We'll Be Alright

“Four feet is just absurd!” Sirius sighs, holding up his one foot long page of progress so far. He lies on his back, holding a big hardback book over his head to lean his parchment against. Writing almost upside-down can't possibly be the most efficient way of writing at all, but Remus doubts that he'd get much work done if he was right side up anyway.

The end of year tests have arrived school-wide: the O.W.Ls going on for the fifth years, and the N.E.W.Ts for the seventh years. They've all been terribly on edge, made evident by the sudden outbursts in uncontrollable tears and/or red-hot anger, and by the three “everyone please calm down” speeches that Dumbledore has made this week alone.

While there's nothing as important as those kinds of tests going on for them, the first years are starting to be given assessments: sort-of projects as a showcase of the past year’s worth of work that don't want to be labeled as tests for fear of more student stress. While most of the assessments have been given in and around the same time (ridiculous, in Remus' opinion), Transfiguration is the one due the earliest: an essay on the importance of stance and wrist flexibility while casting.

When McGonagall assigned the essay back in late May, the class had been told that they had until mid June to complete it. See, had the requirements been something reasonable (maybe two little sheets of parchment, small writing and at least a little comprehensible- that sort of thing), Remus would have celebrated at the excessive time frame. That's actually what he and a few others did as McGonagall explained it, though they quickly silenced themselves and vowed to never make a sound out of turn again when the professor continued to say the essay was to total to four feet in parchment- hence Sirius' present frustration. Hence all their present frustration.

Essay assignments for older years, sure, Remus can get behind. They've all got more stamina in their big hands, and more brain power to not just be writing the same things over and over again just with different vocabulary. Being first years with none of said attributes though has made this exceptionally difficult, not at all helped by a sudden procrastination bug going around. So, by no fault of their own obviously, the boys are all sat cramming in as much work as possible the night before hand-in.

Everyone is bound to not have this done. Sure, they had over two weeks to get it done, but as far as Remus has checked, most haven't even made a dent in their first foot of writing, including him and his friends. And if everyone is nowhere near finished, McGonagall is going to have to give everyone an extension. She just has to.

The boys each sit someplace or another in their dorm: Remus and Peter at their respective desks, Romulus on his stomach on the floor by his bed, James leaning back against the door with his knees under his chin, and Sirius on his bed and half under the covers already.

“That's like a whole Remus long essay about how to properly bloody stand and hold a wand.” Sirius carries on. “You'd think I know how to hold this stupid stick by now.”

“I am not four feet tall.” Remus interjects, only partially offended and needing any excuse to slam his quill down and take a well-deserved hour long break for about ten minutes of dead-set, focused work, yielding maybe six or seven sentences.

“You know what I mean.” Sirius sighs at him. He puts his work down at the end of his bed, coldly discarded away because he couldn't care less about the topic, but gently enough to preserve what progress he's made in the last half hour. Remus is the same, half wanting to rip the dastardly thing to shreds, and half wanting to keep it under lock and key because God forbid anything happen to it now. A little bad work, he thinks, is better than handing in nothing at all.

He looks down on his own progress so far: just under six paragraphs making the same point over and over again, only using more and more synonyms as it carries on. He figures if he can squeeze out another two blocks of text, and write another eight paragraphs following the same waffling-on template for each of his next two points, he's pretty much sorted. Then, of course, if needed he can also write a little blurb at the back of his work, maybe even a little biography too because an absolute novel like this essay is going to be just needs a little ‘About The Author’ section.

It slightly daunts Remus that his first year is ending. It hasn't quite set in for him that only a year ago, he hadn't even seen Hogwarts with his own two eyes yet, or met any of his new friends; he didn't even know any of them existed and what they'd all soon have. He doesn't mourn what a boring life he was living before he met these guys, not one bit.

Too many first times squeezed into one year and now that he's almost climbed that first little step closer to graduation, Remus kind of wishes he'd cherished the time spent a little more although he's not completely sure how. Maybe spent a little less time bickering, maybe.

He flicks away his quill and a little ink splatters from it's tip onto the table, bound to leave a stain though it won't be too much of an eyesore- the wood is positively littered with scribbled in initials and hearts, and scribbled out initials in scribbled out hearts anyway. Remus wrote his name bang smack in the middle of the desk towards the start of the year, something he would later come to regret when he realised he looks so dreadfully lonely by himself surrounded by untouched and crossed out relationships, but relationships nonetheless.

He groans at Sirius.

“Romulus is the same height as me, y’know. Why don't you say it's a whole Romulus long?”

“Because he doesn't give as good reactions as you do.” Sirius responds smugly, earning a cheeky, “Exactly.” From a smirking Romulus.

“Besides,” Sirius continues. “Romulus is too wordy of a name,”

This vanishes Romulus' grin from his tired face.

“Too many syllables. I'm not bothered to say all of that every time I want to make fun of him. A blessing in disguise, when you really think about it.”

Romulus growls and brings himself up onto his hands and knees, crawling quickly enough to the foot of Sirius' bed. He goes for Sirius' compromised essay but Sirius is fast enough to snatch it clean out of Romulus' reach.

“Hey!”

Romulus crawls back towards his spot though he doesn't pick back up his quill. By now, James and Peter have also given up.

“I’m being serious, Romulus,” Sirius snickers. Real smart. “We need to give you a nickname or something because this is getting ridiculous.”

“I don't want a stupid nickname thank you, Padfoot.” Romulus spits, crossing his arms in a huff. But Sirius only (somehow) lengthens his ear-to-ear grin and leans forward on his hands in front of him.

“I love the name Padfoot. I sound like a big scary dog.” He defends himself.

“You do not. Padfoot sounds exactly like what it is- the cross between a huge wet blanket and a dumb dog with lead boots to make it stomp about.”

Sirius leans into the insult and looks at Romulus like how the cats do at the birds that fly by, or at peoples’ feet if ever they're bored. He drapes his hair over to partially cover his face and crawls towards the end of his bed in a prowl.

“Yeah- a dumb dog with big heavy shoes: all the better to stomp on you with.” Sirius continues his slow, threatening onslaught as Romulus shuffles backwards. James and Peter bang on the floor in a hollow and slightly out of sync drumroll, while Remus whistles a few, “Get him, Padfoot!”s like the proud owner of one of those big dogs in the park that the little dogs stay away from. He also hollers a few discouraging remarks Romulus' way too.

Sirius dives off his bed heavily onto the wooden ground. Though it absolutely must have, the boy acts like it didn't hurt his palms or his knees in the slightest and turns his attention to the (once thought to be) safe audience of three.

He sneers through his hair, just barely long enough to reach his bottom lip, but good enough for coming across as such a scary dog (or more accurately, the bumbling little pup of said dog). Through the layer of hair, Sirius is holding in a burst of laughter with everything in him. His eyebrows are furrowed and dipped like he's angry but his upturned mouth and unserious look in his eye say the opposite is the case.

Remus is very, very annoyed that he's only finding out now- at the end of the year- that Sirius thinks the ‘vicious predator versus weak prey’ game with Romulus is fun. Hell, they could have been chasing after him this whole time, on all fours for realism, and yelling and barking and squealing simply for a laugh. Only in the safe confinements of their dorm though: Remus doesn't need any lingering older years in the common room to see that.

Romulus rises to his feet while Sirius is distracted with the others. He throws his equipment up onto his bed and draws his wand from inside his sleeve. They've just been studying Charms in the library practically all day (at least that's what they've been calling procrastinating this Transfiguration work) and Remus can almost see how fresh in Romulus' mind all the hexxes they know now are, how there's so much on the tip of his tongue it looks like it's all just going to come out as one big slump of incoherent words or maybe even just a spit in Sirius' face.

Sirius growls once more at Remus, Peter and James and turns his dead-set focus onto Romulus once more.

It's a tense standoff for all of a second before Sirius moves, lifting up to walk on his knees to the end of Romulus' bed to pull a sleeping Steven out from under.

That cat has gotten very big over the last year. He's gotten calmer too, making Romulus lose his special touch now that Steven is comfortable with sleeping on top of everyone and leaving his expensive fur all over the place. This can be quite nice sometimes but weight-wise, Remus thinks it'd be best to put the cat on a diet for a few months because picking him up is a workout if done for too long; it's because Romulus is such a bloody pushover when it comes to the big guy and his treats.

Romulus moves from where he stands to rush over to Sirius who turns away to conceal the animal in his arms. He rocks back and forward and bounces his arms gently as Romulus continues to circle him to get a good look at the cat.

“Look at the kitty.” Sirius coos, leaning down so that the boys can get a look at Steven looking incredibly unbothered just being bundled up against Sirius.

They all stand up and poke their fingers at the cat, all petting him at once. Sirius- still semi-successfully fending off Romulus with his elbows- shakes his hair out of his face and straightens out his back, jumping just a little to catch Steven's attention and out of his half-asleep daze. This cat is always tired.

Romulus hits Sirius' arm hard. “Don't shake the cat!” He orders, pushing away Sirius' elbow too and getting his hands under Steven to lift him up and into his own arms.

Sirius cocks his hip. “I'm not shaking him, thank you very much. I'm just being a brilliant, not overprotective and jealous and crazy dad to my tiny baby.”

“Might I remind you, Padfoot, that he is not your cat?” Romulus remarks so matter-of-factly.

James snorts. “Yeah, and he's not yours either.” He teases and Romulus rolls his eyes. James runs his fingertip down the bridge of Steven’s nose and scratches his chin, giving Sirius another amused look. “And I'd hardly say tiny.”

He gets kicked for this.

“Don't be so mean!” Romulus gasps, putting a protective hand over the top of the cat’s head to cover his little ears.

