Note Thing: Zerlina here. Nothing of great significance to report, except that this chapter is into bondage and should be ignored if it tries to seduce you.

Disclaimer: NEVER! has a nice ring to it.

Severus Snape did not often walk into life-or-death situations, and if your name is not Harry Potter (who, as of this moment, does not exist and will not exist for another decade or so), it is likely that the same holds true for you as well.

There is a long-winded and logical explanation for this fortunate phenomenon, considering that your initials are not H.P., in which case: tough. You see, dear reader, the universe is a vast and very befuddling place, especially if you are not prone to omniscience.

James Potter (who, as of this moment, is not yet related to the aforementioned Harry Potter) will tell you that the universe ends three steps left of Sunday but only if you hop two and pirouette one, and will leave you to decipher for yourself exactly what that means.

Sirius Black (who is not really as noble and ancient as his family name claims to be) will flash you a blinding smile and assure you that wherever the universe ends, it can't possibly be around the corner, so please, do continue your walk and let whatever is on the other side catch you pleasantly unawares.

Remus Lupin (who is only fifteen despite his appearance and appalling taste in argyle socks) will roll his eyes at his friends' antics and quietly state that it doesn't matter how big the universe is, because James and Sirius would map out every star and conveniently misplaced black hole, much like they had mapped the secret hallways and entrances of Hogwarts.

Peter Pettigrew (who tends to laugh too loudly and too late, even when sober) will agree whole-heartedly with Remus because he is not terribly imaginative when it comes to bigger-than-yourself philosophies.

Point in case: the universe is, in fact, very complex and does not revolve around greasy teenaged wizards or even you. Frankly, it does not much matter whether Severus Snape (or you, for that matter) lives or dies, and thusly, the higher entities do not deem it urgent to constantly hurl him (and possibly you) into alligator pits or into a nest of Quintapeds.

That is, until Severus Snape met the Maruaders, upon which he soon discovered that there are much more creative ways to die and that he would be introduced to them on a painfully regular basis.

He silently mused this as he watched two heads of black hair, one sleek and the other strangely mop-like, bob through the crowd in his general direction.

"Snivelly!"

He decided right then and there that, life or death, he wouldn't be able to run five feet before all hell descended upon him.

"How do you do, Severus?"

Snape had been told to "bugger off and die, please" with more warmth and sincerity. He quietly seethed and was sure that the insides of his stomach was not unlike a boiling lake of something really, really hot.

Black addressed Snape in conversational tones. "Has Professor Slughorn forgiven you for that"—he attempted a forlorn expression while valiantly fighting to keep the corners of his mouth down—"regrettable accident yet?"

Something caustic erupted within Snape and he threw all caution to the winds (where it was carried away into the crowd, falling on the heads of several innocent passersby who cried out in righteous indignity).

"Listen, Black, you inbred piece of—"

It was at this exact second that Severus Snape finally understood the full meaning of "crapping in your pants" because, although he did not literally do so, he fully believed he would've if the laws of reality had governed it so. James Potter had become (quite suddenly and without warning) a whirlwind of fists and kicking legs. Snape took a brief moment to wish really hard that he had an incorporeal body instead of this wretched form of flesh and bone that could not turn to vapor and merely float away from harm.

What James Potter lacked in grace, he made up for in unholy speed and blasphemous agility. Something (he wasn't sure if it was a fist or a knee) connected with his jaw and something else (an elbow, perhaps) slammed into his forehead.

All this took no more than ten seconds and it was only after Potter had ceased his barrage of blows that Snape saw that Black's smile had not lost its pseudo-politeness or charm.

Potter sniffed pompously as he chanced a glance over his shoulder. "Sirius?"

"It's no fun when you've nearly decapitated him already."

Remus, who had just caught up with Peter, cringed at the last bit. He exchanged looks with the other boy, who also seemed a bit put off by this harsher than usual display of cruelty. He saw Peter glance up almost apologetically at Snape, who determinedly looked the other way. Not sure what to make of this, Remus looked over at James, who seemed to be lit with an internal fire (no doubt rivaling Snape's gastro-lake in heat and intensity) and Sirius, who seemed oddly (or perhaps forcefully) tranquil.

"Well," said Remus a bit irritably. "I think we've all had enough for one day."

He stalked off towards the castle, the very model of a werewolf in a huff (possibly one who couldn't blow down a certain brick house in Muggle-verse).

Snape composed himself as best as he could after having just been knocked off his feet by a human- cyclone and stomped off into Hogsmeade proper.

The rest of the Marauders followed Remus soon after, considerably less cheerful and much tenser than they had been in the Three Broomsticks.

After a prolonged silence, Remus spoke up. "Was that necessary, James?"

"Yes," came the prompt reply.

"Really?"

"Yes, really."

Remus threw his arms up in exasperation. "Why?"

James said nothing and Sirius, surprisingly, remained silent. Peter frowned.

