For the Greater Good
Title: For the Greater Good
Characters: MWPP, Snape, McGonagall
Word Count: 2900
Rating & Warnings: PG-13, mild swearing
Summary: “He means you’re the free one.” Sirius smirked. “The one everyone doesn’t suspect because you’re the good boy. Remus really can't believe how hard it is nowadays to get a decent detention...
Author's Note: A long-promised birthday fic for shimotsuki, who asked for the Marauders and the prompt detention. She also inadvertently gave me an idea when I badly needed an ending, for which many thanks and please don't sue me. I'm not sure if this was what you had in mind (I once had in mind about 500 words max., but then I've long given up counting), but I hope it's enjoyable as it was fun to write. :)
For the Greater Good
“It’s a matter of honour,” said James firmly, and as always when he heard those words, Remus felt both the familiar swell of pride and the faintest sense of trepidation.
James always said so much when he used the word, always meant so much by it. In the way of brotherhood, loyalty and respect. Almost nobility.
Of course, it frequently meant a great deal of trouble as well.
“Can’t believe you’ve only done it six times,” said Sirius from his bed opposite. He’d been lying with his eyes closed and his head laid back against the pillows, apparently taking little interest in the conversation, but Remus could smell a set up a mile off. It was never Peter, surprisingly enough, who let on - indeed Peter was reading his Arithmancy text book with every indication of being deep in thought - but Sirius himself who always gave the game away. He always said or did a little too much, unable perhaps to resist being at the centre of things and wanting to be in control.
Remus sighed inwardly. They’d been quiet for too long; James being constrained (and secretly pleased) by being made Head Boy, and a lot more than pleased (and not-so secretly constrained) by going out with Lily. Sirius had been duty bound to support him in both.
Of course, Remus didn’t have to ask the question, but then it always came down to a matter of honour for him too. And they were all clearly waiting for him, even those supposedly reading or nodding off.
“What’s only six times?” he asked.
“Your detention record.” Sirius might have disowned his aristocratic parents and all they insisted they stood for over the summer holidays, but he still had the art of looking down his nose off pat.
“My record?” Remus stared at him. “Are you keeping score?”
“More like a ratio chart plotting quantity and quality of the act that got you there. With deductions for injury due to spell-damage, memory loss, or the time Prongs blew that wall up and didn’t realise it was a supporting one.” Sirius waved a hand dismissively. “That’s not important. The point is that that’s only once per school year and that’s, well that’s-” His voice faltered apparently in the search for a suitable adjective.
“Really rubbish,” said James.
“Pretty pathetic,” said Peter from behind his book.
“Only once for every year here,” said Sirius. “Which is both pathetic and rubbish. Complete shite, in fact, for someone of your intelligence and talent. No offence, Moony.”
“Right.” Remus debated saying he wasn’t offended, which he was - who was it who’d had to write out five hundred times I should know better than to shoot chewing gum up a fellow pupil’s nose, or any other areas? - but decided to settle for being annoyed first, offended second. “Look, you know I was unable to-”
“We know you couldn’t when you were a prefect.” James nodded, with the sombre expression that said I understand the full weight and magnitude of responsibility myself now, mate. It made Remus think it was a pity he hadn’t understood it a few times when things had been the other way round. “But you’re not a prefect now. Nor do you have other, erm, considerations.”
“He means he’s scared of Lily.” Peter glanced over the top of his book, seemed to think about winking at Remus, and then hurriedly turned a page and stared intently at it as James’ expression strongly suggested it was only the full weight of responsibility that was preventing him hexing Peter on the spot.
“He means you’re the free one.” Sirius smirked. “The one everyone doesn’t suspect because you’re the good boy. That’s why you got the prefect badge first. You don’t have to worry about that now.”
Remus’ heart sank.
“And it’s been really dull around here lately.” The grin became even more ominous. “There’s only months left till we all leave Hogwarts for Merlin only knows what so there ought to be something to remember you by? Got to go out in style, after all.”
Remus’ heart bent down and touched his toes. It hadn’t far to go as it was most definitely somewhere in his boots.
Bloody honour, he thought, and then he smiled inwardly because he knew he meant anything but. And it had been a bit dull in recent weeks with everyone on their best behaviour.
