A/N Cat here is quite angsty without any reviews – I've gotten a total of one so far out of all three stories. Hate to beg more than once – but read my stories and review them!!!!!!! I feel like I'm whinging (ha! British word!) when I do this. So this is the first and last time. REVIEW OR DIE

Disclaimer: I live in a white house right by a busy street in a town, and I can count all the American license plates that drive on the right side of the road. I do not live in Scotland.

Fizz and Fratricide and Friendly

Way back when Moony was 11, he and his three roommates made a pact. There were three rules in this treaty: one, to remain on friendly terms with everyone who signed said pact; two, not to kill each other; and three, not to exploit secrets.

Before they could celebrate a decade of their treaty and their friendship, all the rules were broken.

Moony always thought he would be the one the break the second rule. He was the one endangering them all, of course. Death could've occurred any full moon, and it all would have been Moony's fault.

However, telling secrets would've most definitely been Wormtail's crime. He was the one who told his full eleven and a half years of of secrets a month before the pact was signed. And he succumbed underneath a tickling charm. "You're pathetic," Prongs had commented, "but I like you." Looking back, that was an insanely hilarious night. Even under pressure, Wormtail had a way with words.

They all broke the friendly terms. Moony and Padfoot fought often – almost daily in fact. The latter had held a grudge against Prongs for a month over a month. Occasionally, but never on purpose, Wormtail was a bit of an outcast.

But never had the pact been shattered so irrevocably until last night. As he thought of the matter, Moony let his on-the-house victory drink fizz away. He thought about how Padfoot killed Wormtail and Prongs. How, eventually, Padfoot told the ultimate secret. How it was Padfoot who destroyed what remained of any friendship between the four men.

Nd even as people rejoiced bout him, Moony basked, Moony drowned in his personal tragedy. There could no longer be the marauders – none of them played by the rules any more. But the worst thing of all was the fratricide. Moony never thought that anyone but him was capable of that.

Guess not, he bitterly thought, and took a swig of his flat drink.