Casanova (Male Oc Insert)

Revenge

Ague” James leaned back in his chair, a mischievous glint in his eye as the evening light flickered through the Gryffindor common room. “How are we going to get them back?”

Peter, engrossed in his notes, barely glanced up. “Get who back?” he asked, his expression a mix of confusion and concentration. The four of them were crowded around a table littered with books and parchment, battling against the looming deadline for McGonagall's homework—a hefty fourteen inches on the basic laws of transfiguration. Sirius and James had already completed their assignments, but Peter was struggling, having only written about six inches, while Remus and I hadn’t even begun.

“The Slytherins,” James hissed impatiently, his annoyance evident. “Keep up, Pete.”

“Not all of the Slytherins, right?” Peter’s voice wavered slightly, a hint of worry creeping in. “Only Snape and Mulciber?”

“All of them,” Sirius chimed in, emerging from beneath the shared desk like a whirling spectre, waving a piece of parchment triumphantly. “This what you were looking for?”

“Thanks!” Peter exclaimed, snatching the parchment in relief. “I’ve nearly finished…” He lapsed into silence, searching for his place. “Have you done it, Lupin?” Sirius pressed, turning his gaze to me.

I was on the verge of dozing off in the corner when Remus responded, shrugging nonchalantly. “Nah. Can’t be bothered.”

“Let us know if you need help,” James offered. “You can copy mine if you want.” He shoved his parchment across the table with a casual flick of his wrist.

“Can I, James? I really can’t be arsed to do it,” I answered, half-joking.

“Yeah, sure, Heracles,” he replied, nonchalantly.

“I’m fine. I’m not stupid,” Remus interjected, his tone half-defensive.

“No one said you were,” James replied casually, an amused smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

“Here’s an idea: we could put itching powder in their beds,” Remus suggested, brightening at the prospect. “Or on their clothes… if we could figure out who does the laundry, anyway.”

“Y'know, that's brilliant,” Sirius grinned, clearly enthusiastic about the idea. “Anyone got any itching powder, though?” The three of us shook our heads in unison, regretfully.

“We could just order some from Zonko’s,” Sirius proposed, his eyes lighting up with mischief. “If you let me borrow your owl, James. Mum confiscated mine and Heracles after the sorting.”

“I s’pose,” James replied with a hint of reluctance. “Wish we could do it sooner, though. You know, strike while the iron is hot.”

“Don’t need to buy itching powder,” Remus interrupted a thoughtful expression crossing his face. “Do you reckon they have rose hips in the greenhouse?”

“Yep,” Peter spoke up, still focused on his homework. “For healing potions—arthritis, I think.”

“The hairs inside make you itch, really badly,” Remus explained, his excitement palpable. “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.”

In the corner, Heracles was quietly petting his pure white cat, which seemed oblivious to the conspiratorial atmosphere. “That’s awful,” James remarked, eyebrows raised in sympathy. “Good idea, though!” Sirius added, his grin widening.

“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!” James proclaimed, his excitement infectious.