“I’ll give it some thought,” he said, and tried not to show how pleased he was when the three of them looked at him expectantly.
A week later, and Remus was beginning to wonder if it was too much thought about this that was sabotaging him at every turn. It had seemed somewhat inspired to deliberately put a miniscule amount of Exploding Fluid along with the Bubotuber pus in his pimple prevention potion, thinking that the entire class smelling of petrol as Bubotuber was notorious for ought to earn him both a round of applause, and something very unpleasant detention-wise in return. But who would have thought that Severus Snape would choose that very moment to lean his hooked nose over into Remus’ cauldron, and sneeringly say, “I would have thought even you would know that should be yellow green in colour, Lupin, not purple?”
It was also unfortunate that Remus hadn’t allowed for the fact that he wasn’t exactly the best potion mixer around, and that the resulting ‘explosion’ had merely drenched the person nearest. Even more unfortunate that Severus had ended up in detention himself for his rather violent reaction afterwards, though Remus hoped his dazzlingly clear complexion would be of some comfort to him.
Apparently losing his homework about the importance of Memory Charms three days running had only caused Professor Flitwick to have an endless and awkward heart to heart in his office with Remus about any problems you want to get off your chest, my boy. After four cherry syrup and distinctly fizzy soda’s with him, Remus thought the only thing he wanted off his chest was a slight wind problem. While deliberately leaving the list of passwords to the Gryffindor common room lying around - which he hated doing - resulted in Minerva McGonagall passing the list back to him with a worried frown and asking if he’d quite recovered from his latest transformation?
The concern on her face made Remus regret ever agreeing to do this. Apart from the fact that he was beginning to realise no one would actually let him.
He was, indeed, ‘the good boy’ Sirius had described in a way he was fairly sure wasn’t meant to be complimentary.
Bloody hell.
It was simultaneously pleasing and horrifying. Pleasing because he didn’t ever want to stand out and he loved the continual reassurance of being thought well of, try as he might to tell himself he didn’t need it as much nowadays. (Except that with leaving Hogwarts looming ever closer and an uncertain future and world awaiting outside these walls, he felt like he needed it more than ever.) But it was also horrifying because the mischievous, rebellious side of his nature, which he took care to button up as tightly as he could, started to nag him as much as the real and imagined reproaches of his friends.
He was a Marauder. One who raided or plundered or pillaged. They’d never quite aspired to those heights (or only very occasionally), but it really was complete shite when one of them couldn’t even get himself a decent detention any more.
Another Marauder appeared at that moment, and came and sat down rather heavily in the chair next to him in the common room.
“How’s James?” Remus asked after a few minutes while they both watched a couple of fellow Gryffindors rather half-heartedly start to eat, and then hurriedly abandon, a chicken curry at the table in front of them.
Peter shrugged. “Stopped being sick.”
“That’s good then.”
“Yeah.” Peter didn’t sound altogether sure. “I think it’s better now Lily’s gone. You… didn’t know James got seasickness then?”
Remus gave him a look and Peter subsided back into a not-unsympathetic silence. It had seemed a good idea at the time - indeed, it had taken a couple of days to master the useful little spell - and it had come to him when Professor Binns had started telling them about wizard mariners and pirates of old, a subject surely only Binns could make dull. Remus had thought it would wake everyone up if only he could find some way for the walls and floor to give an authentic ‘being at sea’ feeling.
What he hadn’t considered was that Binns would hardly notice (presumably ghosts were used to the world being unsteady around them?), or that some of the pupils would be literally all at sea.
Oh God. Somebody had actually been crying to be put on dry land and out of his misery…
Sirius arrived with a caustic glint in his eye, and as usual the room suddenly became smaller and served as a background to him.
“You prat, Moony,” he said, without preamble, and flung a book that was on the chair next to them carelessly onto the floor so that he could sit down.
“Yes.”
“When I said ‘do something stylish’,” Sirius gave an exaggerated sigh at the apparent frailties of lesser mortals, “I didn’t think you’d go in for making everyone throw up in History of Magic. Even though we’ve all felt like doing it over the years to liven things up. What the hell possessed you?”
Peter made a sound that started out as a laugh and ended as a cough. Sirius shot him a glance which wasn’t particularly friendly.
