The Magical Band
Authors note: Sorry about the delay in updating, but I have been a little too busy to write.
Disclaimer: I make no claim to the characters used in this story. No money is being made from this piece of writing, and no copy write infringement is intended. Scumble is a mystical drink made of apples (mainly apples –ed.). Created by Terry Pratchett. 'Peter Pettigrew was drunk. Drunk enough to know his condition, but also drunk enough to know that he didn't care' is vintage David Gemmel.
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Only later in his life, was Remus finally able to realise the full extent of the mistake he had made when persuading James and Sirius to let Peter write them some lyrics.
"But it'll be lovey-dovey crap! I know it will! He spends too much time with Hufflepuffs to write proper music" Exclaimed James
"As opposed to the mush you've been putting down lately James?" Inquired Remus, a slight smile creasing a face that was considered care-worn by many. If he had known it was going to be this hard to convince the two of them to let Peter write lyrics for them, he would have probably let it go. iWho am I kidding?/i He thought to himself. Being so alike, both James and Sirius had a tendency to leave Peter out of some of their schemes, prompting Peter to become such good friends with Hufflepuff House.
Sirius, speaking for the first time in the argument said, "That, or it'll be terrible. Have any of us seen anything he's ever written before? Is he even poetically minded?"
"Just give him a chance" Put in Remus quickly, because he could see from James' face that he agreed with Sirius. "You both think that I'll be surprised, that whatever he comes up will be badly written trite. But you could be the ones mistaken" He wheedled, using every ounce of persuasive ability to change their minds "Who knows? Under all that hair could be the mind of a genius." It was true, about the hair anyway. The three of them had returned that year to Hogwarts and had immediately noticed the amount of, well, hair that Peter had these days.
"I don't know…" Mused James. But Remus could tell that he was going to cave soon, all it took was one more push. And where James went, Sirius was sure to follow.
"Listen, just let him try. Please? It'll mean a lot to him, and if you don't like what he comes up with, you can just tell him you don't like it, alright?"
"Alright…" Chorused Sirius and James.
Remus heaved a sigh of relief. iResult/i, he thought to himself, iI wonder what Peter is up to?/i
Peter Pettigrew was drunk. Drunk enough to know his condition, but also drunk enough to know that he didn't care. He was going to drink himself into distraction, if it was the last thing he did. iTake that, creation!/i He thought, waving his hand absently to emphasize his mental exclamation, and spilling some of his drink in the process.
iWhat is this stuff, anyway?/i He asked himself as he took another swig from his wooden tumbler. Looking at the bartender standing before him, he realised that the man had never told him what it was.
"What's this stuff, anyway?" He slurred at the indistinct shape of the bartender, who was idly cleaning glasses and looking out of the window.
"Scumble" Grunted the bartender in reply
"Scumble…scumble…" Peter mused "Well, get me another" He said, placing a few Knuts onto the oak bar in front of him. The bartender complied, filling another wooden tumbler with scumble, and placing it in front of Peter.
If he had not been, well, drunk, he would have noticed that he had put his change in the pool of spilled liquor in front of him. If he had not been drunk, he would have noticed that the bronze coins were now fizzing gently, and slowly burning a hole through the bar. If he had not been so drunk, he would have asked himself why he was drinking from a wooden cup, when pewter was the material of choice in most Public Houses. But Peter was drunk, and only in his current state because of the perceived slights made against him by creation. Thus, he didn't care about any of this. His cares had degenerated into caring only about where the next drink was coming from, and about whether he would be able to find his way back to the castle.
Reaching into his pocket to pay for another drink, he encountered the soul-shattering discovery that sooner or later comes to all heavy drinkers; he had no money left. Getting unsteadily to his feet with a mournful wail, he carefully stumbled his way to the door.
Pausing at the threshold, he patted down his pockets for the crumpled piece of paper that, in his delicate state, constituted Peters heart and soul. Taking it out, he flattened out the creases and absently wiped the alcohol off. Squinting, he tried to read the words that seemed to be wriggling across the page.
iI am an antichrist.
And I am an Anarchist.
Don't know what I want but
I know how to get it.
I wanna destroy,
Passerby.../i
It was no good. The words were being rebellious today. Continuing his bid for clean-aired freedom, Peter left the iThree Broomsticks/i.
Remus was pacing.
"Where is he? It's midnight!" Inwardly wincing, he realised he had just used an exclamation mark. Oh dear.
"Calm down Remus, we've been out later than this" Commented James, from his prone position on the floor.
"You sound like my mother" Smirked Sirus, returning to throwing little paper chains charmed to look like Lily in the fire. James looked up, realised what Sirus was doing, and scowled, absently giving him a one-fingered salute.
Peter stumbled in through the door. But only just, he had trouble with the door handle.
Remus looked up. "My God, you're drunk!"
"'M not drunk!" Peter slurred back with the practiced air of geniality that comes naturally to the absolutely slaughtered
"Then how come you can't walk in a straight line?" Sirius asked as he lent against the wall, trying to keep a grin off his face
"'Ve got new boots" Peter explained
".. New boots?" James asked. He too was trying hard not to laugh at the expression on Remus's face.
"Yeah, that's why I can' walk well" Peter frowned, at a loss for their amusement. "Wha's up with you lot? Never seen a nat'rally chipper bod before?"
"Not this chipper, Peter…where have you been?" Said Remus, leaning forward and glaring at his drunken compatriot
"Down the Pub" Said Peter, taking the opportunity to flop onto his bed.
"That much is obvious, Dear Peter" Replied James, laconic eyebrow raised and to attention. "You were drinking iScumble/i, weren't you?"
"Might've been…its all a little hazy.." He trailed off, looking up at the ceiling.
"Scumble!" Exclaimed Remus. He leaned forward even further "Just how much did you drink, young man?"
"A couple of pints…Perhaps." He stretched "Bugger knows." He added happily.
"A couple of pints of Scumble? I'm surprised you're still conscious" Sirius opined from his post at the wall.
"Did you finish those lyrics?" Barked Remus, leaning even further forward and looking like he wanted to rip Peter's throat out.
"What lyrics?" Said Peter wistfully. Catching a glimpse of Remus' look he added a hasty "I've got 'em here somewhere" Fishing around in his pockets, he produced the lyrics and passed them to Remus, pausing only to lick some stray alcohol off.
Remus' face went from interest to horror and back again to amusement. "Lads, at least it isn't poetry." Grinning, he passed them to Sirius.
"Wait 'til Lily sees this" Sniggered Sirius
The Slut Puppies were ready to Rock.
~End Of Chapter~
A/N: Another …err…week, another chapter. Eventually you might see the Puppies play in concert. Something to look forward to, eh?