Falling(Remus Lupin & Antonin Dolohov)~Chapter One: Train Ride

Falling(Remus Lupin & Antonin Dolohov)~Chapter Six: Deal

Remus POV

The weekend...

The typical weekend of a Marauder was hardly boring. We chilled, we pranked, we planned, and we did our homework in five or ten minutes. That was how the Marauders rolled.

However, this weekend, was focused on pranking/torturing Jazz. We put Dungbombs under his bed, switched his regular black ink with invisible ink, burned his diary(I swear that he had a diary), etc. I must admit that I did feel a tiny bit guilty, but I needed payback. I got full payback from him when we were older, but I'll save that for later.

"Should we pay Brice Eaves to beat up Jazz, or pay Brice Eaves to throw Jazz into Moaning Myrtle's bathroom?" Antonin offered.

A first-year passed by as we discussed what do to Jazz. The first-year threw a crooked grin at us. Wait, he always had a crooked grin. The kid who could steal you blind was... Rick Dermont. Oh my.

"What do you think you are doing?" Peter asked.

Rick gritted his teeth. "Mind your own damn business, and stay the hell out of my damn business!"

"Little bitch," Antonin grumbled.

It was Sirius who grabbed Rick by the collar of his shirt. Sirius was a good five-foot-seven, and Rick was four-and-a-half-feet-tall. Rick was a doe caught in the headlights. Or maybe Bambi.

"Listen, Short-stock. If you say one word to Jazz about this, I swear I'll get Brice to beat you up."

From then on, Rick was referred to as "Short-stock" by us.

"You-you-you can't do that!" Rick stammered. "Brice is fucking dying to kill me!" Rick calmed down, and mused, "Hmm... If I do listen to you, then I could get something out of this. What will you offer?"

Sirius turned to us. "What should we give Short-stock in exchange for keeping this from Jazz?"

"How do we know if he's telling the truth or not?" James asked.

Short-stock replied, "I-I-I got into a damn bad scrape with Brice earlier this year. I got a swirlie, then he grabbed me in a headlock and punched me several times. I'm sure as hell I don't want to go through that again."

The way Short-stock cussed, he swore worse than Antonin! That is a very difficult feat. Plus, he did sound slightly Russian.

"Are you somehow related to Short-stock?" I whispered to Antonin.

Antonin shrugged. "Hey, Short-stock. What's your status?"

Short-stock tilted his head.

"Are you a Muggle-born, half-blood, or pure-blood?" Antonin explained.

"Half-blood. My mom's full-blooded Russian witch, and my dad's a Austrian Muggle. But I lived in America, then came here for Hogwarts, so I don't act too Russian or Austrian."

"Was your mom a Dolohov?" Peter asked.

"I think so. She doesn't talk about her family too much since they disowned her when she married my dad. Where in the hell did you get the name 'Dolohov'?"

"I'm a Dolohov," Antonin said.

"Oh, your mom's favorite nephew. You're the one who blew up your cake on your third birthday. Your first word was 'shit'."

James, Sirius, Peter and I started laughing uncontrollably. Antonin always blew up some cauldrons every year in Potions, and he was known for his sailor's mouth. Short-stock snickered with us.

"Gee, Antonin, you haven't changed much since you were three," James snickered.

"The only difference is that you've gotten taller and smarter," I added.

"Look who's talking. You always have your nose stuck in a book since I've met you, and that hasn't changed," Antonin countered.

"There is a big difference from keeping habits when you were three years old than eleven years old," Peter remarked.

That was perhaps one of the wisest things that ever came out of Peter's mouth.

Antonin just shook it off. "At least I don't have pacifiers on me." He then stormed off.

　

Peter said, "Don't mind him."

　

I had to add, "He'll be alright when he nurses his wounded ego."