Lord Of The Guys: The Seventh Installment
Peter couldn't fall asleep. And, as a direct consequence of this fact, nobody else could fall asleep either.
First he was too 'uncomfy'. This meant everyone in the shelter had to lie in an irritated fug of silence while Peter edged sideways, rested his head on his elbows, rolled onto his back, kicked his legs uselessly, shifted his weight from one hip to the other and then eventually lay still. This period of immobility would usually last about nine seconds, after which Peter would mumble something along the lines of 'grarse spokin me inna back' into the blackness, and roll over again, dislodging clumps of yellowed grass, brittle twigs, and other people as he did so. This ritual repeated itself a grand total of fifty-seven times before he discovered a position he liked.
Then he was too 'bored'.
"I'm booored," Peter whined.
"Pity, that." Lily replied unsympathetically. "Goodnight, everyone."
"Goodnight," everyone else agreed gratefully. There was a blessed, soothing silence for a full minute, and then Peter's clear voice rang through the night like an extremely unwelcome doorbell.
"I'm still bored."'
"Shall I tell you a story?" Sirius suggested, sounding exasperated. James groaned softly, and tried to snuggle further into his blazer.
"Go on then," Peter said.
"Once upon a time, there was a small village called Hamelin. It was a very pretty village, with loads of pubs covered in honeysuckle and stuff. Hamelin had loads and loads of rats, which kept moving around and squeaking rubbish at all hours, way into the night, so none of the townspeople ever got any rest. This made them really angry. So you know what they did?"
"What?"
"They called in a piper who brutally massacred every single rat in the village. Ground their bones to make his bread. Chopped off their tails – and other things - with a carving knife. And the rat never – sorry, rats - never squeaked again. At least not at a pitch deeper than a falsetto." Sirius closed his eyes, although this was hardly necessary as the view was exactly the same; total darkness. Peter wriggled at his feet in disappointment.
"That story wasn't long enough. And it didn't make any-"
"Count sheep, you imbecile," Snape interrupted curtly. Both he and Remus were supposed to be sharing his robe and using it as a makeshift blanket. As soon as they lay down, Snape had promptly stolen the covers and cocooned himself in it, like a butterfly with a generous proscobis returning to its chrysalis.
"I don't like sheep," Peter admitted. "I'm always scared they're going to butt me with their horns."
"What about ewes?" Lily snapped, sounding as if she would very much like to inflict harm on something.
"What about me?" Peter replied, puzzled. Snape muttered something that sounded suspiciously like 'Kill me now', and was subsequently prodded, hard, by Peter's left foot. "What? What did you say?"
"Nothing," Snape snarled. "I was talking in my sleep."
"But you're not asleep."
"No, and you're not either. That's the bloody problem," Snape retorted. There was a pause as Peter repeated Snape's answer to himself and tried to decipher it.
"You're weird."
Nearly two hours later, Peter tried to nudge James awake. James, being a naturally heavy sleeper, did not awake until Peter hissed. This involved using an extremely loud and unsubtle stage whisper on him, drawing out the s's so that it almost sounded as if he were speaking Parseltongue.
"Jamesss! Pssst! Wake up!"
"Wha'…" James said, lifting his head a fraction and trying to squint up at Peter without his glasses. "Fire? Where?"
"No… I need the loo."
"Well, go an'… an'… and use the latrine we dug, then," James yawned, lowering his head again. Peter tugged at the singed sleeve of his blazer.
"I don't want to go by myself," Peter muttered. "Will you take me?'