“I don’t suppose you’d have done any better,” he said, and the edge to his voice made Peter redden and Remus hasten to make sure the blame went where it should.
“I messed up,” he said. “How’s James?”
“A lot better now his head’s in Lily’s lap while she mops his green and fevered brow. And now she’s stopped laughing, of course.” Sirius turned his head to look at Remus, and though his expression was still mocking there was something in the grey eyes that was almost an acknowledgement of his effort. Respect for the attempt.
They’d come back to honour again, hadn’t they? Even if this one was going to get him about minus four on the quality and quantity chart.
“How’s Snape?” Remus asked, feeling his spirits lift a little, and though Peter stiffened next to him, Sirius grinned.
“Bit sickly looking. Still sparkling, though.”
Remus laughed then, and so did Sirius. Peter, too, joined in, when he realised the others were doing so with genuine amusement.
“You bloody idiot,” said Sirius, and this time the note of affection in his voice was plain to hear, and as he and Peter carried on laughing it seemed to Remus that for a moment he was seeing them both through different eyes.
It came to him suddenly that they all shared his concern for the future. Perhaps not in the same way - he didn’t worry so much about a choice of career as to whether he’d actually have one at all - but Sirius had been brought up in a house that his parents boasted proudly wasn’t one for children, Peter rarely spoke of his home unless pressed to, and James had grown from the spoiled, rich boy who could be distracted in a moment with a joke or a bet or a challenge, to someone who was trying to act like a Head Boy and look out for them all.
They’d been through so much together in the seven years, relied on each other so much, and no one had voiced what would happen when they left Hogwarts and faced alone a world in which it seemed Voldemort’s power grew daily.
They all wanted a fun, simple distraction, like in days of old; they’d trusted him to find one for them. And they were still looking at him expectantly, even now.
“I’ve got another idea,” Remus said.
It was a shame it had to be McGonagall, but she could be relied upon to a) be fair with the punishment, and b) not mess around with handing it out. If he’d got to do this, it would be nice to have it over with and with all limbs intact.
Her face, as he handed in the class homework he’d been responsible for collecting (the title of the essay - The Importance of Colour and Scent Accuracy in Transfiguration - had turned out to be quite apt), was an absolute picture of equal parts disdain and disbelief.
“These are… orange, Mr. Lupin.”
“Yes, I’m afraid they are.” He made himself meet her eyes, telling himself it was for the greater good and glory.
“And the smell?”
“Er, a little accident with my curry last night, I’m afraid.”
Professor McGonagall gave him a glare which made him understand for the first time the meaning of the word withering, and did make him wonder if it was for the greater good of his health that he either fainted or ran like a girl. Except McGonagall always looked like a girl who could run faster than he did. She’d got the legs for it.
“This one,” she held a piece of pale yellow parchment up very gingerly with her finger tips, “smells of-?”
“Chicken Korma.”
She compressed her lips into a tight line, sniffed the next piece, and quelled with a single glance the sniggers from the class that Remus’ words had brought. “And this?”
“Tikka Masala.” Remus was quite proud of the spell that had produced that one. “There’s some Lamb Rogan Josh in there as well, near the bottom. I was, er, trying out a few curries at once, I’m afraid.”
“I see.” She thumbed carefully down the pile of parchment, before regarding her now faintly orange-coloured fingers with distaste. “And have you any explanation for this?”
“I dropped it?” Remus, feeling guiltier by the minute, added, “I’m very sorry, Professor.”
She stared down at the parchment a moment longer and then turned to regard him with those beady eyes that always seemed magnified by the square glasses.
“You know I detest mess, waste and inefficiency, and value neatness, precision and care, Mr. Lupin.”
Remus swallowed. Nodded. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the Slytherin contingent absolutely cracking up, albeit silently. He wondered if it was too much to hope that Snape would suffer the reverse effect to his complexion once the golden glow had worn off. But Peter was biting his lip to hold back a grin, Sirius was sniffing the air and licking his lips, and James was giving every indication of badly wanting to join in if only the full weight of responsibility wasn’t bearing down on him once more.
“What’s more,” said McGonagall suddenly, “I know you value these things too, Mr. Lupin.”
What?
“And while I have had cause to find fault in your thinking and logic from time to time, I have never known you to not take the utmost care and pride in your work.”
