![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Woohoo, party!
I know you're not exactly interested in Supernatural, but it's your birthday and I wanted to write you something. So, even though I'm a little rusty, I give you a ficlet about Mssrs. Moony, Padfoot, Prongs, and Wormtail being very silly and boyish. I hope you like it and that you have a fabulous day, hon. ♥
PG | ~700 words | Gen
“I’m blind. You’ve made me blind, I can’t see anything, my eyes are gone,” Remus says, stepping into the common room.
Sirius sits up straighter on the couch, indignant as a pup that’s had his tail stepped on. The room is covered in bright, sparkling, gaudy pink streamers, and it looks like that one strand over there is trying to make a break for it. Almost reluctantly, Remus tears his eyes away from the homicidal crepe paper.
Sirius lopes over to him, clearly intent on showing Remus the error of his ways. “Is that any way to thank your mates for a Wonderful Birthday Surprise? We made cake!”
The cake is suddenly in Remus’s face, just as horribly pink and sugary as the rest of the room. On top it says ‘Appy Dirfday Remof’ in hideous green icing. “You made cake,” Remus repeats, bewildered.
“The boy has a brain!” James says happily, coming out from behind the couch. Remus doesn’t even want to know why he was behind the couch. There are fuzz balls in his hair. “Padfoot baked the cake all by himself – the muggle way. Aren’t you proud?”
“Actually, proud isn’t exactly the word—”
“Of course you’re proud!” Sirius exclaims, throwing his arms up in the air like he just doesn’t care. There’s a bang off in the distance. Remus thinks it might actually be coming from their dormitory and that’s when he realizes Peter isn’t there.
“Where’s Pete?” he asks, curiously. James stops, mid-step, where he’s doing the foxtrot over by the fireplace and shares a glance with Sirius.
Sirius clears his throat. “He’s just wrapping one of your presents. James and I left the good man to it since we were busy with decorations.”
A nameless horror settles in the pit of Remus’s stomach. He vividly remembers the last time Peter and wrapping paper were left alone together, and the memory isn’t pretty. James was spellotaped to the ceiling and Sirius had bits of green tissue paper coming out of his nose instead of snot for weeks.
“James, what did you do?” Remus says slowly, because surely James must at least remember the misery. James ruffles his fringe nervously and shares another look with Sirius, who starts quietly inching off towards the staircase up to the dormitories.
“Oh, no you don’t,” Remus says, snapping out a hand and grabbing the back of Sirius’s robes. He gives James a filthy look. “All three of us are going up there. Together.”
Sirius pouts, but doesn’t complain, taking out his wand at Remus’s command. James does the same, and the three of them head up the cold stone steps. Every floor they pass that brings them closer to their dorm at the top has Remus’s belly tightening, tightening until he feels like maybe his intestines are doing a nicely choreographed acrobatic number, or maybe the tango.
Finally, they’re standing outside their own dormitory. Another huge bang sounds, and Remus notices the smoke peeking around the edges of the door.
“On three,” he says, “one, two –”
Sirius and James both let out a war warble, throwing themselves at the door and tripping into the room. With the pathway clear, Remus can see the massive army of wrapping paper squares, lined up behind a paper roll that looks suspiciously like it has a tiny mustache. And poor Pete is in the middle of it all, tied up in red Christmas ribbon, a bow perched precariously on his nose.
Honestly, Remus doesn’t even want to know. He throws a few hexes at the paper army, but it seems they just keep coming back, doubled, so he goes instead for the Hitler-roll, dodging a few wayward curses as Sirius and James are taken down by the spellotape brigade.
He shouts a final cutting spell at the paper roll, and it’s like time stops in the room for a moment – the wallpaper army falls flat, the ribbons around Pete flutter harmlessly to the floor. The other two are still covered in sticky tape, but they aren’t stuck to the ceiling, so Remus supposes this was entirely a victory.
“Happy Birthday?” Peter says hesitantly, and the bow is still affixed to his nose, so Remus can’t help the snort or the full on laughter that follows right after.