(**) HP Fic - Traditions
"I suppose so," Sirius muttered but his attention was elsewhere.
He was concerned about the plan. Remus was more than capable of doing the job, it wasn't exactly hard to slip a potion into a drink, but he spent far too much time listening to his conscience. He would have preferred to do it himself, but it had been hard enough to get any of them onto the same table as Snape. Thankfully as Professor Windus had only been teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts for a year, he was still fascinated by Remus' lupine tendencies.
Sirius' eyes sought out James at Dumbledore's table for support, but he was fully engrossed in his part of the plan - distracting Lily.
"… very intelligent of course, you were wasted in Gryffindor." Slughorn was still talking.
It had been a tradition for as long as anyone could remember that the night before the leaving feast, all the seventh year students would gather for a quiet meal with the teachers. Really it was an opportunity for the professors to hold court on their own little tables with their gushing subjects around them. Somehow Sirius had been stuck with Slughorn; it was probably, he thought bitterly, down to James.
A moment later James caught his eye and winked at him, nodding over at Windus' table where Snape was stony-faced and Remus was rolling his eyes.
* * * * *
This was more like it, Sirius thought. The Three Broomsticks had been the scene of some legendary end of school debaucheries and his classmates were clearly determined to add this one to the list.
The pub was heaving and sweaty, a riotous rainbow, with everybody dressed in their brightest colours and shrieking in their loudest voices. Somebody had brought a Muggle record player and loud thumping music was fighting against the noise.
Every year the students would come up with elaborate, mostly drunken, ways to sneak into Hogsmeade. Not that they needed to bother, the professors had given up on trying to stop them years ago. Madame Rosmerta had even started ordering extra alcohol for the occasion.
A vaguely familiar Ravenclaw girl pulled him into an embrace as he fought his way through the crowd.
"When are you going to stop being a tease, Sirius?" she murmured softly into his ear. He easily detached himself, pushing her into Lockhart's waiting arms and snapped a quick photo with the camera he’d requisitioned from a gullible first year earlier in the day. It was amazing what first years could afford to bring to Hogwarts sometimes.
"Oi, Sirius!" Peter called from the overhanging landing above with a wink and a grin and Sirius rushed up the stairs, the excitement getting the better of him.
Remus and Peter were in one of the private rooms; James had whisked Lily off over an hour ago. They were staring philosophically at the sunken, drowsing form of Severus Snape.
"Well lads," Sirius said with a merciless grin, "we better get started - we've got a lot of work to do tonight. You know it's a shame we only get to do this one. It would make an excellent tradition."
* * * * *
Snape felt terrible when he woke the next morning, he must have drunk the Three Broomsticks dry. He'd been looking forward to the night before but this was ridiculous, he couldn't remember anything.
As he walked into the Great Hall, he was greeted by gales of laughter and it only took moments of horrible sinking comprehension for him to realize that every surface had been plastered with horrifying photos that he had no memory of posing for. Snape bent down for a closer look. He appeared to be doing something obscene to one of the school’s portraits and next to it… oh god, was that Madame Rosmerta?
The Marauders enjoyed a satisfied feeling in their stomachs, not entirely down to the excellent Hogwarts breakfasts, as they watched Snape stalk from the Hall.
Years later, once Snape had returned to Hogwarts, he took a special pleasure in choosing his least favourite students and forcing them to a torturous dinner throughout their penultimate night at the school. There would be no secret Hogsmeade trips for them. Traditions have to start somewhere.
He was concerned about the plan. Remus was more than capable of doing the job, it wasn't exactly hard to slip a potion into a drink, but he spent far too much time listening to his conscience. He would have preferred to do it himself, but it had been hard enough to get any of them onto the same table as Snape. Thankfully as Professor Windus had only been teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts for a year, he was still fascinated by Remus' lupine tendencies.
Sirius' eyes sought out James at Dumbledore's table for support, but he was fully engrossed in his part of the plan - distracting Lily.
"… very intelligent of course, you were wasted in Gryffindor." Slughorn was still talking.
It had been a tradition for as long as anyone could remember that the night before the leaving feast, all the seventh year students would gather for a quiet meal with the teachers. Really it was an opportunity for the professors to hold court on their own little tables with their gushing subjects around them. Somehow Sirius had been stuck with Slughorn; it was probably, he thought bitterly, down to James.
A moment later James caught his eye and winked at him, nodding over at Windus' table where Snape was stony-faced and Remus was rolling his eyes.
* * * * *
This was more like it, Sirius thought. The Three Broomsticks had been the scene of some legendary end of school debaucheries and his classmates were clearly determined to add this one to the list.
The pub was heaving and sweaty, a riotous rainbow, with everybody dressed in their brightest colours and shrieking in their loudest voices. Somebody had brought a Muggle record player and loud thumping music was fighting against the noise.
Every year the students would come up with elaborate, mostly drunken, ways to sneak into Hogsmeade. Not that they needed to bother, the professors had given up on trying to stop them years ago. Madame Rosmerta had even started ordering extra alcohol for the occasion.
A vaguely familiar Ravenclaw girl pulled him into an embrace as he fought his way through the crowd.
"When are you going to stop being a tease, Sirius?" she murmured softly into his ear. He easily detached himself, pushing her into Lockhart's waiting arms and snapped a quick photo with the camera he’d requisitioned from a gullible first year earlier in the day. It was amazing what first years could afford to bring to Hogwarts sometimes.
"Oi, Sirius!" Peter called from the overhanging landing above with a wink and a grin and Sirius rushed up the stairs, the excitement getting the better of him.
Remus and Peter were in one of the private rooms; James had whisked Lily off over an hour ago. They were staring philosophically at the sunken, drowsing form of Severus Snape.
"Well lads," Sirius said with a merciless grin, "we better get started - we've got a lot of work to do tonight. You know it's a shame we only get to do this one. It would make an excellent tradition."
* * * * *
Snape felt terrible when he woke the next morning, he must have drunk the Three Broomsticks dry. He'd been looking forward to the night before but this was ridiculous, he couldn't remember anything.
As he walked into the Great Hall, he was greeted by gales of laughter and it only took moments of horrible sinking comprehension for him to realize that every surface had been plastered with horrifying photos that he had no memory of posing for. Snape bent down for a closer look. He appeared to be doing something obscene to one of the school’s portraits and next to it… oh god, was that Madame Rosmerta?
The Marauders enjoyed a satisfied feeling in their stomachs, not entirely down to the excellent Hogwarts breakfasts, as they watched Snape stalk from the Hall.
Years later, once Snape had returned to Hogwarts, he took a special pleasure in choosing his least favourite students and forcing them to a torturous dinner throughout their penultimate night at the school. There would be no secret Hogsmeade trips for them. Traditions have to start somewhere.