HP -- Saturday Night
Title: Saturday Night
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: James/Sirius
Rating: PG
Word Count: 730
Warnings: smoking of Potions ingredients, etc.
Prompt: "feverish"
Summary: It had all begun just after eleven.
Author's Note: Giftfic for teenelizabeth! Merry Christmas, hon! XD
SATURDAY NIGHT
Remus would never forget the night that had just drawn to an end, primarily because it would haunt his dreams for the rest of his life.
He turned to look at Peter, who looked unoptimistically back, and then they both admired the carnage spread across the tables of the Great Hall.
It had all begun just after eleven, when Sirius had leapt up onto the Common Room coffee table to declare the theme. In a frighteningly short span of time, he and James-who had spent the earlier hours of the evening smoking enough puffapod seeds to kill an elephant-had snuck themselves, a vast array of decorations, and a considerable portion of Gryffindor House into the Great Hall.
Remus had to admit to being, grudgingly, rather impressed-their ability to execute complex spells while extraordinarily high was quite an accomplishment, albeit one he didn’t aspire to mimicking. James had very steadily flown his broom up to the rafters to secure the disco ball, and Sirius had magicked all the tables to light up in different patterns, and they’d collaborated on Transfiguring chairs and candles into psychedelic decor. Perhaps more striking still, when everything was in place, and the Bee Gees blared from everywhere at once, James and Sirius clambered up onto the center table, unbuttoned their shirts, and discoed their drugged little hearts out.
Remus supposed he ought to thank his lucky stars they hadn’t drudged up any platform shoes.
Or bellbottoms.
Or afro wigs.
Eventually, of course, the puffapods took their toll, and Gryffindor’s leading pair of madmen went from shimmying and cutting rugs to grabbing onto one another’s half-anchored shirts and sucking face.
A few of the gentlemen left the room, and a few of the ladies squealed loud enough to give Remus a bout of tinnitus.
The dancing got a bit more suggestive after that, and a lot of people joined in, especially once they’d broken into the Firewhisky standing by.
Right about four in the morning, the drinks ran out, and the majority of the party dispersed, wandering out in clumps of giggling girls bound for pleasant dreams and of extremely wasted boys presumably hoping to forget the whole experience.
Remus sympathized with the latter group, especially given that he and Peter stayed behind, reluctantly feeling obligated to clean up.
By five-thirty, they’d repaired the worst of the decoration-related damage-most of the chairs were once again chairs, rather than paisley-patterned bean bags, and the candles were no longer a great deal of assorted lava lamps. (Remus would have said that someone hadn’t done their research, but the truth was that Someone had inhaled puffapod fumes for four hours, at which point the quality of the research was completely irrelevant.)
As dawn, peach and tentative, began to break through the tall windows along the wall, Miverva McGonagall stepped into the Hall and surveyed the remnants of the chaos.
The disco ball was still dangling from the ceiling by what looked, in the light of almost-morning, suspiciously like Spellotape, and two dozen empty bottles were scattered on the tiles. Most prominently, James Potter and Sirius Black were passed out on the middle table, wrapped up in each other’s arms, their heads pillowed on their respective shirts. Sirius’s gold-and-scarlet tie was knotted around his head like a ninja band, and Remus didn’t want to know where James’s had gone.
McGonagall paused, and then she turned to Remus and Peter where they had frozen in the process of bottle-collection.
“Shall I make you a deal?” she inquired.
Remus managed a jerky nod.
“If you erase all evidence of this occurrence before anyone arrives,” she bit out; “I will not take two thousand, five hundred, and fifty points from Gryffindor, and we will never speak of this again. What do you think?”
Remus swallowed. “Sounds rad, Professor,” he managed to reply.
The corners of McGonagall’s mouth twitched, and then she swept out of the Hall again, drawing the doors very securely shut.
Remus looked to Peter, who once again looked back and helplessly shrugged.
“The next time Sirius jumps on the table and shouts ‘Saturday Night Fever,’” Remus remarked, “I’m going to hex him into an alternate dimension where his talents will be appreciated.”
“I’m just going to boogie in the other direction,” Peter sighed. “As fast as I can.”