“He's a fat cat, Rom, I'm sorry.” Peter sighs.

Romulus goes to sit down on his bed, placing Steven on his pillow which he will lie unsettlingly still on until about four in the afternoon tomorrow.

A silence falls upon the boys as they slowly come to realise that their distraction has run out. Remus, for one, racks his brain to find something to bring up, to talk about, just anything to avoid the inevitable: continuing work. Can he just say, if the roles were reversed and Remus, the teacher, gave McGonagall, the student, this assignment, she definitely wouldn't want to do it either.

“She'll be glad we all didn't do it,” So he says, needing something to say. It's only after when he realises that he's started a conversation about the one thing he hoped no one would start a conversation about. He wonders if his friends thought the exact same thing, if they're screaming at him in their heads right now.

“Y’know? Surely she wants to have less to read and correct and stuff.”

Sirius sways his head from side to side like he's weighing out his options. “Chances are,” He slyly says, cogs in his brain clicking loud enough to hear from where Remus sits across the room from him. “Everyone has tried super-duper hard on this and have six feet worth of parchment on this stuff.”

Peter points at him with a convinced look on his face. “And that must make up for our missing few inches.”

“It's only an essay. If McGonagall wants it done so badly, she can do it herself.” James figures, obviously getting frustrated at the mere thought of the essay all over again.

It takes Remus quite by surprise: James being so brutal about his so-called favourite class. He's usually so chipper about anything to do with the subject so something like this where James' voice is laced with discontent is not something Remus knows how to process.

He knows James too well to know he doesn't mean what little bad he says about the subject. It's something he knows so well to be false so Remus simply discredits what James has just said and takes it as the opposite. It's almost laughable now. He's about to say something about it when James jumps in first, having must have heard just how ridiculous he sounded just then.

“We have to get this done.”

They boys take their places again and pick up their quills, going about one sentence every two minutes. Remus figures if he gradually enlarges his handwriting and just space out the words a little, maybe stay up all night too, he'll be able to get something decent handed in.

Then James packs it in fifteen minutes later when he smudges a couple of words with the side of his hand which is likely the last straw. He chucks down the damned thing and lies down on his bed; his essay? Two feet long and ending in a cut-off sentence. He announces to the boys that officially, he does not care. He cares so little that he feels the need to say it about a dozen more times in the next forty minutes as the rest of the boys work.

Peter cracks next but at least he makes it to a four foot long essay. He folds it gently over and handles it carefully into a desk drawer, groaning and yawning ever so loudly once it's shut. He plops on his bed face first into the pillow and doesn't move for a little while. It's Romulus who taps him a few times until he clicks that the poor boy has fallen asleep already. By then, it's close to one in the morning- Remus can't exactly blame him.

By now, both the twins are close to being done and Sirius is only now picking back up his quill.

Remus gives up around a quarter past one, deciding that three and a half feet is enough work and it's done to a more-or-less alright standard. It's comprehensible in most parts, legible in less but he doesn't think he's got the brain and hand strength to possibly go on any longer.

Sirius’ handwriting gets progressively bigger and bigger once he starts writing again. He and James managed to fit in a bit of senseless bickering which seems to have lifted Sirius' spirits and regenerated his motivation enough for two more feet of writing (totalling to about three paragraphs in his jarringly big font) to be squeezed out of him in the following twenty minutes.

Romulus drops his quill soon after Sirius does, his essay actually ending up to be quite close to being taller than him- almost to five feet long. He clutches his hand once he's done and his joints sorely click as he wrings out the cramps in his fingers. With him finally being done, the boys can all climb into bed properly and it's safe to say that none of them have ever fallen asleep faster.

The first class that they have the next morning is Muggle Studies. Despite having an assessment for this class too, it's spent by everyone to add the finishing touches to their essays. The boys naturally do not so much as touch their papers, let alone take them out to do more work. Remus actually cannot think of anything worse than such a thing so spends the entire class posing for a portrait done by Romulus. He's shown it at the end of class and it's very impressive, and Remus can absolutely recognise himself in the graphite strokes and smudges, so close to being like an actual photograph taken.

He tells his brother the contrary though, saying, “That looks nothing like me.” And moves on.

McGonagall is in her cute tabby form when everyone arrives at her classroom for period two. Remus can't help but smile as he walks by the little cat, knowing in the back of his head that yes, this little cat is his petrifying teacher but her innocent, harmless state at the minute let's denial run its course. It's not until he sits down at his desk and takes out his essay that he realises this must be a nerve-calming technique or just plain and simple emotional manipulation. Remus makes sure to remind himself to become a cat like her one day, loving the idea of living as a graceful ball of fur and getting to spend most of his time sleeping and being paid attention to. That's the only reason people become animaguses, is it not?

As it's close to the end of the year and he's known her for some time now, Remus respects and fears Professor McGonagall compared to plain fear back at the start of the year. But the second that cat reverts back into the tall, articulate woman it was keeping inside, Remus sure does wish she'd just stay as a cat forever. It'd be good for her to live out her last few years leading a more simple life.

Quickly, he darts around to look over at Romulus to just make sure he wasn't reading his mind for that last part. He then scoffs at himself and shakes his head subtly, knowing that if Romulus was, he'd be yelling across the room at Remus in the woman's defense before he can even properly finish the thought. Because of course a fifty-odd woman needs the help of a squeaky twelve year old boy. Remus checks to make sure Romulus didn't hear that bit too.

“Essays on your tables and stand behind your chairs.” McGonagall orders swiftly. The immediate shuffling and scraping of chairs ensues.

Remus looks at each of his friends, all of them welding the same anxious face, even James who actually does seem to care despite insisting so heavily otherwise last night.

“Wands out too. I hope we've all been paying enough attention in Professor Flitwick's classes to know how to levitate things by now, yes? Up with the essays, pip pip.”

Following this, there's a collective muttering of ‘wingardium leviosa’ from all across the class and papers being raised up into midair. Remus holds off on this for a few seconds to suss out the competition; those around his desk all have much longer essays than him, making him a clear outlier in the area, but those around Romulus have shorter essays which make him stand out in a good way. Brilliant.

Remus can see McGonagall scanning the room with her stern, squinted eyes. He avoids looking at her as she does this and instead focuses directly down at his shoes. After a few seconds, he thinks that he might be overcompensating and looks up, immediately making eye contact with the tall woman, keeping it until he thinks he's then swung the pendulum too far in the opposite direction.

So he decides to appear unbothered by this whole thing and skim through his paper as they all wait for further instruction. It comes just as Remus slowly realises that absolutely nothing of what he's written makes any sense.

“This is going to be quite fast paced but I will be keeping an eye on every one of you.” McGonagall tells them. “I trust you're all more than well versed in stances and hand placement by now,” She not-so-subtly eyes the girl at the front with no more than five or six sentences written on her levitating page.

McGonagall pauses for a second. She frowns thoughtfully and looks up a little.

“All of you are to turn your papers into silver goblets on my count.”

Silver goblets. That's fine. Remus has gotten very good at producing wine glasses as he's turned practically every cup he's come across since learning the spell into the tall and slender glass shape. It makes him feel incredibly cool when he sloshes about some cranberry juice with his pinkie extended.

Wine glasses and goblets aren't so far off from each other. Sure, goblets might be a little thicker and heavier, but Remus figures if he can just switch glass to silver with an extra spell, he'll pass. He's transfiguring more that way, isn't he? Surely that should give him some extra marks.

“One, two, three-!”

Switching paper to glass is trickier to do than expected, though ‘tricky’ here means ‘done in more than one go’ in Remus' book when it comes to such a simple spell. But the extra tries begin to pile up and Remus' confidence in his wine glass-ing abilities begins to diminish quickly. It's just stress, he hopes.

So he tries to do the spell they're supposed to be doing rather than going the long way to the end result. He tries this too for a few seconds before he decides to cheat and look around at what everyone else is doing which happens to be terribly.

The class is full of the same incantations being more and more forcefully spoken. Some of Remus' friends are already looking at him when he turns, maybe all expecting his initial strategy to pull through for them to mirror.

But Remus just can't go changing around his essay! He spent a lot of time on this bloody thing and he's frankly quite shocked that McGonagall is asking them to do such a thing. He might as well just chuck it in the fire or something.

By God, he's become attached to a bloody essay. Maybe this honestly quite strange protectiveness he feels over the work is what's inhibiting him from actually casting any spells right. This theory is backed up by the way James is the first in the class to achieve an ornate silver chalice floating in front of him. Perhaps caring less about some things comes in handy.

Remus doesn't get his transfigured for another minute, by which time about ten others have gotten it down already; he doesn't even make the podium of speed.

McGonagall wasn't kidding when she said that this spontaneous new test would be quick because she begins to call out more things that the paper-turned-cup is to be turned into: mice, quills, shoes. Remus gets the hang of it after the third task but James stays ahead of everyone all throughout.

However, even the legendary James Potter has to come down off of his high horse eventually and everyone gets stuck on McGonagall’s last request for a book. Remus tries to be smart and magicks back his original essay and charms it to fold on itself. He spots an impressed twitch of the corner of McGonagall’s mouth that he hopes he hasn't hallucinated from lack of sleep before they're all to sit down again.

The professor sits at her desk as everyone regains their own essays; Romulus looks as if he could just hug his own and honestly, Remus can't find it in himself to blame him for that.

More confident now, he sits back and waits again for- oh, he doesn't know- McGonagall to come around and collect all the work or something. Instead, she cooly speaks again.

“The rest of this hour may be used for study or catching up on work- you have more assessments to be completed if I’m not mistaken.”

She doesn't collect the essays, doesn't comment or even ask about them, but Remus thinks that that in and of itself is a valuable lesson alone: never do homework ever again.

