The morning of the Gryffindor/Slytherin Quidditch match, Sirius woke early with a smile on his face and a song in his heart.
He performed his typical morning rituals: flexing in front of the mirror, singing at the top of his lungs in the shower, accompanied by Peter's and Remus's plaintive shouts and howls of protest, and carefully trimming his pubic hair into perfect symmetry.
When he went down to the common room, feeling refreshed and ready to win, he found James hunched stiffly over a piece of parchment, muttering incomprehensibly to himself and prodding tiny figures on the parchment with the tip of his wand.
Determined not to let that insufferable Potter ruin his buoyant mood, he slapped James on the back. "Top of the morning to you, Prongsie!"
James looked up at him with the face of some kind of amphibian creature that had been dwelling in an underground cave for generations. He was breathing out of his mouth.
Sirius withdrew his hand and took a step back, trying not to let his lip curl back as far as it desired. "What are you doing? Have you been at this all night?"
James held the parchment up for Sirius to see. "I have a neeeew game plaaaan."
Sirius snatched the parchment out of his hands and quickly examined it. "Prongs, this doesn't make any goddamn sense at all."
"What?" James's face fell like a brick off the Astronomy Tower.
"What the hell is wrong with you?" Sirius balled up the parchment and threw it in the common room fire. James made an attempt to dive after it, but mostly fell over the arm of his chair and flailed a bit. "Oh my god, you're delirious." Sirius grabbed his shoulder, put him upright, and put the back of his hand on James's forehead. "Jesus, you're burning up."
"No, I just-" James shook his head and slapped Sirius's hand away. "I just had this great idea, and I don't quite remember what I'm saying." He looked up at Sirius with big, sad eyes whose pupils Sirius could see expanding and contracting at irregular frequencies.
"Christ, there is no way you can play today, you great git."
"Play?" James, who had apparently reverted to some sort of demented state of childhood, looked as though he were hoping Sirius was offering to play hide-and-seek.
Sirius frowned deeply, feeling his chances of defeating his hated foes on the Quidditch pitch for the first time in years slipping through his fingers. "Look, you prat, I don't know what the hell is wrong with you, but the match is at 11:00. It is 7:00 now; I am going to carry you upstairs, you are going to go to sleep, and I am going to the hospital wing to pick up some of every known remedy to every common ailment known to wizard-kind. And you'd better be ready by 11:00. So, wingardium leviosa."
By the time he'd got James into bed and stopped him shouting and trying to get up, only to go stand by his bed and stare blankly out the window, it was almost 8:00, and Sirius was beginning to suspect that James had either been poisoned or bewitched. Madam Pomfrey was helpful, if somewhat obviously suspicious, but by the time Sirius stumbled back into the dorms with his arms full of tiny vials containing liquids of many colors and consistencies, James was passed out solid with his glasses on, and would not wake to even Sirius's most persistent and annoying shouts and gyrations.
It was these, however, which finally woke Remus and Peter, the former of whom gravely suggested that they take James to the hospital wing. It was probably Remus's somber expression that finally made Sirius consider the possibility that pinching his unconscious friend's nose and trying to pour unidentified medicine down his throat was a bit deranged.
He finally admitted defeat when Remus pried the bottle out of his fingers and gave him a good, hard slap.
Well, thank you so much, James Potter, for successfully murdering his sunny disposition.
Regulus did not even get the pleasure of waking up in a good mood. He hadn't even heard Rabastan get up, but at 8:15 that beady-eyed face was hovering over his bed again, telling him that Slughorn needed all the Slytherin Quidditch players in his office right away.
He hadn't even been afforded the dignity of putting on respectable clothing, and ended up sitting in Slughorn's office at 8:20 in flannel pajama pants and an undershirt. It was but a small mercy that his teammates were similarly embarrassingly attired; they usually looked like slobs, anyway.
