Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

“So, what do you say, Moony?”

James and Remus were walking back to Gryffindor Tower after a particularly dull Potions class, the latter trying to keep up with the former with varying success. Remus had such long legs and a matching stride while James, barely topping 5’8” at seventeen, threatened to be swallowed by the crowded hallways at any moment.

“I don’t want any part of what you’re planning, Prongs,” Remus said. “I got my eyebrows singed the last time you wanted to surprise Sirius.” He continued his practiced walk through the congested hallway; his intimidating height and sprinkling of scars seemed to clear the corridors for him since his first year.

James, on the other hand, was trying desperately not to step on anyone’s toes as he tried to keep up with him. Snape had been wrong; Harry’s father did not strut—he sidestepped and pranced like his Animagus form to avoid collisions with much bigger students. It didn’t harp his ego, though, or diminish his love for travelling conversation.

“Oh, c’mon, Moony. It’ll be brilliant!”

“No, James. I really don’t think it’s a good idea.”

The two rounded a corner where the pool of students let out, just enough so they could both stop moving for a minute.

“But it’s Sirius!” James said, as if Remus had forgotten who this conversation was about. James knew Remus had a soft spot for Sirius, and Remus knew that he knew, but he wasn’t going to take that bait—again. He touched his eyebrows softly.

“Exactly,” Remus said, eyeing him. “The last thing Sirius would want is a detention with McGonagall on his birthday.” He sighed and scratched at a sore spot behind his ear. He was usually all for planning pranks, but with their final year coming to a close in just a couple months, James was getting more and more ambitious with his ideas—their “legacy”, he called it.

“Think of the future, boys!” He’d say while planting dungbombs in the third floor girls’ bathroom. “Think of all the stories they’ll tell about The Marauders!”

“Oh, yes,” Sirius would say, charming the toilets to all explode at lunch. “Sirius Black, the Great Toilet Caper would look great on my tombstone.”

Remus never really knew if he was being sarcastic or not.

Regardless, James was more eager than usual to make his mark, and with that he was far less careful in leaving that mark anonymous. With James’ newest idea, he seemed dead-set on leading the trail right to them.

“I think the party is just fine,” Remus said breezily. “Invite some Slytherins if you want to stir the pot.”

James scrunched up his nose and gagged for effect, which made Remus stop being annoyed with him just long enough to laugh.

“I don’t know,” Remus tutted, hoping to steer the conversation away from the prank for good. “I think he’d really enjoy his brother’s company.”

“Merlin, no,” James groaned. “We’d be cleaning up tufts of torn hair and scraping little bits of Regulus jelly off the walls for days."

“We certainly wouldn’t want that,” Remus mused.

“Though it would be quite funny to see Sirius turn him into jelly. He’s threatened it a few times.”

“Speaking of jelly,” Remus said. “Have you got all the food set for tonight?”

“Pete’s tasked with gathering all of the snacks, I found some Ravenclaw girls who could get us some drinks, and our girls are handling the cake as we speak.”

“Good, good.” It’d been Lily’s idea to get a huge red and gold three-tier cake and charm it to sing ‘Happy Birthday’ when Sirius cut into the first slice. They were also going to rig it to shoot glittering streamers out the top, which had the potential to be either hilarious or terrifying depending on where it ended up aiming. Remus hoped it all went to plan. Cakes were arguably the most important aspect of a birthday party, so, of course, it needed to be just right. He’d been obnoxiously particular with the house elves with regard to what flavour it had to be—red velvet, Sirius’ favourite.

But besides the cake, everything had to be perfect anyways. It was Sirius’ eighteenth birthday—the big one—and the marauders would make just as much of a stink when Remus, James, and Peter turned eighteen. Sure, the milestone wasn't as significant as it was in the muggle world, but it was still celebrated like it was. But this wasn’t like Remus or James or Peter's birthday—Sirius’ had always been the biggest event of the four of them, for one reason or another, and Remus took his role as organizer very seriously.

Remus was the planner, after all—planner of pranks, planner of school projects, planner of birthday parties—it was just in his nature. While James, Sirius, and Peter simply relished in the utter chaos their pranks caused, Remus reveled in seeing all of their hard work and meticulous preparation finally come to fruition—all the parts of a whole clicking together simultaneously and creating something bigger—it was a high of some sort. And this wasn’t even a prank; it was much more. Sirius’ last birthday at Hogwarts would be the biggest blast they’d ever had, if Remus had anything to say about it. He was his best friend, after all.

