The Fused Trousers Incident
Date Composed: Mid-October 2007
Length: 15,000 words total
Summary: Fifth year conflicts between the Marauders and Snape lead towards the disarray of magics.
Pairings: Remus/Sirius, James/Lily
Warnings: Oddly turned out to be rather Peter-centric.
Disclaimer: JKR's.
A/N: This was written so long ago, and never released, so I hope it's okay.

*

(Morning)

Fifth year had already aged a month. A graceful aging process. No longer were groans heard at breakfast over having to face Slughorn a half-hour after rolling from bed.

'It is abominably rude to see such a wizard as he right after toast and tea.' Sirius had pouted immeasurable times during sixteen days of September. Now, nearly five weeks later, he was reacquainted with his dislike for Slughorn's class, after a bad mark and three consecutive detentions. 'Er, tea and toast, I mean. Er, dammit.' He cursed himself again before James could quip and Peter could snicker. 'I did it again, didn't I?'

He threw a pathetic look at Moony. The werewolf had a way about his eyebrows, throwing a keen sense of pathos into their askance tilt.

'Twice,' Remus answered. Peter cottoned on.

'Tea and mean, Sirius. Lucky for you it only sounded like a rhyme. Not a true rhyme. Question remains, what rhymes with Slughorn?'

'PORN!' cried James. It echoed down the stone corridor and cavernous ceiling. Students queuing at the closed door of Potions class turned squints his direction. Potter didn't mind. He thrived beneath attention. But when he caught the green eyes of a certain Miss Evans, a twinge of shame blossomed before he was able to beat it into submission.

'Unlike our friend James Potter, you must just think before you speak, Sirius,' Remus advised. 'I know this concept has been very difficult for you to practice.'

Sirius's head shook. His glared into the tips of his loafers. 'Nope, Remus, I am beyond hope. Rhyming will have to be a part of me for the entire school year, I'm afraid.'

'You should never have read that book,' said Peter. 'Serves you right.' He backed away a step when Sirius angled his head and flashed his incisors, one of those feral moments Peter abhorred. He huffed confidence into himself. 'Magical books, Sirius, can inflict certain characteristics that­—'

'No, no, no!' Sirius slammed fists into his hair. 'Shut up, Peter! I know already!' A vague stare into the distance conjured floating images of an ugly nose and beady eyes. 'It's all Snivellus' fault! If he hadn't tricked me, I never would've read the book in the first place!'

'Yes,' sighed Remus, holding his books close should a wayward fist head his direction with the comment, 'I'm sure Severus twisted your very bendy arms. You did it for sheer braggadocio, and don't try and make the rest of us believe otherwise.'

Sirius refrained from impaling Moony. He was doing that tilting thing with his eyebrows again. The Affinity of Pathos, Sirius had come to call it in his head. Moon and Sympathy. The Moral Compass of a Self-Confessed Lunatic. Deliverance. Deference. The existence of these things. Sirius wagged his head again, the useless play of words temporarily erased. Never again would he read a poem. Never again would he allow Snivellus to inflict a curse upon him. It had been the worse thing that'd happened to him since starting Hogwarts.

He remembered Snivellus laughing, his mouth open wide in a yellow-toothed grin between sheaves of greasy ebony hair. The hilarity of an enemy is a wounding occurrence. It took two days of total quiet, without Sirius opening mouth once, before James and Remus and Peter convinced him that he ought to speak to Madam Pomfrey. Lugged into the candle-lit hospital wing, Madam Pomfrey heard what spokesperson Remus had to say, then shooed the three boys out, holding Sirius by the shoulder. Unable to heal him entirely, she could only give him a potion, taken daily, that would wear away the verbal abuse patterns slowly over the next twelve months. Sirius had never been so humiliated. He'd returned to the dorm, where he and James had planned the first stages of Ultimate Revenge. Such revenge would take years, plotting, planning, execution. Sirius felt like Edmond Dantes, only because Remus had suggested the comparison.

It would take more than money and power to bring down Severus Snape. It would take ingenuity.

