Peter Giggled

Oh, my god, Remus thought in shock. He is going to suffocate and I am going to DIE and oh, my god, he's KISSING ME, and, with that last, abrupt thought, he fell off the bed.

"AUGH," he yelped. His legs flailed helplessly above his head and to his utmost horror, one of them hit a bright pink Sirius Black in the face.

"Oh, my god, I'm sorry!" A little corner in his mind registered that he had either said or thought the phrase 'oh, my god' three times in the past ten seconds, was he going mad? and there was a loud THUMP as the rest of his body joined his torso on the floor.

There was an astonishing thump somewhere above him and far to the right, except this thump was more of a Sirius smashing into the door in his hurry to run away thump.

Outside there was a flurry of voices.

"Hey Pads, what's wrong– whoa– what–"

"ARRGH–"

"Oww, watch that, mate, what the –"

"He bit me!"

Remus lay on the floor, wondering at his ability to distinguish thumps from thumps and if he was only a little bit insane or perhaps hallucinating.

Sirius was hiding in his favorite bathroom stall, the one by the suits of armor on the twelfth floor, the one that no one ever used because of that leaky faucet that occasionally emitted such haunting maxims as, "You've a cottage cheese arse!" and "Leopard-spotted thongs. I can see your spotted thongs!" Sirius never minded, mostly because he had a very nice arse, and the only thongs he had ever worn were those invisibility ones that Remus confiscated a while back.

"Fartface!" shouted the faucet. Sirius felt a hysterical giggle bubble up inside of him – it was so funny, so fucking funny, everything was a goddamned riot. . . .

The toilet seat exploded, sending shards of porcelain clattering into the walls.

"Fuck!" he swore, finding bits of toilet embedded in his arms. "Damnit, shit, fucking toilet. . . !"

He stumbled out of the stall, cursing toilets and their combustive properties, only to run into an extremely startled Severus Snape, who seemed to be gaping at the leaky sink in disbelief.

"It – it called me a fartface!" Snape started, looked about, found it was that damned Sirius Black who was standing behind him, and quickly composed his countenance into something less fartface and more oh-it's-you-additive-evil-sneer.

Sirius Black, on the other hand, stopped cursing, saw that it was that fucking Severus Snape, and froze with horror, allowing his own countenance to assume the face of a cadaver. An extremely unhappy cadaver.

"Black," Snape spat, "I trust that you have my ingredients? The full moon was last night, you know."

Sirius gathered himself together, and with all the finesse of an aristocrat – his mother would be so proud – said, "Fuck."

Snape raised a greasy eyebrow. "What was that, Black?"

"I said," Sirius snarled, pulling himself together, "fuck you. I haven't got your fucking eggs and you shouldn't fucking expect them, either. Fuck off; I'm not going to fucking get any more shit for your fucking twisted experiments, no matter what you fucking try to do, so fuck you, you sleazy bastard."

Snape turned white, lips pressed in a thin line. "And," he shot, "have you forgotten about your darling Remus Lupin?"

Sirius sneered, "No one would believe you anyways. You're a fucking liar, Snivelly."

"And," Snape smiled evilly, "what if I were to tell Lupin himself?"

Sirius stopped dead. Snape smiled thinly.

"I'll expect them next month, then. Throw in some –"

"You know what, Snape? Remus already knows. He knows, and he's okay with it. So fuck you; you haven't got anything against me at all." He grabbed his bag, and shot over his shoulder, "Maybe you shouldn't be so occupied with your flatulence as your grease, slimeball."

He marched out of the bathroom, with all the triumphant trumpets of the world playing Ode to Joy in his head.

Remus lay on the floor, face burning crimson, while James and Peter gaped at him.

"Remus," Peter whispered, "what are you doing down there?"

"I . . . fell." Oh god, thought Remus, I sound like an abused child now.

"And Sirius just left you there?" James said with an air of incredulity.

"I think he had to take a piss . . . ." Remus' mind was racing, quickly trying to come up with excuses for his predicament. He had never been any good at lying.

"He's been spending an awful lot of time in the loo recently. Do you think he has a disease?" It was a good thing Peter was bollocks at discerning lies from truth. A proper Sherlock Holmes, really.

James scratched his chin. He didn't look like he believed what Remus was saying in the least, but went along with it anyways, "Yes, I'm sure he does. Probably terrifically contagious, painful, all that."