•••

Remus has a field day when Deirdre Burbage assigned her students to prepare a two minute presentation on a historically significant Muggle. He could just jump up on his desk and do a little song and dance number, could write out his two minute presentation in less than one and be up and presenting it the next second.

Seeing as there are a few students with limited to no knowledge about Muggles, let alone “historically significant” ones, Burbage has brought in her little library on wheels with a couple of different history books for people to use for research. She also directs where more material can be found in the school library with a little map of the sections and aisles.

Remus doesn't pay attention to her (for once) as the help doesn’t apply to him and he's far too busy with writing a list of about a dozen potential subjects, none requiring him to do anything more than rack his brains for the facts. He thinks about asking Lyall to send over his bigger, more complicated books and hard to understand books on history just for appearances. He imagines having books as heavy and as big as bricks out in front of him, telling Burbage it's only a bit of light reading to simply refresh his mind and not at all an attempt to show off. What twelve year old doesn't know this stuff, is he right?

With three classes to prepare and practise the presentations, the students use the first lesson to choose a Muggle.

Sirius grabs the closest book to him and delves into research on a man named Abraham Lincoln. James- bored and looking for any chance to mess around- does his research on another man named John Milk Booth (Wilkes Booth, whatever- same idea) and a scripted reenactment of these two men’s lives is begun to be written and set to be performed. The two boys won't allow any of the others to lay even a finger on their books for fear of spoiling the ending of their play of a lifetime. They also take to the little mobile library to hog all the other books that mention Lincoln and Booth so that the rest of the class are safe from spoilers too. Remus doesn't like how curious he is about what's in store.

Peter decides to do his presentation on Marie Curie, a Polish scientist that made radioactivity from what Remus can understand from dipping in and out of listening. What he does gather is that she died from that stuff, it being dangerous and everything, so Remus suggests to Peter that he do his entire project in Polish out of solidarity. Peter writes three paragraphs full of rude words before Burbage wanders over and tells him that she’s actually fluent in the language. Poor Peter panics, gracelessly flips over his page and goes a bright red before Burbage then clarifies she was joking around and perhaps it could serve as a lesson to the boys to please stop their own joking around quite so much.

Romulus, like Remus, has a little list of people he’s already got information on in his head. He settles on Leonardo da Vinci, a complete random, virtually unknown, nobody Italian painter who Remus supposes had one or two useful inventions and less good paintings though he hardly thinks that drawing should be so celebrated; it’s only art. Also like Remus, Romulus tends to go on about the people he's especially interested in though not quite as much. Still, Remus is sure that he'd be able to whip up a half decent presentation just from that alone. Unlike Remus however, Romulus isn't so proud as to not grab a book or two to help out with the extra few facts that can add an extra few seconds to the presentation if needs be.

It takes him until the end of class but Remus decides to do this project on ruthless Emperor Nero of Ancient Rome. Though he didn't write a single thing, spent the whole class listening and joining in on one conversation or the other, Remus knows he could knock out a presentation in his sleep. Hell, he could even improvise on the spot and is only writing a script because Burbage needs something physical to correct.

He decides to write said script that night at his desk before the letter home where he revels to his parents about his luck with getting assigned something as enjoyable as this. Writing his project out now gives him the freedom of having chilled out classes for the next two weeks of Muggle Studies where he can sit back and watch his peers try to squeeze out two minutes of talking points from their limited resources.

Lily is quick about it though. She finishes her script in two and a half classes and Remus overhears her rehearsing it with her friends, talking about one Queen Elizabeth of England who apparently touched her mother’s belly when pregnant with Lily’s sister. Though her script is almost three pages long, she hardly ever looks down at it when practising as if all that work serves as nothing more than a reminder to her of what she's meant to be talking about. Her presentation flows well and Remus can't wait to see it. And her friends’ ones too. All the girls are smart and they've all got brilliant projects in the making, though admittedly, Remus doesn’t know what a single one of theirs is about. He only knows Lily’s one because she has the loudest voice, that's it. He does not have a crush, contrary to what his stupid friends say.

On the day the project is due, Burbage works her way around the room and calls on Remus about half way through the lesson to present next. As he struts on up to the front of the class, he's met with Lily's award winning smile, as loud as her strong, big and bright voice but still coming in a close second to the boys who- all tied for first place- beam at him with excited, supportive smiles further from ear to ear.

In front of thirty pairs of daunting eyes, Remus holds his pile of useless paper he doesn't plan to so much as look at and licks his lips. He starts to go red at the intense attention and he clears his throat and begs his voice not to fail him just yet. He knows it'll be as shaky as it is when it's especially cold but he's considering letting that slide if it means that the voice cracks and stuttering don't start until at least a little later into the presentation. All this assurance that he'll have the longest and bestest presentation means nothing to him now when he cannot possibly move from this spot ever again. He'll just have to be carried out or something.

It hits Remus now that he might have a slight issue with being over-proud and frankly just cocky at times. Sure, he's come up here with a five and a half page script he squeezed out of his own head that he can probably manage to stretch into a ten minute rant, but standing here for another thirty seconds and Remus might just die.

“My project is about Emperor Nero who was an- an emperor,” He's sure he's coming across as a real genius here.

“In Ancient Rome. That's in Italy.” Christ Almighty, he's sure people know where in the bloody hell Rome is, that bit doesn't need to be explained. He spots Romulus biting his lip a little in containment and Remus mirrors him. He spots another girl towards the front do the same and he wants to send her out of class. He can do that right? Having now been given the teacher role for the time being. Up until now where he's met with the harrowing experience of talking in front of so many people, he's actually been quite fond of the idea of going into teaching.

His introduction to Nero isn't very smooth. He's too nervous about talking and too excitedly giddy over Nero for it to remain normal for more than a minute. He almost spills every fun fact he has saved up in the few sentences with tangents he brings himself along without even realising it, and just getting too into rambling that he doesn't even realise that his presentation has no structure.

Remus is sweating adrenaline and decides to pace as he walks. He awkwardly laughs after every point made, trying desperately to fill the silence in between and find ways to make his mouth just say the words and not stutter out practically everything.

“He’d get all the Christians- Christians are the religious people who think God is real- and he’d feed them to lions in Gladiator matches- those were just big fights to the death in the Colosseum- that was like a big, super old stadium where, um, fights to the death were held. It's actually still standing, actually.”

People are having their own personal conversations behind their hands while he's speaking. What they're not-so-discreetly whispering about- Remus can't quite tell but it's just as nerve racking as speaking himself.

Is this what all the teachers feel like when he and his friends talk non-stop? He's not too sure it is seeing as he's never seen a teacher run a class so shakily and with a tomato red face (excluding Professor “Rickety” Rialto) but it's a good possibility.

“Yeah, so, Nero would just chuck a few Christians at the lions, and he'd- he’d pour wax over the dead ones- the dead Christians, not the dead lions; the lions didn't die.”

Maybe he should have practised this beforehand, maybe then he'd have been able to hear just how needlessly violent he's made this and how ridiculous it all sounds with a stutter.

“So, wax would go all over the dead Christians and he'd just set them on fire like candles and he'd put them all over whenever he'd have throw parties because-”

A boy at the back raises his hand but decides to speak out of his own volition anyway because that's precisely how the system of raising one's hand to speak works, isn't it just?

“You do know that you were meant to do a Muggle, Lupin.” He sneers. His voice is nasally and god-awful.

Remus only doesn't retort because he'd be more likely to struggle to finish a word and spit enough to drench the front row of desks closest to him than to form a coherent insult or comeback to throw at this kid.

“I- I did.” So he says, nervously looking down at his notes to see if he's missed something, if he's somehow managed to skip over the part where Nero had magic.

The boy scoffs. “Is this Nero guy not a dark wizard or something? Sounds like it.”

Well, crazily enough, Remus actually never said anything about magic at all during this presentation so where this guy is pulling such a claim from, one can only assume.

“No, he was just a bit mad.” And if he could just get back to his presentation-

“Are you sure?”

“Let's leave the questions until after the presentation like Remus did for you, Gary, please.” Burbage interjects and this Gary fellow shuts his stupid mouth and slumps back in his chair with a dramatised scoff.

At this, Romulus whirls around in his chair and with his hands white-knuckling the back of it, he leans forward to sneer back at Gary. “Yeah, can you shut up, mate?” He snaps. The boys all turn too, Peter adding on a snarky, “Don't be a cow.” Before Burbage breaks it up again just in time to cut Gary off from making another nasally comment. She has a stern look on her face, a kind of sternness that bleeds into her voice when she demands, “That's enough, now!”

Remus hates Gary with a burning passion. Remus wants to turn Gary into a human candle. Remus wants to melt Gary down and drizzle him like gravy over a nice roast dinner wherein the meat is cut from Gary's massive bloody head. He wants to grow to be hundreds of feet tall just to step on Gary's house like a particularly crunchy leaf in Autumn. Anyway…

He eyes this poor excuse for a boy for a few seconds and wills himself not to dwell on him too much, or at least not just yet. Looking on the bright side, Remus is glad that that fool has actually shut up and he doesn't have to hear that draining voice again, though he knows that from now on it's all he'll ever be able to hear and pick apart, even in the busiest crowds, like nails on a chalkboard.

Remus averts his gaze after a moment back to the floor in front of him where his eyes have been fixed on for most of his time presenting. Where he left off, Remus simply does not know.

Nervously, he looks at Burbage who is back to her regular self and gives him a soft smile and a nod.

“You can carry on.”

Ah yes: human candles. He's got a couple of paragraphs on that somewhere in the stack but talking more about things like that… Remus isn't so sure. As idiotic as he is, Gary might be half right in thinking that Gladiator fights and lighting bodies on fire gives off a Death Eater sort of impression. In hindsight, Nero might not have been the best of choices for this project.