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: James/Sirius
Rating: PG
Word Count: 730
Warnings: smoking of Potions ingredients, etc.
Prompt: "feverish"
Summary: It had all begun just after eleven.
Author's Note: Giftfic for teenelizabeth! Merry Christmas, hon! XD
SATURDAY NIGHT
Remus would never forget the night that had just drawn to an end, primarily because it would haunt his dreams for the rest of his life.
He turned to look at Peter, who looked unoptimistically back, and then they both admired the carnage spread across the tables of the Great Hall.
It had all begun just after eleven, when Sirius had leapt up onto the Common Room coffee table to declare the theme. In a frighteningly short span of time, he and James-who had spent the earlier hours of the evening smoking enough puffapod seeds to kill an elephant-had snuck themselves, a vast array of decorations, and a considerable portion of Gryffindor House into the Great Hall.
Remus had to admit to being, grudgingly, rather impressed-their ability to execute complex spells while extraordinarily high was quite an accomplishment, albeit one he didn’t aspire to mimicking. James had very steadily flown his broom up to the rafters to secure the disco ball, and Sirius had magicked all the tables to light up in different patterns, and they’d collaborated on Transfiguring chairs and candles into psychedelic decor. Perhaps more striking still, when everything was in place, and the Bee Gees blared from everywhere at once, James and Sirius clambered up onto the center table, unbuttoned their shirts, and discoed their drugged little hearts out.
Remus supposed he ought to thank his lucky stars they hadn’t drudged up any platform shoes.
Or bellbottoms.
Or afro wigs.
Eventually, of course, the puffapods took their toll, and Gryffindor’s leading pair of madmen went from shimmying and cutting rugs to grabbing onto one another’s half-anchored shirts and sucking face.
A few of the gentlemen left the room, and a few of the ladies squealed loud enough to give Remus a bout of tinnitus.
The dancing got a bit more suggestive after that, and a lot of people joined in, especially once they’d broken into the Firewhisky standing by.
Right about four in the morning, the drinks ran out, and the majority of the party dispersed, wandering out in clumps of giggling girls bound for pleasant dreams and of extremely wasted boys presumably hoping to forget the whole experience.
Remus sympathized with the latter group, especially given that he and Peter stayed behind, reluctantly feeling obligated to clean up.
By five-thirty, they’d repaired the worst of the decoration-related damage-most of the chairs were once again chairs, rather than paisley-patterned bean bags, and the candles were no longer a great deal of assorted lava lamps. (Remus would have said that someone hadn’t done their research, but the truth was that Someone had inhaled puffapod fumes for four hours, at which point the quality of the research was completely irrelevant.)
As dawn, peach and tentative, began to break through the tall windows along the wall, Miverva McGonagall stepped into the Hall and surveyed the remnants of the chaos.
The disco ball was still dangling from the ceiling by what looked, in the light of almost-morning, suspiciously like Spellotape, and two dozen empty bottles were scattered on the tiles. Most prominently, James Potter and Sirius Black were passed out on the middle table, wrapped up in each other’s arms, their heads pillowed on their respective shirts. Sirius’s gold-and-scarlet tie was knotted around his head like a ninja band, and Remus didn’t want to know where James’s had gone.
McGonagall paused, and then she turned to Remus and Peter where they had frozen in the process of bottle-collection.
“Shall I make you a deal?” she inquired.
Remus managed a jerky nod.
“If you erase all evidence of this occurrence before anyone arrives,” she bit out; “I will not take two thousand, five hundred, and fifty points from Gryffindor, and we will never speak of this again. What do you think?”
Remus swallowed. “Sounds rad, Professor,” he managed to reply.
The corners of McGonagall’s mouth twitched, and then she swept out of the Hall again, drawing the doors very securely shut.
Remus looked to Peter, who once again looked back and helplessly shrugged.
“The next time Sirius jumps on the table and shouts ‘Saturday Night Fever,’” Remus remarked, “I’m going to hex him into an alternate dimension where his talents will be appreciated.”
“I’m just going to boogie in the other direction,” Peter sighed. “As fast as I can.”