Remus caught the scent of Severus before catching sight of him. Severus had, but once, always carried his own devastating perfume. And the one incidents was when, last Halloween, Peeves had dropped a water balloon atop Snape's head (and James had uttered that the target was certainly big enough but commended Peeves' choice). Snape did smell unusual, rather like a fen, a week-old carnival, 'of shipping wax and shoes'. Involuntarily, Remus weaved himself between Severus and Sirius as the line budged inside the classroom. He'd learned the unctuous art of coming between Sirius and Fiascos Abounding long ago, and was now able to commit the act without either protected party knowing.

But Peter was abruptly shoved out of the line. He slipped across the floor some distance before stopping against a classmate's shapely shins. She screamed, pulled her robes together to hide the skirt, and kicked Peter away from her. Peter screamed, too, and scrambled to his feet. Books and quills and ink bottles thumped and snapped against the stones.

Acting on instinct, Sirius cuffed the front of Snape's robe in a tight fist. 'Don't—touch—my—friends!' With a three-step running start, Sirius rammed Snape. His own momentum almost swept him to the ground. He recovered in time to watch Snape stumble, lose footing, and collide with the wall.

Snape grimaced and slumped over.

Remus's shoulders fell. Exasperated, he controlled Sirius, while simultaneously managing to keep James from attacking Snape. Peter aided in this faint rescue attempt, but his small stature was no match for James's height or Sirius's strength. They were interested in quickly overpowering Peter, until suddenly realising that Snape was recovering, reaching for his wand—

Snape aimed low, one eye closed for improved sight. A bleb of yellowish sparkles were instantly meeting with Remus. Remus supposed the spell must've been blocked by one of the other students, hitting someone else instead, because he felt absolutely nothing. He expected blood to come shooting of his nose, his fingernails to fall off, his ears to grow hair long enough to braid, but nothing happened. Perplexed, Remus managed Sirius and James, Peter gathered his lost effects, and Slughorn appeared to investigate the commotion.

'Pettigrew dropped his things again,' Snape drawled. He'd tucked his wand out of sight between the folds of his woeful black robes. 'You know how clumsy he is, sir.'

'Ah, right, right,' nodded Slughorn. He glanced dimly at Pettigrew. 'Hurry along then, Pettipot!'

'It's Pettigrew, sir,' mumbled pink-cheeked Peter as he passed under the lintel, squeezing by Horace Slugohorn's rotund stomach. His eyes widened at Remus, the two of them standing around the cauldrons at their table. 'What happened?'

'All right, all right, calm down, calm down!' Slughorn stood at the front of the classroom, plaid waistcoat bright in the sorry lighting. The youthful faces looked back at him, highlighted by flickering flames of cauldron burners. 'Enough excitement for one day, so let's settle down and get our minds situated to potion making. Now this is your O.W.L. year, so pay close attention! If you do not wish to succeed in Advanced Potions next year, skive off the next class and see if I care.'

Some students chuckled warmly at Slughorn mischievous remark; others wondered if he wasn't just a bit serious.

'On the board is today's lesson, and a half-roll of parchment will be due tomorrow on its qualities and effects. Now—'

While Slughorn talked, Remus had time to shrug as his three mates looked on at him in wonder. Hadn't they seen Snape hit him with a spell?

Slughorn sensed the often troublesome quartet was distracted. 'Now, Mr Black, if you could read what I have written on the board here—'

Sirius straightened his shoulders. He winced speculatively at the board. 'Er, "Don't forget to buy sugared fruits"?'

'Oh, not that. That's my list for Hogsmeade. The part above.'

'"Wear gloves when measuring winter solstice dew water".'

Slughorn's face took on an unnatural shade of magenta. He sighed through flared nostrils. 'Miss Evans, would you mind terribly?'

Lily Evans cordially read the list.

'Way to mess with his aura, Sirius,' said Peter. He'd learned in Divination to sense, sometimes even see, auras. It was the only especial gift he felt he had.

'He's a crazy loon,' said Sirius. 'Crazy loons should be taken out back and shot, along with curs who talk in the—' he switched his brain from the rhyming word to one that didn't rhyme, 'cinema.'

'And people who rip tags off mattresses,' added Peter.

