Remus Lupin was in detention.
He'd never seen the detention hall before. It was chilly and dull, with the faint scent of dungbombs, mold, and possibly firewhiskey.
In short, unremarkably remarkable.
He was the only student in the room. Not because he was the only student to receive a detention for today; he knew for a fact that Lucius Malfoy, James Potter, Sirius Black, and Marlene McKinnon all were supposed to be joining Remus today in this cheerful little prison cell of a room. However, they all could not be bothered to actually show up.
The only person there to keep him company was Professor Calknight, who was currently yelling at Remus from behind his desk (or from behind his large bowl of treacle pudding—either way was correct).
"...you think you can just run into my classroom, after the lesson has started? And if that wasn't bad enough, you had that Black right on your heels, trying to sneak him in behind you!" Calknight shouts, wiping his pudding-coated fingers on his rotund stomach (not to say that his stomach was the only rotund part of his body. Rest assured, Professor Calknight was a very rotund man).
"Honestly, showing up late to class. The laziest way to break a rule that I've ever seen!" Professor Calknight was a master of italics.
Remus sighed internally, looking at the clock in the hopes that it would suddenly jump forward two hours so that he could leave. Alas, no such luck. A small blob of treacle suddenly landed on his nose, snapping him out of his musings.
Well, that's one way to get someone's attention: projectile-spit a blob of pudding at them.
"So tell me, Lupin: Was that extra bit of sleep really necessary? Was it more important than being on time for my class?"
Remus thought back to this morning, before class—the sight of the sun coming up over the Forbidden Forest, a sure sign that class was starting any minute, but Remus, quite frankly, didn't give a damn.
He remembered the feel of Sirius' smooth, black hair tickling Remus' face and a calloused, somewhat sticky hand intertwined with his.
Remus could still sense Sirius' scent of dungbombs, gasoline, and wet dog; a smell that defined him so well and only smelled good when accompanied by Sirius himself.
The sound of Sirius taking deep breaths, peppered with snippets of Quidditch game plans and ideas for pranks, still schoed in his ears.
But most of all, Remus recalled the taste of his tongue (mostly because he hadn't had time to brush his teeth—a decision he normally would've deeply regretted, but now not so much): an interesting-but not unpleasant-combination of chocolate and firewhiskey.
Remus loved chocolate. Sirius preferred Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans.
Sirius loved firewhiskey. Remus preferred butterbeer.
"Well? Was it?" Professor Calknight screeched, his face turning nearly the same hue as a phoenix feather.
Remus looked him in the eye.
"Absolutely."
I wrote this at school during AP Psych when we started talking about the five senses. This is basically proof that I can turn anything into a Harry Potter one-shot prompt. Not my best, but certainly not my worst.
There's (almost) no such thing as a bad review. Remember that now.
-Ecclestein