Four To The End (prev Shifting Lines) Book Three (Marauders Era)

Chapter One Hundred-Forty-Five - Boingy-Boingy

Less than a week left.

Remus woke up on Sunday, melancholia following the realization. In six days they'd be boarding the train and heading back to their homes. James to his mansion, Peter to his mixed family, Remus to his suffocating parents, and Sirius... to hell. He rolled over, hoping that at least Sirius would get to go to the Quidditch World Cup with the Potters.

It was fairly early, considering how late they had been up. The evening had started with the final meeting of Magical Theory, which had been bittersweet in itself. Chang sat on his desk and mostly talked about a few final things before everyone else discussed things they had learned throughout the year. At the end, Chang told them they'd have the chance to take Advanced Magical Theory in their sixth year, and if any of them were particularly good with this sort of thing like he was, they might be chosen to teach regular Magical Theory to a new crop of third years when they were seventeen. Remus had a brief fantasy of doing just that, then dismissed it; he'd probably miss a Saturday or two, and it'd be improbable for Flitwick to choose him.

After that was over, Remus headed back to the Gryffindor tower to join his friends. A lot of students had been up late and there had been some still up by the time the Marauders headed to bed. Remus hadn't slept very well, plagued with distant sort of nightmares that didn't wake him up but also didn't allow him to get much rest. When he woke up at around eight, he couldn't get back to sleep so he got out of bed to get ready for the day.

There wasn't any homework due, as it was the final week. The lessons would be wrapping up and they'd be given their summer assignments—something he knew he was in the minority for looking forward to. But that meant he really had nothing to do today except work on Project 1812, which was what Sirius had renamed their prank. Therefore once he was dressed and had some fruit in his pockets from the Great Hall, he went to the empty classroom to work on that. He sat down in a corner, nibbling at an orange while messing with the compartments of the plane. Making the entire bottom of the plane completely disappear would give them maximum confetti, however that would be more difficult than simply sliding doors.

Setting the plane aside, he instead worked on the cannon. They had transfigured some rocks into cannon-like shapes and he needed to get them to go boom. Easiest to put fireworks in, with a slow burning wick. He finished off the orange and started on a second one, wincing when some juice dribbled onto the cannon. He quickly wiped it off. Hate to say it but getting Mini-Expulsos from Hogsmeade would be easier on my workload. He tilted his his head one way and then the other, almost laughing at the thought of telling his friends they'd need to sneak into Hogsmeade again. Oh, they'd love that.

What am I DOING?

He felt stupid as he got up, stretching his arms and legs before heading back up to the seventh floor. Not to the Gryffindor tower, but to the Room of Thrice. He thought of Mini-Expulsos and when he went back and forth... a door opened. Except inside was the huge storage room.

"Drat." He put his hands on his hips, surveying the room. Obviously what he needed was somewhere in here, but where? He could search the whole day and not find them.

Remus threw himself onto a couch to think, and once he had his think he figured out how to go about this. It meant facing one of his fears but it beat breaking the rules to sneak into Hogsmeade again. Licking his lips, he went to the tallest wardrobe in the room and began climbing up. It didn't take long for him to get dizzy, and once he reached the top he slowly stood up on very shaky legs.

Taking in a deep breath, he thrust his wand upward. "Accio Mini-Expulso!"

There was a faint rattling sound and he turned so quickly he fell off the wardrobe. A scream turned into a yelp of pain which turned into silence as everything went black.