The things you do instead of writing your thesis...

On the rack

(Or: McGonagall can't believe her eyes)

It was almost time for dinner. McGonagall stood from her chair (transformed to be comfortable, since the decorators of Hogwarts had preferred hard wooded chairs instead of cushioned chairs), sighing as she still had quite a lot of work to do. But that was partly her own fault as she had given her fifth-years a lot of homework to prepare them for their OWLs.

She pondered for a moment whether she should go to her dormitory first to change, but decided against it. She didn't want to ruin her new blue, fuzzy robe by eating in the Great Hall.

There were students about, obviously, when she exited her office. She scared the life out of a pair of sixth years when she knocked on the closet where they were snogging. A glare of hers was enough to stop a group of third and fourth years from causing a ruckus. What she found odd was the noises coming from a long-deserted classroom. She listened in closely.

"You've to tie them tighter, Moony!"

"I'll snap your hands off if I do, you dimwit!"

"But he'll slip right out if you don't."

"Yeah, but-"

"Am I the only one who thinks this is nonsense? A potion would've been easier!"

"And where would we get the ingredients, Pete?"

"From Slughorn or James' dad. As usual."

McGonagall huffed. Of course. It had to be them. She took a moment to brace herself, before she burst inside. She stopped in her tracks, as did the four boys.

"What in Merlin's name are you doing?!" she cried.

Remus' face had turned a startling red. "It's really not like it looks what."

Sirius laughed. McGonagall glared at him. "Explain yourselves!" she demanded. "And Potter! Get up, now!"

A challenging order, even for James, whose wrists and ankles were tied with long, thick ropes to a rack.

"Er, Remus?" James asked, wriggling where he lay on hard planes of wood.

"No," McGonagall stopped Remus, before the boy could move. "I want to hear it from him." She looked expectantly at James. He shifted uncomfortably and looked at Sirius who shrugged.

"Uhm... we were trying something."

"And what exactly? Out with it or I'll give all of you detention!"

"Alright, alright!" He huffed. "We were trying to make me taller."

"You were- what?"

"I said, we were trying to make me taller!" he said, much louder and clearer than before. Red was beginning to tint his cheeks. Sirius turned around with a snort and even Remus had to look down to cover his smile.

McGonagall for her part stared incredulously at James Potter for a second longer than she would've liked. She looked at the rack. At Peter trying to make himself look smaller.

"Are you out of your mind?" she cried.

James and Sirius exchanged a glance. "I dunno," he mumbled.

Remus choked and cleared his throat. Sirius pressed a fist to his lips. McGonagall looked at them.

"And you didn't think of stopping him?"

"It wasn't his idea..." said Sirius, looking away.

"Then whose was it? And where by all things magical did you get that rack?"

"Dungeons," whispered Remus.

"And whose idea was it?" she asked, more forcefully this time.

"M-my cousin mentioned a rack..." Peter suddenly said, covering as McGonagall's lips thinned. "He studies history... and... he said it stretches people..."

"So you thought it'd be a good idea to use it on your friend?" she shouted.

"It wasn't his idea," said James. "He wanted to use a potion, but..."

"We found this thing in the dungeons while hiding from Filch, so..." Sirius shrugged.

"And we were waiting for a reason to use it, so..." James winced as he tried to shrug.

McGonagall pinched the bridge of her nose. "I... never mind," she sighed. "I don't have the energy to deal with you four right now. To think you... I'm almost tempted to let you try it, Potter. That would teach you a lesson."

The boys were quiet.

"Well then, I'd suggest you go down to the Great Hall for dinner - and no running, Mr. Black!" she barked, also turning to leave.

"Uh, professor?"

"What is it, Potter?" she asked impatiently and turned again.

"Would you please untie me? I'm hungry."

Sirius, Peter and Remus were laughing outside the classroom, while McGonagall made the ties vanish. James rubbed his sore wrist and grinned, jumping from the rack and running out of the classroom. "You're such bastards!" he yelled at them.

"Language, Potter," McGonagall said.

He frowned. "Uhm... You're such... b...andits?"

She shook her head and headed to the Great Hall. To her consternation, the boys followed.

"Will we... uhm, get detention, professor?" asked Sirius Black innocently, trying to keep up with her quick pace.

"I'll think about it, Black," she snapped.

"Uh-huh, and when can we expect to get a notice, professor?"

"When I say so, Black. Don't. Tempt me."

And it was good he didn't, because McGonagall really didn't know what to do with them. She didn't want Gryffindor to lose house points because of this insane idea, detention on the other hand felt too excessive. Especially considering Black and Potter already had detention with Flitwick.

Suddenly, she decided. She would write to their parents. Not to Black's parents of course, Merlin knows what they would say about this incident. But Pettigrew's and Lupin's parents were decent-minded people, and the Potters doted too much on their only son to want him dead from a medieval torture device.

The boys, however, didn't seem very repentant.

"Don't worry, James," she heard Sirius say. "We still like you. Even if you're short."

The boys' laughter thrummed loudly through the corridor, following McGonagall like a ghost.

I really need a drink, she thought, and turned the corner towards the Great Hall.

I always had a headcanon that James was the last Marauder to hit his growth spurt. And his friends never let him forget it.

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