Oh, bloody hell. “Er,” said Remus, but it was too late.
“I can therefore only conclude,” McGonagall swung round so fast on the watching class that most of them didn’t even have chance to straighten up their faces, “that you are endeavouring to cover up for those who are far more likely to treat their homework in a cavalier fashion, thinking they can get away with anything around here. You may feel your loyalty to your friends is an admirable quality, Mr. Lupin, but in this instance it is most decidedly misguided.”
“No,” said Remus desperately. “It was all me and my curry, I mean my-”
“Sirius Black! James Potter!” McGonagall glared at them. “What have you got to say for yourselves?”
Sirius, who had arranged his features like lightning into a bland and angelic expression of innocence, looked at her. Looked at Remus, who shook his head as hard as he dared.
Sirius smiled very slowly and rose gracefully, almost lazily, to his feet. Took his hands out of his pockets and held them outwards in a charming shrug.
“The stink of Vindaloo’s all mine. Sorry, Professor.”
“The Jalfezi’s mine.” James remembered to look shamefaced. He shot a nervous glance in Lily’s direction, who’d started out by looking irritated, but judging from the admiring gazes she and her friends were now giving him had decided a noble, self-sacrificing hero was the height of cool.
“No,” said Remus again, faintly, but no one was listening to him any more. While Peter was scrambling up out of his seat as well, and saying loudly, “And the Biryani’s mine!”
That’s not even a proper curry, you idiot, Remus thought, with exasperated gratitude, but they were all stood alongside him now in a line, shoulder to shoulder, facing McGonagall as one and waiting for the detention axe to fall. From the look on her face, it was going to be a memorably heavy one.
Why was it only now that he remembered reading about cats having a heightened sense of smell compared to humans, which presumably meant McGonagall might as well?
Merlin. The classroom reeked of Vindaloo already.
It still didn't spoil the moment. Whatever the punishment, it couldn't compare to knowing they wouldn't let him take it alone. Especially as James, grabbing the opportunity while McGonagall paused for momentary breath in her tirade, murmured almost silently into his ear.
“Honours should always be even, eh, Moony?”
Characters: MWPP, Snape, McGonagall
Word Count: 2900
Rating & Warnings: PG-13, mild swearing
Summary: “He means you’re the free one.” Sirius smirked. “The one everyone doesn’t suspect because you’re the good boy. Remus really can't believe how hard it is nowadays to get a decent detention...
Author's Note: A long-promised birthday fic for shimotsuki, who asked for the Marauders and the prompt detention. She also inadvertently gave me an idea when I badly needed an ending, for which many thanks and please don't sue me. I'm not sure if this was what you had in mind (I once had in mind about 500 words max., but then I've long given up counting), but I hope it's enjoyable as it was fun to write. :)
For the Greater Good
“It’s a matter of honour,” said James firmly, and as always when he heard those words, Remus felt both the familiar swell of pride and the faintest sense of trepidation.
James always said so much when he used the word, always meant so much by it. In the way of brotherhood, loyalty and respect. Almost nobility.
Of course, it frequently meant a great deal of trouble as well.
“Can’t believe you’ve only done it six times,” said Sirius from his bed opposite. He’d been lying with his eyes closed and his head laid back against the pillows, apparently taking little interest in the conversation, but Remus could smell a set up a mile off. It was never Peter, surprisingly enough, who let on - indeed Peter was reading his Arithmancy text book with every indication of being deep in thought - but Sirius himself who always gave the game away. He always said or did a little too much, unable perhaps to resist being at the centre of things and wanting to be in control.
Remus sighed inwardly. They’d been quiet for too long; James being constrained (and secretly pleased) by being made Head Boy, and a lot more than pleased (and not-so secretly constrained) by going out with Lily. Sirius had been duty bound to support him in both.
Of course, Remus didn’t have to ask the question, but then it always came down to a matter of honour for him too. And they were all clearly waiting for him, even those supposedly reading or nodding off.
“What’s only six times?” he asked.
“Your detention record.” Sirius might have disowned his aristocratic parents and all they insisted they stood for over the summer holidays, but he still had the art of looking down his nose off pat.
“My record?” Remus stared at him. “Are you keeping score?”
