Disclaimer: I do not own any of these characters or settings. They belong to J. K. Rowling, and, sadly, I have nothing to do with her besides being an avid fan. Don't sue me. You will not get anything, believe me.
Almost there.

The four of them raced down the corridor—panting—breathless—the common room not too far away—going to make it—nearly back—one more second—

"Potter, Black, Lupin, Pettigrew!" A stern, crisp voice rang out, "In my office at once!"

It was Professor McGonagall. The Marauders followed her up the stairs, sighing, defeated. Once in the room, they sat down.

"Boys," the professor began tiredly, shaking her head, "Do you realize the dangers of roaming around the castle at this hour of the night? No one knew where you were… I am sure that you are all familiar with the school rules about this sort of behaviour—very irresponsible, very irresponsible. This is the type of thing I might expect from first years, perhaps, but you four…" Here she paused to give them each a piercing look, "You four ought to know better, with years at Hogwarts behind you. Thirty points from Gryffindor, each."

They all groaned.

"Or," she continued, "You may serve a detention in the trophy room every night this week."

"I'm all for losing the points," Peter said quickly.

Professor McGonagall snapped her fingers. "Very well, Mr Pettigrew," she replied, "Thirty points from Gryffindor."

Remus and Sirius groaned.

"I'll do the detention," vouched Remus, not wanting to make all of Gryffindor suffer because of him. Sirius agreed.

"And you, Mr Potter?" All eyes were on James.

"Sorry to disappoint you, fellas," he said, grinning mischievously, "But I have, er… previous engagements every night this week— if things go well, that is."

And so it was that the four Marauders walked together, back to the Gryffindor dormitories to go to sleep, one of them whistling to himself happily about something, one relieved to have gotten out of doing any work, and two wondering, for the life of them, what in the world James Potter could be up to.

MONDAY

I waited, shivering slightly, for him to come.

It was the period after my last class of the day, and I was sitting in a cold, stone room. Medals and awards flashed at me from every direction. A bucket of soapy water and two sponges lay at my feet. I was waiting to start the dull task of polishing trophies non-magically for an hour and a half, but Sirius had to come first. He was late.

After about fifteen minutes the boy burst in, looked at me, looked at the sponges, and sighed.

"Well? Let's get to work!" He announced, as if I was the one who had just arrived.

"Right, right," I replied, "So sorry to keep you, Lord Padfoot, sir." I bowed down low, sweeping up a sponge.

His eyes twinkled as he handed me a trophy.

"Indeed you should be, Moony." Sirius also took a sponge, but instead of beginning to polish, he threw it at me, grinning.

"Oh, no you don't!" I cried, catching it deftly with my free hand. Then I dipped my other sponge into the bucket till it was full of soapy water and aimed, just as he turned around. It caught him full in the back of the head.

He shouted out, running at me, dripping water everywhere. I made a grab for the bucket, but he was too quick. Next thing I knew we were both sopping wet, running about, pouring water on each other and the trophies, laughing and shouting.

Then, all of a sudden, I felt his soft, gentle mouth pressing lightly against my own.