“Alright lads. Let’s go over the list one last time, shall we?”
“Ugh James, we’ve been over it five times now, I’m pretty sure we’ve got everything mate.”
He shakes his head, tutting. “One can never be too careful, Red. Now, what’ve we got Peter?”
Peter sighs, “Clothes,”
“Check.” comes the chorus of marauders, at varying levels of enthusiasm.
“Books,”
“Check.” this time it’s only Camille and Remus. Sirius rolls his eyes.
“Presents,”
“Check.”
“Brooms,”
“Check!” says a beaming James. Casey sighs.
“I doubt we’ll even have time to practice, Prongs. Besides, it’s just the two of us.”
“Nonsense. We have Sirius and Peter, they’ll help. And we have the match against Ravenclaw week after we get back! We’ll need the practice. Just like I always say: ‘You can ne-”
“-You can never fly too much, or practice too often. Yeah, I know.” Casey waves a hand dismissively before exchanging a look with Camille.
“Don’t look at me, mate. You’re the one who wanted to play that rubbish sport.” Camille says pointedly. James mockingly gasps in horror.
They end up going over the list at least three more times before James is satisfied that they’ve packed everything, and by the time they’re finished, breakfast is long out of the question. They rush down the spiral staircase with their bags, and only barely make it to the train.
They slide into their usual compartment, Sirius laying both of his feet on Remus’ lap, much to his annoyance. Peter and Casey take the seats closest to the window, and James and Camille are already raiding the trolley.
“You all excited?” Peter asks, reaching for an acid pop. “Potter family Christmas is always a treat.”
“I’m still amazed we were able to convince our family to let us go.” Sirius unwraps his chocolate frog, handing the card to Casey, who scoffs.
“I’m not. My mother couldn’t wait to have a drama free Christmas with Trixie.”
“Drama free? Our family? Why, don’t kid yourself Frosty.”
Remus laughs, “Well, I can’t believe I’m saying this but the ‘Royal Family’ has done something right. It’ll be nice to have you tag along this year.”
“Too bad Regulus couldn’t come along.” Camille says thoughtfully. “He’d love this.”
Sirius bursts out laughing. “Reggie? I doubt it. You’re the only one of us he can stand. Doesn’t know what to do without a thousand etiquette rules, anyway.”
Camille chuckles, “Yea, I suppose you’re right.”
The rest of the train ride is spent chatting, laughing, annoying Remus, eating entirely too many sweets, and playing exploding snap. You know, typical marauder activities.
By the time they get to the station, Peter had won eight out of twelve rounds, much to Sirius’ dismay. James ends up carrying half of the luggage out of the train. “No really, I don’t mind, I can get them all, it’s no trouble.” They greet Mr. and Mrs. Potter at the station and apparate straight to the house.
They set their luggage in James’ room for now. James flops down onto the bed with an exaggerated sigh of exhaustion and relief. “Home sweet home.”
Peter and Remus start unloading their trunks as Casey and Sirius go to examine James’ record collection.
“The Beatles mate, really?”
“Oh sod off Pads, The Beatles are legends. You’re just blinded by the need to look cool.” Casey sets Revolver spinning on the record player, and George Harrison’s voice comes floating through the speakers.
“1, 2, 3, 4, 1, 2.”
Camille’s head shoots up as she recognizes the opening chords to Taxman. “Oh I love this album, nice choice Frosty.”
Casey winks back, flipping Sirius off. “See Sirius? I’ve got Redcoat on my side, so suck on that.”
After a night of loose conversation, (in which Sirius got mercilessly battered for disliking what is arguably the greatest band of all time,) a bit more exploding snap, (Peter has now won eleven out of sixteen rounds,) and even a little dancing, the marauders called it a night. They headed to their respective rooms. Casey and Camille across the hall from James and Sirius, and Peter and Remus right next door.
Camille begins to unpack her luggage, while Casey just throws her trunk down on the floor and hops in the top bunk, effectively claiming it. Which is completely fine as far as Camille is concerned. “You’re not going to unpack?” Casey shakes her head.
“I have a system. I take whatever out of my trunk as I need it.”
“We’re going to be here a week and a half, it’s going to be a mess.”
“Well that’s a problem for future Casey.” She holds her wand above her head, twirling it between her fingers. Camille rolls her eyes.
“Alright mate, your funeral.” She finishes unloading her trunk and sits down on the bottom bunk, turning out the lights.
“G’night Frosty.”
“Goodnight Red. Happy ‘Almost Christmas.’”
“Happy ‘Almost Christmas,’ Casey.”