"Why am I not surprised," began Minerva McGonagall, "that it was you two who caused an explosion in the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom?"
Teddy Lupin shifted in his seat, looking over at his little cousin. He felt partially responsible—little James was only eleven. And it had been his idea to nick the record from Filch's office, but James had been more than eager to go along with it all.
James Potter looked up at Teddy, shrugging as if to say you tell her. After all, Teddy was older, perhaps a bit wiser (though the circumstances at present would not lead anyone to believe that), and had been in the Headmistress' office countless times before.
"You know, Professor," Teddy began, hair shifting from blue to sandy brown as he got a bit nervous, "I would be shocked if you were surprised. But it wasn't our fault—"
"—oh, no?" McGonagall raised a brow. "So, it was not you two who put the record…what is it…"
"Some Girls," James chimed in. "Rolling Stones, Headmistress, and we did put it in the record player in the Defense classroom—"
"—which, if I recall, was what caused the explosion?"
"Well, yes," Teddy admitted, "but we didn't know that putting Muggle records onto Wizard players would send up sparks—"
"—which wouldn't have been as large an issue," McGongall continued, "had someone not stashed firecrackers in the classroom—"
"—you can't prove that was us!" James exclaimed, and Teddy elbowed him lightly. True, McGonagall had no tangible proof. But if James got upset and let something slip, she certainly would.
"Circumstantial," Teddy explained. "And how were we supposed to know any of this would happen?"
"You could have read," McGonagall suggested, tapping her wand on her desk, pointing to a note that may or may not have been stuck on the outside of the record cover. Teddy turned a bit pink, his hair following suit. Sure enough, there had been a note that said in no unclear terms what not to do with the record, and Teddy leaned forward to read it.
Padfoot,
Happy birthday. I'm astonished you've made it to eighteen, given the incredible amount of danger you put yourself in, but here you are: a real, Muggle record. Prongs and Wormtail don't know anything about Muggle music, of course, but luckily you've got me. I think you'd like the Stones. Just be careful: you can't play this in our record players: you'll have to use the one in the Muggle Studies classroom.
Sincerely,
Moony, Wormtail, and Prongs
"What does it say?" James asked eagerly. Teddy smiled.
"Apparently," he began, "we should have listened to my dad."
Teddy looked at McGonagall, who nodded, and he handed the note to James who read it, smirking. He finally looked up and gave the note back to Teddy, just smiling as he turned to the Headmistress.
"So, the record belonged to Sirius Black?" James asked. McGonagall nodded.
"Indeed, it did. Unsurprising, then, that you two found it, though I believed it to be confiscated…"
"Confiscated?" Teddy inquired. "Why, if it had been confiscated, Headmistress, I don't know where we would have found it."
"You can't prove anything," James insisted. McGonagall merely sighed.
"I have my suspicions, yes, but cannot prove anything—you are correct, Mr. Potter."
"If it was confiscated," Teddy began, "what happened? I mean, surely Hogwarts didn't have rules about simple Muggle gifts."
"What happened, Mr. Lupin, is that young Mr. Black seemed equally incapable of reading your father's handwriting. Apparently, an end table in the Gryffindor Common Room caught fire spontaneously, if I do remember the Head Boy's report. I was unconvinced but didn't have proof until one day, the record player that had been in the Common Room mysteriously disappeared."
"You mean, you took it?" James asked. "Well, that's not right. If it belonged to the Common Room—"
"—It was not I who moved the record player, Mr. Potter," McGongall responded curtly. "And you would do well not to interrupt your Headmistress. No, I believe Remus decided enough damage had been done and moved the device to a classroom—where he thought Sirius Black would never look. It was quite effective, though apparently not child-proof."
Minerva's lip twitched and formed a small, rather sharp smile. Teddy grinned. What was good enough to keep Sirius Black out of trouble could not help Remus Lupin when it came to his own son.
"Headmistress," he began, "are you smiling?"
"I am not," she responded. "You boys are in trouble, which brings me no joy. You will clean the Defense Classroom and remove any and all of your various devices. The record will be returned to its owner, though Mr. Lupin you may keep the note if you would like a reminder of the importance of the written word."
Teddy smiled, folding the letter carefully and placing it in his pocket. James looked confused.
"But, Headmistress…Sirius Black is, well, dead," he said softly.
"Yes, Mr. Potter, I do believe he is. What about it?"
"Well," James began, fidgeting a bit, "he's the owner, and if he's dead…who does the record belong to?"
Minerva pursed her lips and reached across her desk to grab the record, eyeing it almost fondly before speaking.
"Mr. Black's will clearly stipulated that a Mr. Harry Potter receive the entirety of his estate. However, I think your father has better things to do with his time than come and collect old records from my office. Perhaps, Mr. Potter, you could hold onto it for him until he is able to retrieve it?"
James nodded eagerly, and Teddy chuckled.
"Alright, Minnie, we'll clean the classroom. Usual time work for you?"
"Headmistress, Mr. Lupin, and I will be counting on you to keep young Mr. Potter out of trouble," McGonagall added.
Teddy let out a hearty laugh. Keep James Potter out of trouble? Unlikely to happen. He wasn't sure how many times McGonagall had told him—and his father—the very same thing before, but it was certainly too many to count. And that line never seemed to work.