Disclaimer: Tolkien owns everything. Oh, wait...wrong disclaimer. J.K. Rolling, wonderful woman that she is (although I'm beginning to doubt about read a certain chapter in a certain book) owns all. Sometimes, I think, even me.
Notes: Aaaah. This is my first Harry Potter fic, and I'm nervous as hell. So, no flames please, because...well. Not too good for the old moral, if you catch my meaning.
Deep inside the Hogwarts castle, in the darkest, most secluded corner of the North tower, a tall, greasy-haired Slytherin with a hooked nose lurked, rubbing his hands together and cackling quietly to himself. He looked at the giant grandfather clock across the hall and his evil, sadistic grin grew wider. It was almost time, now. The nefarious potion that he had bribed a house elf to slip into Sirius Black's pumpkin juice would take effect at the stroke of midnight.
He gleefully watched the clock change from 7: 23 to 7:24. He cackled again, startling some 3rd year Ravenclaws who happened to be walking by at that moment. They ran down the hall before they could get a glimpse of the shadowed figure i the dark corner, screaming about Peeves. Severus Snape only laughed more loudly and maniacally.
His laughing had dulled to quietly amused giggles when the Hufflepuff prefect stormed up to his corner, dragged him out of the shadows, told him to stop behing dramatic and pulled him back to the Slytherin dormitory by his ear. It didn't matter, though, because the truly evil deed had already been committed. When morning came around, Sirius Black would regret that he had ever gotten out of bed in the first place.
Secretly, Severus Snape thought that one day he could be powerful enough to enslave the world, but he'd settle for petty revenge on shallow Gryffindors for now.
When Sirius Black woke up on Saturday, his hair was sticking up in all sorts of random angles and he had fallen asleep on his arm, which, in turn, had fallen asleep and was now throbbing with a pins-and-needles sensation that was quite infuriating. He crawled out of bed miserably and was about to head into the bathroom to see if he could do anything about the whole bedhead thing, when a head randomly materialized in this air.
Sirius gave a shout and stumbled back in shock, before realizing that the random head was his best friend, James Potter, and regaining his composure. 'Best friend except for Peter,' Sirius thought suddenly. He blinked.'Where did that come from?'
Throwing off his invisibility cloak, James stood in the middle of the Gryffindor dormitory in his Jedi Knight pajamas, panting heavily as if he had just been running.
"Sirius!" he exclaimed excitedly.
"What?" Sirius asked, wondering where Peter was.
"Well, I was under the invisibility cloak, and-" James was interrupted by a loud, over-dramatic yawn from Peter's bed.
"I'm awake," he announced contentedly, as if he thought he needed to tell someone that so that they would understand. He said his habitually every morning, and usually nobody payed him much mind. This morning, however, upon those words Sirius' eyes widened and he grinned.
"Peter! You're awake! Thank God, life is always so dull without your pleasant anecdotes!" Sirius chriped uncharacteristically. Peter looked at him, amazed. James look at him as well, only looking very creeped out and a little bit disgusted as well. Remus Lupin walked in and raised an eyebrow at the look James was giving Sirius. James ran a hand through his messy hair, smiling sheepishly.
"Really?" Peter asked, sounding happily relieved. "You think my anecdotes are pleasant?" Sirius nodded enthusiastically.
"Yeah! I mean, that muggle story you told last week? Hilarious!" Peter smiled.
"I was waiting for somebody to get it and laugh," he admitted, practically glowing.
"I got it," James admitted.
"So did I," added Remus. Peter blinked, and his face screwed up confusion.
"Then why didn't you laugh?" he asked, completely befuddled. Remus and James exchanged a look.
James suddenly remembered what it was he'd wanted to say before Peter's dramatic yawning had interrupted him.
"Sirius!" James repeated, tapping Sirius roughly on the shoulder to get his attention.
"Hmm?" Sirius asked, staring unwaveringly at Peter, who was still trying to figure out why his lame joke hadn't prompted a laugh (he'd laughed himself silly when he'd heard it).
"Look, I was under the invisibility cloak, and I saw something interesting, and I think-" James began, before Sirius turned to look at him rather irritably.
"Look, James, for the millionth time: Moaning Myrtle will never agree to go out with you. Primarily because she's dead, so don't even try," Sirius snapped. James gasped and looked offended.
"Sirius, you promised you wouldn't tell!" James protested, eyeing Remus and Peter. Peter was looking thoughtful and Remus looked like he didn't want to know. James shook his head, trying to clear his embarrassment. "No, Sirius! I think Snape is plotting something against us!"
Sirius waved him off distractedly.
"You always say that," he said. James shook his head.
"But I'm serious this time!" (Here Peter was about to make a very bad pun on James' words and Sirius' name, but by the time he had worked it out in his head so that it was worded perfectly, James had continued speaking and the moment was lost). "I saw Snape, and he was muttering gleefully to himself..."
"In the shadows?!" asked Remus, who was now somewhat concerned. James nodded vigorously.
