Chapter 1

On Parchment secreted in the only place James Potter will not look: Down Sirius Black's trousers.

Insufferable prat—10 galleons, Sirius Black

Egotistical git—10 galleons, Remus Lupin

Arrogant, attention-seeking toerag—10 galleons, Peter Pettigrew

We, the undersigned, do swear an oath of secrecy for the protection of life and limb. Should any of us three foreswear himself, he shalt be hung from his toe from yonder Astronomy Tower in female underwear.

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Furtive conversation during 6th year Transfiguration

"Do you really have to keep it there?"

"There?"

"In your pants."

"Keep what…there?"

"You know…it."

"Where else would it keep" (evil smirk) "it?"

"I dunno…somewhere else…here, give it to me."

"Moony, baby," (looks very disturbed, and moves away from Remus) "My broomstick doesn't swing that way, if you know what I mean. Haven't got any recently?"

"What? No! The parchment, you idiot!"

"So, is that what they're calling it these days?"

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"Quite frankly, Minnie, I don't see the problem," Sirius said. "Are you sure you're not imagining things?" He pulled up a chair to her desk, and, after apparently deciding it was uncomfortable, conjured a poufy armchair.

McGonagall stared.

HE put his feet up on her desk, trapping her third year essays under his boots.

McGonagall huffed angrily, trying to pull the essays out from under those ungodly boots. And HE, the stuff of her nightmares, an incorrigible prankster (though an undeniably gifted transfiguration student), flashed her a bright smile and shifted just so, splattering the papers with mud. Breathe…deep breaths. One…two…it was an accident…three…four…five… accident….six…accident. "ARRGGG!" She seized the papers from under his feet, ripping Audrey Reach's essay entitled, "The Difficulties and Dangers Faced by Wizards Attempting Animagus Transformations," in half.

With the air of someone who is just an innocent bystander, Sirius nonchalantly pulled the essay from her hand and said, scanning the paper, "He really has no idea what he's doing, does he?" Taking her quill, he scribbled across the parchment in red ink. "I think he deserves a D. Or maybe a P. What do you think, Minnie?" McGonagall turned red with anger and then white with rage, finally settling for a shade of rather unflattering pink. "Whoa, that's an interesting color, Minnie. I've never—"

"Give me that!" Seething, McGonagall ripped Audrey's abused paper away, threw it out the window, and set the whole pile of essays on fire. As the three-foot long essays disintegrated into ash (she had fireproofed her desk five years ago when a first-year Sirius Black "accidentally" blew out all the windows and the set the curtains on fire), McGonagall said very calmly, "We have two problems."

"Do we?"

"Yes. Firstly, you have–" She was interrupted by the sounds of Sirius rummaging though her desk. After extracting a tin of cookies, he turned and looked at her expectantly.

She stared back.

"Yes?" he prompted.

"Yes, what?"

"I have…"

"You have what!"

"I don't know."

"You don't know."

"No."

"Don't know what?"

"How am I supposed to know? That's what I don't know. You know."

"I know WHAT, Mr. Black?"

"I know that you know what I don't know because you were going to tell me what I have that I don't know I have. But I don't know how I would have something without knowing that I have it. Perhaps you know?"

Silence.

Sirius tried again.

"There are known knowns, that is to say, knowns that we know we know. There are known unknowns, unknowns that we know we don't know. There are also unknown unknowns, which are unknowns that we don't know that we didn't know about. This is one of those."

McGonagall started mumbling, "We know…that he knows…the unknown knowns that know we…don't know," stopping abruptly when she realized she was trying to wade through Sirius Black Logic. He had one of those absolutely brilliant minds—like a steel trap—except his was rusted over and quite probably defecated on by a rabid bear. He and that James Potter: so sneakily brilliant. Come to think of it, McGonagall doubted that James and Sirius could be so devious. They were much more spontaneous, unlike…Remus Lupin. Frowning, McGonagall realized that she rather suspected that James and Sirius were just figureheads and the Marauder's ringleader was actually Remus Lupin. Who better to lead a notorious gang of pranksters than a prefect who has been cleverly hiding a dark secret for all his life? He always had his nose stuck in a book, hidden away in the library. Such a studious teenager was unnatural. There could only be one explanation: Remus Lupin, not Potter or Black, was the secret architect of all those pranks. Well, not anymore! She would put an end to Remus Lupin's reign.

