Marauder crack

One more, another more, and always one last more

Two days later. Before dinner. Headmaster Dumbledore communicates to all Hogwarts students that their exam calendar is already available and he advises them to be calm, because these dates "Put more in test our strength of spirit than our knowledge". Then, he reminds them that there have been several cases of neglected owls and asks them to those who have pets that take good account of their care, because, in the end, "A good pet is like a pair of good socks. It isn't to be found so often". 

Made the revision and given the pertinent prompts, Dumbledore is about to withdraw from his lectern when a familiar hand raises from the Gryffindor tables.

- Yes, Mr. Black? Do you have something to say?

-With your permission, professor, if I may. Only be a moment.

The old professor nods. Behind that white beard and the glasses too small to be held by sheer magic on the tip of the nose, he is curious, although he would rather not have to confess. One you never know with these sixth graders.

- Well, I just wanted to communicate that I am completely recovered from the illness that has kept me away from class this week- Sirius says, loud enough for everyone to hear. There are some murmur and laughter. - I know that people have been very concerned and that my absence has been noted. Especially, I have been told that Mr. ... - he turns to the next table, green and silver Slytherin looking at him scornfully - that Mr. Malfoy here has been deeply worried about my health. At the end of the day and despite our public disagreements, I am one of the few in this school, who has such pureblood like him- he says, clearly raising his tone. - That's something that unites us very close together indeed.

Disapproval. Surprise. The murmur gets much louder. Dumbledore calls for silence and Sirius sees the deep disgust on McGonagall's face but above all a horror difficult to qualify in Lily Evans, sitting across from him, next to Remus.

James sees it too. He gets up immediately.

-Sirius, I can't believe you said that- James says solemnly.

Sirius shrugs his shoulders and pushes his hair back.

- Well, I haven't said anything that isn't true, mate. Lucius and I are the aristocracies of this college. His father and my grandfather were cousins.

- Seriously? - James's tone begins to sound mocking. - They have said that his parents were cousins.

- Yeah, well, that too. Is a delicate topic. To maintain the purity, sometimes you need to tighten family ties too much, I don't know if I'm explaining myself.

Sirius mutters "INCEST". Remus muttered "Good heavens". Lily murmurs "But what a poisoned potion they have given to you two". James is unfazed.

- Look Sirius, if there is anyone really, REALLY pure in this school, that's me. There hasn't been a single Muggle in my family in centuries. My ancestors go back to the time of Merlin himself.

- Oh yeah? Well, I am purer than you. Because mine comes straight from the times of Circe, maybe before, and everyone knows that there was nothing before Circe. Only hippogriffs and elves.

And before the gaze between attentive and astonished, confused and disordered of five hundred students from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, James and Sirius argue about which of the two is purer: Pure as the hippogriff droppings which according to James are "shit", and pure as exams, that are "pure horror" in Sirius's words. When Dumbledore asks for silence, and order to keep that interesting matter for them two since people are hungry, the two marauders agree in which there is certainly no point in continuing to argue.

- When the two of us, James, we are clear that Lucius Malfoy is and always he will be much purer than us- proclaims Sirius in a really loud voice. - Let's admit it.

James admits it.

- When you're right, Black, you're right.

Meanwhile and taking advantage of the fact that everyone is looking at them, the bowls of milk from the Slytherin tables, gently fly to the center, where Lucius Malfoy watches the discussion without knowing exactly what is happening, even though his irritation is growing by the minute. He doesn't see the moment when the bowls rise, take a little flight, they execute a curve, and one after another they spill their content - white, pure, immaculate - upon him. One by one. He stands up in a rage, screaming, trying to grab his wand, haunted by tales of milk that see him go, uttering insults and threats, while staying and drawing on the table, with milk letters, a message that appears and disappears before Dumbledore had time to hide a smile.

LUCIUS MALFOY: PURE COW'S MILK.

They scold them, of course. They have to listen to McGonagall's sermon - Headaches! You two gave me more headaches in six years than all the students of this house together in twenty! -. And they'll have to go up to Dumbledore's office the next day to hear his punishment, but who cares. Sirius will forever have the image of Malfoy bathed in cow's milk, and James will have that look, those amazing Lily Evans green eyes just for him, just for a second, softening, smiling despite him, as if to "Say you're a lost fool, Potter but that wasn't bad".

He doesn't need more.