"Yes! Something about getting revenge..." James stressed. Sirius scoffed.
"What can Snivellus possibly do to us? We've got Peter!" he announced happily. Peter looked surprised, but smiled widely at the praise. James looked frightened. Remus bit his lip nervously.
"That's right!" Peter exclaimed. "Now lets go to breakfast, I'm starved," he added, before jumping up from bed and heading to his trunk to get some clothes. Sirius went into the bathroom to see if he could do something about his unfortunate case of bedhead.
"Does Sirius want something from Peter?" Remus asked James under his breath when Sirius had gone and Peter was busily humming some Broadway tune to himself whilst sorting through his Gryffindor-embroidered socks. James shrugged.
"I hope so," he replied, casting a worried look in Sirius' direction.
The four Marauders entered the Great Hall fifteen minutes later. Sirius was a bit miffed that he had been unable to do anything about his poufy hair, and the porridge that had materialized in front of him as he sat down was lumpy and smelled fetid, but none of that mattered right now, because Peter was in the world.
Sirius smiled at Peter in between bites. James was still trying to figure out why Sirius had decided to play a prank on Peter without telling him first about it. Peter, meanwhile, obliviously finished the last of his porridge, scanning the bottom of the bowl for more. He sighed when no refills magically appeared.
"I'm still hungry," he said mournfully. Sirius raised his head from his own bowl, spoon midway to his mouth, and looked from his bowl to Peter's. Eagerly, he trust his own bowl under Peter's nose.
"You can have mine, Peter!" he said eagerly. Peter smiled.
"Thanks, Sirius!" he replied, before hunching over his second helping of porridge merrily. Sirius looked utterly elated.
"I still can't figure out what Snape is going to do," James said, staring at the table, deep in thought.
"Maybe he's already done it," Remus said dryly. James looked over at him questioningly.
"What?" he asked. Remus shook his head.
"Nevermind," he said ironically. James returned to thinking, and Sirius returned to trying to get his hair to lay flat.
Remus looked up when he heard loud cackling from the Slytherin table. He looked over just in time to see Snape laughing evilly and pointing in their general direction. A chronically depressed Slytherin named Fred whacked Snape on the back to quiet him down. Snape grumbled and glared, before hunching back over his porridge and grudgingly taking another spoonful.
"Snape!" Remus blurted out suddenly, something clicking in his mind. All three Marauders turned to look at him. James followed Remus' line of vision.
"What about him?" he asked, glaring at Snape's back. Snape whirled around and stuck his tongue out of James, before smiling evilly and turning back around. James blinked at the entire exchange.
"I think he's hexed Sirius," Remus explained, putting down his spoon. "I mean, that might be why Sirius is suddenly so obsessed with Peter..." he suggested, glancing at Sirius quickly.
"What? That's ridiculous, why would someone need to hex to me make me idolize Peter? He's already extremely talented and funny and...oh," the smile faded from Sirius' face as he contempated Remus' words. "Oh my God, it's true!" Sirius cried, burrying his face in his arms and causing several Ravenclaws to look over to the Gryffindor table moodily.
"Of course," James muttered to himself, although Sirius wasn't listening. "It's the perfect revenge!"
"I wouldn't say it's the perfect revenge. If fact, I'd say it's a pretty stupid form of revenge. What's the point? Peter is already Sirius' friend," Remus pointed out.
"But taken for granted!" Peter burst out. James and Remus (Sirius was still banging his head on the table) stared at him questioningly. He blushed and lowered his gaze sheepishly, apologizing for his uncharacteristic outburst.
"Who knows how Snivellus' twisted mind works?!" James exclaimed, banging his fist on the table and causing the breakfast dishes to clatter. "Sirius will probably do anything Peter wants!"
Peter's head snapped up at this, and he looked evilly intrigued.
"Really?" he asked, rubbing his hands together. "So, if I said, write a musical about my life, you'd do it?" he asked Sirius. "I'm on it," Sirius announced, digging a piece of parchment out of his bag and beginning to jott down notes. Peter squealed in delight.
"Don't exploit him while he's in this state, Peter!" Remus said sternly. Sirius waved him off with the hand that still held his feather quill, accidently splattering him with ink with the action.
"Don't, Moony! I want to do it! Peter deserves his own musical!" Sirius protested, scribbling madly on the piece of parchment. Peter smiled triumphantly. 'Finally,' he thought.
"You don't know how to write music!" Remus argued. Sirius shrugged.
"I'll figure it out," he said easily, brushing a strand of poofy hair away from his eyes as he wrote. James sighed.
"Should we tell Dumbledore?" Remus asked.
"No!" cried James and Peter simultaniously.
"My own musical!" Peter protested.
"If we tell Dumbledore, we'll have to tell him that we did something to Snivellus that made him want revenge in the first place!" James argued.
"Well, we can't let him go on like this..." Remus said, gesturing to Sirius, who was humming the opening number from Peter's musical.
"Alright," James sighed. "Let's try to look it up in the library first. If we can't find anything, THEN we'll talk to Dumbledore," he compromised. Remus nodded, sighing.
