Interviewer (I): Hi Sirius, thanks for joining us.
Sirius (S): Us? Marty, there’s just you. Are you sure you’re better after all that flu potion you took? Because I’m telling you, you went a little crazy for a while. Uh ... more than you are already, of course.
I: I’m fine. Would you say your concern for me was a reflection of your deeply sensitive inner being, desperate to shine through?
S: No. The words “deeply sensitive” and “Sirius Black” are not words which should legally be mixed.
I: Whatever you say. What is your most treasured memory of the Marauders?
S: Treasured memory? I don’t know. I prefer living memories to remembering them. I guess ... well. There was the time we got a little drunk for Moony’s birthday last year and then we found ourselves hanging out of the window of Dumbledore’s office, because we were trying to sneak in, until it occurred to us that he might notice our less than sobriety and then we had to wait for someone to see us, only there was this phoenix, right and ... yeah, that was one fun night.
I: Ah, the Window Incident of ’75. You’re right, that was quite amusing.
S: You knew about that?
I: I know about everything. If the naming of this book was up to you, what would it be?
S: Hmm ... definitely something along the lines of ... um ... “Marauder Madness” ... no, that’s rubbish ... “Monkey Madness” ... no, “Monkey Marauder” ... no ... “Sirius Black and his Amazing Flying Cardigan”!
I: Wow. Uh. Thanks. I’ll definitely consider it.
S: I bet you will, you little minx.
Chapter Seventeen: Most Indubitably
[Remus]
“Moony, Moony, Moony, we need your help!”
I turn around to find James pelting towards me and Marty in full Quidditch uniform. We are on our way to the match now, planning on meeting Sirius and Peter in the stands, since they had gone ahead to get good seats.
“No way, Prongs,” I say, suspecting what this is about. “I’ve told you, not in a million years. You’ll just have to find someone else. I don’t care how bad your player’s hangover is, you know I can’t play Quidditch. I’m only a reserve because you bullied me into it, despite my assurances that I will never, ever play a game publicly. You do remember that conversation, don’t you? The one where I agreed to be a reserve, but only if you promised never to make me actually play because I can’t?”
“Of course you can, it’s easy. Anyway, this isn’t about reserves, although one day I will get you on that pitch. Actually, it sort of is about reserves, but not for the team. We need you to commentate.”
Oh Merlin. It’s worse than I thought.
“You need me to do what? No way! I can’t! What happened to McJacks?”
“What do you think happened to McJacks?” James asks, rolling his eyes. “What always happens to McJacks. Hangover the size of Timbuktu. Wherever that is. Come on, it’ll be just this once.”
“Do you mean Greg McJacks?” Marty asks. “The seventh year who did that naked cancan last year after a bit too much Firewhiskey? He’s the commentator? Why did anyone think he would be reliable?”
“They didn’t,” James explains, grabbing each of us by an arm and dragging us with him towards the pitch. “Only no one thought to get a replacement, because he always makes it to the games. Only it was his best mate’s birthday last night and apparently things got a bit more wild than usual, something about a toucan. So McGonagall came to me just now in the changing rooms and asked me to recommend someone.”
“What about Sirius?” I ask, desperately. The thought of all those people listening to my voice trying to sound expertise fills me with horror. Especially since it’s the full moon next week, so I don’t really feel that much up to anything at all. Which James well knows.
“Well, obviously that was my first choice,” he admits. “Only she said something along the lines of ‘under no circumstances are you turning this game into a totally uncouth ravage of biased expletives and dirty innuendo, James Potter.’ Which is fair enough, although a little bit harsh.”
“True though,” I admit begrudgingly.
“So I tried to think of the least uncouth person I know and came up with you. She nearly wet herself with excitement, about how it would be good for you to get involved in things. You can’t really get out of it now, mate.”
I groan. “Thanks a lot, James. You’re a true pal.” If by ‘pal’, I mean ‘total and utter idiotic nuisance who should stick his stupid broomstick up his backside, along with his helpful ideas about who should be reserves for people who don’t know when too much liqueur is enough’. Which I do.
