It was becoming more and more difficult to concentrate on A Briefe Hystoree of Magicke as the noise in the common room slowly crept up past the average din made at a Quidditch World Cup final. Remus had considered the odd coincidences of his three friends being the only Gryffindors left over Christmas holidays a lucky break....a time to relax. Looking back, the concept seemed to be bordering on insanity.
“James, I’m going to hex your bollocks off if you don’t stop – hey, that was my spleen, you bastard!” Sirius came toppling over the back of an armchair, falling on Peter, who was taking a moment to recover from the “ninja attack” he’d attempted to execute on James earlier. Remus pushed his reading glasses up his nose and forced himself to ignore the resulting mass of adolescent boy on the floor.
“I win! Moony, did you see that? Got him right in the gut, I did! Moony?” Prongs waved his hands experimentally in front of the other boy’s face and, receiving no answer, reached out in a feat of practiced reflexes and snatched the not-so-brief tome from Remus’s hands. “In the year nine hundred and no one gives a damn, Some Pompous Bastard decreed something that no one remembered two days later,” he read aloud, mocking Professors Binns’s dry tone. “Honestly, Remus,” he muttered disapprovingly, handing the book back.
“Really, Moony, I don’t know how you stay awake,” groaned Sirius, collapsing into the couch and Remus’s shoulder simultaneously. “Where’d you learn to be so boring?”
“Oh,” Remus said wistfully, pulling a sweat-soaked strand of hair from Sirius’s face and then returning to his reading, “I suppose it’s something of a talent.”