Slughorn, who was standing in front of the group of them with his hands clasped behind his back, looking distinctly like he did not want to have this talk. McGonagall, positioned with military precision just to the side of him, did not appear to have the same misgivings.
Slughorn cleared his throat and his bristly mustache rumbled across his upper lip. "I've called you all here today for a rather unpleasant purpose." He paused, and his mustache went back to crawling.
Regulus rolled his eyes behind his hand under the pretense of scratching his brow. The third year beater sitting to his right giggled shrilly. Discipline was not Slughorn's strong suit.
McGonagall, on the other hand, was now glaring at the third year with all the ferocity of a hawk, and Regulus was glad she hadn't seem him roll his eyes.
"So, er. Well, I believe Professor McGonagall is better acquainted with the specifics of the situation than I." He coughed again shuffled to the side.
McGonagall stepped into the space he vacated with the instant authority of sharply clicking heels. "Right. As I'm sure you know, James Potter is the captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team. His roommates awoke this morning to find him severely befuddled. Now-" She put her hand up to still Rabastan, who was obviously about to object to her suspicions. "Before you protest too loudly, I am certainly not here to make unfounded accusations, but I would have to consider myself sorely remiss if I did not think to question members of the opposing team, with whom Gryffindor enjoys a rather spirited rivalry. Now, with the approval of Professor Slughorn, I would like to briefly interview each of you privately so that anyone with any information will have the opportunity to come forward. Any questions before we begin?"
Regulus felt his hand shoot up in the air before he could stop it. "Yes, has anyone considered the possibility that the majority is just now realizing what a dim-witted buffoon Potter has always been?"
"Why, thank you for volunteering to go first, Mr. Black. Mr. Lestrange, do you have a serious question?"
"Several." Rabastan leaned forward and began to tick off his fingers. "One, how long is this going to take; two, will we be done in time for the match; three, if you find out who's responsible for this will the rest of us be able to participate as scheduled?" Regulus could have sworn he saw Rabastan shoot him a narrow-eyed glare out of the corner of his eyes.
"It will take as long as it takes, and if you all cooperate we should be done well before 11:00. However, if anyone in this room should be found responsible, in full or in part, no one will be playing Quidditch today, and Gryffindor will be awarded victory by default." A rumble of protest erupted from the crowd. "Does this sound fair to you, Professor Slughorn?"
Slughorn nodded his head, chin wobbling.
"Right, the rest of you may wait in your common room. Not you, Mr. Black."
Regulus collapsed back into his chair. "I didn't do anything to Potter. And I don't know who did. I swear, give me Veritaserum or whatever."
"Your brother suggested you may have had reason other than a Quidditch rivalry to wish Mr. Potter harm."
"Oh, he would suggest that. If I were guessing, I'd say Sirius probably did it to Potter himself, just so he'd have something else to accuse me of."
"So, you don't have any personal problems with Mr. Potter?"
"Oh, sure I do. I have a lot of problems with him, but I'm not alone in that department, and besides... I have better ways to get revenge."
McGonagall arched her an eyebrow.
"Don't look at me like that. I just mean that I'm going on a date with the girl he's in love with." Regulus couldn't help but smirk to himself.
McGonagall didn't say anything to that, and Regulus crossed his arms over his chest and looked smugly up at her.
"You're sure you don't know anything about how this happened?" she said slowly and clearly. Her eyes were slightly narrow, but she didn't seem to disbelieve him, necessarily.
"No idea, Professor."
She nodded. "Very well, then. Thank you, Regulus. Will you please inform Mr. Lestrange that we're ready to see him now?"
Back in the common room, Regulus came up behind the big armchair Rabastan was sitting in. "What the hell is going on here?" he hissed into his ear.
Rabastan didn't bother to turn towards him. "I don't have a clue, Regulus, what is going on?"
"How the hell should I know?" His voice rose involuntarily.
"If we have to forfeit the match because of this, you're going to regret it."
"Regret what? I didn't do anything. Is this your way of punishing me for not practicing enough, or something?"
