel sorry for not helping him.

Sitting down next to Sirius, he poked his friend's shoulder, softly muttering: "Wakey, wakey, Pads." Getting out leaves of parchments with scribbles of information on it, he added softly: "Unless you don't want me to tell you which books you need so you can leave as soon as possible, of course - in that case you can go back to sleep."