“I think it’s a great idea!” Marty says as we near the teacher’s stand, where the scoreboard and commentator’s seat is. “Can I do it, too? We could be like a duo!”
“Or,” I say quickly, seeing my opportunity. “We could be like a duo ... but with only one person actually commentating. Meaning you.”
She shakes her head. “I don’t know enough about the rules. I need you to help me.”
“Come on, Moony, you do it for us when we play socially ... this is just like that, only on a larger scale. Besides, I already told McGonagall you’d agree.”
“Oh, thanks. Don’t I get any say?” I ask, although I am already resigning myself to the answer.
“I’ll do it with you,” Marty insists. “It will be fun.”
“Well, whatever happens, I have to go,” James says, running his hand through his hair and checking his watch. “Just make sure one of you does it. And wish us luck!”
“Damn you to hell, James Potter!”
He runs off towards the changing rooms, probably so that he can give his team an absurdly overdramatic pep talk. I know, because Phyllis Goodman, one of the Beaters, told me and Sirius about them once. Mostly she was flirting with Sirius. But also telling us about how James is insanely overambitious and power hungry. Which I can believe.
I sigh. Marty looks up at me, pleadingly, eyes wide, desperate for me to agree to the duo idea. I guess it’s better than doing it on my own.
“Fine,” I say.
“Goodie!” she’s squeals, clapping her hands and jumping up and down. “Let’s go!”
[Marty]
Commentating the Quidditch match with Remus is the most fun I have since I come out of the Hospital Wing.
We perform the Sonorus charms on ourselves and then he says reluctantly, “Hello and welcome to this Gryffindor Vs Ravenclaw match, on October 28th, 1975!”
“We’re Marty Price and Remus Lupin,” I say. “Commentating today instead of Greg McJacks, who I hear had a bit too much fun last night, if you know what I mean. But don’t worry, because even though I know nothing about Quidditch, I am able to tell you almost everything there is to know about protest marches.”
“Which, as I’m sure you will all agree,” Remus says sarcastically to the audience, “is extremely useful when commentating such a prestigious sporting event as this.” There is a ripple of laughter from the friendlier houses and McGonagall smiles at us approvingly and nods her head. For someone who was desperate not to have to do this, Remus sure seems to be enjoying it.
“So, tell me then, Remus, where are we with scores and things?” I ask, since McJacks always does a quick overview of where the teams are in the overall scheme of things and what rides on the match ahead. When he’s not too drunk to care, that is. Only I haven’t got a clue, because I tend to switch off when James starts explaining those things and before I met the Marauders I just sat in the crowd and cheered.
“Well, Marty, as we know ...”
Even now I can’t help but let my mind wander as Remus begins churning out numbers and odds that apparently have some kind of significance. Instead, I watch as the referee begins preparing the balls and look over to the entrance of the changing rooms, waiting for James, his team and the Ravenclaws to walk onto the pitch.
“... And that’s why it’s pivotal for Gryffindor to win this match if they want to have a good chance of getting to the final,” Remus concludes.
“And Ravenclaw,” I add, so as not to be biased.
“Well, them too, I suppose,” Remus says. “Only kidding, Ravenclaws. Let’s hope it’s a good match, I’m sure Potter has been whipping his team into shape and I hear those ’Claw’s are wanting to put up a good fight, so ...” he trails off and looks a little panicked, as if he doesn’t know what to say next.
McGonagall leans over and whispers in my ear, “You can call the teams now.”
“So let’s get this show on the road!” I cry and then cringe at the terrible figure of speech. “Here’s the Gryffindors now, captained, of course, by James Potter of sixth year. Excellent gent, so I’ve heard, shame about the size of his head.”
James looks up at the commentator stand from the pitch and I give him a waggle of my fingers and laugh.
“All right, all right, no flirting, Miss Price,” Remus says and the crowd laughs again. This is brilliant. I’m having the time of my life. Who knew commentating could be such fun?
“And there’s Ravenclaw!” I say, grinning over at Remus. He smiles.