Remus picked himself up, groaning. Stupid moon. Stupid joints. Stupid Sirius.

Sirius' sudden change in behavior was noted and commented on. Sporadic outbursts of singing in the common room, dry humping of random objects, dancing upon the tables, and other such exuberant behavior made it hard not to be noted. But only a few noticed that Remus and Sirius seemed to be avoiding each other, and that any sort of direct confrontation between them was painfully awkward.

James was one of the few. Peter, however, was not.

"What?" Peter asked, "You mean, they've been awkward at each other?"

"If one could awkward at something, then they would," James concurred.

"Wow, I haven't noticed. But then again, Sirius seems to be red an awful lot. And he doesn't go around nude anymore. I thought that was a good thing." Peter pondered for a second. "You know, I really think it was that crusty toast. Everything was fine until we got that crusty toast."

"Peter," James said patiently, "toast is supposed to be crusty."

"BUT NOT THAT CRUSTY!" Peter insisted. In his mind, all evil was rooted in crusty toast. Crusts were bad, evil, and they were out to take over the world, starting with innocent loaves of bread. Shame, really. He liked bread.

James sighed. "That's not the point. Point is we need to find out why Sirius and Moony are being awkward at each other."

The pumpkins towered over the breakfasters. Ghoulish specters hovered over the tables, occasionally emitting strange mooing noises, reminiscent of exceptionally transparent cows. Sirius reached up to tug at one.

"Sir," he said, head tilted up, "Sir, why do you moo so?"

Peter giggled, and James elbowed him in the ribs.

"S'not polite to laugh at dead people. Offensive, really."

Sirius glared at them both. He waved his hand at – through – the specter insistently. "Sir?"

"Moooo," it sighed, turning vacant eyes towards the inquiring Sirius, "mooooo." In a tired sort of way, it brought its hand down to Sirius' face, holding a finger in front of his eyes, "MooooOOOO," and it patted his unkempt head mournfully.

James and Peter gaped as the specter floated off, leaving a behind a thoroughly excited Sirius Black.

"Did you –!" he flailed, "And it –!"

Kingsley Shacklebolt frowned at Sirius over his woman-syrup covered pancakes.

"I mean . . . er," Sirius faltered, "SorrysirIwilljustreturntomyfoodandstopharrassingghosts."

Kingsley nodded curtly and continued to eat his food in a manner that suggested it had severely displeased him.

Due to the general air of mad excitement that surrounded Halloween, classes were not productive. At least, they were not productive in the sense that students actually learned something.

"And then," Sirius paused, "IT SMASHES HIM."

James applauded, ignoring Professor Flitwick's imploring looks.

"Brilliant, Padfoot, brilliant." James swung an encouraging arm over his shoulders. "Escape plan?"

"Oh, well, if we're using the fourth floor corridor we can duck out through that fake wall, right, Moon – erm, Peter?"

Peter looked around uncertainly, "Me?" he asked, surprised, "Shouldn't you be asking Remus?"

Sirius blinked ferociously at him and said very loudly, "NO."

Remus' ears turned bright red behind his book.

James noted the exchange with some interest. Peter, with all the tact of a herd of elephants, plowed on.

"But you always ask Remus! Ask Remus. I don't know about the fourth floor, I was in the hospital wing when we did that."

Yes, go on, James added silently, ask him.

Sirius opened and closed his mouth several times, looking like an extremely hairy fish. Remus, ears still a lovely shade of crimson, mumbled something about bathrooms and fled, eyes downcast. Professor Flitwick grumbled.

James stroked his chin thoughtfully. He wished he had a beard, but alas! Growing facial hair was not among James Potter's many talents.

Peter looked at him. "Is your chin itchy or something? Mum sent me anti-itching cream last week, you can have some if you want."

"Erm, no," James hastily stopped stroking his chin and put both hands on the table. "Er, anyways, like I was saying –"

"You weren't saying anything at all, you berk," Sirius prodded his ribs with an extremely sharp finger, "unless you meant the bit about me being a genius and all because if you did, you may continue, addendum, so on and so forth, etcetera, ad nauseum and the like."

"Berk, yourself. Anyways I think we should –"

The Marauders sank into a heated discussion about the differences of woman-syrup and pitcher-syrup, and no one seemed to notice Sirius' anxiety.

