James held the Muggle camcorder to his eye, made sure it was rolling, and then turned it on himself. "December 24th – 9 P.M. From here on in, I shoot without a script." He shook his head, laughing ruefully at himself. "See if anything comes of it…instead of my old shit." He sighed. "Plus, at least it's something to remember me by. If this war does me in…or any of us…there's always this film. Maybe someone in the future can take something good out of this mess."
He turned the camera to his flat mate. Sirius, sitting on the couch, trying to tune a guitar he hasn't played in a year. He scoffed at James. "Like the Death Eaters are going to worry about saving a Mudblood camera when they blow this whole street to bits."
"That's Sirius," James announced. "He's our resident cynic. He's just coming back from half a year of withdrawal."
"You're documenting my addiction?" Sirius quirked an eyebrow up.
"No, your recovery. Scratch that – how your recovery was even more difficult and life-altering due to the fact we're in the middle of a war." James struck a dramatic pose before focusing the camera back on his friend. "Hold it – steady – tell us, Sirius. What was it like, recovering from an addiction to the Wolfsbane potion?"
"Well," Sirius said drily, "it's not hard to give up an addiction when you have to kill all your dealers because they're Death Eaters."
"And that's exactly what I want my future son to hear," James snorted. "James Jr., cover your ears, okay? Uncle Sirius gets grumpy when we talk about his drug addiction…or the war…or almost anything nowadays."
"Like you've got anything to smile about," Sirius huffed, setting his guitar down next to him. "Remind me, James – how's Marlene doing?"
The smirk fell right off James's face. "She's–"
"Gone, right. Dumped you, didn't she?" Sirius was in one of his rare, bitter moods where he'd take a swipe at anything that moved, including his best friend.
James just shook his head and turned the camera off. "Look, Sirius–" he began, trying to decide how to tactfully broach the subject of Sirius's disinheritance, his brother's recent death…luckily he was saved by the bell – or the ringing of the Muggle telephone, actually.
"Speeeeak", James and Sirius's voices blared from the answering machine. After the beep, a motherly sort of voice filled the flat, crackly with static and sounding very far away.
"James? James, dear, it's your mother." Mrs. Potter fussed with something for a moment before putting the phone's mouth piece closer to her face. "Ah, okay. Is that better, dear? Can you hear me? It'd be so much easier if you didn't insist on using all this Muggle technology. Your father doesn't understand how to use the telly-phone, he's having a fit because you hardly ever answer your owl mail, there's no way to get in touch with you anymore – well, anyway. We're going to miss you tomorrow, everyone's here, trying to keep safe – all the wards are up, the Death Eaters should stay away – everyone sends their love. Tell Sirius we send our love. And James, I'm so sorry about Marlene. Plenty of other fish in the sea, right? Happy Christmas, dear. We love you! Buh-bye!"
A loud clatter and a click as Mrs. Potter struggled to hang up the telephone, and then Sirius burst out laughing. "Plenty of other fish in the sea, huh, Potter?"
"Shut it, Black," James replied, flushing; he lunged at Sirius and took a swing at his friend's face. "Mummy sends her love, Siri."
"Don't call me that–" Sirius griped, shoving James onto the floor and pinning his arms down, but before he could get in a good punch, the phone rang once more.
"Speeeeeak!" the answering machine demanded, and after a beep, James and Sirius heard a very familiar off-tune sort of warbling – "Chestnuts roasting…"
"Peter!" Sirius and James yelled as James shoved Sirius aside and dove for the phone.
"I'm downstairs!" Peter Pettigrew exclaimed; in a phone booth on the street just outside the flat, he grinned up at his friends' apartment like they could see him from inside. "Throw down the key!"
"The Marauders are getting back together!" Sirius yelled gleefully from the couch.
"A wild night is now pre-ordained!" James declared, pumping his fist in excitement.
A scuffling sound was heard from Peter's end of the phone call. "I may be – ah – detained," he said quickly before the line went dead.
Downstairs, outside, in the freezing December air, a cluster of Death Eaters surrounded Peter and, wands ignored, began beating him, shouts of "Mudblood!" getting swallowed up by the howling wind as he was dragged down an alleyway.
"Detained?" James turned quickly to Sirius, who shrugged. "What did he mean, detained?"
The phone rang yet again, and James grabbed it before the answering machine picked up. "What do you mean, detained?"
"Chestnuts roasting–" Only this wasn't Peter, but a sneering, nasally, greasy sort of voice.
"Snape? Shit!" James and Sirius stared at each other, than turned anxiously back to the phone.
"I'm on my way," Severus Snape announced.
"Great! Fuck," James muttered. Sirius closed his eyes.
Snape's voice oozed out of the telephone receiver. "I need the rent."
"What rent?" Sirius snapped.
"This past year's rent – which I let slide," Snape replied.
James groaned, while Sirius growled into the phone, "You said we were clear! When you bought the building? When you were our roommate, remember that, you git?"
"How could I forget?" Disdain dripped from Snape's voice. "You, me, Pettigrew…and Marlene. Tell me, James, is she still performing? Are you still her production manager?"
"She's got a performance tonight, in fact," James replied. "If the building doesn't get torn down by Death Eaters first, that is. And…she fired me, two days ago."
Snape chuckled. "And you're still dating, right?"
This time Sirius chuckled and replied, "He's been dumped."
"Marlene's found herself a new man? Who is it?" Snape demanded.
"It's not exactly…" James cleared his throat, while Sirius snorted.
"What's his name?" Snape asked. Sirius barked with laughter, while James stifled a sigh.
"Dorcas Meadowes," he replied, while Snape and Sirius laughed together, in agreement on something, for once.
"Well, regardless – rent is due. Or I'll have to evict you." Snape's slimy voice sneered one last time before he hung up, and James and Sirius stared at each other. They glanced around their apartment – no heat, no power, an illegal wood-burning stove already ablaze with the last of this week's Daily Prophets and Sirius's discarded songs.
"How're we gonna pay last year's rent?"