It would go off without a hitch, surely—that is, if James ever actually listened to him.

“Riiiiight there. Perfect!” James exclaimed. He was standing up on the large sofa in the center of the Gryffindor common room. A few feet in front of him, dangling delicately from the upper banister was a 10x12 foot banner that read “Happy Birthday Sirius!!” that he helped Mary and Marlene put up. Originally, he was set on getting it up there himself, but (as he soon found out) you really need two more sets of eyes (and two more wands) to lift a banner twice the size of you.

Like always, James was put in charge of decorations for the party, mostly because he was best at Transfiguration and thus could come up with some pretty wicked party favours—one year, everyone went home with custom wizarding cards transfigured from Peter’s dirty socks—but mostly because it was, arguably, the easiest job. He couldn’t bake to save his life, he had no discernable taste in music, and he had such a horrible memory he’d probably forget to send out the invites until the party actually started.

So having the simplest job never bothered James, especially this year, because he had big plans for Sirius’ birthday present, which was rearing up to be quite possibly his Greatest Prank of All Time. It wasn’t anything too extreme—he’d probably get a detention or two in the end and endure more hissing from the Slytherins than usual, which was less than ideal—but it was too perfect of an idea to let go of.

Moony was no help, which honestly hadn’t surprised him ever since Peter accidentally burned his eyebrows off a few weeks ago, so he’d recruited Mary and Marlene as stand-in co-marauders in his absence. Marlene was brilliant at charms and Mary could talk herself out of almost anything—which would come in handy if any part of his meticulous plan fell through. James honestly didn’t know why they’d never thought to include the girls in their pranks before, though he figured it was for the obvious reason—they were girls—and that sort of thing usually deters eleven-year-old boys who still believe in cooties. But now that the opportunity presented itself, with Remus MIA, Peter still working on food, and Sirius obviously unavailable, James was eager to impress the girls with his refined taste for mischief. Maybe they’d even gush about him to Lily; that’d be ace.

James could barely contain his excitement as he ran to his room once all the decorations had been put up. He’d outlined his plan to the girls the night before—the gist of it, anyway, as he couldn’t have their loose lips ruining the surprise—but they seemed more than confused when he emerged with the Invisibility Cloak, a wand that did not belong to him, and several packets of chocolate frogs bursting from his pocket.

He beamed innocently. “What?”

Making sure the common room was empty, he took the girls under the cloak with him, which had been an...interesting conversation the night before.

“Why didn’t we ever know about this?” Mary had said. Her and Marlene were taking turns throwing it over the other’s head and watching it disappear.

“I definitely need to borrow this for the next Quidditch game,” Marlene said. “Imagine seeing a broom zooming about the pitch on its own!” Her and Mary broke out in laughter.

“Just don’t tell anyone about it. And don’t let the others know that you know.”

“Oh…” Mary said, grinning. “So this is how you marauders manage all those pranks. Not as impressive now, knowing your secret.”

James had just groaned and snatched it away from them. Okay, maybe this was why they’d never included them.

The three of them all left the common room now, tiptoeing down the stairs and out of Gryffindor Tower. James had his wand at the ready on their way to the Slytherin dungeons in case anyone bumped into them and caused any trouble.

“So, how exactly do you plan on replacing the portrait?” Marlene whispered, feet shuffling along as quietly as possible.

“We’re not replacing it, technically,” he said. “We’re just...covering it up—swapping hosts, so to speak. I convinced the Silver Knight to leave his painting for the night at lunch yesterday. I told him the Welsh princess on the fourth floor fancied him.”

“There’s a painting of a Welsh princess on the fourth floor?” Mary asked.

“No,” James chuckled. “But he’ll spend at least a couple of hours trying to track her down. I got some of the other portraits in on it, too, so he’s kind of on a wild goose chase right now.”

“Right. So, within that time…”

“We’ll have hung up the new portrait and thus changed the password to the dungeons. After that, we simply wait for the magic to happen—figuratively speaking, of course.”

“What if they just take it down?” Mary asked.

“They won’t,” James said smugly. “They need someone to guard the dungeons, right? And besides, I’ll add an advanced sticking charm to it—that baby’s not coming down until well past midnight.”

Mary and Marlene rolled their eyes simultaneously beside him.

“Well, it seems you’ve got this all figured out then, Potter,” Mary drawled. “What’s our job in this?”

“You’ll see. Just take this.” He handed the long, black wand he’d pocketed before to Marlene.

“Whose wand is this?” She asked.

“Regulus Black’s.”