“Captained by fifth year Isabella Staunt, this will be her first game as Captain, so she’s got a lot to prove, let’s hope James will go easy on her.”
“The Captains shake hands,” I say, as James looks determined and Isabella looks faintly scared. “They mount their brooms,” I continue, into the near silence. The referee blows his whistle. “And they’re off!” I cry, as James kicks from the ground and shoots after the Quaffle.
“James “ I mean, Potter is already in possession and zooming down the pitch towards the Ravenclaw goalposts, wasting no time.”
“Why is it called being in possession, I wonder?” I ask.
“I haven’t a clue,” Remus replies. “Potter passes to Andrews, narrowly missing opposing Ravenclaw chaser Keane, while the Beaters start circling the pitch, waiting for the right targets.”
“Like vultures circling prey,” I mutter. Remus throws me a slightly bewildered look. “Not you, of course, Phyll, you’re not a vulture,” I add quickly, for fear of what might happen in the Dorms later if Phyll heard me referring to her as a vulture in front of the whole school. “Oh, look, Ravenclaw has the ball. James won’t be happy about that.”
“Yes, thank you, Marty, that’s Davidson in possession, except “ no, wait, there goes James “ uh, Potter, swooping in there between that throw and regaining possession for Gryffindor. Come on, now, James, you can do it ...”
“Gryffindor score!” I squeal, jumping up in my seat along with half the crowd and celebrating, as James does a loop-de-loop.
“Ten points to Gryffindor!” Remus calls over the top of the cheering. “Well done, mate “ watch out for that Bludger!”
James stops celebrating and drops in the air, so that the Bludger goes shooting over his head and the game continues.
After about half an hour of friendly banter and actual commentating of events, things suddenly start to heat up a bit. The Ravenclaws are definitely keeping their word and putting up a good fight, so that the scores are perfectly equal now and the lead keeps dipping between one team, then the other.
“What’s Smithy doing?” I ask, as our Seeker, Louisa Smith (only ever referred to as Smithy) suddenly dive bombs towards the ground, a look of determination on her face.
“Has she seen the Snitch?” Remus asks, leaning over in his seat. “Or is it a feint? Obviously Ravenclaw can’t take the risk, Staunt goes straight after her. I wouldn’t like to see those two in a fight, that’s for sure, although I’m sure Sirius Black would get some kind of sick pleasure out of it, they’re both very determined ladies “”
“Remus!” I scold, slightly shocked. “Honestly! Boys!”
“Smith pulls out of the dive,” Remus continues, winking at me.
“Staunt follows suit, she doesn’t look happy about being tricked, but “ wait! Has she seen something?” Isabella suddenly rockets off towards the Gryffindor goalposts and Smithy isn’t far behind.
“I think she has!” Remus yells, standing up along with the rest of the crowd in excitement. “Come on, Smithy!” he shouts and I almost laugh to see him getting so excited.
“They’re almost neck-and-neck!” I cry, getting quite into it myself. “Come on, guys, you can make it! Yes! That’s it! Almost there!”
“Louisa Smith gets the Snitch!” Remus roars, as the crowds explode. “Gryffindor wins! Thank you, Smithy!”
He turns round and pulls me into a hug as we jump up and down together.
“Go, go, go Gryffindor!” I cheer and Remus lets go. We watch as the team crowd over to Smithy and start hugging her, James looking like he might just die of relief.
“I think it’s safe to say,” Remus says over the din, “That there’ll be a party in the Common Room tonight!”
“I think you might just be right,” I reply, grinning over at him in the excitement of it all. You know, I think this might be the first time I’ve really, truly enjoyed a Quidditch match.
“Congratulations Prongs and indeed Gryffindor,” Remus says. “That was a close one and congratulations to Ravenclaw for giving us a run for our money. Thank you all for coming and enjoy the rest of your weekend. Gryffindors, you know what’s left to do!”
They need no encouragement and spill onto the pitch towards their team in droves, Sirius in the lead, with Peter and the girls from the dorm not behind. Even Lily looks pleased and my eyes may be playing tricks on me, but little Luanne almost looks proud of her, uh, ‘father’ as he ruffles her hair and pats her on the back.