Remus goes a deeper red and hesitates for another second. He takes another, another second to look at Burbage again, then another to look at his friends, and a spiteful final one so as to make Gary feel oh-so guilty about ruining Remus' train of thought.

He decides to skip over the stuff he's now too scared to talk about and moves onto less violent stuff like Nero’s suicide via a knife to the throat (it's not like Remus can exactly change history to suit some peoples’ preferences. He's only telling a story).

“And he died in the year sixty four. Sixty four AD. That means… means after Jesus was born, I think.” He doesn't think, he knows, actually. He's just being humble. “The end.”

There's a second round of applause in his honour and Remus can suddenly breathe again. He grins at everyone (bar Gary) and looks once more to Burbage who is clapping along with everyone else with a dazzling enthusiasm that Remus can't help but widen his smile at.

No one raises their hand for a question once given the opportunity to do so after the class settles again so Remus hurries back to his desk with the others and covers his face with his hands for just a second. Romulus pats his brother's back until he's called up next. Then, roles are reversed and Remus is pushing Romulus between his shoulder blades and up out of his seat.

He takes his papers- some big and some small- and once up there, Romulus reveals that he's only just gone and recreated the Mona Lisa for his project, asking Burbage to hold up his replicas of a few paintings, actually, for the class. She has trouble paying attention to Romulus' spoken presentation, too busy trying to give the pencil-drawn pictures a good look while still holding them upright for everyone.

There are five drawings altogether, three being pretty spot on recreations of The Mona Lisa, The Last Supper, and The Lady with an Ermine, and two more being more abstract sketches of Da Vinci's inventions. Each are done in Romulus' special colouring pencils that he lets no one else use, and apart from his own little, pretentious signature on the bottom of the page, they could probably be passed off as the real thing, plucked right off of the wall of a museum. God knows Remus- who can't even make the odd bored doodle in class look much good- would fall for it.

After a brief summary of Da Vinci's life, Romulus touches on the time spent on each painting, when and where, and even some speculations (is she or is she not smiling: that sort of thing).

Romulus then asks Burbage to move onto showing Da Vinci's inventions, the two that he chose to talk about being the Parachute and the first ideas of what would later be a helicopter. Remus didn't know people back in the Ray-nay-sonce (you'd have to ask Sirius for the proper spelling) were actually smart.

Though he gets the biggest round of applause so far, and though Burbage asks if she can rob the Mona Lisa off of him to hang up in the class, Romulus' presentation just has to come in a close second to James and Sirius’.

They're immersed in their characters before they've even reached the top of the class, James wearing a top hat provided by Peter's dad, Sirius wielding a plastic gun courtesy of James' dad, and they're both clad in oversized dress robes.

James starts the performance off with a one man show based on this Abraham Lincoln guy which lasts about three or four minutes. He's put on a Southern American accent that everyone laughs at initially; they shut up once they realise he's being serious.

They're taken on a young man’s journey from a little log cabin in Illinois all the way to bring an American President way back in 1861 before James lets his co-host take over.

In a matching Southern accent (no one here is able to tell if these accents go with where these men are from), Sirius acts out the story of a mean, old actor who thinks it's okay to shoot anyone he doesn't agree with.

Remus would be lying if he said he wasn't caught by surprise at Lincoln's assassination at the end of the performance. He's at the edge of his seat when James stands up from his slumped state on the floor to bow with Sirius at the triumphant standing ovation they get.

He and about five other people's hands shoot right up the first opportunity that they're given and Remus asks if they caught Wilkes Booth, how long he went to prison for, who took over after Lincoln. It seems that James and Sirius do not know this and by Remus' fourth question, they're looking wildly uneducated in what they're supposed to have worked for weeks on. They each give Remus a subtle ‘shut up’ look and move onto other questions.

Peter and Burbage really just have a conversation when it's his turn on stage. He's the only boy in the class to have picked a woman to do for his project (there's a snort from the back of the class when Burbage points this out) and the two chat about Curie together for close to ten minutes. Peter will look down at his notes every so often to lead into another point, another fact to touch on with the teacher until the end where he's just showing off a bit of Polish. Considering he went up to the front bright red before he even got there, Peter looks awfully chipper as he skips back down to his desk once it's over.

Seeing as most went over the minimum two-minute mark, the rest of the presentations are to be done in the next class and Burbage uses the last five minutes to wander around singing praises at those who went today.

“Brilliant work, boys, just brilliant work.” She gasps at the boys once she gets around to them. “Absolutely brilliant, all of you. This has made my day, it really has.”

“Who would you say,” James preens. “Had the best presentation?”

Burbage puts her hands on her hips and gives him a disapproving smirk, but a smirk nonetheless. Her nails are painted a vibrant orange colour that goes with her long blonde hair. She has on a long black dress with white polka dots, and a cardigan in that same shade of orange. Remus is glad that she's got a good sense of fashion, especially since she's the only member of staff that wears Muggle clothing. Reminds him of his Mum in one or two ways. Maybe three or four, who knows.

“Now, you can't make me choose, that's just not fair.” She pouts. “Everyone was amazing.”

“Okay- out of just us five then? If you had to rank us?”

Burbage grins again.

“You all were the best in your own way,” She says, her kind eyes scanning over them all and her smile unwavering. “And you can all improve in your own ways. I'll be giving everyone some feedback once we've all had our turn to present.”

Her gaze lands on Remus finally and he doesn't feel scared like he usually does when other teachers do this. “We could try to step out of your comfort zones a little, yes?”

He nods and thinks of pats on the back, and photo albums, and flowery dresses and wellies in the garden.

“Yes, Mum.” He instinctively agrees. His breath catches, he hiccups and coughs and hides his face in his hands when he realises there's no coming back from a cataclysmic event like this once the boys dissolve into unruly fit after fit of laughter.

•••

Everyone holds their pots an arm's length away from themselves: just about out of reach of the violent plant’s snapping jaw. It growls at Remus when he looks at it, snarls when he's looking away. This goes for the rest of the boys, the rest of the class too, apart from the professor who the plants seem to be comfortable enough around him to keep themselves composed.

They’re not plants per say. Sure, they're green and come in soil and have two little leaves sprouting from their stems, but they're not plants. Remus isn't altogether certain that plants can have brains and these critters- for lack of a better word- do have brains, however small they may be. And their aforementioned leaves are more often than not positioned like hands sternly on hips and their constant borderline barking and frightening pointed teeth have carnivore written all over them. They quite remind Remus of people as if that's all they are: overly aggressive and irritable little people cursed to live an excessively plant-based life.

Organic scarecrows, they are. Meant to grow up to the height of about six feet, meant to be put in the middle of fields to eat hungry birds whole and use the excrete for fertilizer. One long vicious cycle and apparently harmless to humans. Completely harmless. It's not like they've got centimetre long fangs and stalks able to reach out well past their designated pots at just a few weeks old, according to Professor Reed. Also according to him, they grow quite fast which is just plenty reassuring too.

The students in the class and their plants all seem to resemble each other, everyone coming in different shapes and sizes and all. If this was on purpose, Remus would say that in theory it would be smart to do so; maybe the personalities would match as well as rough appearances. But these oddly scary plants that their Herbology assessment is based around don't seem to get along with anyone or anything: James’ one gnaws off and spits out the tip of his pencil at the slightest prod. It's only a matter of time before a finger is chewed off next, but needn't fret as they've all been informed that the vicious bullies that they're to be looking after until this time next week aren't rabid. Remus is glad that that has been cleared up before his mind got a chance to come up the idea of rabies first.

“Maybe they're just hungry.” Romulus suggests, darting his hand back instinctively when his potted aggressor goes for his exposed forearm.

“Or,” Sirius counters, quizzical but sarcastic as he pushes his own pot away from him with a book. “These things are just bloody homicidal.”

Peter nudges the box of dead flies Romulus' way (can Remus just say: he'd almost rather let his plant go hungry and fail this stupid assessment than touch any dead flies. Where does one even get a box of those, let alone one for each of the thirty students in this class? What an odd thing to buy in bulk, especially in person) and a teaspoon to feed with. “Give him some of that.” He instructs Romulus, tossing over a spoon too. It's metal but Remus wouldn't be completely surprised if that gets bitten off too.

Romulus takes the equipment but purses his mouth a little, clearly about to start going on about the most useless-

“Mines a girl, actually.” The boy spiels, even pointing down to the base of his plant’s stem. Remus gags and shoves him away from his side. Their plants make little noises that could well be laughs.

“Ew, Romulus! Don't be so gross!”

“What?” Romulus asks, shocked and rubbing his shoulder from where Remus put his hands. “Since when do you think girls are gross?”

Across the classroom sit the group of girls: Lily, Marlene, Mary, a few other girls that they have on rotation of getting along with or not. While Remus and his little circle of friends have stayed the same since around the start of the year, he thinks that the same group of girls have just been changing about non-stop. There must be about a dozen of them talking at one time all the time. Remus isn't so sure that he's seen any of them ever alone except the odd time that Lily will have a sit down with him to catch him up on the latest disagreements and friendships “never to be repaired”.

The dynamics are confusing and make Remus grateful to be an idiot with his idiot friends. Girls, he thinks, are too smart for him to understand just yet, but they are not gross. They're all really lovely actually but he knows that that'd warrant more mockery from his friends than thinking they're gross would.

“I don't!” He shouts anyway. “I'm just wondering why you decided to go looking to see if yours is a girl or not.”

It's Romulus’ turn to shove Remus back now but Sirius, James and Peter are already wide-eyed and snickering behind their hands. They're set off into loud, over the top laughter at Romulus' next response.