When Remus awoke the next day, tired and legarthic after the two hours' sleep they managed to wangle when Peter dozed off, he decided that something had to be done. His teeth and tongue both felt as if they had sprouted a thick coat of coarse fur, his gums felt rubbery and dry, and he rather felt his breath left something to be desired. Remus grabbed a toothbrush and one of the small, navy sachets of paste that Dumbledore had sent, and went to scrub at his teeth at one of the rock pools. The salty brine mixed with the mint flavour of the toothpaste didn't exactly delight the tastebuds, but it was better than feeling like the fish he'd eaten the previous day had flopped up his oesophagus and disintegrated on his tongue. Then he splashed his forehead with cool seawater and self-consciously undid some buttons on shirt. He wasn't sure how many to undo; he didn't want to bake when it got hotter, but neither did he want to look Italian. He settled for three, and walked back, feeling decidedly less muggy.
On Remus's return, he experienced no raucous shouts of 'Ciao, bella', which calmed his nerves a bit. Lily, James, Sirius, Peter and Snape were sitting on the slope near the shelter, just where the beach met the trees. They were all staring out at the turquoise expanse of the ocean, elbows on knees. As there were few other means of amusement on the Island, 'staring at the sea' had become a popular pastime. It required minimal effort on the spectator's part, and it was always refreshingly novel and exciting. After all, no matter how much they might look it, no two waves were exactly the same. Or was that snowflakes? Remus turned obligingly to the tide and commenced gazing. The company all appeared to be wholly engrossed in the spectacle before them, judging from the glaze that had settled over their eyeballs; far be it from him to cause a distraction.
"Clearly there is no deodorant on this island, and I haven't had a shower in what feels like a lifetime," Lily sighed, standing up. The boys tore their eyes away from the rhythmic breaking of the waves to glance at her. "I think I'm going to have a wash. Where's the stuff, Pettigrew?"
Peter motioned towards the shelter with a careless nod of his head. Lily walked sedately over to the shelter, and emerged holding a bar of soap and a small face towel, too small to cover anything of much importance. Lily then made her way past the boys into the tangle of trees, humming a jingle softly under her breath. Several parrots chirped gaily overhead. Everyone turned to look at James. James looked over his shoulder, in the direction that Lily had left, and then grinned at the group sheepishly. There was an awkward silence.
"I fancy a walk," James commented, sounding about as casual as a man wearing a rented tuxedo to weed his garden. Snape snorted loudly.
"You fancy nothing of the sort," Sirius yawned. Snape snorted again, using his considerable nostrils to his best advantage.
"He fancies Evans," Peter pointed out gleefully, and chuckled. James's face turned a rather fetching shade of overripe tomato as he bit down hard on his lip. Snape snorted for a third time, then rose to his feet and stalked inside the shelter.
"You are not going to spy on Evans while she bathes," Remus instructed sternly, once Snape had gone. "That is morally and ethically wrong, and a serious betrayal of trust. I can't believe you're even contemplating-"
"I just fancy a walk," James mumbled, "that's all. I need to exercise, or else I'll get out of shape for Quidditch."
"What are you planning to exercise, mate, your legs or your wrist?" Sirius asked wryly. James grimaced and gave him the finger. "Look, I'm sure it's not that exciting a sight. Evans, soaking wet, all lathered up, dripping with moisture, longing for someone to soap her back… ahem." James, who had just thrown a handful of sand in Sirius's face, stood up, as his best friend spluttered and rubbed his eyes next to him.
"I'm just going for a walk. I'll be back before you know it. Five minutes. Ten, tops."
"Yeah, it doesn't take all that long," Sirius coughed resentfully, his grey eyes watering from the granules that had lodged themselves underneath his eyelids. "I've heard him before, you know. Prongs has no stamina." He tried to dodge a vicious kick that James aimed at him, but failed. "And he doesn't even have the decency to close the drapes properly –"
"You know what?" Remus said desperately, standing up. "I fancy a walk too. I'll come with you, shall I? How about you, Wormtail?" Peter looked quizzical.
"Er-"
"We can all go," Sirius agreed, jumping up and clapping James on the back rather more violently than was strictly necessary. "I love walks. Walkies. Brilliant, hey?"