Remus and I remove the charms from our voice boxes and hurry down to the pitch to meet them, too.
“Right,” Sirius says loudly. “I think the party should begin any minute now. What say you, Mr Prongs?”
“I concur most indubitably, Mr Padfoot,” James replies. “Oh and Marty, Remus ... I loved the duo idea.”
[Remus]
The party is a success, of course, as victory parties always are. Loads of people come up and say how much they enjoyed the commentary, even if some of it did get a little odd, with Marty doing 50% of the talking.
“Much better than when McJacks does it,” Mary MacDonald says. “All he does is talk about the score, as if anyone’s interested in that.”
I smile and glance over at James, who is, as a rule, much more interested in the score than topics such as why Gryffindor wears red and Ravenclaw wears blue and what that might give away about their tactics, or any of the other random things Marty ended up bringing up. Still, he seemed to enjoy it enough anyway and he’s certainly enjoying himself now, as he tells a group of star struck first and second years what a great responsibility it is to be Captain, but how ‘someone’s got to do it, so it might as well be someone who’s guaranteed to get us all the way to the top.’ I can’t help but notice both Lily and Luanne are looking rather sceptical at this and a little disgusted at his arrogance, only in an amused way. Even Lily.
If you ask me, despite the age difference, those two are very much alike. Both see James’s arrogance for what it really is and neither are afraid to talk back to him when he’s being particularly idiotic. But neither can help liking him for it, no matter how much they roll their eyes and pretend not to.
The next day or two I spend as ill feeling as I always do around full moon and on Monday night, the 30th, I am about ready fall asleep in my chair, even though it’s only six in the evening.
“Of course, full moon would be on Hallowe’en,” Peter says.
“Yeah, the Gods obviously have a sense of humour,” James chuckles.
“Yeah,” I mutter. “Yeah, it’s really witty.”
“So what are we going to do?” asks Sirius. “You know, about the, ah, little prank we had planned?”
“It’s your fault you forgot to check the calendar,” I point out, although to be honest I don’t care what they do, as long as they’re with me when it matters. “Besides, you don’t have to come with me. I’ll be fine on my own if Maraudering is more important to you,” I lie.
“Don’t talk tosh,” James says. Yes, he actually does say the word ‘tosh’. “We’ll just do it at lunch instead. Or ... yes ... yes, I have a great idea!”
Oh no.
“Marty,” James says. “You do it for us!”
I knew it. James’s great ideas never end well. Who does he think he is, jeopardising Marty’s reputation like it’s nothing? Like she’d actually want to be part of their stupid schoolboy pranks.
“Me? Are you serious?” Marty sounds thrilled. Okay, maybe she would want to be part of their stupid schoolboy pranks.
“Of course,” James says. “It’ll be easy. We’ll set everything up during the day, the complicated bits will be taken care of completely. All you’ll have to do is be on time and set off the trigger. It’s nothing overly complicated, just a fun little twist to the evening’s events ... what do you say, lads? Can we trust her with it?”
“Of course we can,” Peter says loyally. “And we can do some kind of ... we can have a kind of ‘courtesy of the Marauders’ thing set up, since we won’t actually be there.”
“Yes,” Sirius agrees, leaning forwards. “As in, saying that even though we’re not there in person, we can still wreak as much havoc. You know? It’ll make us look really powerful, really mysterious ... like we have spies everywhere ...”
Hey, wait a second, when did we become a government dictatorship? Oh, never mind. I don’t even care. As long as Marty knows what she’s getting herself into, they can do what they like.
And, as they begin planning and plotting the various details of their prank, while she scribbles furiously in The Book, it’s obvious that she knows perfectly well what she’s getting herself into. And loving it.
“Are you sure you’re okay with this, Marty?” I ask over the top of their excited planning. Because I feel weirdly responsible for her. “You know you could get into trouble?”
She smiles and scribbles something in her book, probably about my unstoppable concern for others or something (when really it’s just her). “Don’t worry, Remus,” she says as she writes. “I’ll be fine, I’m not scared of a little detention for The Cause.”