“I didn't! Yours is a girl too, y’know.”

Remus reaches over to his pot with stretched out arms. He holds his head back and away from the sharp teeth of the plant and uses the tips of his fingers to turn the pot so as to face the opposite direction to Romulus. Even ravenous, dangerous, bird-eating plants deserve some privacy.

They're given the plants at the start of a two hour long class. Over half way through it, nobody has figured out how these things are to be fed. Some have attempted to magically fuse together a few spoons to make an elongated one so they can feed from afar. This is ingenious in theory but three rusted, old spoons and shaky, nervous hands don’t pair too well together and the plants make jabs at the spoons that keep missing their mark and poking them somewhere around their sharp mouths, or cause the food to fall off the spoon completely, littering the floor with fly carcasses.

Some have tried tweezers borrowed from Professor Reed but there's only a scarce few going around that won't be much help until they make their rounds over to the boys in about two or three days at this rate.

Sirius comes up with the next best thing a few minutes later and decides to throw flies at his skinny chomper like popcorn into mouths on movie night. Unsurprisingly enough, the plant isn't very pleased with him and goes for his exposed hair the first chance it gets.

He screams when he's pulled down so suddenly and screams loud. High pitched too- something Remus is going to never let him live down by the way- but it's not like he can exactly blame the boy as his face is closer to his plant’s snapping jaw than at all safe to be.

James dives in so he and Sirius are both wrestling with the plant to riskily pry open its locked jaw and twist Sirius’ hair from between its teeth. Romulus runs off to the other end of the greenhouse to bring Reed over, both arriving just before Peter can go for the pair of shears atop a cabinet behind him. Knowing Peter, he was likely to try to cut Sirius' hair than do what Remus would have done and snip the plant’s head clean off its stem and maybe put it in someone's pumpkin juice at dinner.

Reed sends a silent spell flying at Sirius' plant and it slowly releases the shook boy's hair.

“I’m sorry Professor,” He pants, patting down his hair back into place. “But how are any of us going to survive a week with these things trying to kill us?”

Reed arches his grey eyebrow at Sirius and puts on a cheeky grin. He's a good laugh, is that guy. Gentle and chilled out as far as teachers go, he's probably only a little younger than Dumbledore and a little older than he should be still working here.

“Well, we can start off by not angering them.”

Sirius purses his lips.

“Stopping throwing food in their faces would be my first piece of advice.”

Sirius nods and dips his head.

“And be nice to the little guys.” Continues on Reed. He points his wand behind him and summons over a roll of sticky labels from his desk into his hand to which he passes to Peter.

“Another start to that would be giving them names; a little bit of humanity. Pass one to everyone, would you Peter?”

Peter nods his head and quickly gets to work walking around the greenhouse delivering stickers to all. He speeds up when Reed hollers over the class, “Whoever comes up with the best name wins the favourite student spot!”

The favourite student spot is a trademark of Reed’s class. It's usually on a rotation between Romulus and Peter (this is the one thing they ever really bicker over) but everyone gets in on the competition anyway. See, being the favourite comes with bias: maybe the odd extra leniency with homework though it's never too obvious to the point of being problematic. Still, Romulus is heavily invested in such benefits and jumps right into drawing on his little label.

After very little thought, Sirius dubs his ‘Chomper’. Remus thwacks him over the head.

“That's so boring, Sirius, are you kidding me?” He scolds but the label is already stuck lobsided onto Chomper’s pot.

Sirius shrugs and purses his lips and shakes his head tauntingly from side to side in a what-can-you-do? kind of expression. “It's accurate, that's what it is.”

“Reed said ‘humanity’ and Chomper is not a human name.” James begins to explain. Remus can begin to see where he's going with this and the start of his ridiculous reasoning so he shushes his friend before he can open his mouth again.

“Okay, I take it back: Sirius can name James' plant something bad because James will just end up naming it something worse. Like Paul.”

James gasps and goes for his quill and designated sticker but Sirius manages to snatch it away from him, inclined to agree with Remus' opposition. With that, James angrily points at his swaying plant (he takes a discreet step backwards so that his finger isn't so close).

“You can't tell me that's not a Paul right there.”

“That's an animal.”

Peter pipes up, only just coming back from his rounds of the greenhouse tables. “It's a plant, not an animal.”

There's a yelp from where the girls are all sat and the sounds of a half dozen stools scraping unpleasantly across the floor. One of the plants must have gotten a little over excited at the chance to gnaw off someone's finger (or someone just got mad and decided to give it a shove) seeing as it's knocked over on its side. Some of its soil has spilled out on the table and despite its vicious upper half, the body of the plant is only thin and frail. Like a baby, it can't seem to lift its head up and go for the girls again, only being able to sway from side to side a little and aimlessly bite at the wooden table beneath.

“That's an animal if I've ever seen one.” Remus continues, nudging Peter's shoulder with his own and chuckling to himself. “And James cannot be trusted to name animals.”

A hand slices down between Remus and Peter and Romulus fills the space he's created next to the two. He looks slyly at his brother before slapping a sticker on the side of Remus' pot.

“And you're gonna name yours Mrs. Lily Lupin, mwah mwah mwah.” He taunts, stepping back and away from the boys once more.

‘Mrs. Lily Lupin, mwah mwah mwah’ is exactly what’s scrawled across the sticker in Romulus' messy, blue handwriting. There's little Xs and hearts littered across it too so Remus makes quick work of trying to peel the utterly false… propaganda, frankly, from his pot in case anyone walks past and sees.

“Shut up!” He shouts at Romulus. This makes his plant jolt a little, which makes Remus recoil like he's just shot a gun. He almost loses balance, almost falls off the back of his chair, but manages to regain composure. “Since when is that a thing?”

“You tell us, Remus Evans.”

“Mrs. Remus Evans!”

Lily is tying up her marmalade hair (Remus' empty stomach is speaking for him again) into a shaggy, off-centred bun that she still pulls off so that she can get a closer look without any compromising exposed strands of hair. As she bravely leans in with calm eyes and composed expression and the girls around her all lean back, she catches Remus' eye and grins at him. Slowly but surely, she reaches forward and turns her plant pot with the very tips of her fingers so that after a few seconds, Remus can read JOHNNY in big, thick writing on its sticker. He chuckles quietly and looks away.

Remus deliberates for all of three seconds before he scribbles down ‘Jane Doe’ on his sticker and quickly presses it down on his pot, directly over Romulus' initial sticker. He does this just as Sirius presses a sticker with ‘Slasher’ written on it on James’ pot who scoffs, folds his arms and rolls his eyes at the brutal unfairness of it all.

Romulus works on his name right up until the end of class. He's made his sticker to look like one of those boards that prisoners get at police stations when they're made to take pictures. It's got a few random numbers on the top, ‘Azkaban’ written in small on the bottom, and a fitting ‘Nibbles Smith’ in bigger writing in the middle.

Although it's clever, and creative, the whole works: Peter is who gets the favourite student spot for the second time in a row for naming his plant ‘Professor Reed is the best’. This should keep him doing the odd jobs around the class for another while longer much to his delight and Romulus'- for some reason- discontent.

The class is dismissed early a few minutes later and everyone leaves with their pots an arm's length away and the boys leave their respective savages as far away from one another and anything important as they can be in their small dorm. Reed said that this sort of setup would be sustainable for about two/three hours before they (verbatim), “start to get fussy”.

Two more classes and dinner go by before the boys are back to check in to see if their dorm has gone up in shreds. They left dinner early, too unsettled with the idea that there was a possibility that it'll be carnage when they get back to eat dinner at all in peace. They each take a little something for the way and a treat for when they're lounging around in the dorm avoiding responsibility.

Luckily enough, the room is intact when they enter, as are each of the plants. Romulus takes a seat on the floor next to Nibbles and leans on the wall behind him; the others choose to sit a couple of feet away from their plants with their wands in one hand and cookie and/or brownie in the other.

Feeding the plants comes as an easier task now that the boys have let the plants build up an appetite. They feed their dead flies one at a time with a stolen pair of tweezers each to which the plants bite down fast on only to open back up a few minutes later, the drained fly bodies falling from their mouths and onto their soil like a stray piece of lint. Remus can't find it in himself to finish his brownie so offers it to Romulus.

For just a minute, Remus almost forgets why he was so frightened back in the greenhouses when Jane Doe is, generously, in all about the same length as his head. He's reminded quite quickly when Nibbles snaps up at Romulus' finger that is rubbing gently atop her fuzzy, green head.

“Don't pet it, Romulus, you idiot.” Remus tells him off, half thinking about taking back his brownie as punishment.

Romulus rolls his eyes. “Professor Reed told us to treat them nicely.”

“He told us to treat them like humans-” Remus is pretty sure of this having only been mostly listening as per usual. “You don't pet humans, do you?”

“What do you want me to do then, huh? Want me to take her to see a movie or something? You know I would.”

He does know this.

Peter shifts in place and slides Mr. Reed (they decided to shorten the plant's winning name but it's going to start getting weird when the boy has to document his week-long experience with taking care of what, on paper, looks to be his teacher) across the floor.

“Maybe they want to talk to each other or something.” He ponders. “I know if we were all one of these things, I'd want to be nearer to you guys. Maybe they have their own language.” He crawls over to the centre of the room where there's more space to form a small circle, as does Romulus. Remus keeps his distance from Jane Doe still, but joins in also. Sirius and James come huddle up too, adding Chomper and Slasher into the little with the rest of- what the boys are hoping to be- their other plant best friends.

Mr. Reed proceeds to eat Slasher.