McGonagall began cackling under her breath. "Yes, yes, I'll get him, I will. Sneaky, little bastard. Mwa ha, ha, ha!" she snickered under her breath. Sirius Black coughed slightly, bringing her back to the present. Reminding herself that revenge is a dish best served cold, she said, "You HAVE a problem respecting authority."

"Is that all?"

She gritted her teeth. Soon, she promised herself.

"Secondly, you—"

"Hi, Mr. Green monster. Can I play too?" Sirius said in a high pitch voice. He had a biscuit—apparently snitched from her cookie tin—in each hand held up to the window which cast shadows on the wall. Shadows that Sirius Black was playing with. "No! I'm the Evil Green Monster that Eats You If You're Bad, not the Ugly But Friendly Green Monster Who Plays with You When You're Sickeningly Sweet." The cookie in his right hand marched forwards menacingly. "Have you been naughty or nice, little girl?" The left-hand biscuit screamed (McGonagall didn't know it was possible for a teenage boy to reach that high of a pitch except in extreme circumstances) and ran away. The monster followed.

And McGonagall was watching completely entranced.

That is, until she lunged forward, bit the cookies' heads off, and chucked their decapitated carcasses out the window. "As I was saying, secondly, you grabbed your—"

"NOOOOOOO! You-you killed them! You, you cookie killer!"

"What are you talking about Mr. Black? It's a cookie. Coooookie." She adopted a tone used when pacifying small children when they lose their pet rocks.

"Her. Name. Was. Gwinny!"

Silence.

More silence.

"Mr. Black…you…named your cookie?"

"She's not just a cookie! She has feelings too! And you interrupted my show! That's rude you know."

McGonagall carefully folded her hands on her desk. Sometimes you get these…students…who got a little overly stressed by family or school and lashed out in peculiar ways. She didn't expect Sirius Black of all people to crack though, much less funnel his stress into…shadow puppetry and emotional attachment to a cookie. Perhaps this was some sort of diversionary tactic. McGonagall quickly dismissed that idea. No one was that good of an actor.

"Mr. Black," she said very slowly, "Gwinny is a cookie. They are meant to be eaten."

"No! Justice will be served!"

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Excerpt from a detention essay entitled, "Things I, Sirius Black, Marauder, Prankster Extraordinaire, Quidditch Hero, and Sex God, am No Longer Allowed to Do."

And so, Dumblydor, even though you are secretly disappointed that this isn't a letter from Minnie suggesting you go take a bath together, in your hands you have the second best thing: a dashing account of my exploits, cleverly disguised as a detention essay and thus written in the negative.

1. I will never, ever grab my crotch during class and scream, "No, you can't have it!"

2. My best friend is not trying to molest me, nor is "parchment" some sort of innuendo (though we both know better).

3. Teachers are to be addressed as "Professor" or "Ma'am" or "Sir," not clever nicknames like "Minnie" or "Dumblydore" that I come up with during class.

4. If it makes me giggle, the answer is no.

5. Biscuits are food, not shadow puppets. They are meant to be eaten.

6. Throwing chairs and magicking sock puppets to follow my teacher around squeaking, "Viva la revolucion!" is n ever a proper response.

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Meanwhile, in Gryffindor common room

"Did you get the food, Peter?" Remus said, as he strategically arranged several armchairs in a discreet part of the Common Room. He sat down for a moment, and sighed. No, this spot wouldn't do. They needed a clear view of the entire room.

"Popcorn, chocolate, and jelly donuts."

"Peter, I said no donuts. Move. No, not you, you idiot, them." Remus gestured towards a gaggle of giggling girls, shooting them an evil glare. "I claim this corner for the Marauders!" One of the girls giggled behind her hand and leaned over to whisper something to her two mindless bimbo friends.

"I think (giggle) you need a (giggle, giggle) a flag to do (giggle) that," the blonde one said. Remus and Peter stared at her with open mouths, displaying, in Peter's case, some impressive purple donut guts. Brainless Bimbo turned to whisper something to her friends, Lack-Wit and Idiotgirl, before turning back to them. "To, you know, (giggle) claim a territory (giggle)."

Peter ate another donut. He leaned over to Remus and whispered, "I'm scared."