The walk was not turning out to be a success. James was sulking, which meant he walked much faster than anyone else (especially Peter, whose little legs pumped like pistons trying to keep up), and refused to have any civil conversation. Sirius, despite being warned not to, had rubbed at the sand beneath his eyes with his fists, which were now bloodshot and stinging like mad. Peter kept snapping leaves off branches, making inane remarks, and Remus kept thinking longingly of the missing nicotine in his bloodstream (and tar in his lungs). In addition to these hardships, they seemed to be well and truly lost. Remus had realised this quite some time ago, but had refrained from mentioning it in case they really were. After all, you were never lost until you acknowledged the fact - until you realised it, you were merely travelling towards your destination. Still, when they forced their way through yet another thicket – or it could be the same one, it was certainly green enough – and emerged in yet another small green clearing, Remus felt concerned enough to speak.
"Er, are we lost?"
"Prongs knows where we're going," Sirius said, eyes streaming. He looked as if he'd just fought and lost a particularly vicious battle with an onion. "Where are we going, Prongs?"
"For a walk," James muttered, swatting a flying ant off his thigh and stalking off through the ferns with astonishing speed.
"So we're lost, then?" Remus asked. He felt it important he clarify this, so he could time his panic attack accordingly.
"Indubitably," Peter answered, nodding. Remus gaped. Peter had the vocabularial retention of a five-year-old, that is to say, he repeated every unfamiliar word that he happened to overhear, without much thought as to whether it was suitable in the context, or whether it was too rude to be uttered in civilised company. It was very rarely that he actually made sense.
"Look, if we're lost, we out to stop and find out where we are," Sirius complained. Everyone listened to Sirius. Gradually, they drew to a halt.
"Moss," James grunted. "It grows on trees and rocks and things. On the north side." There was a brief diversion while everyone scanned the trees for signs of moss. There were none.
"We don't even know where north takes us," Peter grumbled, in uncharacteristic disloyalty. Then again, anything other than unblinking acceptance of everything James said constituted disloyalty in Peter's books.
"Ah," James said, brightening, "that's where you're wrong. This is an island, therefore if we walk for long enough in any one direction we will eventually get to - where?"
"Australia?" Peter suggested hopefully.
"No, that's digging," James answered, shaking his head. "If we walk north long enough, we'll get to the sea, and we can follow the beach back to the shelter!"
"Why does it have to be north, then?" Remus asked. "Using that logic, we could walk in any direction and find our way back. Why do we need to look for moss?" James frowned as his theory was ripped to pieces.
"The trouble with you, Moony," he said quietly, polishing his glasses on his chest, "is that you ask far too many questions."
They started walking in one direction, straight ahead. It wasn't long before they heard an earthy, gurgling sound, trickling far away in the distance.
"That sounds like running water," Remus mused.
"Yeah, it does," said Sirius thoughtfully, scratching his chin. Their eyes met suddenly, and they realised. "Prongs!"
"We can't turn around," announced James merrily, with a let's-make-the-best-of-it-lads tone to his voice. "We'll get lost. We've got to keep on until we reach the beach."
"But Lily's going to be there!" Remus protested. Naked, he added silently. He felt rather more horrified than aroused by the prospect.
"We can ask her for directions, if you'd like," James offered jovially. "Females aren't generally very good at that sort of thing, but I'm willing to try."
As the four neared the creek, the sound of rushing water grew louder and louder, and James's grin grew wider and wider, threatening to decapitate him completely. On a stony ridge beside them, clear water spilled over ledges in the rocks and down an incline to the lake. Tiny brown fishes with a russet sheen to their scales darted from behind rocks and glided down, aided by the current. The nearby ferns, fed by the water from the stream, had huge, vivid green leaves, and enormous pink and purple flowers dotted in the foliage. Insects kept up a steady background hum of rustling and chirrups, and several parakeets swooped around the canopy, their feathers shining like precious gems.
"You know," Sirius said after a moment's awed silence, "if the bathroom back at Hogwarts looked like this, I'd actually take McGonagall's hints and scrub behind my ears once in a while." The others nodded dumbly.