"All right then. Fine. I hope you enjoy your detentions if he snitches. And he probably will, just so you know." Remus tried to fight down the jealously that was currently turning his skin an unpleasant proverbial green.

James avoided his eyes as Sirius picked up his pace, leaving behind an air of pent-up fury in his wake.

"I believe you have my stapler?"

"Er…"

"Remus!"

"I'm sorry, Peter! You kind of… caught me off guard," said Remus. "Um, remind me what we are supposed to be doing again?"

Peter ruffled through the bits of parchment in his hands and squinted at his penmanship.

They were sitting in the fifth year boy's dormitory, surrounded by James's and Sirius's belongings. There were two broomsticks chained to the wall, supposedly purchased for experimental purposes, but Remus had his suspicions that they belonged to two Slytherin Chasers.

Remus shifted uncomfortable on Sirius's bed and was greeted with a squeak from his nether-regions. Peter looked up in mild confusion.

"Sirius's boot," said Remus in a way that suggested it was perfectly normal to find that your friend's footwear has mysteriously gravitated towards a larger mass without you noticing.

"Oh," said Peter, turning back to his notes without a second thought.

Neither of them so much as blinked as the curtains of his window billowed dramatically to the floor without a warning. Neither flinched as the top of James's four-poster came crashing down unceremoniously.

"So anyway," Peter continued, as Remus heaved himself off the bed and attempted to shut the window. "We're supposed to fill four feet of parchment with normal Muggle conversation."

"So you chose a stapler. How banal."

"Well, it's supposed to begin with, 'I believe you have my…' and here's a list of items to choose from." Peter waved the parchment in Remus's direction. Remus caught a flash of words like 'refrigerator' and 'water fountain'.

"Oh…"

Peter sent Remus a pleading glance.

Remus sighed. "Then what are we sitting around for? Let's start again."

Peter's eyes lit up. "I believe you have my stapler?" he asked delightedly.

"Oh my, Peter, indeed you are correct!" Remus mock proclaimed.

"May I please have it back, Remus?"

"Why, of course, dear friend."

"Thank you, Remus."

"You're welcome, Peter."

There was an awkward pause.

"This is so hard!" cried Peter, on the verge of tears. "Why did I have to take Muggles Studies?"

Remus frowned apologetically at Peter. He wasn't sure how to go about informing his friend that Muggles rarely carried on enough of a conversation about staplers to fill four feet of parchment. "Er, how about you try another object?" Remus asked in what he hoped was a supportive tone.

Peter looked at Remus as though he now saw him in a completely different light.

"Of course!" He exclaimed, and turned back to his notes. He squinted at them, taking upon himself the Bold and Noble Quest of Deciphering.

Remus felt his mind wandering. Halloween was coming up. To most, this was an exciting prospect; candy, festive apparel, and day of no classes. While Remus most certainly did not dislike any of these things, he was definitely dreading the night of the 31st. Halloween night always brought about the worst of his transformations and his most supreme desire for human blood.

"Uh, Remus?" Peter was waving his parchment free hand in his face. "Hel-lo?"

Remus recovered himself. "Sorry Peter, say that again?"

"I was just wondering if you could help me figure out what this here says." He beckoned for Remus to come over to him. "Do you think this looks more like 'cat' or 'roof'?" He pointed at the culpable word.

I believe you have my roof? That can't be right. Remus raised his eyebrows at the paper. "To tell you the truth, it looks like 'car door'."

Sudden comprehension dawned on Peter's face. "Wow, you're right." He squinted down at the writing as though wondering why it was there. He brought it closer to his face, then away again.

Remus yawned and looked to the curtain-less window. The sun was streaming into the room in beams through the tree branches outside. It had to be around four o'clock. He wondered how Sirius and James were doing. James was having his first practice of the season, and Sirius, Remus supposed, was observing from the stands, no doubt ignoring a crowd of ogling girls. Sirius had no idea how easy he had it, Remus thought wryly.

"All right, Remus. I believe you have my car door?"

"Er. Yes, it seems that way to me. Uh. Would you like it back, perchance?"

"Yes, please. It is a very important part of my… car."

Remus nodded encouragingly. "Certainly. Though, I must say, I do not believe you are of driving age."

"Pardon?"

"Well, Peter, you see, driving in the Muggle world is much like Apparating. You have to be of a certain age before you're allowed to do it legally."

"I suppose fifteen's too young, then?"

"A bit."

"Ah, well." Peter shrugged. "Hey, what time is it?"

"Almost four, I think." Remus rubbed his eyes tiredly.

"Oh. Oh!" Peter stood up abruptly, parchment and inkwells scattering.

"What is it?"

"Uh, I, that is—I'm sorry, Remus. I just, uhm, remembered something I had to, uh, something I had to do. Er. I'll see you later, then. Uhm. Bye. Thanks. And, well, bye." And with that thoroughly insufficient farewell, he scurried out of the dormitory, leaving behind a nonplussed Remus to watch contemplatively as black ink seeped into once-white bed sheets.

HAPPY NEW YEAR