October 13 – Peter
Write about a pillow
It was missing. I could only sleep with one pillow, and it was missing. It had been on my bed since first year, and I had written my name on it to make sure, and I could only sleep with this specific pillow, and it was missing. And Remus was sitting on his bed, reading a book and laughing at me because I was thrown into a panic by the fact that the pillow which had been on my bed since first year, which I had written my name on and could not sleep without, was missing. EFFING MISSING.
I was going to kill Sirius.
I knew it had to be him, because James was more direct. He liked to be around when he was making fun of you. Also, it was mostly just making fun. He used to be too self-centered to pull effective pranks on one person, and these days he was too nice. Teasing was different. Even Remus teased. And Remus obviously didn't do it, because I threatened to hex him and he swore up and down that it wasn't him. Plus, he wasn't having enough fun watching me search to have done it. So that left Sirius, who was probably losing his mind wherever he was, thinking about how pissed I was about not being able to find the pillow I'd had since first year that I wrote my name on and couldn't sleep without.
Murder. I swear it.
Sirius, luckily, is not very creative. I mean, he is sort of, but he's got, like, four hiding places for things. Behind the statue of Humphrey Notting IV, up on the 6th floor, in the prefect's bathroom that we all use where James walked in on Lily once, the Kitchen, and under his bed. (See? Not so smart. Even I know to look under the bed.)
Under the bed (of course) was my pillow. With Lily's stupid cat sitting on it, who I'm allergic to. I went to dinner with hives. Sirius couldn't have planned it better if he tried, bloody prat.