A/N: This is a one-off. The characters are not mine. They wouldn't even
work for me the way I wanted them to... I'm not sure how this story came to
its fruition, but this is what I ended up with.
Prank (War) Wounds
"Myrtle, thistleweed, rowan sprig and gum," Sirius chanted under his breath, marching in time with the syllables of his mantra. "Myrtle, thistleweed, rowan sprig and rum. Myrtle--thistleweed!." Upon sighting his target, he ran a few steps, and leapt into the air with his hand outstretched. At the zenith of his great jump his hand curled about the thistleweed: he kept a sure grip on it, and his weight pulled his last ingredient from the tree. But not without a fight. A sudden stinging in the young Griffindor's hand caused him to stumble to the ground, reminding him too late of the brief thistleweed lecture in first-year Herbology, where the Professor had reminded them to wear gloves when dealing with the spiny plant. Sirus stumbled to one knee, and slowly prised his fist apart. His hand was scratched, and one of his fingers hurt. A quick lumos (followed by an even quicker nox--he didn't wish to be caught here) revealed that one of the thorns had broken off inside his finger. Running late for his rendes vous, with the other marauders, he headed back in the direction of their meeting point, slightly closer to Hogsmeade. He picked at it as he walked, but he decided he should probably let it be when it began burning slightly.
A few minutes later he approached a tree that, to the casual viewer, really looked no different from any other tree. But Sirius knew better: this was the tree the marauders had arranged to meet back under, when they had finished their quest for ingredients. Upon arriving, however, only Remus was there.
"Where have you been?" the werewolf hissed.
"Where are the others?"
"I've already sent them back. The potion needed extra ingredients, oh, about half an hour ago!"
"Well, it's a good thing that they didn't need my ingredients, then." Sirius shrugged with his usual supercilious charm, and Remus smelled blood.
"You're hurt." It wasn't a question.
"I know!" He cried. "I've got a bloody great splinter." Sirius held out his hand, and proudly showed off his war-wound. Remus snorted, but examined his friend's hand anyway.
"It looks deadly," he declared after a minute, completely deadpan. Sirius gasped and paled.
"But--I thought they said that thistleweed wasn't, you know, actually poisonous!" Remus nodded, sadistically agog at the idea of making Sirius squirm. But when the dark-haired boy began to look panicky, he relented.
"You tosser, Sirius, I'm just joking. But here, I'll get it out for you." Sirius mock-punched Remus for his jest but held his hand out anyway. Remus summoned a pair of tweezers from his dorm--part of a nail care set that the other boys had teased him relentlessly about since he had bought it at their first Hogsmeade weekend--plucking the splinter free, and kissing the finger better.
Sirius blushed a little more obviously than he perhaps should have.
Prank (War) Wounds
"Myrtle, thistleweed, rowan sprig and gum," Sirius chanted under his breath, marching in time with the syllables of his mantra. "Myrtle, thistleweed, rowan sprig and rum. Myrtle--thistleweed!." Upon sighting his target, he ran a few steps, and leapt into the air with his hand outstretched. At the zenith of his great jump his hand curled about the thistleweed: he kept a sure grip on it, and his weight pulled his last ingredient from the tree. But not without a fight. A sudden stinging in the young Griffindor's hand caused him to stumble to the ground, reminding him too late of the brief thistleweed lecture in first-year Herbology, where the Professor had reminded them to wear gloves when dealing with the spiny plant. Sirus stumbled to one knee, and slowly prised his fist apart. His hand was scratched, and one of his fingers hurt. A quick lumos (followed by an even quicker nox--he didn't wish to be caught here) revealed that one of the thorns had broken off inside his finger. Running late for his rendes vous, with the other marauders, he headed back in the direction of their meeting point, slightly closer to Hogsmeade. He picked at it as he walked, but he decided he should probably let it be when it began burning slightly.
A few minutes later he approached a tree that, to the casual viewer, really looked no different from any other tree. But Sirius knew better: this was the tree the marauders had arranged to meet back under, when they had finished their quest for ingredients. Upon arriving, however, only Remus was there.
"Where have you been?" the werewolf hissed.
"Where are the others?"
"I've already sent them back. The potion needed extra ingredients, oh, about half an hour ago!"
"Well, it's a good thing that they didn't need my ingredients, then." Sirius shrugged with his usual supercilious charm, and Remus smelled blood.
"You're hurt." It wasn't a question.
"I know!" He cried. "I've got a bloody great splinter." Sirius held out his hand, and proudly showed off his war-wound. Remus snorted, but examined his friend's hand anyway.
"It looks deadly," he declared after a minute, completely deadpan. Sirius gasped and paled.
"But--I thought they said that thistleweed wasn't, you know, actually poisonous!" Remus nodded, sadistically agog at the idea of making Sirius squirm. But when the dark-haired boy began to look panicky, he relented.
"You tosser, Sirius, I'm just joking. But here, I'll get it out for you." Sirius mock-punched Remus for his jest but held his hand out anyway. Remus summoned a pair of tweezers from his dorm--part of a nail care set that the other boys had teased him relentlessly about since he had bought it at their first Hogsmeade weekend--plucking the splinter free, and kissing the finger better.
Sirius blushed a little more obviously than he perhaps should have.
