Marauder crack

The ruthless Council of The Marauders

A few hours after school starts at Hogwarts, the summer is already a languid memory. The routine has the amazing quality of pretending it has always been there. The children indulge in their homework and professors to their lessons as if they had never done anything else. One only school day and Remus already has homework from three different subjects. He spends the afternoon in the library and when he finishes his prefect round and arrives at his room he assumes that everyone will already be sleeping.

He assumes wrong.

He steps into the room and notices a bump against the wall. Someone - two people - grab him from each side and by the time he hears "Lumos!" he suspects exactly what is happening. It just can not be. But oh boy it is. In the middle of the circular tower room, dressed in their school robes, with the hood up covering their faces. Uh-oh. James. The Marauders map in hand and a grave expression of censure.

- Finally. Mr. moony deigns to appear in front of the Council.

- Good heavens, Prongs, tell me it's not true.

-You haven't been permitted to speak, and it will be "Mr. Prongs" until the Council is terminated, thank you very much.

They hold him firmly but not too tight. The shortest to his right must be Peter. The other, on the left, much closer to his body and smelling slightly of unburned tobacco is - no doubt - Sirius. He tries to get someone to be reasonable. Someone has to do it.

- Mates, seriously. The Council?

It's ridiculous. The last time they did such a fool thing, they must have been in their fourth year.

- No mates, no. - Sirius speaks close to the face, in the semi-darkness rough room. - Gentlemen.

- While the council lasts, we are Messrs. Padfoot, Prongs, and Wormtail.

Peter's voice - obedient, complacent Peter - is not that close, nor does he causes the same chills of heat. "Oh Sirius, the things that you do to me". Remus knows he should stop them but he lacks practice. He's never known how to do it and he doesn't think he's going to learn anytime soon. There is something in them, in that bestial energy they use to give themselves body and soul to the night, the secret and the thug that makes him feel unable to despise him. Guilty -in part- and on the other hand, freed from the reasonable, full of emotion.

It is James and Sirius who invented the spirit of the marauders but Remus has followed them step by step, sharing invisible cloaks and secrets, pranks, and moments when they have almost been caught, almost seen, almost been heard. There is some stuff in which he differs, but it is Remus the one who has always been addicted to their contagious passion for life.

- Now, Mr. Moony, you may listen carefully.

James fulfills his role as Grand Inquisitor of the ruthless Council of the Marauders and, wand in hand, he recites the charges against which he is accused. "Fraternize with teachers (A.K.A The Enemy), accept, access, and embrace positions of responsibility inside the school, become a spy for the teachers under the charge of Prefect". James takes his role very seriously.

- They are serious accusations, Mr. Moony. The council wants to know what defense you make of yourself.

-I suppose saying that Dumbledore didn't give me a choice wouldn't do a lot.

It doesn't seem like it's doing anything, actually. Sirius finds it aggravating.

-It means that he has been spending a lot of time with the old man. - His voice penetrates Remus's ear with a certain alcoholic cadence. - Intimating with the Headmaster himself! That deal with such a high-rank professor is an insult to the spirit of the marauders.

-Even Filch likes him- Peter remembers.

James meditates for a long time.

- I think the verdict is clear.

Three voices say "guilty" in unison. And Remus only has left to hear his punishment. He prays it's not the same as what they did to James when they decided he had to knock on Dumbledore's office at three in the morning to announce that he had peed in the bed. He had to do it in his boxers. And just for insinuating that the only thing that would make him happier than torturing Snape would be to go with Lilly Evans to the Christmas dance. And for having immediately added that Lily Evans was "Better than Quidditch." Sirius found it unacceptable. And now, three years later, that same Sirius grabs his arm, breathing closer from his face, getting dangerously close to his neck.

- Are you ready to accept the punishment we want to impose on you, Moony?

- I don't think asking for mercy would do me any good.

His eyes are getting used to the gloom. Distinguish the three silhouettes clearly. James, with the illuminated wand, Peter, to the left and Sirius, to the right. All with their hoods on, their faces shrouded in shadow and smoke. Solemnly, James communicates the price to pay for his "disobedience".

- You're absolutely kidding.

He takes three steps until he is a few milimeters from his face. And no, James Potter is not joking.

-Is this a joking face, Mr. Moony?

It is not.

- McGonagall? Seriously?

- Lord Moony - James sentence- because you so much enjoy the company of the teachers, I don't think it's hard for you to write a love letter to the head of your own house.

He would stick his head out of his body with kitchen knives to bet he knows whose idea it was. That damn Sirius bastard. After the council, Peter falls asleep, and James goes out to the bathroom, whistling the tune of "Yellow submarine." Sirius wears just the pijama bottoms and that Machiavellian look.

They meet in front of the window, next to the empty beds. The soft Peter's snoring fills the room. They murmur so as not to disturb the dream of the asleep and continue daydreaming.

-I bet Dumbledore wants you to keep a close eye on us, Moony.

-He insisted on it.

He takes a step forward. The silhouettes are about to touch on the window.

- You have always been a very obedient boy. You will have to pay attention.

- What a remedy.

They touch.

Just the tip of the nose, the end of the lips. But this time Sirius doesn't know how to move. He waits, he keeps meting out the punishment on him and it's Remus who jumps the last distance and tries to part his lips with his tongue. A short kiss, gloriously slow penetration of the mouth. Then the footsteps of James, returning from the bathroom. The night, the window, the desire. Around them, an electricity field wraps them. It seems that everything is about to explode and burn.

- It's a shame - says Sirius, limping - that you didn't ask for mercy. - Is Black is Sirius Black, the terror of the girls, trying to be seductive. Remus has seen it dozens of times. The effect on most women is immediate. They agree and end up in his bed. So much insolence, so much that is difficult to bear. Sirius knows it. Plays with him, as he has played before with all the girls that have crossed him. - I would have liked to see you beg on your knees.

But he is forgetting one thing. That he's not talking to a girl. Otherwise with a marauder.

-If I were on my knees, -Remus approaches his mouth -you would be the one who ends up begging, Black.

He forgets that he has never, not once, been left behind when it was all about a prank.

- Fuck.- Sirius's gaze widens in the dark. He looks for his lips, he kisses him with all his mouth. They collide, their tongues slip. They get filled with saliva. - Fuck, Moony.

There is no time for more. James approaches and they each take their own places in bed. It is September but it must be that summer resists autumn because it's hot, very hot in the Gryffindor boys' room.