"What is he doing?" asked Lily incredulously.

The Common Room had run out of couches so Peter and Lily were sitting on James' bed playing a card game, of which Sirius revelled in calling 'shithead' ("Is that what it's really called? Wicked."), James was nestled in an enormous pile of cushions on the floor, Remus decided to join him because it looked comfy, and Sirius was sprawled on Remus' bed.

Sirius had decided to fall asleep. He made sniffling noise and then was out for the count for about half an hour. No one dared writing on Sirius Black's face; that was like commencing a war.

But then he started moving about. Being June, and it being quite warm, Messrs Padfoot usually slept, er, partially dressed, or so to speak. He was shifting about on the bed, bringing his knees up to his chest. His feet were wriggling and getting rather close to his open mouth.

His foot was in his mouth.

No, it was out again.

"He's trying to take off his socks," supplied Remus, turning a page of his book. He glanced up at Sirius oddly. "…with his teeth."