I'll Take it Shaken, Not Stirred

Chapter 6: All Those Little Things

Recipe origins: all of it comes from J.K. Rowling, but she permits lowlives like myself to expand.

Recap of last time: everyone talks.

One Last Note from the Cook: title has changed since the blurb in my profile, as have some other things. Sorry, guys. This is really, really long. I didn't even realize it until I was proof reading! Eek. Review anyway.

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"The only winner of the War of 1812 was Tchaikovsky" -Solomon Short

(What does that have to do with the chapter? Absolutely nothing. I just love it!)

All in all, no one slept that night. James tried.

He failed.

He didn't have any clothes to change into, so he lay in his four-poster in his school slacks and white undershirt for a few hours. But he couldn't sleep.

Sirius and the only other seventh-year male present, Paul Montreal, discussed the night's events pensively for several hours, but James didn't hear a word of it. He felt outside it all.

And he was exhausted.

For a while, he lay in bed thinking, with only the buzz of Sirius and Paul faintly in the background. He concentrated on the evening's events, even though he didn't want to. All he wanted was to be able to sleep.

People always said "war is hell." James generated: "thinking is hell."

Every once in a while, students from other dorms would stick their heads in and say things like: "McGonagall wanted me to check the dorms and see that everyone was in bed," or else: "So-and-so just came from the Hospital wing! Thought you'd like to know..." Around four o'clock, even Mr. Korcesh- the man from the Ministry of Magic, who was aboard the train- dropped in to make sure that they were alright. James ignored them all.

But the distraction did serve some purpose, because shortly after Mr. Korcesh's exit, Sirius and Paul had run out of discussion topics, and James was able to doze for about an hour.

By five o'clock in the morning, he was brought to awareness by the silence in the room, and every chance of even dozing was gone.

"Padfoot," he muttered finally.

"Mhm?" returned the fully alert voice of Sirius. "Want to play chess?"

"Do we have a set?"

"Gideon promised he'd leave one under one of the beds last year, remember?"

"Oh ya."

There were the sounds of Sirius shuffling about, trying to find the chess set that Hogwarts-graduate of last year, Gideon Prewett, had promised to leave. "Found it," he announced a moment later, emerging from under an as-of-yet unclaimed bed.

"I play winner," declared Paul nonchalantly.

Sirius pulled apart the curtains of James's bed and set the board up there. There was a note on the top of the board.

"To the Marauders, and any seventh year Gryffindor men who they see fit to allow the use of this most righteous chess set, that Sirius stole from us about six million times, and we therefore decided to bequeath on him and James and Remus and Peter. Enjoy it. Use it. If there are any cool fifth year- next year to be sixth year- guys, then you can leave it for them. lf not, don't bother. Lions for the cup! Good luck running a Quidditch team without the most awe-inspiring talent of Fabian's and my chasering, James.