“More like a ratio chart plotting quantity and quality of the act that got you there. With deductions for injury due to spell-damage, memory loss, or the time Prongs blew that wall up and didn’t realise it was a supporting one.” Sirius waved a hand dismissively. “That’s not important. The point is that that’s only once per school year and that’s, well that’s-” His voice faltered apparently in the search for a suitable adjective.
“Really rubbish,” said James.
“Pretty pathetic,” said Peter from behind his book.
“Only once for every year here,” said Sirius. “Which is both pathetic and rubbish. Complete shite, in fact, for someone of your intelligence and talent. No offence, Moony.”
“Right.” Remus debated saying he wasn’t offended, which he was - who was it who’d had to write out five hundred times I should know better than to shoot chewing gum up a fellow pupil’s nose, or any other areas? - but decided to settle for being annoyed first, offended second. “Look, you know I was unable to-”
“We know you couldn’t when you were a prefect.” James nodded, with the sombre expression that said I understand the full weight and magnitude of responsibility myself now, mate. It made Remus think it was a pity he hadn’t understood it a few times when things had been the other way round. “But you’re not a prefect now. Nor do you have other, erm, considerations.”
“He means he’s scared of Lily.” Peter glanced over the top of his book, seemed to think about winking at Remus, and then hurriedly turned a page and stared intently at it as James’ expression strongly suggested it was only the full weight of responsibility that was preventing him hexing Peter on the spot.
“He means you’re the free one.” Sirius smirked. “The one everyone doesn’t suspect because you’re the good boy. That’s why you got the prefect badge first. You don’t have to worry about that now.”
Remus’ heart sank.
“And it’s been really dull around here lately.” The grin became even more ominous. “There’s only months left till we all leave Hogwarts for Merlin only knows what so there ought to be something to remember you by? Got to go out in style, after all.”
Remus’ heart bent down and touched his toes. It hadn’t far to go as it was most definitely somewhere in his boots.
Bloody honour, he thought, and then he smiled inwardly because he knew he meant anything but. And it had been a bit dull in recent weeks with everyone on their best behaviour.
“I’ll give it some thought,” he said, and tried not to show how pleased he was when the three of them looked at him expectantly.
A week later, and Remus was beginning to wonder if it was too much thought about this that was sabotaging him at every turn. It had seemed somewhat inspired to deliberately put a miniscule amount of Exploding Fluid along with the Bubotuber pus in his pimple prevention potion, thinking that the entire class smelling of petrol as Bubotuber was notorious for ought to earn him both a round of applause, and something very unpleasant detention-wise in return. But who would have thought that Severus Snape would choose that very moment to lean his hooked nose over into Remus’ cauldron, and sneeringly say, “I would have thought even you would know that should be yellow green in colour, Lupin, not purple?”
It was also unfortunate that Remus hadn’t allowed for the fact that he wasn’t exactly the best potion mixer around, and that the resulting ‘explosion’ had merely drenched the person nearest. Even more unfortunate that Severus had ended up in detention himself for his rather violent reaction afterwards, though Remus hoped his dazzlingly clear complexion would be of some comfort to him.
Apparently losing his homework about the importance of Memory Charms three days running had only caused Professor Flitwick to have an endless and awkward heart to heart in his office with Remus about any problems you want to get off your chest, my boy. After four cherry syrup and distinctly fizzy soda’s with him, Remus thought the only thing he wanted off his chest was a slight wind problem. While deliberately leaving the list of passwords to the Gryffindor common room lying around - which he hated doing - resulted in Minerva McGonagall passing the list back to him with a worried frown and asking if he’d quite recovered from his latest transformation?
The concern on her face made Remus regret ever agreeing to do this. Apart from the fact that he was beginning to realise no one would actually let him.
He was, indeed, ‘the good boy’ Sirius had described in a way he was fairly sure wasn’t meant to be complimentary.
Bloody hell.
It was simultaneously pleasing and horrifying. Pleasing because he didn’t ever want to stand out and he loved the continual reassurance of being thought well of, try as he might to tell himself he didn’t need it as much nowadays. (Except that with leaving Hogwarts looming ever closer and an uncertain future and world awaiting outside these walls, he felt like he needed it more than ever.) But it was also horrifying because the mischievous, rebellious side of his nature, which he took care to button up as tightly as he could, started to nag him as much as the real and imagined reproaches of his friends.