"Me too," Remus muttered. "Where's Sirius when you need him?" A sixth year entered the Common Room, quickly scrambling over to the Dimwit Convention. The four girls put their heads together (the term, "heads," used in the loosest way possible: empty buckets with hair would be a more apt description) obviously conferring. Remus and Peter, standing to stunned silence, overheard the words "pervert" and "parchment" and "during class too."

"OY! You stupid berks!" screamed Remus. "I was just trying to get a piece of parchment from Sirius during Transfiguration which he stuffed down his trousers in order to keep it secret because we all thought that James shouldn't know about it and so Sirius should keep it and he thought I was trying to take it away from him and, oh God, that was a run-on sentence."

Peter patted his shoulder and said, "It's all right, Moony, we all make mistakes."

"Thank you, Peter," Remus said.

"You were weak this one time," Peter continued, "but you'll do better next time."

"Thanks."

"And besides," Peter said, "I don't think that Sirius really minded that you were coming on to him."

"Tha—what?"

"Well, you know, Moony, Sirius was getting a little worried you weren't getting any action." Peter learned over confidentially, "You can practice on us anytime you want." (The girls watched in horrified delight. Lack-Wit had taken out a notebook and was taking notes.)

"I can—I can what anytime! Don't be ridiculous!"

Peter said, "Well, I suppose you're right. It's a bit ridiculous—"

"Thank Merlin!" sighed Remus in relief.

"—to practice at anytime. Why don't we limit ourselves to after class or to during History of Magic? Less detentions that way."

"NO! You don't understand," Remus said, panicked. "It's really about the…you know…that James isn't supposed to know about."

"The what I'm not supposed to know about?" James asked, as he entered the Common Room. "You know, everyone is talking about you and Sirius. What exactly is going on?" James helped himself to some popcorn. "And what exactly are these round squishy things? Oops! Purple stuff on carpet!"

"They're donuts," Peter said, helpfully.

"Nuts? As in walnuts?" asked James. "I thought those were kinda hard." (Remus gibbered in the background, trying to discreetly shoo out the gawking girls while getting rid of James in anticipation of the show. Peter, apparently, was rather unaware of his efforts in the face of genuine interest in his current Muggle food obsession.)

"They're a Muggle sweet," Peter said. (Using his Prefect privileges, Remus confiscated Lack-Wit's notes as "evidence.")

"Oh. Why do they have holes in them?" James said. (Giving up reasoning with the girls as a futile exercise in pointlessness, Remus, casting a glance around the room, took out his wand and Banished the girls to the Astronomy Tower.)

Peter said, "It's more fun that way, you see, in 1634 when they were first—"

"Oh, look, James!" Remus interrupted. "There's Lily over there. Look, that seventh year bloke is talking to her."

"What!" James stormed off, while Peter extracted a worn (and jelly covered) piece of parchment.

"So, that would be Potential Lily Boyfriend Number 12, right, Moony?

"Quite right, Mr. Wormtail. Popcorn?"

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"Oy, Evans!"

"Sod off, Potter!" Lily stormed towards the window, peering through the darkness below.

"Go out with me?" asked James. He struck a pose. Potters never begged.

"…"

"Please?" Most of the time.

"…"

"Will you?" Except in extreme circumstances.

"You just turned Shacklebolt into a chicken and then chucked him out the window, and now you expect me to go out with you?" screamed Lily. Merlin, she was gorgeous when she was mad. When she stomped her little foot. Into his solar plexus. So cute.

James was puzzled. Lily could be awfully sneaky when she wanted to be. Why was she so concerned over Shacklebolt? James said, "Is this a trick question or something? It's not like he's going to be hurt. He's a chicken."

"We're in a tower, you wanker! 150 feet off the ground!"

"So? He's a bird. A chicken. Chicken. Bird. Chicken. Bird. He has wings." James flapped his arms helpfully. See, he thought, I can be clever too.

"Chickens CAN'T FLY!"

"Oh." Oops. "Go out with me?"

"You…you…insufferable prat!"

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Gringotts Transaction Slip

10 galleons were transferred from vaults 315 (Remus Lupin) and 872 (Peter Pettigrew) to vault 295 (Sirius Black) at 11:36 p.m. on Oct. 25, 1971.