Disclaimer: The characters you recognize are the products of the wonderful imagination that is J.K. Rowling's.
A.N.: Hello all! So, this is my first attempt at writing a fic, but I love Remus and Sirius and the Marauders so much so I thought I would give it a go. I am not entirely sure where this story will end yet; it's very much a work in progress. I am looking to post new chapters on Wednesday's, but we will see how that works out. This will be a multi-chaptered fic, and I am looking to have the chapters be longer than this, but I thought I would keep it short to start with. Enjoy!
It started on one of those nights in November that people generally forget about. November, itself, is an easily forgettable month, what with the lack of holidays and rampant monotony. The only welcomed change was the harsh, almost-winter air, but whether that was welcomed for the love people have of the cold or for the fact that it was, finally, some change, one could not say. Most people do not sit about detailing the faults of the eleventh month of the year, but this was where one could find a young Remus Lupin, any notion of reading his mother's worn-down copy of The Hound of Baskervilles forgotten, in front of the coziest fire he has ever remembered Gryffindor Tower having. Remus always liked this book, had ever since his mum had given it to him years and years ago; but recently, he found himself growing ever so fond the hound. Perhaps it was his own, erm, affliction that had him enjoying the usage of the giant canine. Perhaps not…
Though the sun had set quite a while ago, the fire and candlelight around the common room provided enough light to read by. As the hours passed by, Remus found himself dozing. It may have only been half past eight, but he was exhausted. The full moon had been two nights ago, and it seemed to take longer and longer to recover as he got older. This was something he tried to ignore on his better days; on his worst, it pervaded his thoughts incessantly. But that is neither necessary to think of nor is it pertinent to the story right now, for at this time, a certain group of troublemakers made their way through the portrait and into the common room.
Boisterous as ever, they wandered over to their usual spot by the fire to find a certain werewolf dozing, in what seemed to be, a rather content fashion. However, being the Marauders that they were, it would not do to leave the poor boy alone. Rather, while giggling the manliest of giggles, James Potter and Sirius Black, partners in crime, brothers until the end, looked at each other, looked down at Remus, and pounced. A Mr. Peter Pettrigrew let them at it, and, for that, he was just as guilty as Messrs. Potter and Black were. With a startled yelp, Remus awoke to the horrendous feeling of two pairs of not-yet-manly hands tickling along his torso. In an attempt to get the horrible boys off of him, he grabbed his book and started bashing them over the raven-haired heads.
"What, ah hah ha, what are you doing? Stop it! Stop! Ah hah ha, quit it!" Remus tried to yelled through pained laughter. James and Sirius conceded only after the book bashing got particularly uncomfortable. Laughing, they left Remus to collect and dignify himself while they found a place to sit.
"Oi, Pete, get up. That's my chair," Sirius demanded with a glare. Many would have been intimated by this sight; the heir to the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, with his just-too-long raven hair framing his angular, aristocratic features could be a frightening spectacle to behold. Rather, Peter just sat put, comfortable in the chair he so rightfully claimed.
"Your chair? But, I don't see your name on it. And don't, I see you going for your wand, you twat. And, anyway, I already beat you to it," Peter said, summoning all the smugness the nearly-sixteen-year-old could. He moved his arm, and, if one were to squint just the right amount, they would see a small "P.P." right under the armrest.
With a long-suffering sigh, Sirius threw his arms up in the air and looked around for a place to sit. James occupied the only other armchair by the fire, and he knew there would be no point in trying to steal it from the young animagus. Instead, with a graceless plop, he fell right onto Remus outstretched legs on the couch.
"Padfoot, oh buddy, oh pal," Remus started.
"Yes, oh Moony?"
"Could you, kindly, remove your bottom from being on my legs, please?" he asked with all the forced patience he could muster.
"Oh Moony-kins, of course I can't. It's far too cozy," the young heir said in a voice far too cheerful than the conversation called for. Realizing that nothing could be done, Remus wiggled his toes to get more comfortable, picked up his book, found his place, and, before sending a glare in Sirius's direction, resumed his reading.
"Hey Prongs, we should make a visit to Hogsmeade before the game on Saturday," Sirius said.
"Yeah, whatever the outcome is, we'll all need a little firewhisky," said Peter.
And so, they conversed, as young boys with not a care in the world would do. They lingered on the subject of Quidditch a while longer, or, more specifically, on the after-party that they were planning. They woke Remus when the fire had gone out, and all traipsed up the stairs. Thoughts of the upcoming war, thoughts of the politics that were ruining their world, thoughts of the full moon were far from each of their minds. They fell asleep quickly, in only a way that young, worriless boys could do without knowing of what was quickly coming.
A.N.: So, what did you think? Reviews would be much appreciated! :)