He was a Marauder. One who raided or plundered or pillaged. They’d never quite aspired to those heights (or only very occasionally), but it really was complete shite when one of them couldn’t even get himself a decent detention any more.
Another Marauder appeared at that moment, and came and sat down rather heavily in the chair next to him in the common room.
“How’s James?” Remus asked after a few minutes while they both watched a couple of fellow Gryffindors rather half-heartedly start to eat, and then hurriedly abandon, a chicken curry at the table in front of them.
Peter shrugged. “Stopped being sick.”
“That’s good then.”
“Yeah.” Peter didn’t sound altogether sure. “I think it’s better now Lily’s gone. You… didn’t know James got seasickness then?”
Remus gave him a look and Peter subsided back into a not-unsympathetic silence. It had seemed a good idea at the time - indeed, it had taken a couple of days to master the useful little spell - and it had come to him when Professor Binns had started telling them about wizard mariners and pirates of old, a subject surely only Binns could make dull. Remus had thought it would wake everyone up if only he could find some way for the walls and floor to give an authentic ‘being at sea’ feeling.
What he hadn’t considered was that Binns would hardly notice (presumably ghosts were used to the world being unsteady around them?), or that some of the pupils would be literally all at sea.
Oh God. Somebody had actually been crying to be put on dry land and out of his misery…
Sirius arrived with a caustic glint in his eye, and as usual the room suddenly became smaller and served as a background to him.
“You prat, Moony,” he said, without preamble, and flung a book that was on the chair next to them carelessly onto the floor so that he could sit down.
“Yes.”
“When I said ‘do something stylish’,” Sirius gave an exaggerated sigh at the apparent frailties of lesser mortals, “I didn’t think you’d go in for making everyone throw up in History of Magic. Even though we’ve all felt like doing it over the years to liven things up. What the hell possessed you?”
Peter made a sound that started out as a laugh and ended as a cough. Sirius shot him a glance which wasn’t particularly friendly.
“I don’t suppose you’d have done any better,” he said, and the edge to his voice made Peter redden and Remus hasten to make sure the blame went where it should.
“I messed up,” he said. “How’s James?”
“A lot better now his head’s in Lily’s lap while she mops his green and fevered brow. And now she’s stopped laughing, of course.” Sirius turned his head to look at Remus, and though his expression was still mocking there was something in the grey eyes that was almost an acknowledgement of his effort. Respect for the attempt.
They’d come back to honour again, hadn’t they? Even if this one was going to get him about minus four on the quality and quantity chart.
“How’s Snape?” Remus asked, feeling his spirits lift a little, and though Peter stiffened next to him, Sirius grinned.
“Bit sickly looking. Still sparkling, though.”
Remus laughed then, and so did Sirius. Peter, too, joined in, when he realised the others were doing so with genuine amusement.
“You bloody idiot,” said Sirius, and this time the note of affection in his voice was plain to hear, and as he and Peter carried on laughing it seemed to Remus that for a moment he was seeing them both through different eyes.
It came to him suddenly that they all shared his concern for the future. Perhaps not in the same way - he didn’t worry so much about a choice of career as to whether he’d actually have one at all - but Sirius had been brought up in a house that his parents boasted proudly wasn’t one for children, Peter rarely spoke of his home unless pressed to, and James had grown from the spoiled, rich boy who could be distracted in a moment with a joke or a bet or a challenge, to someone who was trying to act like a Head Boy and look out for them all.
They’d been through so much together in the seven years, relied on each other so much, and no one had voiced what would happen when they left Hogwarts and faced alone a world in which it seemed Voldemort’s power grew daily.
They all wanted a fun, simple distraction, like in days of old; they’d trusted him to find one for them. And they were still looking at him expectantly, even now.
“I’ve got another idea,” Remus said.
It was a shame it had to be McGonagall, but she could be relied upon to a) be fair with the punishment, and b) not mess around with handing it out. If he’d got to do this, it would be nice to have it over with and with all limbs intact.
Her face, as he handed in the class homework he’d been responsible for collecting (the title of the essay - The Importance of Colour and Scent Accuracy in Transfiguration - had turned out to be quite apt), was an absolute picture of equal parts disdain and disbelief.
