Mischief Unmanaged

November 17th, 1971

The bitter chill of November had deepened, leaving the castle’s stone walls perpetually cold to the touch. The boys had settled into a routine—classes, studying (or pretending to study, in James and Sirius’s case), and sneaking in mischief whenever the opportunity arose. The prank war with Snape had grown into something of an unspoken tradition, with each side attempting to outdo the other in increasingly creative ways.

Remus had warned them early on not to push it too far.

“We’re toeing a line,” he’d said one night while they plotted their next move. “You don’t want this to get ugly.”

But James and Sirius, in their typical fashion, had laughed it off.

“Snivellus can handle it,” Sirius had said confidently, waving a hand. “And if he can’t, that’s not our problem.”

Peter, ever the eager follower, had chimed in with a chuckle, and even Remus couldn’t suppress a small smile.

Now, though, he wished he’d pressed harder.

It started as a normal Tuesday. Potions with the Slytherins, a dreary hour spent attempting to brew a Swelling Solution under Slughorn’s lax supervision. Snape, as usual, spent the lesson glaring daggers at their table, his dark eyes narrowing every time Sirius or James muttered something under their breath and smirked.

Remus kept his head down, focusing on his potion. He could feel Snape’s hatred radiating across the room like a tangible force, and it unsettled him.

After class, the boys headed for the Great Hall, laughing and joking as they always did.

“Did you see Snape’s face when his cauldron started bubbling over?” James crowed, slinging an arm around Peter’s shoulders.

“I don’t know how you kept a straight face while adding that extra dash of powdered horn,” Sirius said, grinning. “Brilliant touch.”

Remus rolled his eyes. “You do realize he’s going to retaliate, right? He’s not exactly the forgive-and-forget type.”

“Let him try,” Sirius said with a shrug.

The retaliation came later that afternoon. The Gryffindor boys had just finished Herbology and were heading back to the castle when it happened.

As they passed a quiet corridor on the first floor, a loud BANG echoed through the air, and suddenly the floor beneath them became slick as ice.

Peter yelped as he lost his footing, crashing to the ground. James and Sirius stumbled but managed to keep their balance, while Remus grabbed the wall for support.

“What the—” James started, but his words were cut off as a torrent of sticky, foul-smelling green slime poured from the ceiling, coating all four of them in seconds.

Sirius wiped his face, his expression turning murderous. “Snape,” he growled.

Sure enough, Snape appeared at the far end of the corridor, flanked by a couple of Slytherins. His wand was out, and his face was twisted into a smug smirk.

“Not so clever now, are you, Black?” Snape sneered.

“Real mature, Snivellus,” Sirius shot back, his voice venomous.

James stepped forward, his wand already raised, but before he could say anything, a second wave of slime erupted from the walls, knocking him off his feet.

“Oops,” Snape said, his tone mockingly innocent. “Didn’t see that coming.”

The situation might have been laughable—another prank in their ongoing war—but then Snape took it a step too far.

He pointed his wand directly at Remus, who was struggling to free his foot from the sticky mess on the floor.

“Let’s see how the perfect friend of Black and Potter likes this,” Snape said coldly.

Before anyone could react, Snape muttered a spell under his breath. A burst of red light shot from his wand, striking Remus square in the chest.

Remus stumbled backward, clutching his chest as a searing pain spread through him. He collapsed to the ground, gasping for air.

“Remus!” James shouted, rushing to his side.

Sirius whirled on Snape, his face a mask of fury. “What the hell did you do?”

Snape’s smirk faltered, and for a moment, he looked uncertain. “It was just… it wasn’t supposed to—”

But before he could finish, Sirius lunged at him. It took both James and Peter to hold him back, and even then, he struggled against their grip, shouting a string of curses that echoed down the corridor.

“You’d better run, Snape,” James said darkly, his voice low and dangerous. “Now.”

Snape hesitated, but the look on Sirius’s face must have convinced him. He turned and fled, his Slytherin cronies scrambling after him.

Remus was still on the ground, his breaths shallow and ragged.

“Are you all right?” Peter asked, his voice high-pitched with panic.

“I’m fine,” Remus managed, though he clearly wasn’t.

“You’re not fine,” James said, helping him to his feet. “We’re taking you to Madam Pomfrey.”

“No,” Remus said quickly, shaking his head. “I don’t need the hospital wing. Just… just get me back to the common room.”

James and Sirius exchanged a look, but they didn’t argue. Together, they helped Remus limp back to Gryffindor Tower, Peter trailing nervously behind them.

Once they were safely inside the boys’ dormitory, Sirius rounded on Remus while the other were busy with something else.

“What was that spell? Did it… did it mess with your—”

“No,” Remus said firmly, cutting him off. “It wasn’t anything to do with the full moon. Just a hex gone wrong.”

Sirius didn’t look convinced, but he let it drop once James and Peter’s attention returned.

“Snape’s gone too far this time,” James said, pacing the room. “We can’t just let him get away with it.”

“He won’t,” Sirius said, his voice deadly calm. “He’s going to pay for this.”

“Maybe we should let it go,” Remus said quietly, sinking onto his bed.

James and Sirius both turned to stare at him.

“Let it go?” Sirius repeated, his voice incredulous. “He hexed you, Rems! He could’ve done serious damage!”

“I don’t want this to escalate,” Remus said, meeting their gazes. “It’s not worth it.”

“It is to me,” Sirius muttered, but he didn’t push the issue further.

That night, as the others finally fell asleep, Remus lay awake, staring at the ceiling. The pain from the hex had faded, but the weight of what had happened lingered.

He wasn’t sure what bothered him more—the fact that Snape had gone too far, or the fact that part of him still felt like he deserved it.