There was a loud splash from the banks of the lake. Remus peered down to the water's edge, saw a neat pile of robes and clothing and grabbed James's arm, lest he try and do something idiotic.
"Right," he said officiously, "here's what we're going to do. We're going to make our way down, quietly, through the ferns, going straight past Lily, not looking at Lily, not re-enacting detailed tropical waterfall fantasies in our heads. We're going to go past her, and get back to the camp, and then never breathe a word of this to anyone."
"How about," James suggested, "if we go past, and I just look, just once, for a split second, and then we never breathe a word of it to anyone?"
"No, you pillock," Remus said, letting go of James's arm. "Now, start walking down. Eyes straight ahead."
James grumbled incessantly throughout the journey down the slope. 'How on earth am I supposed to find my footing if I keep my eyes straight ahead?' was heard several times throughout the descent, and he even pleaded 'Just one teensy glance, Moony, come on' which earned him a swift poke in the ribs. Soon the lake was virtually silent apart from the occasional splash and the humming of the crickets.
"I wonder what she's doing," James sighed, as he trudged down in front of Remus and Sirius. Sirius was holding a twig and occasionally prodding James with it in the small of his back.
"It's better if you don't think about it," Remus soothed absent-mindedly, just as Peter said,
"She's only sitting on a rock, soaping herself."
"Wormtail, stop looking!" Remus shrieked, aghast. "And Sirius, stop Prongs from-"
It was too late. James's head had whipped round to face the lake - it was a wonder he hadn't suffered a serious neck injury, such was the speed at which he turned – and was watching a pale, slender figure, which was kneeling on one of the slippery stones that rose like miniature islands out of the water. At least she was facing away from them, Remus thought, so her modesty wasn't completely destroyed. Rivulets of water were trickling down her back. Remus glanced at James, who seemed to have gone all misty-eyed. His glasses were already fogging up.
"She's so beautiful," he whispered staring. "Isn't she absolutely… perfect?"
"I guess," Remus shrugged, averting his eyes quickly. At least James wasn't leering crudely or referring to Lily as 'a bit of all right', as Hogwarts boys were wont to do when they encountered ladies wearing less than the usual amount of clothes. "Now come on, let's go before she sees us."
"But she's so…" James breathed. "Just look at her, look at the curve of her shoulder, look."
"Her shoulder?" Peter repeated loudly. "What's so great about her shoulder?"
The lithe figure on the rock turned around completely, and stared at them, giving them a clear view of absolutely everything. They all froze, rooted to the spot in terror.
It wasn't right. It wasn't right at all. Something was missing. Lily's chest was considerably more streamlined than it had previously appeared, and the curve of her shoulder was not so much curvy, as angular. Not only was something missing, something with the potential to severely emotionally scar James for life had been added. That was the problem. The huge problem. Severus Snape stood on the rock, stunned.
"That's not Lily," Peter pointed out, quick on the uptake.
"I think I need to sit down," Remus murmured. "Oh bugger, bugger, fuck."
"I thought the only grossly oversized appendage he had was his nose," Sirius commented under his breath. "I mean, you don't exactly expect Snivellus to be well endowed, do you?" He nudged James in the side. All the colour was slowly draining out of James's face, as if it were swirling down a plughole at his neck. He was deathly white. Blackboard chalk had the darker hue. "Do you, mate?"
"I… said that… Snapewasbeautiful," James whispered harshly, shaking like a leaf in a thunderstorm.
He began to scream, a lung-emptying, full-bodied scream, which shocked the roosting birds off their perches, silenced the incessant crickets, and echoed a signal of total trauma around the entire island, at the exact same moment as Snape began yelling abuse.
So. Right. Yeah. You want...
Fluff.
Angst.
Flangst.
Porn Without Plot is soo not an option, so don't choose this, bucko.
Who initiates Kiss #2?
Remus, duh.
Er... Sirius?
I hate S/R and only James and Lily should get together.