“Woah, wait,” I sit up slightly. “This isn’t a Cause, Marty, this is some stupid prank that ... I don’t even want to know what it is.”
“Keeping people in high spirits is just as important for The Cause as any campaign or petition,” she says, still writing furiously. How does she do that? Concentrate on what she is writing and what she is saying at the same time? “It means that when the important stuff does come up, the morale of the people is such that they are ready to start straight away.”
I sigh, too groggy feeling to argue. “Okay. Fine. Do what you like. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
“Don’t worry,” she chirps. “I won’t. But do you guys mind if, before I do the prank, I have my annual one-girl protest against the commercial use of pumpkins during the Hallowe’en period?”
Oh, Merlin. For a moment, I had forgotten about her weird pumpkin thing. The others assure her, however, that they don’t mind a bit. Does no one else find that thing with the pumpkins really odd?
Still, pumpkins are the last thing on my mind the next evening, when I should be going along to the Hallowe’en feast with everyone else. Instead, I am sneaking outside in the gathering darkness, heading for the Whomping Willow where I will wait for the others to come and join me.
When I am halfway to the blasted tree, I turn almost involuntarily and look through one of the brightly lit windows of the Great Hall, searching for Marty before I even realise what I’m doing. I can’t tell one person from another, of course, at this distance. But just thinking of her being there, sitting with Lily and the other girls, waiting for her moment to begin whatever it is she has agreed to begin, makes me feel just that bit better about what is going to happen.
I try not to think about why I’m so comforted by the thought of her being safe and happy. I’ve been trying to avoid a lot of those thoughts lately, actually. Despite the pumpkin thing, I think I might just “
Nothing. I might just nothing. I pull my cloak tighter around myself and hurry towards the Willow, searching in the grass for a large stick to touch the knot with.
[Marty]
As several of the younger and more excitable girls and boys begin screeching, I can’t help but feel proud of myself. Even if all I did was bring to life what my friends had already done themselves, there’s something oddly thrilling about being the cause of all this chaos. I twitch my wand very discreetly and a large cloth unfolds above the teachers’ table out of thin air, hanging suspended above the staff for all to see.
Courtesy of MWPP ... There Is No Escape
I twitch my wand for a third time and the food on the tables “ green worms where there should be green beans, miniature eyeballs where there should be peas, balled up spiders webs where there should be mashed potato, complete with spiders “ begins to fade back to its original form. It’s actually very exciting being a prankster, I’m finding. Okay, none of the spell work is my own, or the planning, or the ideas, but just being the trigger is enough. If there weren’t so many pumpkins about and if all of my friends were actually here, I would be really enjoying myself.
Except that they aren’t all here and there are pumpkins about, despite my annual one-girl protest. Not that I don’t like pumpkins “ in fact, I love them. That’s why we (meaning me, my Aunt Tabby and my Mum. In the old days, that is, when we were all alive) never drink, or drank, pumpkin juice and always made paper pumpkin decorations at Hallowe’en. We only served the juice in Taffy’s due to popular demand. It was “ and still is, I suppose “ a business, after all. Okay. Some people (particularly Remus, actually) find the pumpkin thing weird. To be honest, I don’t really remember what’s so wrong with drinking the juice and using them as decorations. But I’m not about to change the habit of a lifetime, no matter how disconcerted Remus gets. Plus, it’s hilarious to watch his eyes go crazy, but he never says anything about it, because he’s too polite.
Laughter begins to outweigh the screaming and when people read the banner, they begin to look around to congratulate the Marauders on another job well done ... only to find that they’re not here.
“Marty,” Lily begins, cautiously. “Where are your ... other friends?”
The Shrieking Shack, I want to say. “I don’t know, actually,” I lie, trying not to look her in the eye, under the pretence of studying the carrots, which are halfway between orange slugs and vegetables.
“Did they tell you they were planning this?”
I helped them do it, I think. “No, I had no idea ... shows how much they tell me, doesn’t it? It’s very good magic, though, isn’t it?”
