Not for the first time in almost six years of sharing a dormitory and each other's company, a war-zone had broken out in the Marauder's room.
Anyone passing by their door – stood wide open not because they were too lazy to close it, but simply because there was too much stuff littering the floor to actually allow the space for such an action to be possible – would have heard the raised voices, and not unreasonably, assumed that some horrific dilemma had occurred. A treasured family heirloom had been broken, perhaps, or some vital piece of homework accidentally thrown away at the very least. But, as the rapidly-increasing-in-volume voices informed everyone and anyone within a two-mile radius, that was not the case. Quite simply, as one of the bellowing male voices yelled for everyone's benefit, Sirius Black had failed to change the toilet roll for the seventh time that week.
"I'm fucking SICK of this!" The aforementioned James Potter stood in the centre of the room, pinching an empty cardboard cylinder by the thumb and forefinger and holding it aloft as though he intended to do serious damage with it. "The first time I can forgive, everyone makes mistakes - "
The person he was directing this impressive show of temper at was, of course, Sirius Black. Sirius was showing no sign that his best friend was screaming at him – in fact, he was furiously hunting through a sock drawer with a frown on his face that suggested he had infinitely more important things on his mind than whether James had a sufficient supply of tissue paper to support his toilet needs or not.
" – the second time, yeah, alright, we're all guilty of it - "
Sirius continued to dig, the frown deepening on his face. Several pairs of violet and cream socks flew through the air as he dug viciously into previously unexplored realms of the sock drawer, his burrowing hands boldly reaching into places that, he was convinced, no hands had ever reached before.
" – even the third time, fuck, even the fourth, fifth, sixth times, I'm a tolerant bloke, but you - "
Pairs of red and white striped socks were grabbed up and tossed away. A dog-eared copy of 'Wicked Witches,' discovered under some neatly folded boxer shorts, was flipped through with mild interest before that was chucked away too.
" – SEVEN BLOODY TIMES THIS WEEK, SIRIUS! How hard is it, mate? You actually have to walk PAST the bog-roll cupboard to get out the door!" James filled his lungs with air, and fixed a glare of pure hate on Sirius' back as he ignored him entirely. "What really gets me is - "
Sirius snapped upright and spun around, locking eyes with James with ferocious intensity. "Have you seen those socks?"
There was a beat of silence. James glared at him. Then, apparently torn in the battle between continuing with his rant and getting to the root of what the hell Sirius was talking about, he snapped, "What socks?"
"You know!" Sirius threw his hands in the air in agitation.
"No, Sirius, I don't know! I don't know if I particularly care either!"
"The socks. My socks." At James' uncomprehending stare, he grimaced in pure frustration. "The ones that make comments about the weather when you walk outside in them! The ones that cost me five bloody galleons!"
James cocked a derisive eyebrow. "What, those pieces of shit you bought three years ago and only wore once?"
"They're not pieces of shit!" Sirius pulled the drawer out of the unit, shook it upside down, then dropped it with a muffled thump on the sock and underwear pile at his feet. "Have you seen them?"
"No," said James shortly. "I haven't seen your stupid bloody socks. Now - " he raised the cardboard roll again, fully prepared to dive back into his rant once more, when Remus caused a small distraction by falling in through the door over James' broomstick.
"What are you doing to my SOCK DRAWER?" he shrieked, just as James screamed "GET YOUR BLOODY FEET OFF MY BROOM!" and Sirius simultaneously bellowed, "WHERE ARE MY SOCKS YOU ARSEHOLE?" The resultant pandemonium almost reached the Richter scale of a minor earthquake. The three boys all stared at each other in a moment of sudden silence. Sirius broke it, his voice full of vehemence.
"You've taken my weather-socks, you prick."
Remus gaped, his eyes travelling from the sock mountain on the floor to Sirius' mutinous face. "What," he asked slowly, his voice shaking slightly from repressed anger, "the hell would I be doing with those pieces of shit?"
"They're not PIECES OF SHIT!" Sirius howled, looking suddenly quite demented. "They're WITTY AND AN INTERESTING CONVERSATION POINT!"
"Well, I haven't taken your witty conversation points, for God's sake, and there was ABSOLUTELY NO NEED to tear apart my fucking sock dr - "
"Let's cut to the real issue here!" James burst in angrily, taking a step forward and raising his cardboard tube up high. "The fact of the matter is, Sirius didn't change the toilet roll when it was finished AGAIN, which left ME - "
"NO-ONE GIVES A FLYING PUBE ABOUT THE BOG ROLL, JAMES!"
"WELL EXCUSE ME, BUT I HAPPEN TO LIKE HAVING SOMETHING OTHER THAN THE SHOWER CURTAIN TO WIPE MY - "
"THIS IS ALL VERY INTERESTING, BUT IT STILL DOESN'T EXPLAIN WHY SIRIUS FELT THE NEED TO DEMOLISH MY SOCK DRAWER!"
James took a step back, raised his tube high and filled his lungs with air, but his screamed response was cut disappointingly short as Peter suddenly tripped spectacularly into the room over James' broomstick.
That did it for James. With a scream of rage, he threw the cardboard tube as hard as he could at Peter. It flew through the air, bounced harmlessly off his temple, then fell to the floor with a sad little clatter.
Peter blinked, looking slightly surprised.
Remus said seriously, "That was uncalled for, James."
Peter looked around plaintively. "Is something going on? I thought I heard…raised voices?"
Snarling, James pushed past him and stalked out of the door. "Forget it," he snapped as he passed, and they all heard his footsteps clump moodily away downstairs.
Peter watched him go over his shoulder, then shrugged to himself and turned back to Remus and Sirius. "Sirius, I borrowed your socks last night – you know, the ones that tell the weather? I didn't think you'd mind, thought I'd better tell you." He smiled blandly. "Well, I've got to go back to homework – see you later." And with that, he turned and walked back out the door.
There was a long, drawn out silence in the dormitory in the sudden aftermath of the two of the occupant's departure. The remaining two Marauders were doing an excellent job of making up for their previous noisy outbursts by not saying anything at all.
"So," Remus said evenly, after Sirius had spent a good minute or so determinedly not meeting his eye. "You can make a start on mending my drawer now." He turned to go, adding over his shoulder, "The socks go on the left, the boxers on the right, and the copy of Wicked Witches in the top left hand corner. If you don't get it right then I will jinx you when you are least expecting it, and I won't give up the counter curse. See you later."
Sirius stood, suddenly, unexpectedly alone in the dormitory with the empty toilet cardboard roll.
"Fuck it," he groaned quietly to himself. He bent down to heave the drawer back into the unit, placed the magazine carefully back in the left corner, then decided to leave the rest to the empty toilet roll and stalked out of the room.
He did, after all, have quite a confrontation with Peter to have over his weather-socks.
0o0
Just another pie-slice of Marauder life for you there...
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