Remus Lupin was sitting on a toilet of high caliber – that is, he was sitting on a toilet of the Prefect's bathroom. He had a book in his hands, but he wasn't actually reading it, which was unusual. Nor were his digestive organs being used, which was also unusual. In fact, Remus Lupin seemed to be doing absolutely nothing at all, besides sitting on the toilet.

Unusual, that.

He was wondering if it were unusual to be snogged by a very masculine best friend of the same age and living quarters. He wondered what the usual action of persons snogged by very masculine best friends was, and he wondered if it were not so unusual to wonder about wondering about things that made one wonder.

He asked himself, what he, Remus Lupin, would do in such a situation, and decided that Remus Lupin would go to the library.

What about classes? a little voice whispered, Shouldn't you at least go back and make up an excuse for leaving?

Oh, bugger that. It was Halloween, not like anyone was going to notice anyways.

He arrived at the library slightly breathless and a little sweaty. Madame Pince inspected him warily. Remus Lupin was a Good Boy, she thought. He put the books in the right places without being asked, a very Good Boy. She waved him on.

Slightly embarrassed, he rushed to the furthest side of the library. He wandered the shelves, doubting that they even kept books of the counseling sort in the library. Especially counseling books of that sort.

To his immense surprise, there were indeed books of the counseling sort, and even books of that counseling sort. Located in a depressingly obscure corner of the library, the dusty shelf labeled Self-Help was crammed full of brightly colored books with titles like Addicted to Gillyweed, and How to Ask for Help, and, he shuddered, for this book seemed rather. . . well-loved, Older Lovers in your Profession – Love, Lust, or Quid Pro Quo?

Ears burning in ignominy, he hurriedly flipped out several books that seemed to be of use, and several others from the surrounding shelves to hide them. He sat at a lonely looking carrel and prayed no one would see him. He gingerly turned the first book over.

Homosexual and Happy, it said cheerfully. The cover bore a pair of male wizards holding hands and smiling. Their teeth were blinding – Remus never knew such a white shade of white, and he wondered what sort of toothpaste they used.

He turned to the table of contents and nearly choked. Gay Sex – Two Penises are Better than One! it proclaimed happily. Remus quickly shoved it away.

Boarding School Gays, said the next, Magic and Learning of the Other Sort.

"Erk," Remus said.

Remus approached the front, head down and blushing. Madame Pince glared down at him, stamp and wand in hand.

"Th-these books, please," he whispered, holding out his well-chosen items. He had considered transfiguring them but decided that to do so was blasphemy, and besides, they probably had some sort of anti-transfiguration sensor.

Madam Pince's sharp voice cut through his embarrassment-muddled brain. "Your books, if you would."

He turned a lovely shade of magenta and handed her the books.

"Ah!" Madame Pince exclaimed, in quite different tones than one was accustomed to hearing from her, "I thought so! Excellent choice, Mr. Lupin, most excellent!"

"What?"

"Poppy and I were just putting up bets, and you, Mr. Lupin, have won me lunch!"

Bewildered, Remus stammered out, "I'm sorry, I don't. . . ?"

"Such pretty little boys. . . ."

"What?"

Madame Pince sighed blissfully and stamped the books.

"I – I really don't understand what. . . ."

"Why, you, of course! Oh, my, you'd be surprised at how many pretty gay boys –" here she emitted a little squeal of rapture – "And you wouldn't believe how many of them come to the library to –" and sighed, eyes glazed over –"Although," she whispered confidentially and a little enviously," Muffy always gets the best ones, Astronomy Tower and all."

Remus gaped at her in horror.

"Now," she strode out from behind her desk and handed an astonished Remus his books, "if you ever want to come to tea with us, feel free. But be sure to bring your boyfriend, we always enjoy the sight of young lovers." Beaming, she shooed him out of the library.

Fortunato and Montresor peered from behind the corner.

"You know," Fortunato said, in a voice that sounded uncannily like James', "I don't even know who this Fortunato fellow is."

"Shh!" hissed Montresor agitatedly, "herehecomesherehecomes!"

A sour-faced Snape stomped down the hallway, in the guise of a vampire.

"Didn't put much effort into his costume, did he?" Montresor hissed.

Fortunato snorted.

"Shhh. Go!"