“These are… orange, Mr. Lupin.”
“Yes, I’m afraid they are.” He made himself meet her eyes, telling himself it was for the greater good and glory.
“And the smell?”
“Er, a little accident with my curry last night, I’m afraid.”
Professor McGonagall gave him a glare which made him understand for the first time the meaning of the word withering, and did make him wonder if it was for the greater good of his health that he either fainted or ran like a girl. Except McGonagall always looked like a girl who could run faster than he did. She’d got the legs for it.
“This one,” she held a piece of pale yellow parchment up very gingerly with her finger tips, “smells of-?”
“Chicken Korma.”
She compressed her lips into a tight line, sniffed the next piece, and quelled with a single glance the sniggers from the class that Remus’ words had brought. “And this?”
“Tikka Masala.” Remus was quite proud of the spell that had produced that one. “There’s some Lamb Rogan Josh in there as well, near the bottom. I was, er, trying out a few curries at once, I’m afraid.”
“I see.” She thumbed carefully down the pile of parchment, before regarding her now faintly orange-coloured fingers with distaste. “And have you any explanation for this?”
“I dropped it?” Remus, feeling guiltier by the minute, added, “I’m very sorry, Professor.”
She stared down at the parchment a moment longer and then turned to regard him with those beady eyes that always seemed magnified by the square glasses.
“You know I detest mess, waste and inefficiency, and value neatness, precision and care, Mr. Lupin.”
Remus swallowed. Nodded. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the Slytherin contingent absolutely cracking up, albeit silently. He wondered if it was too much to hope that Snape would suffer the reverse effect to his complexion once the golden glow had worn off. But Peter was biting his lip to hold back a grin, Sirius was sniffing the air and licking his lips, and James was giving every indication of badly wanting to join in if only the full weight of responsibility wasn’t bearing down on him once more.
“What’s more,” said McGonagall suddenly, “I know you value these things too, Mr. Lupin.”
What?
“And while I have had cause to find fault in your thinking and logic from time to time, I have never known you to not take the utmost care and pride in your work.”
Oh, bloody hell. “Er,” said Remus, but it was too late.
“I can therefore only conclude,” McGonagall swung round so fast on the watching class that most of them didn’t even have chance to straighten up their faces, “that you are endeavouring to cover up for those who are far more likely to treat their homework in a cavalier fashion, thinking they can get away with anything around here. You may feel your loyalty to your friends is an admirable quality, Mr. Lupin, but in this instance it is most decidedly misguided.”
“No,” said Remus desperately. “It was all me and my curry, I mean my-”
“Sirius Black! James Potter!” McGonagall glared at them. “What have you got to say for yourselves?”
Sirius, who had arranged his features like lightning into a bland and angelic expression of innocence, looked at her. Looked at Remus, who shook his head as hard as he dared.
Sirius smiled very slowly and rose gracefully, almost lazily, to his feet. Took his hands out of his pockets and held them outwards in a charming shrug.
“The stink of Vindaloo’s all mine. Sorry, Professor.”
“The Jalfezi’s mine.” James remembered to look shamefaced. He shot a nervous glance in Lily’s direction, who’d started out by looking irritated, but judging from the admiring gazes she and her friends were now giving him had decided a noble, self-sacrificing hero was the height of cool.
“No,” said Remus again, faintly, but no one was listening to him any more. While Peter was scrambling up out of his seat as well, and saying loudly, “And the Biryani’s mine!”
That’s not even a proper curry, you idiot, Remus thought, with exasperated gratitude, but they were all stood alongside him now in a line, shoulder to shoulder, facing McGonagall as one and waiting for the detention axe to fall. From the look on her face, it was going to be a memorably heavy one.
Why was it only now that he remembered reading about cats having a heightened sense of smell compared to humans, which presumably meant McGonagall might as well?
Merlin. The classroom reeked of Vindaloo already.
It still didn't spoil the moment. Whatever the punishment, it couldn't compare to knowing they wouldn't let him take it alone. Especially as James, grabbing the opportunity while McGonagall paused for momentary breath in her tirade, murmured almost silently into his ear.
“Honours should always be even, eh, Moony?”