One big bite out of the stem of the plant. James makes a pained cry at first. His jaw drops open and his eyes widen when Peter's plant begins to chow down on his own. There isn't blood or anything- again, they're not actually animals. It just looks and sounds like taking a big bite out of celery, except the stick goes limp and its head hits the side of the pot with a sickeningly heavy thump!

Silence for just a second. Whether it be out of shock or remembrance, Remus can absolutely tell.

“Peter!”

“I'm sorry!”

“You just ate James!”

“I'm sorry!”

“My plant!”

The boys yank away their plants, scurry backwards and set them as far away from Mr. Reed who stays chewing contently on half of Slasher’s neck in the middle of the room.

Peter looks utterly dumbfounded and James looks confused, like it hasn't exactly set in that he's basically failed his assessment a day into it. Surely the real Mr. Reed will understand that it wasn’t James' fault. Being so early on, maybe he'll even give the boy a brand new plant, let Slasher 2 assume Slasher 1’s life. See? There are already about a million positives to this and Remus isn't even trying to think about them.

Romulus pats the top of Nibbles’ head once more and leans to the side to get a good look. “Maybe they want different food.” He says, curiosity being the only thing lacing his voice.

“One of them just ate the other, Romulus!” Sirius cries, scared and sounding quite appalled that Romulus isn't too.

“It's not just another cat or something.” James adds on.

Romulus pouts and holding up the last little bit of Remus' generously donated brownie, he tears off a few small pieces. “He was only hungry. Maybe Slasher just looked more appealing than dead bloody flies!” He whines sadly. He brings the small, chocolaty lump closer up to Nibbles who leans into it.

Absolutely not surprised that even murderous monsters enjoy a bit of chocolate, Remus still gasps at his brother.

“These plants are cannibals and if I see you feed my brownie to that thing again, Romulus, I swear.”

Romulus uses his tweezers to experimentally drop in some brownie to the plant's mouth; Remus isn't sure that he's ever seen a more Romulus thing being done. In the space of about six or seven minutes, Nibbles is spitting out the dry little crumbs left over and biting back down on the last bit of brownie. She's calm and lets herself be caressed by the hand that feeds without hassle.

The boy grins as proud as Gryffindor. “See? She loves it.”

Peter, perhaps nervous about jinxing anything or inducing another massacre, timidly goes over to Romulus to finally be able to properly admire the plant now that she's calm.

“That can't be good for it.” He comments but not seeming too phased about putting an end to this.

“For her, thank you.” Corrects Romulus. “And who cares? If I was one of these, I'd want a brownie too.”

Remus can't help but smile just a little bit. He hides it of course with the back of his hand, rolling his shoulders and takes a deep breath to play it off as a yawn. It's just as nice as it is amusing how Romulus can care so much about such stupid, little things like these. The boy seems to think that something so much as existing warrants his hyper-focus and adoration (not that this is necessarily bad). He's still casually chatting to Diana every time he sees her, sometimes holding up the queue to get into the common room. Their unexpected friendship goes as far as Romulus being invited to pop into Diana and her friends’ tea parties every now and then to integrate himself with them too. By the time sixth year comes, Remus won't be at all surprised if every portrait, ghost and critter is friendly with curious old Romulus Lupin.

“Give me your brownie, Sirius Black, or I’ll train her to take a right old nibble out of Chomper next! You too, Potter. The cookie as well!”

Both surrender their food to Romulus who gets to feeding cannibalistic Mr. Reed next who gobbles it down as fast as he did Slasher.

“Maybe they're really are people cursed to be plants forever.” Peter jokes, likely just thinking out loud after Mr, Reed’s third helping. In classic and true Romulus fashion, he takes this far too seriously.

“Do you think so?” He replies quickly, voice heartbroken and a little panicked.

“No, I don't actually bloody think that, Romulus!”

“Someone go get more brownies while dinner is still on.”

Remus and Peter set off and by the time they're back, Romulus has graduated from using tweezers to feeding with his fingers with the pot in his lap. By the time the night falls, he has had a turn with each of the four remaining flytraps, training them all to accept pats on the head from everyone. They're quite like horses, according to him- able to tell when one is scared.

Deciding to just let weirdos do what weirdos are good at, Remus rolls over onto his side when it's finally time to sleep and tries to drone out the sound of Romulus reading bedtime stories from memory to a group of four plants that stand still as if to be a row of pretty, pretty daisies just taking in the Sun. Sleepy, well-fed bear traps taking in a slightly forgotten Alice in Wonderland.

•••

Charms tests are flown out to land on each student's desk before them as they all sit silently with their arms crossed. The tables are spread out separately in rows across the classroom and this feels eerily similar to an exam, as much as Flitwick insists on referring to it as assessments.

Remus and Romulus are strategically seated as far away from each other as they can get: on opposite corners of the square created by the orderly arrangement of the classroom. Peter is sat on a corner also, six chairs directly behind Romulus so as to limit the risk of them talking, much like what's been done to the twins also. Sirius is on the last corner right next to the professor's desk, and James is bang-smack in the middle. Clearly, Flitwick has put much thought into keeping the boys apart and quiet. Shame, that.

It starts with a few coughs that become more and more coordinated once the five page assessment is opened. Flitwick strolls between the rows of desks and gets closer to the boys as a warning with each noise. For someone so small, his intimidation techniques are surprisingly effective.

Remus is a page and a half into the general knowledge of Charms booklet of sorts when a little trail of red, sparkling light whizzes from Romulus' corner. It's tiny and it dies out after very little time, but Remus catches it out of his peripheral anyway, the vibrant red of it being such a lively contrast to the drab classroom.

The burst of light goes unnoticed by the teacher as he's patrolling along the other end of the rows.

Intrigued, Remus brings his elbow up to his mouth and forces a few coughs. He relishes and tries not to laugh at the way Flitwick so quickly turns on his heel to come briskly his way with a clenched look to his face.

Behind the Professor’s back once more, Romulus discreetly holds his wand and mutters something under his breath so that another sliver of red comes from the tip of it. The light lasts longer this time and travels far enough for James' attention to be caught too.

“Quiet, Mr. Lupin.” Flitwick quietly demands of the boy for a third time, eyes narrowed and finger pointed as he comes striding over.

“Yes, Professor. Sorry, Professor.”

Remus spots James getting his wand out also.

“Professor?”

“Yes?”

Remus points to a well-phrased question that he already knows the answer to.

“What does this mean?”

Having walked a little past Remus, Flitwick circles back and brings his glasses down onto the bridge of his nose. Remus points down onto his page to where it reads “write the Growth Spell’s incantation”.

“This?”

“Yes, sir, Professor.”

Bigger, brighter streams come sprouting from the boys’ wands now, kind of like fireworks in a way except there's no big bang and burst of light and instead is just cast like that and whizz around until exhausted.

There are a few mission-compromising giggles and gasps from some when a particularly large yellow one comes from Peter’s wand. It litters sparks over the heads of a few distracted students and it fizzes and bursts over the head of Frank sitting directly in front of Remus, and directly behind Flitwick’s back.

The man hesitates before speaking. “It's… you just write the spell down.” He seems confused but Remus supposes that appearing as stupid as he does right now is the small price to pay for a good show.

As Peter sends off another flare, and James and Sirius’ fly into each other to create an even bigger one, and Romulus almost perfectly aims his fireworks to go through the cracks in the windows and doors, Remus holds his breath and talks in a high, loud voice. His wand is stuffed into his sock (it makes him look very cool, he knows this) and it's begging for him to just whip it out to participate. He can stay calm, he can. He can deal with the role of distractor for now.

“I see, thank you, Professor. Does spelling matter?”

Flitwick sighs “Just write it phonetically.”

“What does that mean?”

The class is beginning to get loud now. Nobody but the boys are sending off fireworks for their colourful display a few feet above everyone's heads. This, of course, is because nobody but the boys thought it wise to stay up into the early hours of the morning learning the spells for an opportunity as ideal as this.

While they don't directly participate, many have taken it upon themselves to boss about everyone. They hold fingers to their lips and eye whoever around them who so much as looks like they're going to make any sound. Over Flitwick’s shoulder (correction: head), Remus gets looks of his own from people- looks of respect and ‘keep stalling’.

Remus gets another five or so seconds of the professor's time before a stray firework comes close enough for him to see out of the corner of his eye. He turns around, shocked, as the boys are all still laughing into their fists and letting loose blasts from their raised wands.

They'll get held back after class later, Remus is sure of this. They'll stand up at Flitwick's desk, all in a row with their heads dipped partially in shame and partially to hide their cheeky grins, and Remus is going to try to get them all 100%.

Yes, their tests were only completed maybe half way at best, but the Firework Charm is still a Charm the last Remus checked. He figures that the boys sending off about three dozen of them each cannot possibly go overlooked and not appreciated to some extent at least.

Knowing that he didn't cast any spells for this hypothetical to apply to him, Remus rushes through a bit more of his test as Flitwick confiscates Romulus, Peter, James and Sirius' wands.

The fireworks are nothing but a smokey smell in the air after five minutes and some serious detention threats on Flitwick's part. The boys are all sent out to work at the back of four respective 7th year classes and Remus is moved up to sit right next to Flitwick's desk, being made to use a corner of the table to finish his work.

He smirks at anyone who makes eye contact with him and keeps the smile practically right up until the end of class, giddy to see the boys' traumatized faces and hear their war stories of being placed between a couple of six foot tall 17 year olds who could knock this bloody test out in three or four minutes.

He was right earlier in thinking he'd still be smiling as Flitwick tells them off, though the shaken-up boys not so much. The corners of his mouth only start to falter when Flitwick in fact does not give them all 100%, and instead puts them on the schedule for detention in September.