Fortunato cupped a hand around his mouth, "Caw. Caw. Caw caw caw caw caw!"

Snape whirled around, horrified, "Oh, shit."

"Caw! Caw! CAW CAW CAW CAW CAW CAW CAW CAW CAW!" Montresor joined in.

Snape whipped his head wildly from side to side, eyes wide in horror.

"CAW CAW CAW CAW CAW CAW CAW CAW!"

"Oh fuck. Where are they? Where are they!" Snape was wild with fear.

Fortunado and Montresor flapped their cloaks, increasing the volume of their caws.

"CAWCAWCAWCAWCAWCAWCAWCAWCAWCAW!"

Snape shrieked and tore off down the hall, cloak flapping behind him.

Cackling, Montresor and Fortunato swooped off.

"Victory for the Marauders!" Montresor shouted, shovel in hand. James ducked.

"Watch that, mate. Can't go killing Fortunato, bad karma and all."

"But Jamsie-poo, I'm supposed to kill Fortunato! S'wot this shovel's for." He brandished it fiercely. "You insulted me, so I had to bury you in my family vault."

"Wonky movie, that."

"It's not a movie. It's a story by some stoned dude who hallucinated all the time."

"Hey, you actually read something of your own free will? Amazing, that."

Sirius opened his mouth to say that it was actually Moony who put him to it, clever Moony, but decided to clamp his lips together very tightly and not say anything at all.

POP, went his lips.

"Eh? Eh? What was that?"

"Er, sorry, burped. Hey, look, it's that statue I was telling you about, the one that gropes everyone."

"Oh man, do you think it could wank people off?"

A loud cough interrupted them.

"Misters Black and Potter, I presume?" came Professor McGonagall's voice from behind them, and they turned around, horror-stricken, "The feast will begin shortly. I advise you to accompany me to the Great Hall to prevent any further – ah – speculation on the properties of this statue, interesting as it may be." She surveyed them sternly over the tops of her spectacles. "Come."

Chagrined, Fortunato and Montresor followed her.

The feast was a mad revel of costumed students, dancing and screaming and laughing. Dumbledore, as serene and Dumbledore-ish as ever, presided over the carousing with a slight smile. Some of the more festive teachers had taken the time to dress up – Professor Flitwick, unmistakably short as he was, had dressed as a very small, minute, even miniscule, whale, and Professor Slughorn was an extremely rotund Merlin.

"Look at Slughorn!" Sirius poked James.

"Look at Lily," James sighed, clinging to Sirius' arm. Lily made an extremely fetching pirate, he decided. He would have to retransfigure the woman-syrup at once.

"Eww," Sirius said. "That's gross, Potter; don't even think about that syrup bottle, I know you are."

"What!" James said indignantly, "I was not!"

"You were," Peter appeared, suddenly, "I could tell, too."

"Whoa, where'd you come from?"

"House elves gave me food and sent me up here. Didn't know there was a costume party, so they gave me this." He nodded at himself. James and Sirius blinked. Peter looked . . . strangely adorable. More adorable than any Peter of any place should look.

He was dressed as an extremely cute snowman, outfitted with the apropos scarf and coal buttons. He had painted his face white, and was wearing a hat in Gryffindor colours. A carrot had even been transfixed to his nose, presumably by a sticking charm, though the integrity of the charm was highly suspect as the carrot wobbled precariously whenever he moved his head.

They gaped.

"Wow. . . . Peter, matey, you look . . . cute."

Peter looked askance at them, "Cute?"

"Yeah. . . . Cute." Sirius said, rather confusedly.

"Oh, my gosh, Peter!" A pirate Lily appeared, looking thoroughly pleased with the snowman Peter she had discovered. "That is such a brilliant outfit! You look really cute in it!"

James goggled.

"Oh. . . er, thanks." Peter blushed, "The house elves helped me."

"Aww, that's so adorable. Hey, Peter, would you like to meet some of my friends?"

"Um. . . okay." Beaming, Lily took Peter by the hand – James made a noise as if he were choking – and led him away.

Sirius snickered, seeing the expression on James' face. "Oh, Jamsie-poo. We should be glad for Peter. Maybe he can hook you up with some girls."

James looked as if he had died a little inside. Sirius grinned, and grabbed one of his hands. "Would you," he said in a deep, sultry baritone, "give me the honor of this dance?"

