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How to Make a Mutt
Ch.3
The feast went on for about another half an hour. Sirius only stopped stuffing himself with hot pockets to take the occasional drink. James has yet to find his flask; Remus was hidden behind some book, only looking up to give Sirius disapproving looks every so often. Peter was in some sort of a daze.
"I feel fat," Sirius said on their way back up to the common room.
"Could it be possible that you had way too many hot pockets at the feast?" Remus suggested.
"Nah. Can't have. Hot pockets have never done me wrong.'
"Yeah, well when you eat 217 of them non-stop, they may just gang up on your digestive system."
"Don't tell me you counted."
"I had nothing better to do," Remus shrugged. "Besides, I find it fun to watch you slowly kill yourself with food. Do I have to remind you about the puddings?"
"Oh God! Don't bring that up again," Sirius moaned. "I was young and foolish."
"It's every Christmas!"
"Yeah, well… I don't care!" Oh God, he thinks, I'm slipping. It has to be the hot pockets. Damn hot pockets! But they're so hot… and pockety. He can't stay mad. Not at the hot pockets. Not even at Remus. His Moony.
Author's note: Yes, I know. It's short. The next chapter is also. The fifth chapter will make up for both of these in length. I promise! Entire chapter was written by me. -Pads