•••

‘Let's all duel’ he said. ‘It'll be a bit of fun’ he said.

Vincent Rialto stands on the opposite end of the classroom to Remus- both have their wands drawn.

The tables that once filled the classroom have been pushed to the walls and students that have had their turn sit on one side, and the students that haven't sit on the other. The class is a mix between Gryffindor and Slytherins so tensions are high and already- about twenty minutes into class- Rialto has had to separate some, and tell off most.

There's a constant buzz of chatter in the room so Remus knows that the only eyes that are on him right now are his friends’, and those of whom without anyone to talk to. He also knows that the only way to stay unseen is to not mess up and fall on his arse right away, at least keep together a little composure.

He also knows that another way to stay under the radar is by not knocking Rialto on his arse either. Not that Remus believes in himself to be able to do such a thing just yet anyway, but to hypothetically do so would inevitably land him some overly exaggerated nickname like ‘The Teacher Beater’.

Rialto has settled since the start of the year. Still a twiggy young man, he's found it deep within himself to raise his voice above just a few decibels on more than one occasion. Though Rialto's school year had a little bit of a challenging start, Remus has warmed up to him a lot (as has everyone else) and has full confidence in the- let's be honest here- boy’s return after the summer holidays. Inspiring, he thinks it'd be, for this supposed curse to be broken by such a frail guy. Amusingly anticlimactic as well, perhaps.

Remus and Romulus have even gone as far as letting go of their year-long charade of switching between themselves and have taken back over their own lives in the class. Looking back, Remus sort of realises that the whole prank was really quite pointless seeing as they did their own work anyway, did their own tests; all that they did was swap seats a few times and train themselves to answer to their brother’s name, all because the teacher didn't know any better.

Plus, that's just such an eleven year old thing to find funny and Remus isn't that same, immature boy he was two months ago. This isn't to imply that a similar stunt won't be pulled off next year as well, although the logistics are still to be figured out as of now.

The twins have taken back their identities in these classes and for maybe the first time this year, Rialto is standing before who is and who he knows to be, Remus Lupin.

They each take a few steps closer into the centre of the room, wands still raised at each other. Remus' task is to block one spell, and disarm the professor before he is to sit down on the other side of the class to watch with the rest. Peter and Sirius have already had their turn and giggle to themselves each time Rialto's wand is launched into the air and he has to scurry around to get it back.

The teacher raises his eyebrows at Remus as if to ask if he's ready (obviously not, but if they wait until he is, they'll be waiting until at least until 2000) and takes his stance. Remus mirrors this, and takes a big breath, and braces himself, and does not block the beam of red coming at him.

He feels his fingers jolt and be forced apart from their harsh grip on his wand, and he watches as it goes up in the air and with it, his ego.

Remus blames his shaky hand. He would have blocked it if it hadn't been for that, if he hadn't been so distracted by it to hear the spell be cast or to see it headed right for him. He just couldn't help but think that Rialto might accidentally cast the wrong spell, or he'll cast something else on purpose out of revenge because Remus got sixty one on the last test. He hears a few badly muffled snorts from around the room and he might… he might just start bawling, actually. Or wet himself- blimey this is scary.

Remus' breath hitches and he can feel the beginnings of a deep red colour sprout on his cheeks (why does he always have to go so red?). Risking a glance at Romulus, he clenches his jaw and widens his eyes a fraction for a second in panic. Romulus- going red too on Remus' behalf- nods his head to Remus' wand that has landed and rolled a couple of feet behind him.

“That’s quite alright, Remus.” Rialto reassures him, his wand still raised. A flashing thought of more panic pops into Remus' head before he notices that, courtesy of the professor, his wand is being returned to him. He plucks it out of the air in front of him and gives Rialto a grateful smile. “Let's try again.”

Remus looks at Romulus, feels that jolt of stress again because he sees all those eyes on him again, and concludes that maybe the solution to this is to just ignore everyone but he who is disarming him.

Rialto's eyebrows raise once more and this time Remus is ready. He squints and listens for the shout of “Expelliarmus!” that he missed the last time. He waits a second for the spell to get closer before he sharply flicks his wrist (so sharply that his wand almost flies out of his hand again) to successfully deflect it.

The class claps like they've done for everyone so far but Remus almost wishes they wouldn't so that he can look back on today and at least try to convince himself that it was all alright and no one was paying attention to his devastating failure. This is what breaks the camel's back and his face plummets into complete crimson.

Rialto breaks out into a great smile and claps along with the class.

He surrenders himself after it's all died down, extending out both arms to his side with only his thumb keeping his wand in his hand against his palm.

Remus takes aim (he swears to God, if he misses this…), takes stance, and takes another big breath. He doesn't look to his brother, or his friends on either side of him for reassurance this time. He feels the last remnants of his ego zipping around in his head and tries to catch Rialto off guard and cast the spell in his head but it doesn't exactly work.

“Expelliarmus!” He finally cries and a sudden red light is sent across the room to hit Rialto square in the chest.

He takes a step back from the impact and his wand is sent further and higher up than ever before. It spins forward in the air and Remus rushes forward too to catch it, earning an extra loud, second round of applause.

The professor laughs genuinely and pats Remus on the back heartily after retrieving his wand back.

“Brilliant, lad! Just brilliant! You put aside the- and… brilliant!”

Remus doesn't say anything because he can feel the sea of gibberish on the tip of his tongue and doesn't wish to embarrass himself further. So he runs over to Peter and Sirius and they quickly start to berate him for almost sending the teacher's wand out the window.

“Don't suppose Mum will be too happy when she hears about that, now will she?” Sirius taunt, poking his fingers at Remus ribs.

He squirms away and groans. “Will you guys ever get over that?”

Remus knows by now that it's futile to defend himself from that slipup. He also knows it's futile to try to point out that the only windows in this room were behind them and far from where Rialto's wand was launched. All just things he's going to have to accept that will be included in the boy's speeches at his wedding someday or something.

They don't pay attention to the class from then on, only turning back in when they notice that someone they actually care about is up next. Another five people are called up before Marlene is, two more and then James, Romulus, three more and then Lily.

With ten minutes left until dinner, ten or so people are still waiting for their turn, Evan being the only one left that Remus and the boys are rooting for.

As another Slytherin boy walks up next, Remus doesn’t pay attention to him though he's easily the tallest of all the first years combined and could get away with passing as a third year at least. This boy stomps up to where everyone is to stand, not speaking and looking terribly unenthusiastic as he goes.

Like most, the boy's wand is flown from his grasp on his first try. Like less, it takes him four times to successfully block Rialto's disarming spell. By this time, he's become increasingly more rattled to the point that he looks angry at Rialto himself.

More people are paying attention now. This boy still hasn't talked- only grunted-, not even in response to the teacher's praise once he does get it. Like there's a foreboding sense in the air, people's heads turn and their conversations trail off to watch the boy take a different stance than usual; for a second, Remus just thinks the boy is left-handed or something.

Whether or not Rialto notices this change, no one can tell because the boy yells incantation and jabs his wand too quickly for there to be any time to call him out and correct him on it.

Another flash of panic strikes Remus when he sees a flying streak of a darker colour come out at incredulous speeds from the boy’s wand. As he follows it, he thinks he sees a splash of green here and there and oh God, he's never seen death before. He doesn't want to see it, not even if it'll mean thestrals will appear for him from now on. He doesn't want to see poor Vincent Rialto be reduced to that, not even if it means he'll get to see Romulus' beaming face at the sight of one of those death-horses.

There's a chorus of shrieks and screams from the class when a six foot long snake flies into Rialto, landing on him as he's still standing surrendered. He stumbled and Remus is still thinking about thestrals when the teacher hits the floor, yelling and thrashing in terror.

Remus comes to his senses and jumps up to his feet eventually, as do the other boys who all take initiative to run over to Rialto first.

The man is scrambling around, pushing at the snake to get it off. It's about as thick as his leg in places and luckily enough, it's head is away from Rialto's. It's bitten his knee already, and his shin by the time Sirius has pointed his wand at it to levitate it partially away so at least the head and its possibly venomous fangs are up and away from Rialto's leg. But its borderline constricting grip on Rialto's thigh keeps it attached to him until he manages to sit up to try to pry it off.

The snake's head jolts and strikes at Sirius in the air so he sends it higher. Another student pushes forward and sends a “Petrificus Totalus!” into the snake's body, forcing it to release from Rialto's leg and be extended into a sort of straight plank. She levitates the now free arse-end of the animal and walks slowly with Sirius across the room and away from Rialto. A crowd follows them and gawks at the snake from below, some even trying to reach up to touch it.

While Peter and James stay by Rialto's side and shout and panic with the rest of the class over the blood and wounds, the twins sprint out the door with a few others in search of help. Five of them turn left for McGonagall’s classroom which happens to be closest, while Remus and Romulus make a break for the infirmary which is about the same distance.

Within five minutes, all of Rialto’s class, half of McGonagall's sixth years, and a few students from the infirmary who are suddenly feeling alright enough to run down too, are all crowded into the Defence Against the Dark Arts room. McGonagall works on crowd control and turning the snake into a ball of yarn, while Poppy casts a few spells on Rialto to keep him functioning until she can get him in the actual infirmary.

It's a mess trying to escort him out, what with everyone crowding around everyone. Remus and the boys decide that they aren't helping by doing just this too and leave for dinner early.

“Bloody Slytherins!” Remus starts to rant, his hands clenched into tight fists and face hot with anger. “It's ridiculous- utterly ridiculous! I'm sorry, but I just don't understand how attacking people is funny- they're sick!”

