Author's Note:

I just re-read GOF, and realized that in Chapter 27 ('Padfoot Returns'), Sirius actually lists a bunch of Snape's school friends.  Thus, it began to bug me that I was going against canon on something – one of the few things, actually – that we know about Marauding times.  So I went back and changed the names of the "Usual Offending Slytherins". (If anyone cares, Olivia Chaulson is my name for the future Mrs. Lestrange.)

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Chapter Two: Tears and Trysts, Staircases and Slytherins

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saturday morning

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            "So James," said Rachel Calahan, the pretty brunette Gryffindor James had been sitting with at breakfast, "have any plans for tonight?"

            "As a matter of fact, I don't," James replied, smiling warmly at her.  She really is my type.  Unfortunately, Sirius also seemed to be James' "type".  Banishing shoulder-length black hair and deep blue eyes out of his mind, James returned to the conversation.  "What do you want to do?  Stroll by the lake?  Look at the stars from the Astronomy Tower?"

            "Well," she said, pulling her thick brown curls into a ponytail, "I think I may have discovered a secret room in one of the upstairs corridors last weekend…it looked like no one had been in there in ages.  Care to help me find it again?"

            By the minute, this girl was becoming more and more James' type.  "I'd love to," he replied, his smile broadening.  Stupid Sirius, anyway.

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saturday evening

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            "What are you reading now?"  Sirius sidled up to Remus, who was spread out on a sofa in front of the common room fire.  The werewolf blushed slightly.

            "It's called The Neverending Story.  It's…kind of a Muggle children's novel."

            Sirius grinned.

            "It's so much more than a children's book, though.  There are some parts that are quite profound."

            Sirius grinned again, and sat, quite close to Remus.  He read, over the grey-eyed boy's shoulder:

She bent forward, picked up A U R Y N, and let the chain glide through her fingers.

            'You have done well,' she said, 'and I am pleased with you.'

            'No!' cried Atreyu almost savagely.  'It was all in vain.  There's no hope.'

            "What's this about, anyway?"  Sirius asked, leaning his head on the back of the sofa, dangerously close to Remus' shoulder.

            "If I take the time to explain, you're going to lose interest in approximately four minutes."  Remus kept his eyes to the page, but soon lost all hope of reading any more in the minutes to follow.

            "You know me too well."  Sirius snuggled closer.

            "I wouldn't say that.  I know you well.  Very well.  But I don't think I could ever know you too well."

            "The same goes for you, Moony, mon ami."

            "Let me guess: that's one of two French phrases you know."

            "One of three, actually.  I also know 'voulez vous coucher avec moi, ce soir' and 'pomme du terre'."

            "Only you would think that the most important words in another language were sexual innuendoes and vegetables."

            "Damn straight."

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            Peter was alone in the dorm.  He lay down on his four-poster, looking longingly at James'.

            No matter what Remus had advised, he just couldn't tell James how he felt.  It was as if something stole his voice away at just the wrong time, or the courage he was supposed to have for Gryffindor just failed him.  It was easy for Remus to tell him what he should do; Remus had nerves, and was very honest behind the sarcasm and razor-sharp wit.  And he was brave.  Oh so brave.

            "Remus," Peter whispered.

            This was followed by a sigh.  What exactly had happened the night before?  Whatever had possessed him to kiss the other boy?  He supposed they were having a moment.  But what possessed both of them to repeat the action?  The first kiss held no sparks, no magic, only obvious there-ness, and it was much more awkward than Peter had counted on.  But it was friendly.  And comforting.  And for some reason Peter wanted more.

            Remus was still in the common room, yes?  Peter greatly desired another chat with the young werewolf.

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            "You are insatiable, Sirius Black.  Isn't one girl enough for you?"  Peter crept down the stairs, hearing Remus' muffled tones over by the fireplace.

            "Hmm…now that I think about it…no."

            "You're barking mad," Remus said, grinning.

            "And that makes me the popular, fun-loving guy I am today."  Sirius grinned in return.

            The young werewolf shook his head, still grinning.  "You make me crazy."

            "Asylum crazy or the good, desirable kind of crazy?"  The look on Sirius' face was absolutely predatory.

            "Tough choice, Padfoot, dear friend."

            Their faces were close; too close, and Peter suddenly felt very, very alone.  As silently as he could, he retreated back to the dormitory and the red velvet haven of his four-poster, solitude and disappointment his only bedfellows.

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            Rachel was a really great girl.  She was fun, energetic, and where she lacked in pure book learning she made up for in common sense.  So what if her laugh was a little irritating?  So what if she tended to squint?  She was cute, smart, and loved exploring around the castle at night…

            So what if James just couldn't make himself be attracted to her?

            Damn.

            Buck up, Prongsy.  This is revenge.  Not romance.  Revenge.  Not romance.  James stiffened a little as Rachel moved a little closer to him in the darkness.

            It was going to be a long night.

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            "You know, this isn't just me being flirty and sex-deprived.  I really want to be with you, Moony," Sirius murmured as he brushed cool lips along Remus' jaw.