"Hey, what rhymes with 'croutons'?" Sirius asked. James stood immediately and headed off in the direction of the library.
"Sirius?" Remus asked later, approaching Sirius, who was sitting, legs crossed, in front of the fire in the Gryffindor common room, holding something dark in his hands. His hair seemed to poof out even more with the firelight dancing off it (he still hadn't been able to get a brush through it). He ignored Remus, and continued with what he was going. "Sirius!" Remus said, a bit louder this time. Sirius looked up quickly from shining Peter's shoes.
"Peter, I'm almost...oh," he looked disappointed when he saw it was Remus, and turned back to his polishing. "Hi, Moony," he said, sounding depressed. Remus narrowed his eyes.
"Peter went to bed," Remus told Sirius. Sirius' eyes flew to the clock. It was seven o'clock on the nose. He jumped to his feet, holding Wormtail's freshly-polished shoes in one hand.
"But I have to give him his shoes!" he exclaimed, holding up the shoes so that Remus could see their lustre. "Besides, I think he's got the right idea, going to bed early. Don't want to be tired tomorrow," he added, before running up the stairs after Peter.
"But, it's Saturday," Remus argued lamely, but Sirius was already gone. He sighed.
James stormed back into the common room, the portrait closing behind him. He was carrying a large, leather-bound book under one arm. He dropped down into a red velvet chair, sighing dramatically.
"Did you find anything?" Remus asked, facing him. James shook his head.
"Just that it will eventually wear off," he said. "Don't look so happy, it could take anywhere from three days to three years. We could have Peter- worshipping Sirius on our hands forever. There wasn't much on the subject," he said, placing the leather-bound book on his lap.
"What's the book for, then?" Remus asked, sitting down on the couch. James covered the title sheepishly.
"Nothing. Not anything about Quiddich, anyway," he said quickly, his gaze shifting around suspiciously. He opened the book slightly and peeked inside, trying to hide the illustrations from Remus. Remus sighed dramatically.
"Hey, Sirius, guess what? The spell's only temporary," James said to Sirius in Transfiguration class on Monday. Sirius looked up from his writing slowly. A pile of used parchment was stacked beside him. James had a feeling that it wasn't his Transfiguration homework.
"Not now, James, I'm writing scene two of Peter's musical," Sirius said distractedly, turning his gaze back to the piece of parchment. James leaned over his shoulder, trying to get a look at what he was writing. Sirius whacked him with his quill.
"Ow!" James complained, rubbing his forehead. Sirius picked up the piece of parchment and held it away from his eyes, squinting at it.
"It needs a title," he announced, dropping the paper on the desk.James thought for a moment.
"What about 'Little Orphan Peter'?" James suggested. Sirius blinked.
"What?" he asked, refusing to believe that James was serious (had Peter been there, he certainly would have made some sort of pun). James shrugged sheepishly.
"It's a muggle musical," he said, turning back to his Transfiguration notes. Sirius thought for a moment.
"How do you like this? Peter: The boy who lived," he suggested, writing it down quickly. Remus wrinkled his nose.
"No way. Who would respect a character with that sort of title tacked onto his name?" he asked, laughing shortly.
"I think all chances of this musical gaining respect will be squashed when they show the dancing rats in the previews," Sirius pointed out, deciding to go with the 'Boy Who Lived' title.
"Dancing rats? That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard," Remus said, trying to keep his voice low so that the teacher wouldn't overhear them.
"Well, thats why there isn't a Remus musical, is there? You're way too cynical," Sirius told him, giving some character named Gregor another line.
"Dancing rats? This sounds kind of interesting, can I see it?" James broke in again, trying to get a look at the paper again.
"No! Not until it's done!" Sirian argued, grabbing the paper and holding it away from James.
"You let Peter see it!" argued James jealously.
"It's HIS musical. He wants to make sure I'm not getting any of the facts wrong," Sirius explained. JAmes looked thoughtfu
"I guess that makes sense," he admitted.
"Will you LISTEN to yourselves?!" Remus cried, who could not find one shred of sense in their entire conversation.
"Mr. Lupin, will you kindly stop talking while I am trying to teach a lesson? A point from Gryffindor for your disrespect," Professor McGonagall said strewdly, before returning to the lesson.
Remus scowled.
"Peter, how do you manage to make your hair to look so... suave?" asked Sirius that night, as Peter was getting ready for bed. Peter stopped what he was doing and thought for a moment.
"Well, sometimes I brush it," he said, gesturing to his rather simple 'do. Sirius nodded, thinking.
"I see. Thanks, Peter!" he exclaimed, before going to find a brush. He glared at himself in the mirror when he got a glimpse of his hair, which was still refusing to lay flat. He didn't know why it stuck up so much suddenly, but he wasn't about to question it. He tried Peter's suggestion and brushed his hair, but it did nothing to conceal the newfound poofiness. He scowled, and replaced the brush back on the shelf.
He had a long way to go if he wanted to be as suave as Peter.