Friday 2nd November 1973
Remus peered around the dorm room door quietly, and – finding the coast clear – crept inside. He carefully opened his trunk and shoved the package inside, covering it up with an old pair of jeans.
“Hiya, Moony,” a voice behind him gave Remus such a fright that he dropped the trunk lid with a heavy *THUNK* and spun around. James was emerging from the bathroom, his dark hair wet and his glasses steamed up.
“Hi.” He said, hoping he didn’t look like he was up to anything.
“Are you up to something?” James squinted at him.
“No.”
“What are you doing?”
“Nothing!”
“Is it Sirius’s birthday present?”
Remus’s shoulders sagged, he sighed.
“Yes.”
“You don’t have to hide it from me, Moony,” James laughed, easily, throwing his towel onto his bed and beginning to get dressed. “I won’t tell him.”
Remus just shrugged awkwardly. He’d really only wanted to hide the fact that he had spent the past two hours in the fourth-floor girl’s loos trying to wrap the stupid thing, with Moaning Myrtle cackling overhead, giving no useful advice at all.
He was also trying to avoid any awkward questions about where he’d got the money. His stash of stolen cigarettes was now almost entirely depleted, and he had just about enough money left over to buy Christmas gifts for his friends and – if he was prudent – something for himself. He didn’t have his heart set on anything, but Remus rather liked the idea that he could just go ahead and buy something if it caught his fancy.
“Lucky it’s a Saturday this year,” he said to James, relaxing a bit, “D’you know what we’re going to do?”
“Well obviously, we’ll have to sing ‘happy birthday’ at breakfast,” James said, very seriously.
“Obviously.” Remus agreed.
“And lunch, and dinner. I’ve got quidditch practice in the morning, but I got Hooch to let me have an extra half an hour on the pitch before the Ravenclaws go on, so we can do a bit of flying.”
“Oh, good,” Remus said, with a little less enthusiasm. It wasn’t his idea of a good time to sit in the quidditch stands alone on a cold November morning – but it was Sirius’s birthday, after all. Maybe he could bring a book.
“Then I suppose he’ll have to do that afternoon tea thing with Regulus and Narcissa. So, we’ll have to find out when that ends before we can sort out a proper party. D’you think the others ‘ll mind if we use the common room?”
“Nah,” Remus shook his head, with confidence. No one could deny James and Sirius anything – especially a very noisy birthday party. This was true at any given time during the year, but especially this week, when the marauder’s popularity appeared to be at its peak.
Remus had hardly been able to walk down a corridor since Wednesday without hearing a cheer, or getting a pat on the back from fellow Gryffindors, Ravenclaws or Hufflepuffs. The Slytherins still scowled, still glared daggers if he passed them – but they couldn’t say anything. A few tried, of course. For the first two days after Halloween, the occasional ‘angelic sweetie pops’ or ‘honey fluffkins’ could be heard – and met with raucous laughter. Snape had even lost his temper completely during their Friday Charms lesson and called James a ‘lovely little poppet’, which nearly killed Sirius with laughter, and mortified Lily.
