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The week after a full moon was usually the most relaxed week in the life of a Marauder.
Usually.
However, this particular “rest week” happened to coincide with the birthday of none other than James Potter, and if there was anything that could guarantee a week full of mayhem for Hogwarts, it was the birthday of a Marauder. It generally started out harmless enough: A slight buzz in the corridors, wondering what they would do this year. The four would keep to themselves during this time, planning the week ahead. Then, slowly, a change would come over the castle. One memorable year, for Peter’s thirteenth birthday, they had managed to colour every wall a lurid green colour, which had taken Professor McGonagall several hours to undo. Prank after prank would be pulled, nobody ever knowing exactly how they managed to pull them off, and then, that weekend, there was a Party.
Marauder parties were unlike any other party. They somehow happened all over the castle, students from every house, of all years, drinking butterbeer and firewhiskey, and somehow managing to never be found breaking any rules.
This week was no different. Monday afternoon saw streamers bursting from candelabras every time someone walked past in a particularly foul mood. On Tuesday, stags began showing up in portraits around the school - much to the bafflement of most of the student body and staff of Hogwarts. By Friday, all of the food at dinnertime had been replaced with cakes and sweets. Seven hours, four location changes, and one too many firewhiskeys later, and the four boys at the centre of this spectacle were back in their dormitory, as the castle settled back into the usual calm of two in the morning.
“Another year, another successful birthday!” Slurred James.
“Hard to believe there’s only one left before we’re out of here…” Sirius’ reply was slightly mournful in tone, and no sooner had he spoken, but he was pelted with chocolate from across the room.
“Quit killing the mood Padfoot!” Remus looked sleepy, but still sat up against the leg of his bed, eating his way through the chocolate stock they had hoarded out from dinner earlier.
“The night’s still not over, anyway!” Peter was rummaging in his trunk, looking for something.
The others fell into a lively discussion as he searched, James recounting each of the five separate occasions on which Lily had actually spoken to him that day.
“She wished me a happy birthday, Moony. ‘Happy birthday.’ That’s what she said. I really think she’s warming up to me. She used to avoid our birthdays like they were the plague! and now she wishes me a happy birthday! Do you think -”
“-Got it!” Peter’s shout interrupted what was bound to be a lengthy rant from James about the so called love of his life. When he joined them sitting on the floor, peter held in his hand what looked like just another bottle of firewhiskey. Looking around excitedly at the others, he summoned four glasses from downstairs and began to pour.
“Firewhiskey?!” exclaimed Sirius. “This is what you’ve been so excited about all week? Bloody Firewhiskey?”
“It’s not just firewhiskey, Pads, christ! It was specially brewed, in a cauldron that had been used to make a Felix Felicis potion. This firewhiskey is possibly the greatest drink in the wizarding world. Not only will you get absolutely smashed after one drink, you are guaranteed to wake up completely hangover-free. You, my friends, are welcome”
The other boys snorted at his speech, but drank it anyway. Unlike James, who became even more focused on his obsession with Lily, and Sirius, who tended to become either overly affectionate or extremely argumentative, when Peter got drunk, he somehow managed to be more eloquent and convincing than he was sober. Remus, on the other hand, had never gotten drunk. Not that he hadn’t tried, in third year, he had drunk enough to make even Hagrid slur his words, but he had barely felt a buzz. Sirius had pointed out it was probably his “furry little problem” acting up again, and so he had learned to make the best of being the only sober one in any given party.
That was why, when handed the glass of amber liquid by peter, Remus was the first to take the plunge. There was no way it would have that much of an effect on him, right? Even if it got him more tipsy than usual, he really had nothing to fear from it. At least, that’s what he told himself as his throat burned and his eyes watered. Before he could process the sensation, he felt his brain begin to cloud.
So this is what drunk feels like. He thought. I quite like it.
Within half an hour of drinking the “Fiery luck” as Peter had nicknamed it (all four had agreed it was probably the cleverest name ever conceived), James had managed to pass out laying across both his own and Sirius’ beds, and Peter was curled up, snoring softly under his own covers. Sirius had moved over to sit next to Remus, and they were methodically eating into the giant pile of chocolate, now with a considerable dent made in it. Their conversation was idle, comfortable, as they discussed absolutely nothing of consequence.