"Just hope nothing comes of this inquisition." Rabastan stood up and gave Regulus one final, blistering look before he left the room.
"He's psychotic." Regulus slammed the dormitory door behind him. He could hear Evan gargling from the bathroom. "He's psychotic, Evan, totally mad." he called, approaching the bathroom door.
He heard Evan spit into the sink. "Who?"
"Who else? Rabastan. I think he's looking for reasons to murder me."
"What else is new?" Evan opened the door, still wiping his face with a washrag.
"No, I'm serious this time." He followed Evan to his dresser and sat down on his bed while Evan dug through drawers. "Someone's bewitched Potter. And well enough, that, but I get the eerie feeling that someone's trying to frame me for it."
"And why would that person be Rabastan?" Evan asked, hopping his way into his trousers.
"Bloody beats me. I should think he'd want me to be able to play today."
"He does. Why do you think you're being set up again?" Evan braced himself on a bedpost to pull his socks on.
"It's mostly just a feeling I get. From talking to Rabastan. He sounded suspicious as all hell." Regulus set his mouth in a hard line and pushed his hands against his knees.
"Well, maybe it's nothing."
"Let's hope."
"Get dressed, I want to go to breakfast."
"So, I was thinking, maybe if Rabastan thought they were going to beat us anyway, he would get revenge on me for not practicing more by making it look like I bewitched Potter. And at least if you forfeit, no one can say for sure you would've lost." On the way to the Great Hall, Regulus and Evan were still debating the merits of Regulus's theory.
"No, no way. Rabastan lost to Potter last year, he's not losing again, forfeit or not. This is his last chance."
"All the same, I could swear he has it out for me." Regulus shifted the Quidditch gear he was carrying to his other arm and sighed. "Everyone in this damn school has it out for me, I think."
"Speak of the devil." Evan grinned a little too broadly for Regulus's taste and pointed at the doors of the Great Hall.
"Oh, Christ." Regulus tried to hide his face, but Sirius had already seen him, and was making his determined way towards the two of them. "Evan, just stall him for a second-" But when Regulus looked back, Evan was nowhere in sight. "Why, you little..." He was still cursing Evan under his breath when Sirius, who must have moved at preternaturally fast speeds to get there as quick as he did, grabbed him by the collar and slammed him against the wall.
A collective gasp rose among the several other students in the corridor.
"What the fuck did you do to James, you slimy piece of shit?" Sirius's fist looked like it was rising, so Regulus put up his arms.
"Slow the fuck down, Jesus, I didn't do anything to Potter."
"Like hell you didn't." Sirius grabbed his arm and forced it down.
"No, I didn't." Regulus pulled back but Sirius didn't let his arm go.
"Well the hell is wrong with you, really? You try to steal the girl he loves, and you know you can't beat him at Quidditch, so you attack him like a coward? You know, you can stop taking your fucking stunted childhood out on well-adjusted, happy people. I know exactly what your problem is, but you need to get over the fact that I chose him over you. He's a better brother than you could ever be."
Regulus swung with his free fist. Sirius pulled back, yanking Regulus's arm with him, and by the time fist made contact with flesh they were on the ground. Regulus barely even registered that he was still throwing punches until someone grabbed him from behind and heaved him bodily off Sirius and to his feet.
"Don't fucking touch me," he yelled, throwing elbows at whoever it was holding onto him from behind.
Sirius crouched with his back to the opposite wall, spitting blood out of his mouth.
"Calm down, Regulus." He thought he recognized the annoyingly soothing voice as belonging to Sirius's poor friend.
"Let him go, Remus," Sirius said, his voice eerily quiet. As soon as Regulus felt the grip on his arms loosen, he shook them free and didn't look back for a second until he was in his bed with all the hangings drawn.
A/N: Here's a bonus, two updates in one day! Yeah, my wizards Muggle fist-fight a lot, I guess. W/e, it is more dramatic that way.