'And people in the supermarket who rip apart banana bunches,' said Remus.

'Shh! I'm trying to concentrate.' James waved an annoyed hand at them.

Peter rolled his eyes and crossed his arms. 'Concentrate my eye. You just want to imbue the voice of Miss Evans into your head so you can think about it during those private times in the shower.'

Sirius shoved a palm over his mouth to keep in an explosion of laughter. It would almost be worth an hour's detention! Remus bit on his lips, pondering the same consequence. James glowered at Peter.

'Careful, Pettipot. I wield the power to make parts of your body droop unhealthily for all eternity.'

James was most menacing when his voice lowered to a raspy whisper. He meant no harm towards Peter. Who could harm Peter intentionally? It would be like ripping off the wings of an already injured dragonfly. Then, bursting with fraternity, James had Peter in a headlock, and the top of the round head was kissed exuberantly. By then, the other students were measuring ingredients, cutting frosted gingerroots, and none noticed their antics. If any fellow student watched on, it was with a pang of envy.

At the end of class, Peter started heading for the exit with the rest of the horde, only to be grabbed at the sleeve by Sirius. Peter followed the line of Sirius's vision and found Snape at the end of it. The imposing figure slipped by, up the stairs, and out of the dungeon. Sirius let Peter go.

'Best to avoid him,' Sirius said, struggling to kick the poetry out of his head. 'Best to keep out of Snape's—'

'Devoid?' finished James. He chuckled at Sirius's rumbling growl.

Sirius dived into the bathroom on the way to their next class. He made a kissing face at himself in the mirror before perfecting floppy tendrils of thick liquorice hair. By the time he gathered his books, he realised Moony had not yet emerged from the stall. The bathroom was deathly quiet.

He scratched fingernails on the stall door to announce himself. 'Moony, are you ill? Too much butterbeer last night? The house elves did give us a lot, bless them.'

'Er, no.'

'Are you having a constipation dilemma? Madam Pomfrey has a comfrey to fix you up. Dammit,' his palm met with his forehead, 'sorry.'

To Sirius's surprise, the stall door creaked open. Sirius tilted from a precarious lean near the door, and lifted his chin to Moony. 'I think I've already made enough enquiries about your loo problems. It's your turn to answer. Moony?'

Remus covered his eyes with his hand. 'I know what Snape's spell did.'

'Oh.' Sirius's imagination wound through delves it had never traversed before, the pure evilness of magic when cast to a man's precious keepsakes. 'Oh! Oh no! No, no!—'

'No,' Remus repaired the insinuations. 'No, that's all fine, as far as I can tell.'

'No damaged equipment then?'

'It doesn't appear to be damaged.'

'Good. Because, if Snape had messed with your soldiers, I would command of you his head on a silver platter. There are certain codes of conduct that men should not scatter. Dammit, sorry. What is the problem?'

'The hairs of Merlin's arse!' James stormed in, Peter behind him, and saw Sirius and Remus loafing about near a stall. 'If the two of you keep this up, hiding out in the bathroom, people will talk!'

Sirius perked up a single brow, just at the back corner, towards James. 'You first, James. Why is the brain of a fifteen-year-old Quidditch player always perverted? You must be in great sexual pain.'

Peter snickered. Sirius ignored him. More urgent business pressed, and carefully delivered sallies would have to wait.

'I'm afraid Moony has a problem. Not the furry one, either. It appears to be another sort of problem, sans fur of the, er, full moon variety.'

'What nonsense is this?' James stared at Remus. 'The paragon of health falls from the pantheon? My world crumbles.'

Remus groaned and parted the crowd with his elbows. The other three failed to move. The bathroom, off a well-travelled corridor, would soon be invaded. Remus attempted to make his speech short. With three friends of clever wit, sagacity, and consociation, he knew he'd be lucky to get a sentence out before someone interrupted.

'Well?' prompted Sirius, after waiting an agonising time to hear what Snape had done.

'What is it?' James's voice quivered in paranoia.

'You're not dying, Remus.' Peter's small eyes widened to full size. 'You're not, right?'

Remus held up a diplomatic hand, urging silence. Words put an end to his misery.