That boy- that troubled, troubled boy that did that? Remus wants to batter him for it. For this pointless, painless act of violence that didn't get him anywhere but stuck a couple of detentions. Yes: detentions. Because why would a Slytherin stuck-up enough to attack a teacher like that not have a corrupt, downright evil family to just intimidate someone or the other to make this go away? Remus almost brings this up but as angry they all may be, he's still conscious of how that may go down with Sirius.

“They're all twisted and cruel, with sewage for blood and worms for brains!”

Romulus snorts. “And a sack of razors instead of hearts, and their souls ran right off the first chance they got.”

“Didn't want to waste their time living in such awful people.”

As they turn a corner, Remus looks back and spots Evan walking behind them, more than close enough to hear. At the next corner, Remus looks back again and Evan has slowed his pace to get significantly further from the blabbering boys, but more than close enough for Remus to see the twinge of hurt (or is it guilt?) in his big brown eyes.

Yeah, he's got a funny feeling that they're not going to talk for a while.

•••

On the second last day of school, the graduating first year Gryffindors skip into a practical Potions class. They know by now not to wait around for instruction from Slughorn, and to instead just gather the equipment and ingredients listed on the chalkboard.

Having gotten pretty good at this, everyone is ready in under ten minutes and stands excitedly behind their cauldrons of pre-boiling water.

Slughorn doesn't bother with much preamble and orders for 35 named samples of Sleeping Draught in his vial rack by the end of class. He sits back on his chair, so much so that the two front legs are up in the air, takes out a book from his desk and settles down for the two hours with a tall steaming mug of tea.

Remus doesn't believe in ‘individual tasks’ as it's written on the board so he doesn't bother with his own textbook and instead just moves Romulus' to lie open between their stations. He believes in sharing ingredients and a communal mixing spoon that is passed around his friend group.

Only Peter and Remus work for the first half an hour, the others too busy chatting and annoying the girls from across the room. Sirius, who restocks his much needed Sleeping Draught himself once a week, doesn't start until there's forty five minutes or so left of the class.

Remus, despite being basically done by then, nudges his hips into Sirius' to get his attention. “Fancy making mine too?” He asks, using his elbows to gesture to his potion as he's got custody of the spoon in one hand and the other works to organise his terribly messy desk.

Sirius raises his eyebrows and looks into Remus' cauldron to evaluate. He glances over to check if Slughorn is anything other than nose deep in his boring old literature (he isn't), and nods.

“Only if you'll cut up all this stuff.” He counter-offers, and mirrors Remus' gesture down at his chopping board of ingredients. The two promptly switch places, which steals Romulus' attention away from the girls for a few moments.

“Want to make mine too?” He asks, voice flattering and eyelashes batting. He hasn't even got anything left to do but bottle it all up so Remus gives him a sharp glare.

By the time Peter and James start to ask too, a price of five galleons has been set for Sirius services. Reasonable to a degree, but just plain funny when all Sirius does to both of their potions is throw in extra lavender paste which fixes the consistency.

Still, James practically swoons and hugs Sirius from the side, leaning his head on the boy's shoulder and all. “You're the best, Pads, you know that?”

At that, there's a laughter that starts from the girls who, having finished about fifteen minutes ago, are huddled around each other by the wall.

“Are you ever going to let that stupid nickname go?” Lily calls.

James perks up, going on his tiptoes and leaning over his desk to get a good look at her as he calls back, “Do you want one, Evans? I've got some brilliant ones already.”

The girl scoffs playfully. “No thank you, Potter, I'd rather not be associated with you any more than I already am.”

James cocks his head and smirks before starting, “Redhead,” He starts to list off. “Carrot Top, Rusty, Bonnie Raitt- I could go on.”

“Please don’t.” Mary butts in, wincing.

“Must they all be to do with my hair?” Lily asks James with folded arms to the effect of a stern McGonagall. These effects go way over James' head though and he sighs almost longingly.

“It's your… defining feature.”

This is getting odd.

“What, and Sirius' is his feet?”

Sirius stops his stirring and chopping to lift his foot awkwardly onto the table with a loud thud! and clatter of glassware. James reaches over to pat the toe of his shoe, and then to ruffle the boy's dark hair. Arguably, hair is Sirius' defining feature too, so to speak.

“What can I say, Bonnie?” He shrugs, a cute smile etched across his face. “You've got lovely hair, and Padfoot here has got lovely feet.”

Lily rolls her eyes and crosses her arms tighter with an incredulous scoff. “I hate you, James Potter.” She announces. Slughorn looks up from his book for a moment.

On the contrary, James’ smile grows wider and softer and he nudges Sirius' foot back down to the ground so he has room to rest an elbow on the desk and hold his chin in his palm.

“Fancy going on a walk with me tonight?”

Eyes widen all across the room at his request. Lily's friends all snort either in disbelief that James could ask that so shamelessly after such a thing was said to him, or disbelief that he's being serious. They nudge her teasingly and a few others around her give her ‘did you hear that?’ sort of looks. Even Remus does, darting between staring at James, shocked, and staring at Lily, amused though knowing the answer before she can spit it out.

“Did you not just hear what I just said?” She asks.

“Well, do you? Won't see you for two whole months- don't you think it would be nice?”

“I don't know if there's anything I want to do less to be perfectly honest.”

Everyone's looks turn into fits of laughter at James' expense but he turns back to his simmering potion, silent yet completely unphased, keeping up his adoring smile too as if his proposal was successful.

The boys around him stare at him wide-eyed until Romulus hits him over the back of his head.

“You just asked out Lily in front of everyone!” He shouts in a whisper, jaw hanging open.

James nods. “Think so, yep.” The fool is blushing too, something too subtle to be of embarrassment and more like- like contentment.

“And since when do you fancy her?” Sirius snaps, perhaps hurt that he wasn't informed. Remus might start at it too; nobody was informed.

James, eyes fixed on his potion still though the vapour fogs his glasses, shrugs. “I dunno. She's kinda pretty, isn't she?” He looks up for the first time to watch as Lily’s friend crowd around her, poking at prodding at her for answers and opinions most likely. Remus doesn't try to decipher it all too much because he knows he's going to get an earful about how idiotic James is later when Lily corners him for a few hours someplace or another.

Peter tickles his side and Remus jumps up and away. “Remus has competition!”

Irritated already, he shouts, “I don't like Lily!”

“Yeah, you love her.” Romulus joins in, tickling his other side.

“I don't! How am I being made fun of if James is the one with the crush?”

“Can you stir this for a second, Re?” Sirius asks, changing the subject for him and in a moment of misdirected anger, Remus shouts again.

“Yes!”

They swap places, putting space between Remus and the prying boys who can now more accurately move onto James.

While Sirius begins helping the others with packaging their potions into vials, Remus idly stirs Sirius'. Its smoke is much more pungent than any others’, and it's got a deeper purple colour to it than anyone else's. Inching his nose closer, the smell is like a pillow, flooding his skull with fuzz and warmth. He can only imagine the feeling of sleep under its effects and suddenly Remus is contemplating asking for a few samples to bring home, or even just one to walk around with it under his pleased nose.

Slughorn starts making his rounds around the class, inspecting the end products, station organisation, the likes of. Reaching the boys, he comes between each of them to look into their cauldrons and waft the fumes into his face. Reaching Sirius', he has to take a step back.

“Dear me, boy, that's strong.” He sings, going back in for another shot now that he knows what he's dealing with. His eyes shut as he inhales for a couple of seconds.

Proud, Sirius' straightens out his shoulders and smirks. “Thank you, sir.” The others make a show of rolling their eyes.

“Done brilliantly this year, the lot of you.” Continues the Professor. “All got a real knack for potions it seems, especially you, Mr. Black. It runs in the family, I can tell you that much.”

Sirius' posture suddenly shifts back to who it was originally, maybe even worse, and his smile suddenly falls slack into a dissatisfied flat line. He squints his eyes at Slughorn as he moves onto Peter’s cauldron, jaw obviously clenched for a reason Remus can't think of. Sirius' ego, one that Remus has come to know quite well over this past year, must not like to share praises, even amongst friends.

Once Slughorn has moved in from their group, Sirius backs away and rushes over to the ingredients cabinets, eyes wide and mischievous with an idea. The boys watch him scan the shelves and drawers for a few seconds before grabbing a little container and hurrying back over. He unscrews the top of it, nudges Remus away from his potion and sprinkles in some herbs of sorts into it.

He stirs quickly for a minute, ignoring any and all questions that he's asked.

“Distract him for me.” He tells the boys once he's poured another sample from the modified potion into a spare vial and runs off again towards Slughorn’s desk before he can get a response.

James calls the professor over just as he finishes taking a look at everyone's work. He practically skips over and he and James converse as the boys attentively watch Sirius casually lean on Slughorn's desk. He uses himself as a wall to hide the mug left out on the table from most of the class’ view and in an instant, Sirius is casually strolling back over to the boys with a noticeably empty vial.

He shares a secretive snicker with his friends when he gets back and not long after, Slughorn dismisses the class. Everyone crowds to put their leftover ingredients back in the cabinets and leave for lunch as soon as possible but the boys stall a little, going to the end of the line in order to watch Slughorn take a long swig from his drink with held breaths.

“It'll take a little while to work.” Sirius whispers to them.

With their things sorted away, he packs everyone's remaining potion vials into his pockets and they too finally leave for lunch, walking slowly behind Slughorn as they do. The glass jingles in Sirius' pockets with each step, leading into more Padfoot jokes all the way to the Great Hall.

They keep an eye on the teacher's table, hardly paying attention to their own food as poor Slughorn progressively looks wearier and wearier through the meal. It isn't until he lets his eyes fall shut and his head fall down into his beans and mash that the boys let themselves dig in, hoping that a Hall full of hysterical students is a good note to end first year on.