Beside them, a girl shrieked in joy. "Oh, my god, they're going to dance, look, look!"

This seemed to snap James out of his depression. Winking at the sudden crowd of shrieking girls, he pressed Sirius' hand to his lips. "But of course."

"Hey," James said, "Where's Moony?"

Sirius, who had been really, really, really trying hard not to look for, or even think about, Remus shook his head in disagreement vigorously. Peter, still amazingly cute, shrugged.

"I saw him on my way back from the house elves. I think he might've gone off to the dormitories."

"Right, then, let's go fetch him." James made determined motions towards the doors. Sirius protested, pulling back at James' arms.

"What if he's . . . he's. . ." Sirius attempted to think of things people did in private, "wanking?"

James scoffed, "Remus never wanks. He is completely asexual. I bet on an asexual scale of one to ten, Remus is twenty-five and a half."

Peter giggled, and Sirius flushed. The thought was simultaneously comforting and disconcerting – it wasn't his fault that Moony didn't like him but then he couldn't snog –

Sirius shook his head frantically and persisted.

"Prongs," he whined, "leave Remus alone. He doesn't have to come if he doesn't want to."

James turned to Sirius, aghast. "What? What? Is this Sirius Black I hear, championing the individual rights of a Marauder?"

"Er. . . no?" Sirius looked about him, shifty-eyed. "Er. . . oh, hello, Lily!"

James whipped around, Remus and the Rights of Marauders Everywhere forgotten. Sirius took the chance to stick ice cubes down James' Fortunato robes and scurried away.

Sometime near midnight, the party migrated to Gryffindor tower, headed by Sirius and making a great deal of noise as roughly fifty percent of the school's population tumbled drunkenly through the portrait hole. The crashing and revelry thoroughly startled one Remus Lupin, who was at the time convalescing in an overstuffed chair with a copy of Gay: It's Okay!

Upon seeing the whirlwind of bodies tumble through the portrait hole, Remus threw himself to his feet, arms windmilling madly as he stuffed the book into his jumper. Sirius was the first to notice him.

". . . MoooooOOOooony?" Sirius crossed his eyes and stumbled a few steps across the common room. Never could hold his (five or so bottles of) Firewhiskey, that one.

Remus thought quickly. "Er, no. 'Fraid not. Must be off! Ta!" and scurried up the stairs.

Sirius, eyes uncrossed, goggled unsteadly at the retreating figure. "Mmpphm. Could'a sworn wassh . . . " An idea struck him with the sudden force of a Beater's bat.

Someone else had dragged into the common room a large magical record player, procured from dubious sources, and was currently playing it full volume.

"DANSH!" cried Sirius exuberantly, "DANSH!" He made a running leap onto the nearest table, and immediately began to dance, arms and legs flailing wildly. His vision swayed with his limbs, thoughts fuzzy with the heady scent of alcohol. James, he thought, James will dance. A flailing arm reached off the table and hauled James up.

And they danced. Erratic, drunken tangoes, waltzes, flamencos and foxtrots.

Naked, Sirius' brain spoke again, naked is a good place to be. His body agreed. Shirt, tie, socks, pants, trousers, were thrown to the ground, not necessarily in that order. It felt liberating, all this rampant nudity. I must do this again, he thought.

It was nearly three A.M. when Sirius staggered into the dorm, muttering something under his breath about pickled specimens and Merlin's bogeys and all manner of other disgusting things. Still gloriously nude, he stumbled across the floor towards his bed. However, an errant sock stood in the way of his conquest. He tripped, crashing through the hangings of the nearest bed and onto something rather bony.

"The hell -?" Remus sat up, bleary eyed, "Oh. Hallo."

Sirius was about three centimetres from his face. "Llooo. Wossha dween hee a shuch a taime?" His words were slurred, rolling off his tongue and dropping heavily into the air between them. Sirius leaned forward inquiringly. Their noses brushed.

Remus' heart began to beat at an astonishing pace. His eyes widened, pupils dilating. "Pardon?" he muttered.

Sirius leaned even closer in, their mouths nearly touching. Remus leaned his head back slightly. Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit, oh shit. The books hadn't mentioned anything about these sorts of situations. It appeared he had not yet reached the What To Do When Your Drunken Best Mate Is Trying To Impale Your Face With His Nose chapter.

