"Supper du le Marauder Style"as told by Mister Remus John Lupin
My name is Remus John Lupin, and I am never going to attend dinner in the Great Hall again accompanied by Sirius Black and James Potter.
Really, I mean it.
It always ends in annihilation, unhappy girls, and scowling professors.
Today was worse than normal.
It was so awful that I nearly drowned myself in Wormtail’s goblet of pumpkin juice.
You see, James was picking on Sirius, and I swear to Merlin, nothing – and I mean nothing – is more bloody annoying than trying to eat your baked ham whilst being subjected to the high-pitched wail that is James Potter’s “picking-on-people-voice”.
It’s a trillion times worse when there’s a scowling Sirius Black sitting next to him, stabbing everything within arm’s reach with a knife.
I mean, honestly, have they no decency?!
…No, no they do not. If they did, they would have just shut the heck up and let me finish my dinner!
But, alas, no. I have obviously angered the almighty and completely sadistic deity of above, and am therefore now living in a fiery castle of purgatory, where obnoxious Gryffindor boys happen to be my closest of friends.
It was dinner time, and the Gryffindor table was positively shaking with delight as a plethora of delicious delectables suddenly appeared before their fervent eyes and empty plates.
Hands and elbows were flailing all along the table, as the boys and girls fought their way through the field of platters to find their favorite foods.
“Oooohhhh dear Merlin, I’m so hungryyy—” groaned an attractive black-haired boy – Sirius – as his fingers flew to the bowl closest to him.
His eyes were wide and bright, skirting around every which way, completely failing to focus on any one thing in particular.
“—Ooo, gimme some of that—” growled James, the messy-haired boy sitting next to him.
Reaching across the table, he tried grabbing a bowl of mashed potatoes from a sandy-blonde-haired boy, who had just spooned a large mountain of it onto his own plate.
“—James, watch it, will you—?!” the blonde cried, after almost getting stabbed by his friend’s rouge fork when he reached across the table.
“—Sorry Remy, mate, but I need those potatoes, now—”
“Oh whatever, just please be more careful when you’re rea—”
“MEAT PIE!” cried Sirius suddenly, pointing down the row of seats towards the end of the table, before shooting up and positively cantering down the row.
“OI! that’s mine, Black, get the hell away—” a young brunette yelped, as the meat pie in question was forcefully pried from her hands.
“Sorry Dorcas, love, but I need it—“ he replied passionately, before running back to his seat and plopping most of it on his plate.
“You lot are utter cows.” Remus plainly stated, looking appalled at James and Sirius, who were apparently engaged in a let’s-see-who-can-eat-everything-on-their-plate-the-fastest contest.
“Utter cows, mate?” James asked, while bits of bacon and cheddar soup dribbled down his chin. “Or cows’ utter?”
“Hm, I think I’d rather be the utter…” Sirius piped in, smirking, and spurting a bit of mashed potatoes out through his lips in the process.
But ever so elegantly.
Remus glowered at them. “’Course Pads would want to be the utter, though I can’t imagine why, seeing as how he’s seen more nippl—“ James started, before shutting right the heck up as Sirius threw half a wad of corn bread in his face.
A static-y silence ensued, full of nothing but gurgles, burps, chomping, swallowing, and the grinding of Remus’ teeth, as he tried to ignore the inhuman noises that his mates were making.
“Hey Padfoot, you know what I was thinking about earlier today?” James asked suddenly, twirling his sauce-covered fork between his fingers.
… Remus looked absolutely reprehensible as he watched drops of moisture being flung onto his dinner plate by James’ cutlery.
“—is that a string of spittle you just flung on my sodding plate, James???!—”
“Wat wurr you finkinguh aboot, Jamfie?” slurred a full-mouthed Sirius, as James totally ignored Remus’ aghast inquiries as to what the exact nature of the deviant droplets of splutter were.
“You’re name is Sirius Orion Black.” James said, as if he were making a completely world-rending new discovery.
“…Yes, yes it is, Jamesie,” Sirius replied, now empty-mouthed and weirded out by his friend’s apparent lack of cognitive proccess.
“Well, that means your initials are S.O.B.” James said, “And you know what ess-oh-bee means, right?”
Sirius simply stared back blankly.
“Ess-oh-bee means that you’re a son-of-a-bi—”
“I know what it means, stupid!” he replied suddenly, turning back to his plate, praying to Merlin that James was not about to go on what he feared to be another one of his ‘new material tirades’.
“You are a son-of-a-bi—”
“We all know that, James” snapped Remus, still very much put-off, and not in the mood to hear James continue.
James, however, was very much delighted with the new material, and he continued calling Sirius an ess-oh-bee in a high-pitched singsong voice for the next three minutes.
“And you know what eeeeelse…?” he asked, positively shining with jovial excitement, as he stared at a semi-pouty Sirius who now had a recklessly tight grip on his fork.
“What?” Sirius growled through clenched teeth.
“It’s the freaking truth—!”
James was really enjoying himself.
“NO CRAP.” Sirius just did not see the humor there. “It’s called a pun, James.”
James, smirking at his friend, began to silently count on his fingers.
“What the hell are you doing, James?” sighed Sirius, who was still wondering about the cognitive dysfunction he feared his friend may have spontaneously developed.
“Oh, who, me?” James asked, trying but failing to hide his smirk.
“Yes, you James.” Sirius sighed again.
“Oh, nothing, just counting up all the puns you seem to have inherited over the years…”
Sirius did not like where this was going.
Neither, for that matter, did Remus, who really just wanted nothing more than to finish his supper in peace. He’d even settle for relatively muffled background noise.
“Don’t, James, please, I’m begging you—”
But, as everyone knows, nothing will stop a Marauder whilst he’s testing out new comedic substance.
Especially if it’s aimed at another Marauder.
“God, Moony, I’m not even doing anything, it’s Sirius’ fault, yell at him, he’s such a dog—”
“James, cut it out—”
“No, really Moony, he’s such a bad boy—”
“—he’s absolutely canine—”
Remus gave up. He set his spoon down and started to rub his temples.
Speaking of temporal lobes, Sirius’ looked like his was about to explode.
His face was flushed and stony. He was staring straight ahead, avoiding James’ goading stare.
“—he’s so canine-like, I bet he even likes to do it doggy-style—”
Sirius took a sip of his pumpkin juice.
“—He even growls like a dog, it’s ridiculous, I heard him with this girl the other day, and he was actually flipping growling, I’m serious—”
Some of the pumpkin juice sloshed over the sides of the goblet. His hands were shaking too much.
“—oh, and speaking of being serious, I’ll tell you what, Sirius himself is much too serious, if you ask me, seriously—”
…And then, Sirius seriously snapped.
“Well, you got what you deserved, Prongsie.”
It was three hours later, and James and Peter were hanging out in the Gryffindor Common Room.
“Shut up, Wormtail.”
Remus had shut himself up in the library, shouting something about inhuman sounds.
Sirius had shut himself up in the dorm, shouting something about his stupid sodding mother.
Lily had shut herself up in the girl’s dorms, shouting something about people shouting things.
James wasn’t very happy. He had only recently been released from the Hospital Wing.
Madam Pompfrey wasn’t very happy, either.
It was awkward for her, you know, removing the pair of stag antlers that were protruding from the back of his pants, and all.
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