            "I didn't know, actually…not that I mind, at this juncture…ooh."  Remus' hands tightened convulsively, gathering handfuls of the back of Sirius' t-shirt.  "I'm not sure I believe you, however."

            "Trust me, Remus.  You do trust me, yes?"

            "Of course I trust you…ahhh…"  Remus bit his lip as Sirius lightly tongued over his pulse point.  "It isn't…exactly…a matter of trust…it's much more a matter of…gullibility…on my part."

            "You're too smart to be gullible.  And too beautiful to be allowed."  An interlude for an open-mouthed kiss, then:

            "Lines like that designed to win over a girl's heart are going to be, at the least, completely ineffective on me."

            "Oh, but it's true, dearest, every word is true."

            "I wish I could believe that."

            "Why can't you?" Sirius whispered, gliding fingertips lightly along Remus' cheekbone.  "I never joke about things this serious."

            "Serious, ah?"  Remus smiled, eyes hooded.  "So this is 'serious', is it?"

            Sirius smiled in return, fingers straying to tangle with Remus'.  "That's my name, don't wear it out."

            Another pause for a still-lengthier kiss, then: "I'm still not sure I believe you."

            Sirius pulled the young werewolf closer to him.  "Don't worry about it, lovely."

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late saturday night

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            James stormed up to the dormitory, fuming.  The nerve of Sirius!  Upon returning from his midnight tryst with Lady Rachel, he promptly found Sirius and Remus making out on the common room sofa.

            And, to top it all off, as soon as the two heard his gasp/disappointed noise/shout of horror, Sirius smiled, waved, and pulled Remus on top of him.

            Peter watched James do a repeat performance of the night before, storming into the dormitory, not bothering to change clothing, and angrily pulling the curtains shut around him.

            Wormtail had a choice.  One: let James be, which would probably result in Peter keeping his limbs; or two: go over and attempt to act as the proverbial shoulder for the express purpose of leaking that poetic mixture of water, salt and enzymes upon – which would probably result in less remaining body parts but was worth it to be sitting on the same bed with Prongs.  What's a finger or a hand compared to several minutes of close proximity to the love of your life?

            "Jamie?"  Peter stood by the velvet curtains, hands behind his back, bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet.

            "What?"  James still sounded angry – not a good sign.

            "Are you OK?"

            "Oh yeah.  Just perfect.  I'm off on cloud nine, I am."  Oh.  Sarcasm.  Definitely not a good sign.

            Peter hesitated, then: "C-Can I…come in?"

            "Knock yourself out."

            With a shaking hand, Peter parted the curtains and sank down, cross-legged, on the foot of the bed.

            James had pulled the covers over his face.

            "Prongs?" Peter whispered, cocking his head to one side.

            "Yeah?" James whispered back, not sounding angry anymore.

            "What's wrong?"  Peter rested his head in his hands, supported by bare elbows on flannel-clad knees.

            "It's just Black being a bastard again."

            "Oh."  Peter was suddenly tongue-tied.

            James uncovered his head, sitting up, and Peter noted, with not a small amount of amazement, the tears glittering unbidden in his lashes.

            "He just hasn't a whit of tact.  Or decency.  Or modesty.  Or scruples.  For some reason, other peoples' feelings don't really occur to him, so he just goes around, just breaking hearts, like they don't matter…when it's just some girl it's not as bad but when it's your friend…"  James shook his head, and Peter realized something.

            Prongs was jealous, and angry, and frightened.  Because he loved Sirius.

            And suddenly, as James kept complaining about Padfoot, that barely-noticeable sheen of wetness over his eyes, Peter felt as if the bottom of his stomach had dropped out.

            The round-faced boy felt ill.  He'd never even had a chance.

            As James fell silent, Peter kept his eyes downcast.  "I'm…sorry…about Padfoot, Prongs," he murmured, almost incoherently, as he quit the bed and went to hide beneath the staircase.

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            James was still awake when Sirius and Remus came to bed.  They were whispering, giggling, thinking he was asleep.  He heard the continuous whisper of day clothes coming off and night clothes going on, and the dry swish of bed curtains.  He heard the creak of bedsprings and the rustle of blankets and sheets.  He heard things quiet down and the soft, barely audible buzz of conversation.

            "Sirius, you're such an exhibitionist.  Was it really necessary to continue to fool around right in front of Prongs?"

            Sirius' reply was muffled, but Remus' exclamation was perfectly discernable.  "Oh, honestly, Padfoot!"  There was a low, instantly-recognizable laugh, and James curled into a ball as he heard the tell-tale rustle of bedclothes and nearly inaudible smack of lips.

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sunday morning

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            Sirius was doing it again.

            Giving Moony "the look".

            Not just any look – this was the burning, intense, "I want you right here right now" look.

            And right over the breakfast table!  The nerve!

            James couldn't take any more.  So he left.

            He was so wrapped up in his thoughts and self-pity that he ran smack into someone in the hallway, causing them to drop the large armful of books they had been carrying.

            Oh, great.  It was…whatsername, that redheaded Ravenclaw…Lily…Evans?  James had always thought she was kind of a stuck up prude, since his only interaction with her thus far had been her yelling at him and his friends for making noise in the Quidditch section of the library, or flashing her Prefect badge at them as they plotted mischief in the hallways.