"Wulllllll," drawled Sirius, drawing out the syllable as long as possible, "Wullllllll-" and he toppled gracefully off the bed.

Remus pulled the covers over his head, simultaneously pondering how someone so drunk could still be graceful and praying that Sirius wouldn't remember this in the morning.

"WEIRD, THOSE AMERICAN BLOKES," Sirius proclaimed, bouncing on James and his bed. He prodded a very hung over James. "UP," he said, boinging a little.

"Ngg. . . ." James groaned, throwing an arm over his head, "Go bother Moony or something. Head hurts. Don't wanna go to class."

"Up, up, up. . . ."

"WHY IS IT that you are NEVER hung over. EVER." James flung himself on his face, wincing.

"Guess what, guess what, those colonist blokes over in America, and they colonized, and they, they, came across this bloke and he was chief of some people, and his name was Wahunsonacock."

"Wha-who's on a cock?" James immediately perked up.

"Wahun. Wahun is on a cock." Sirius looked immensely pleased with himself.

"Wow. And this guy was chief of these American colonist blokes?"

"Er, yeah! yeah! That's it."

"And he was on a cock and they made him chief anyways?"

"YES."

"Oh, matey, those American colonist blokes. Cock." James shook his head, pain forgotten.

"Penis," Sirius countered, propping himself up on James' chest with his elbows. "Penis penis penis."

"Dick."

"Vagiiiinaaa. . . ." Sirius grinned, baring his teeth. "I win, James Potter, so there."

"Bugger off, Pads. You and your damned table dancing." James stuffed a pillow over his face.

"Admit it, you know you liked it."

"Urgh. Never. 'Pickled specimen'? Disgusting. You, my friend, are the worst exhibitionist I have ever met."

"Mmm. And I have never been hung over."

"Bastard. Your elbows are too pointy. Off. Now."

Professor Binns' monotone voice droned on, something about the diplomatic affairs of pygmies or somesuch nonsense. Personally, Sirius felt they were all reincarnations of the devil. What other demented, twisted creatures would write an entire 4392 pages on jungle land contracts?

Remus was scribbling something on a neatly torn piece of paper. Sirius looked at it apprehensively.

The ominous bit of paper wended its way to Sirius, who, although glad for the respite, was not entirely willing to accept it from a potentially embarrassing note.

Messr. Padfoot –

We ought to deal with this. . . incident thing like responsible adults, oughtn't we? Or at least with some semblance of responsibility.

I think what I am trying to say is we need to talk (as soon as is feasible). Madame Pince is starting to scare me.

– Messr. Moony

Sirius' quill waved frenetically as he wrote, crossed out, wrote again. He crumpled up his torn paper and hurled it at a mildly surprised Remus.

BUT I AM NOT

A R I DON'T WANT

NO

Er. I. Can't talk. Throat died and all. Was eating toast, etc. No talking for me.

Besides, nothing happened

Neatly folded, Remus' reply was handed across the aisle.

Agh

Well, you can still write, can't you?

And something certainly did happen, I've still got a bruise on my arse.

So. . . write. (Explain yourself and all that rot.)

Sirius bit at his lip.

IT WAS THE TOAST DAMNIT

Remus snorted.

Toast is supposed to be crusty! Honestly, it's like talking to Peter or something.

Stop being avoidant.

Sirius stared at the note, unmoving. His quill trembled. Then, timorously:

NOT BEING AVOIDANT, YOU GIT

anyways your crossy-outy things suck.

Peter's a weird pleasant bloke.

Er about The Thing I just wanted to felt it just happened and I guess you were conveniently at hand, dormitory and all and anyways I don't know it just did and er sorry mate I really don't know.

Remus looked at it thoughtfully.

You were so being avoidant – That is not the point.

Also, my "crossy-outy" things are excellent.

Anyways, dormitory and proximity and convenience (oh, grammar, why have you forsaken me?) and that sort of thing is a very good explanation.

because I'm not because so

Peter is a very weird pleasant bloke indeed.

Sirius' tongue poked out a bit as he ripped the paper for his next note. He turned the paper periodically, following its odd curves.

observe my mad paper-tearing skills! anyways I am glad we got that sorted out, let's not talk of this again.

In the center of his peculiarly formed oblong:

RAWR like a caterpillar

A corner was occupied by a sort of space alien, all tentacles and belly.