'Now, none of you is to go after Snape in any form or fashion until I give you the okay to do so. Your plots of revenge will not help right now. Give me your word you'll do nothing to maim or otherwise promote the instantaneous death of Severus Snape.'

The trio slipped concerned glances at each other. Sirius shrugged, and he was the first to give his promise.

'I promise with a valiant heart,' he said, the corner of his mouth tilted in a hidden, quirky smile. 'And—' something exploded from his rear, like a motorcycle starting, 'a fart! Sorry, couldn't let that one pass. Today I do have a touch of—gas.'

'Well,' James nodded and laid a fist against his chest, 'I promise. No maiming or otherwise promoting the instantaneous death of Severus Snape.'

At that moment, an unsuspecting First Year walked in.

'OUT! OUT! OUT!' James stalked near the boy with every wail. The boy tripped over his own urgency. 'YOU'D BETTER RUN!' James returned to his spot. 'Sorry. Peter, you've yet to make your pledge.'

'Of course I promise.' He slugged James on the arm. James slapped him back. Peter rubbed the sore spot with his underused dramatic emphasis. 'Remus, come on, what'd he do?'

Remus's head hung. The bathroom floor was grimy, tiled in blue, and coloured his own misfortune. 'He fused my trousers on.'

There was dead silence. Pattering footfalls from the distant corridor came and went. Brave James Potter inched a toe forwards.

'Come again?'

'What?' murmured Peter. He was already giving Remus's plain brown trousers a due glare. 'You're joking.'

'H'mm.' Sirius frowned, doubting the complexity of this problem. In front of Remus, he tugged at the legs of the trousers with both hands. They would not budge. He pulled at the hem and it lifted above the ankle, showing sloppy, thread-worn socks that didn't quite match. Sirius, ignoring all laws of friendship, reached beneath Remus's robes and found a belt buckle. He tugged, Remus arching his eyes, and tugged a final time.

'That doesn't look healthy,' James said. 'Sirius! Have you no sense of decency?'

'What?' Sirius backed off. 'I've seen you naked, James Potter.'

'Let us not speak of it,' uttered James in hurt undertones.

'Moony doesn't mind. Look, his hands are red from trying to undo his own belt.' Sirius demonstrated by holding up one of Remus's hands at the wrist. The irritated fingers flicked a brief wave.

'Belt won't budge,' surmised Sirius. He analysed Moony like he might do to a fine painting, angling his head this way and that, moving in a half-circle as though different light directions would provide new perspectives. 'I'm at a loss. Why'd you make us promise we wouldn't hurt the greasy little bastard, Moony?'

Remus stuttered over his excuse. Sirius, James, and Peter waited. 'Men of magic, might and mien do not require violence to augment their talents.'

'All right, fair enough,' James said. 'It doesn't look like we have the time to discuss this further. We've got class now. This will have to be talked about later.'

'Easy for you to say,' Peter said. 'You don't have to use the toilet!'

James tried to speak to Remus clearly, in the voice of authority he'd learned the first week of friendship with Sirius. 'Moony, you're just going to have to hold it in.'

'Or run to Madam Pomfrey,' suggested Peter. 'She helped Sirius with his doggerel issues. She may be able to do something for you.'

'No,' Remus slipped a commanding hand through the air, 'absolutely not.'

Peter frowned. He thought his idea proportionate to the situation. 'She never asks too many questions. She knows the sort of trouble we get in, thanks to you, Remus.' He felt glares and cleared his throat. 'I just mean that you get scratched an awful lot and—'

'You don't have to explain,' Remus bobbed his head, 'I knew what you meant. But James is right, and I should get on with the day. It's possible Snape's spell will wear off in time.'

Sirius shoved a stack of books into Remus's chest. The unsuspected manoeuvre about bowled Remus over. 'Let's hope it does. But we'll have more time to find a solution after class. We can't be late for Transfiguration again. McGonagall will give birth to a litter of snakes if we are.'

Peter was the last from the bathroom, contemplating Sirius's suggestion of a saurian nativity. 'If she does, I'm keeping one! I've always wanted a snake!'