“What?!”

Their inevitable argument was interrupted as they rounded another corner and saw an all-too-familiar figure laying before them, immobile on the stone floor. His face was frozen in shock and his robes were disheveled. A few pieces of an abandoned oatmeal cookie were littered around him, and a low, throaty sound could be heard as they quickly approached him.

James took off the cloak and the figure’s eyes widened in both hope and shame.

“Wormy,” James said, taking in the scene all around him. “What the bloody hell happened to you?”

For as long as Sirius could remember, his birthday had always been a big deal. Black birthdays in and of themselves were usually Big Deals.

With the glitz and glamour that came from being disgustingly wealthy, Sirius had grown to expect a party characterized by huge, hovering bouncy castles or his own personal petting zoo where they fed the baby hippogriffs and played Give-the-Gold-Coin-to-the-Niffler. His parents spared no expense when it came to their first born son, at least at the beginning, and it showed in the presents. Merlin, the presents were the best part of all.

When Sirius turned five, he received a stuffed owl he named Mr. Beaks. The snowy toy owl was specifically commissioned by one of the top wizarding toymakers in all of Britain; it was fashioned with the softest white velvet and would look at Sirius with seemingly endless large doey eyes. Sirius loved Mr. Beaks; he slept with him every night curled into his chest and brought him on every frightening Healer visit, safely tucked underneath his arm. That is until then 3-year-old Regulus snuck into Sirius’ room and snatched him one afternoon, too young and oblivious to realize that stuffed owls don’t hold up too well once given to the neighbour’s pet dog to play with. After Mr. Beaks’ mangled corpse was discovered, Sirius was inconsolable; he didn’t speak to his little brother for nearly a month. It was probably why he’d never desired a proper pet.

When he was eight, he got a toy broomstick that could fly nearly two feet off the ground, which to a little kid felt like the equivalent to scaling a small canyon. That was a great year, Sirius remembered; he couldn’t count the number of times he narrowly avoided knocking over his mother’s various vases or flying into the nearest wall with a bang. He was convinced his parents very much regretted giving that gift, for it vastly contributed to his flare for mischief and troublemaking, but it was undoubtedly what made him fall in love with the prospect of Quidditch. Regulus, six by then, always wanted a turn, so Sirius would sometimes have him ride on the back, which proved particularly reckless as they one day, bickering over who got to steer, flew directly into their Great Aunt Callidora’s portrait. The toy broom was confiscated for a while after that.

When Sirius had finally turned eleven and received his Hogwarts letter, they went on a trip to the Caribbean, which admittedly was more of a gift for the whole family than just him, which he was particularly bitter about. They went with some of their family from his mother’s side, Sirius and Regulus accompanied by their cousins who were teenagers by then, and thought the whole thing was entirely boring. Some of Sirius’ best memories were from that trip, though. Him and his brother got on spectacularly well in an alliance against the Black sisters, carrying out embarrassing pranks that Sirius wished he had pictures of to show James. Showing magical ability but not knowing in the slightest how to use it, Sirius relied on muggle pranks he heard from boys at primary school, like mixing Bella’s shampoo with rotten mayonnaise, planting a cheap, rubber spider in Andromeda’s bed, and nipping Narcissa’s diary and snickering over her delicate cursive describing how much she wanted to snog Lucius Malfoy. Sirius and his brother probably got along best during that trip, Sirius thought now, even when he teased Regulus for getting a wicked sunburn all down his back.

When Sirius turned twelve, things changed. He’d been sorted into Gryffindor, of course, which had angered his parents to no end, so much so that when November 3rd came around, he received nothing but a chocolate frog and a curt note detailing that their trip the year before was so exorbitant that it covered two birthdays. That was a load of horseshit. Sirius just crumpled the note and ate his chocolate frog in silence, wondering what Regulus thought of him.

From then on, every year just got worse, with his parents sending him less and less until eventually nothing showed up for him anymore, except the occasional Howler before he finally ran away from home for good. It was devastating at first—and still, at least a little devastating, though Sirius wouldn’t admit it—his birthday used to be his favourite day of the year, and now, it was probably his most dreaded one.

His friends did what they could—bless Prongs, Moony, and Wormtail; Sirius wouldn’t’ve been able to survive that first birthday away from home without them. Sure, he wasn’t being pampered like he used to be, but as the years went on and they all got older, Sirius came to enjoy the simple birthday parties they’d throw for him in the common room more than any bouncy castle in the sky.

