“So.” James said on Sunday evening, “How are we going to get them back?”
“Get who back?” Peter asked without looking up, searching through his notes for something.
They were in the Gryffindor common room, trying to do their homework for McGonagall. Fourteen inches on the basic laws of transfiguration. Sirius and James had finished theirs, Peter was at least six inches in, and Remus hadn’t started.
“The Slytherins.” James hissed, “Keep up, Pete.”
“Not all of the Slytherins,” Peter asked, sounding worried, “Only Snape and Mulciber, right?”
“All of them.” Sirius confirmed. He had just appeared from under the desk they were sharing, and presented a piece of parchment, “This what you were looking for?”
“Thanks!” Peter grabbed it, relieved, “I’ve nearly finished…”
“Have you done it, Lupin?” Sirius looked over. Remus had opened his book, but hadn’t so much as looked at it. He’d considered cloistering himself away in the library one evening and trying to read it properly – he could read if he really, really focussed. But the opportunity hadn’t presented, and if he was honest; he just didn’t want to. Ever since the Potions lesson the four of them had become real friends, and Remus didn’t want to miss out.
“Nah,” He shrugged in response to Sirius. “Can’t be bothered.”
“Let us know if you need help.”
“You can copy mine if you want.” James pushed his across the desk. Remus pushed it back, gritting his teeth.
“I’m fine. I’m not stupid.”
“No one said you were.” James replied, casually. Sirius was looking at him, though. Remus wanted to hit him, but he was trying not to lash out so much – James and Sirius sometimes play wrestled, but they never actually tried to hurt each other, like he had with Snape. Forcing himself to swallow his temper, Remus opted instead to change the subject.
“We could put itching powder in their beds.” He offered. Someone had done that to him once. He had a rash for a full week, and on the night of the full moon had torn at his skin more than usual. “Or on their clothes… if we could figure out who does the laundry, anyway.”
This had been a matter of great concern to Remus – their dirty laundry appeared to just vanish and then resurface, cleaned and folded in their trunks. He’d never caught anyone else in their room, and couldn’t understand it at all.
“I like it.” James replied, chewing his quill, “Anyone got any itching powder, though?”
The three boys shook their heads.
“Could order some from Zonko’s.” Sirius put in. “If you let me borrow your owl, James, Mum confiscated mine after the sorting.”
“I s’pose,” James replied. “Wish we could do it sooner, though. You know, strike while the iron is hot.”
“Don’t need to buy itching powder,” Remus said, suddenly, having a brainwave, “Do you reckon they have rose hips in the greenhouse?”
“Yep,” Peter spoke, head still bowed over his homework, “For healing potions – arthritis, I think.”
“The hairs inside make you itch, really badly.” Remus explained, excited, “Matron – the woman who runs the children’s home – she grows them, and if you get in trouble she makes you seed them without gloves on.” His fingertips itched just thinking about it.
“That’s awful.” James said.
“Good idea, though!” Sirius grinned. “Next break, we’ll go and get a load of them. Then we can seed them – with gloves on – and put them in the Slytherin’s bedsheets. Excellent!”