Remus' note seemed to take a while to write.

Yes, that's a very good idea, probably. After all, there's no reason to talk about it, is here? Perfectly logical thing to have happen, considering the circumstances. I mean, dormitories and everything . . . if you put people in the same room for long enough, that sort of thing is bound to happen. I bet it happens all the time, really. It's probably perfectly normal. If you asked around (which you shouldn't and which is something I do not encourage) you'd probably find it's not abnormal, common even (no, really, don't go asking around. I can hear you thinking. It would only bring up unnecessary questions. Really. Don't!). But I digress. Perfectly normal, bound to happen to someone somewhere, etc. etc.

Glad everything's back to normal.

– Moony

Sirius blinked at the note, cross-eyed.

WELL I WASN'T GOING TO ASK well maybe just a few people.

ME TOO so are we okay mates and all again?

Remus smiled a bit.

If you do, you might find every pair of your socks missing. (Though you probably wouldn't mind the constantly sweaty feet; your personal hygiene is appalling.)

And yeah, I think we are.

Additionally, you should note the shape of this note. It is almost a perfect square. Admire it.

Sirius looked up, and, while Remus watched in abject horror, systematically tore the corners off.

"Jamsie-poo, wake up, wake up, up, up," Sirius sang in James' ear, grabbing a handful of messy black hair. "Oooh, Jamsie-poo!"

Professor Binns floated by, looking at them disapprovingly.

James groaned, mumbling something about syrup. Sirius shoved his tongue in James' ear. He squawked, still half-asleep, as their fellow peers looked on.

"Sticking your tongue in other people's ears isn't very conducive to well being," Remus said, "Especially James', I don't think he ever washes them."

Sirius grinned broadly, exuberantly, madly, and flung his arm around Remus' shoulders. "My dear Moony, Moony, Moony, I bathe his ears with my saliva. They are the cleanest ears to have ever lived."

"I would imagine so, seeing as your toothbrush is practically molding from disuse."

"Gnnn . . . ng," James said.

Peter shuffled up from his seat, having packed his bag.

"Peter! My lovely Wormtail!" Sirius semi-tackled him in joy, knocking him over James.

"AUGH," James shrieked, jumping up.

"Good work, Peter old man, you woke him up! Let's go, hup, one two three, fifty one, hup! Hup!" He thrust his arms through Peter's and Remus' and dragged them off to lunch.

James, rubbing at his curiously damp ears, followed at a respectable distance. Certainly a new development in the Remus/Sirius case, he thought to himself, humming a detective theme.

James Potter: Private Eye.

Ought to have started carrying a notebook. And gotten one of those funny detective hats. Those things were ace. And a dame! Every good detective needed a dame. . . . James pulled the syrup bottle out of his robes and eyed it speculatively (and a little pervertedly). He wondered if he could get a little detective movie style dress for it.

Her, corrected the other side of his brain. She's a her.

Speaking of her, Lily knew how to knit, maybe she could knit a dress for it.

Her.

He entered the Great Hall, still humming the detective tune under his breath. Sirius appeared to be levitating sausages in an odd sort of dance, his arm over Remus' shoulders. Remus was laughing, while Peter, taking advantage of the spectacle, was unsubtly stealing lettuce from Remus' plate.

Peter was the first one to notice James' arrival.

"Lo, mate!" Peter waved frantically, something brown and slightly soggy flopping about in his hand.

"Look," he said as James took his seat, "the toast isn't crusty any more." He shoved the limp brown lump into James' hands.

"We dumped pumpkin juice on it, but don't tell him that. Anyways, what sort of bloke eats toast for lunch?" Sirius whispered covertly, sending the dancing sausages hurtling across to the Slytherin table, which erupted in squeals and shrieks as Bellatrix found her face splattered with a volley of kamikaze sausages.

"I'm going to fucking kill you!" Bellatrix shouted, leaping to her feet.

"Run, Sirius, run!" Remus shoved Sirius under the table, laughing hysterically.

Peter giggled happily and prodded his toast lump, watching it jiggle.

James looked at Peter's jiggling toast lump, Bellatrix's sausage-covered face, Sirius' manic grin, Remus' helpless laughter, and McGonagall's impending face of Doom.

Good Gog, he thought, I want to throw sausages at Bellatrix.