At the close of a particularly riveting discussion on Chocolate cauldrons versus chocolate frogs (frogs won, obviously), Remus’ head dropped down to rest on the shoulder of the boy sitting next to him.
“Your hair is so pretty Moony, you know that?” Asked Sirius, reaching to run his fingers through it. The action caused Remus to snuggle further into the crook of his neck, humming appreciatively.
“‘S like gold, or like, i dunno, like caramel, but soft instead of sticky.” Remus giggled at that, then sat up, putting a finger to his lips and shushing Sirius loudly.
“You’ll wake Wormtail! And Prongs! And they’ll be cranky! Don’t want them to wake. ‘M happy here, just us.”
“Just us, Moony. Just us is nice.” and before he had finished speaking, Remus’ head was back on his shoulder, looking up at him.
“You’re adorable, Moony.”
“And you’re so beautiful. Like, so beautiful you have no idea.” Sirius’ eyes grew wide and he didn’t know whether to believe what he was hearing. Remus was drunk, he probably didn’t mean for it to come across as it had. Hell, Sirius himself was drunk, he could be misinterpreting it totally!
“When you wake up early and your hair does the thing where it’s almost as messy as James’, and then you spend ages getting it to sit right, you’re beautiful. When we come up with new pranks and your eyes light up with each new idea, you’re beautiful. and when you’re drunk and you get all affectionate and sit up close to me and I can smell your smell and you look at me and I almost let myself believe that you feel it too, and it hurts so much, even then I think you’re beautiful.”
By the end of the speech, Remus was all but asleep, curled up against Sirius, while Sirius himself had never felt more wide awake. He would pinch himself to make sure he wasn’t dreaming, if it wasn’t for the fact that the alcohol had probably numbed him to the point of not even noticing the pinch. Besides, in his dreams about this moment, Peter’s snores couldn’t be heard in the background, James wasn’t half passed out on his bed, and neither of them - especially not Remus - had been drunk.
Hating himself for it, but knowing he’d be thankful in the morning, Sirius gently nudged Remus awake. His bleary eyes blinked up, and Sirius hesitantly placed a soft kiss to his forehead.
“You should get into bed, or you’ll wake up sore.” He said, almost monotone.
“What about you?” Remus, even half asleep and drunker than he had ever been, was concerned for Sirius’ sleeping situation.
“It’s fine, James sleeps like a rock. I can probably get him to shift over without waking him.” He glanced back over his shoulder at James’ sprawled figure. How he had managed to get into that position Sirius would never know, and how he would manage to move him without dropping his dead weight so heavily he’d wake up he’d never have to guess, because as soon as he got remus into his bed, he was reaching out for him.
“Padfoot, I’m really sorry. I know you probably hate me a bit now and i didn’t mean to say all of that please promise me you won’t stop being my friend. I know you will never see me the way I see you but please. I’ll be happy just having you has a friend.”
Sirius hardly even hesitated before replying.
“I won’t.” The look of relief that spread across the werewolf’s face was enough to make tears spring to Sirius’ eyes. He sat down on the bed And held Remus tight, the way he had wanted to for as long as he could remember.
“I won’t be happy just being your friend, Remus. I try to be, I really do, but I can’t. I know we’re both drunk right now and I don’t even care if we remember it in the morning or not because i can’t keep it in any longer. I fucking love you, Remus. I love everything about you and I never thought in a million years that you might like me too but if you do then I don’t want to just-”
And then they were kissing, and it was like nothing he had ever felt before. It was better than butterbeer, better than firewhiskey, better that Peter’s Fiery Luck, and they were kissing, and it was so much better than being drunk. Just as he began to doze off, wrapped around Remus and smiling contentedly, he heard the words he hadn’t even realised he’d been waiting for.
“I love you too, Pads.”
The next morning dawned, and Hogwarts was once again back to it’s old self. No more streamers exploded from candelabras, no more stags pranced about in portraits, and the only cake present in the great hall was the usual fare of dessert. However, if you looked closely at two boys seated at the end of the gryffindor table, their friends cheerfully discussing last night’s antics over treacle tart and custard, their clasped hands and bashful smiles showed that, maybe, not everything was exactly as it had been before that week.
And maybe, that was perfectly fine by them.