            James was floored, however, when Lily slumped to the ground and burst into tears.

            "Oh, hey, hey, I'm so sorry!  D-Don't cry!  Look, I'll help you with these…"  James bent to pick up the books.

            "N-No, no, i-it's not y-you…" the redhead sobbed, burying her face in her hands.

            Lily had been under an enormous amount of pressure.  Finals were coming up – and what with all the extra projects she'd opted to do, regular and extra homework, prefects meetings and planning sessions – not to mention regular prefect duties which had most of the school making fun of her behind her back – she was stressed out, nearly burnt out, and hadn't had time for a good cry all year.

            Dropping her books had been the proverbial stiff grass stalk that fractured the spine of the dromedary.

            After a few minutes of sobbing in the hallway, James hovering worriedly around her, she looked up, eyes puffy and wet, face blotchy, nose running.

            "I'm so sorry…" she whimpered, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand.

            "It's okay," James replied, slightly bemused.

            "I look terrible, don't I?"  She sniffed wetly.

            There was a long pause, then: "Well, yeah…you really do…"

            Lily giggled.

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sunday afternoon

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            Peter had successfully avoided his friends all day.  He just didn't think he could stand it – the two people in the entire world who made him feel quivery inside were…in…love…with…Sirius.

            Bet they didn't even notice I wasn't there today, Peter thought miserably from his hiding place under the stairs.  Or worse, maybe they did – but they didn't care.

            Peter was shaken from his reverie by a high gasp; he looked up in surprise to see a little first year girl with tears in her eyes.  She began to cry, short black curls in disarray.

            "Shh, shh, don't cry, come here…what's the matter?"  Peter, with two younger sisters, was used to this.

            Soon the little girl had her face buried in Peter's shirt, and was sobbing out her story.  Apparently, this was the little girl's hiding spot too, and the other girls in her dormitory liked to tease her – because she had a Muggle family, or because she was poor, or because her hair was short and not long and in ribbons like theirs.

            Several minutes later she was chatting animatedly with Peter about Quidditch, and how sad she was that no first years were allowed their own brooms.  Flying lessons had been the best part of the year, she thought.

            Flying took her mind off everything.

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            Sirius and Remus had found the perfect hidden corner; pity they were interrupted mid-snog by the sound of taunting Slytherin voices, headed their way.

            "No crowd to protect you this time, Fletcher," said the sneering voice of Robert Lestrange, a tall, heavyset, and menacing seventh-year.

            Moony and Padfoot looked at each other, and dashed around the corner.  Poor Mundungus Fletcher, a Hufflepuff fourth-year, was backed into a corner, the usual group of offending Slytherins (Robert Lestrange, Severus Snape, Evan Rosier, Anthony Wilkes, Thomas Avery, and Olivia Chaulson) hemming him in.

            Fletcher was short for his age, and skinny, large glasses perched upon his nose and secondhand robes that were too big hanging off his small frame.  He was Muggle-born, uncommonly good at Herbology and Potions, and obviously intelligent; Slytherins flocked to terrorize him at every opportunity.  His horrible first name only made this worse.

            "What is he doing here?" hissed Olivia Chaulson, flipping her thick dark hair over her shoulder.  Remus fingered his wand nervously.  If this was going to disintegrate into a fight, the Slytherins were three men up.  Four, if Fletcher didn't offer any assistance.

            "He's come to ruin our fun," said Snape, stepping forward.

            "You did ruin mine, after all," Sirius said, smirking slightly.  "I was having a nice snog, and suddenly there's a whole crowd of Slytherin thugs stepping on my feet."

            "What, a snog with your boyfriend here?" taunted Avery.

            "Oh yes.  Remus is spectacular," Sirius purred, putting one arm about the young werewolf's waist and pulling him closer.  Remus blushed scarlet.

            The Slytherins all looked a mix of angry and disgusted.

            Meanwhile, the talk gave Fletcher the time he needed to get away.  Four up, then, Remus thought, again fingering his wand.  At least I'll go down fighting.

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(swish and flick)

Finitum Part Two!

To be continued…

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Notes:

Rachel Calahan is not a Mary-Sue.  She is not me.  She has no characteristics similar to mine, except for the fact that we both have brown hair.  I just made her up on the spot to use as a rather extraneous Hogwarts student.  If I were to do a Mary-Sue character, the romantic target would almost certainly be Remus, not James.  (I'm also a Slytherin.  SERPENTS FOR THE HOUSE CUP!!! YEAH BABY!!!)

The Neverending Story by Michael Ende is an excellent book.  I highly recommend it. ^_^  The movie (which I was obsessed with when I was a child) is actually very good, but like all movies made from books, doesn't really do it justice.  And the movie sequel just downright sucked.  I just read it again – I hadn't read it in years, and I really wanted to see if there are any shounen-ai-ish hints between Bastian and Atreyu, since they have that whole destiny link thing going for them (aka Atreyu sees Bastian in the Magic Mirror Gate).  But that's another story and shall be told another time. ^_~