Moony would always say it was a taste of a normal life, that half-blood tosser, a glimpse into what being a teenager should look like: constant streams of beer flowing into plastic cups and never ending roaring music blasting from record players at maximum volume. Sirius was inclined to agree, he usually did wherever Remus was concerned, for one reason or another. Still, his birthday would always hold that tinge of sadness, Sirius thought, at least for a while. When he woke up this morning, he was expecting to feel different; he was an Adult now, according to the muggles, but he didn’t feel like it—even last year. Adults didn’t have to go to Transfiguration or study for their Potions exam in the library; at the same time, he reckoned, adults also didn't sneak around under Invisibility Cloaks and plant dungbombs in the third floor girls’ loo. He never planned to stop doing that, so maybe he wasn’t so grown up after all, and maybe that wasn’t a bad thing.

Once they all graduated in the spring and joined the Order like they planned, Sirius suspected they’d be forced to grow up a bit too quickly. Best to hold onto these moments now while they lasted, then, before they were gone for good. He hated to think that in just a few years, they might drift apart—maybe James and Lily would end up together but move far, far away; maybe Remus would get a special werewolf job and never be seen again; perhaps Pete would spend all his time working at the Ministry; perhaps Sirius himself would end up alone in the end, something he feared most of all, all of his friends moved on and exhausted by him.

He hated dwelling on these things—these hypotheticals—but if he was being honest, they weighed on him constantly, like a dementor pushing him down by the shoulders and whispering down his neck. He couldn’t imagine his life without his friends; quite literally, he couldn’t picture his future without them in it. He knew it sounded like a typical thing to say in the height of youth—“we’ll stay friends forever!”—but he really hoped this time, for them, it would be true.

Sirius was in the courtyard thinking all these things, kicking up tufts of grass with one spare shoe and then growing it back with a flick of his wand and the slightest incantation. He liked to come to the courtyard to think; he usually wouldn’t be bothered, unlike in the room he shared with three other rambunctious young men who loved to push his buttons. Here, he quite literally had the space to lay about all his emotions and pick and choose which ones to grapple with or analyze that day. For example, his deteriorating and complicated relationship with his brother was over by the rose bush, his overwhelming need to mask his trauma with humour was just behind the stone bench, and his confusing and nerve wracking feelings towards Remus Lupin were sitting cross-legged under the looming dragon tree. He’d left that last one to simmer for a while, and now it was covered in birthday-blues sadness like the rest of them, though it was lighting up all the same.

Yes, Moony—their Moony, his Moony, that one—the were-boy with the golden curls and the dimples and the brown, moldy, leather books he always carried around. That Moony had been the object of Sirius’ affection for quite some time now, probably since the end of sixth year, though Sirius couldn’t possibly pinpoint it. That spot had been blinking in his mind ever since he thought of the titular birthday party, and Moony would always say it was a taste of a normal life, that half-blood tosser and God, he really needed to get a grip. Everything always did tie right back to Remus, for one reason or another. It was becoming a bit of a problem, actually. A problem he refused to confront today. No, not today.

It was his birthday, after all, and he had a party to get ready for.

Peter couldn’t believe how wrong things were going. Like, even on his worst days, things never nearly went this wrong.

He was supposed to have brought back all the snacks and desserts to the common room by now. Except, his hands were empty and the party started in less than an hour. Not to mention he was currently frozen on the ground right outside the Transfiguration classroom.

Everything had been going grand only forty minutes earlier—he’d gone to the kitchens and gathered supplies like he did for all their parties. He’d picked out the most delicious looking appetizers and puddings and shrunk them into his rucksack; he was so adept at shrinking charms by then that he even surpassed James. This time around, the house elves even offered to whip up some tasty pies that Peter unfortunately had to refuse, though it broke his heart.

Once the bag was beginning to get heavy—Gryffindors had the appetites of their mascot—he grabbed a cookie for the road and retraced his route like he’d done a thousand times before. This time, however, he must’ve angered someone watching over him, because he made his way past McGonagall’s classroom just as the bout of seventh year Slytherins were ending Transfiguration.

Just as the flash of green robes whizzed by him, a brooding voice called out, “Oi, Pettigrew!”

Without even turning to look, Peter hiked up his rucksack and began to walk faster. He just needed to round the corner and they’d probably lose interest and leave him alone. However, being rather rubenesque, he was quite slow to begin with, and the food weighing him down didn’t help either. He could hear the heavy footfalls of two or maybe three Slytherins gaining on him and he desperately hoped James or Remus would appear out of nowhere to save him.

And with that, a burly hand clapped onto his shoulder, spinning him around to face them. Mulciber, his broad chest large and intimidating, loomed over him. Avery was at his side, smiling wickedly. Someone else was behind them, but he couldn’t see who it was.

“W-what do you want, Mulciber?” Peter asked meekly. Even if he wasn’t facing the bully, he’d know it was Mulciber—he’d been jinxed enough times by the tool to know him by the pattern of his breathing.

“Whatcha got there?” Mulciber eyed his rucksack deviously.

“Nothing,” Peter said, squirming out of the larger boy’s grip. “Just food.” He’d said it to hopefully get them off his case—it wasn’t like it was a shipment from Zonko’s or anything—but their eyes just grew mischievously.

“Ooh perfect,” Avery chimed in, slinking towards Peter like a particularly famished snake. “I’m starving.”

“It’s not—it’s not for you,” Peter said, his face reddening intensely.

“Not for long,” another voice added, sneering and thick, coming up to stand beside Mulciber—Snape.

Things were going to end badly if he did nothing, he was sure of it. Summoning all the courage he had, Peter reached for his wand, chanting the first spell that came to mind: “Tarantalleg—!”

“Petrificus Totalus!” Snape rebutted, and Peter felt his whole body go rigid, letting out the tiniest whimper before he fell backward onto the stone floor.

“Mulciber, you take the bag,” Snape directed, and he stashed his wand back up his sleeve. Peter was still clinging to the rucksack for dear life, and it took several moments to finally pull it from his stone-cold grasp. Mulciber opened it, peered at its contents, and chuckled slowly, clearly satisfied with his loot. Avery strode over and looked inside, pulling out a covered tray of chicken wings about the size of his hand.

“What’s all this food for anyway?” He asked, eyeing a pile of shrunken turkey legs in the bag insatiably.

“It’s probably for another of Gryffindor’s obnoxious parties,” Snape jeered. “They wouldn’t shut up about it being Black’s birthday.”

Avery cocked his head. “Regulus?”

“No, you buffoon!” Snape snapped. “The other one.”

“And we weren’t invited?” Mulciber crooned, glancing again to Peter in his frozen state. The three boys laughed as he struggled to make a noise vehemently rejecting the notion.

“Let’s get out of here,” Avery finally said, and Snape peered down at Peter.

“Say hi to the birthday boy for me.”

The Slytherins had another round of laughs before disappearing around the corner, leaving Peter frozen where he lay, his face pale with fright.

How did these things always happen to him?

He laid on the ground for a solid thirty minutes, his only company being a few first year Hufflepuffs who hurried past him in terror and the occasional owl that swooped down to peck at his clothes and fly off. At just the moment Peter accepted that he’d be spending the night out there, he heard indistinct chatters not far behind him and three pairs of footsteps echoing down the corridor. At first, he was afraid the Slytherins were coming back to torture him some more, but then he heard the rustling of fabric and an all-too-familiar voice.

“Wormy?” James said, his disembodied head floating out above Peter’s face. “What the bloody hell happened to you?”

Peter made a sort of noise of glee, and as James shouted “Finite!” his limbs fell slack again and he sat upright.

“James!” he exclaimed, scrambling to his feet and resisting the urge to wrap his arms around his saviour and shake him up and down. It was then that he saw Mary and Marlene, standing behind him, looking perplexed.

“Mulciber and Snape, they—they stole the food!” Peter explained. “And then they…” He looked away from James’ widening eyes and felt a sudden wave of guilt wash over him. “I’m really sorry, mate.”

“They took the food for the party?” Marlene asked incredulously.

Peter nodded solemnly. “I tried to hold them off, I did, but Snape got to me first.”

“Don’t those buffoons have anything better to do?” Mary huffed.

“What are we gonna do?” Peter cried.

James had been quiet, looking into the empty courtyard, thinking.

“I’ve an idea,” he finally said. “I’ll need Pete to come with me to the dungeons.”

“What about the prank?” Marlene asked.

“I think I can handle it on my own, actually,” he said quickly. “Appreciate the help though, girls. I’ll have Pete be lookout.”

Peter looked at him. “What?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“You sure you’ll be alright down there?” Marlene asked. “If you get detention…”

”I won’t, McKinnon. I can’t believe you still doubt me.”

“No offence, Peter,” Mary interjected. “But do you think the both of you will fit underneath that cloak?”

James grinned. “We’ll figure something out.”

Peter sighed. “Oh, brother.”