Lily looks unconvinced. “How would they do it if they’re not here?” she asks, checking under the tables as if she expects them to be hiding there.
Get me to. “I haven’t got a clue ... it does add to the prank a bit, though, doesn’t it? Makes it more advanced seeming than just a large scale deception charm.”
“How do you know that’s how they did it?” Lily asks, suspiciously.
I was the trigger. “I don’t. Just guessing.”
“All right, everybody, settle down,” McGonagall calls, sounding exasperated. And why wouldn’t she, with all these pumpkins on show? “The food is back to normal and perfectly edible, don’t worry. When I find the culprits, I’ll be sure to punish them.” She takes out her own wand and banishes the flying banner to a corner, where it will be out of sight.
“You know, Marty,” Lily says as normality is somewhat resumed. “I don’t think you’re being entirely truthful with me.”
“Don’t you?” I ask, innocently. Luckily, Lily looks more amused than anything.
“Good thing I’m not planning on pressing the matter further,” she says.
“That is a good thing,” I agree, smiling knowingly at her for a moment, before innocently reaching for the potatoes “ cobweb free now, thankfully “ and piling them on my plate.
“Because to be honest, I don’t want to know,” Lily admits, sighing and shaking her head.
“Funny,” I reply thoughtfully. “That’s what Remus said.”
Lily snorts with laughter, which soon sets me off too.
“Wasn’t that brilliant?” Mary asks, turning to us and grinning. “I bet James was behind it, he’s always been the brains of the group, hasn’t he?”
This succeeds only in making us laugh harder.
When the giggles finally subside, I happen to glance towards the ceiling and see the full moon hanging in the sky. I sober up a lot quicker and I suddenly ache for poor Remus, going through agony while I sit here, enjoying the feast, warm and surrounded by friends. But I’m comforted knowing that, while he may not be enjoying himself, at least he, too, has friends around him. Still. I want to help him. But how can I? There’s nothing I can do. I’m no Animagus and I’d be terrified of doing it illegally anyway. I suppose all I can do is support him when it’s over.
The feast is soon finished and the next morning I am eating breakfast, putting the finishing artistic touches on a ‘Get Well Soon’ card I made last night (with Lily’s help on some of the trickier charms, of course).
“So that’s where they are?” she had said, as we sat by the dying fire in the Common Room. “With Remus?”
“Yes,” I said. “He’s ill again. But he didn’t want everyone knowing. So the prank also helped to account for their absences ... by drawing attention to them, I guess.”
“I thought they were just being pompous gits, as usual,” Lily said, in a pleasantly surprised manner. “But they’re staying with their friend, rather than coming to a splendid feast?”
“They’ve never been pompous gits,” I insisted. She looked sceptical. “Well. Maybe a bit. But you know it’s just an act, don’t you?”
Lily sighed. “I suppose so. But still. They really do know how to make me mad sometimes.”
“You mean James does.”
“Well. Yes. I mean James does. Stupid arrogant arse,” she muttered. But not like she meant it at all.
I smile now as I think about it and am glad to be helping Remus, even if it is just a charmed card. It’s a good feeling to know that you’re helping a friend, even in the smallest of ways.
I swot away an owl that keeps trying to get too close to my handiwork. And then I realise it’s trying to deliver a letter to me, only I hadn’t quite noticed.
“Sorry,” I say, taking the letter and offering the owl some toast. I recognise it as Garfield’s, the man Aunt Tabby has been staying with since Mum died. She has been using his owl to write to me, since we never had our own and she’d rather do that for free than use the ones from the post office.
I open the letter and scan the contents, taking a sip of water as I do so (not pumpkin juice, of course, even if it is more out of habit these days than actual protest).
The letter contains all the usual things ... she and Garfield are glad of each others company ... business is going well ... would I be willing to “
What? I read that part again. My hand almost drops the goblet I am holding, it starts shaking so hard. She can’t be serious. She can’t honestly expect ...
My blood runs cold at the very thought.
AN: Whoops, cliffhanger there! You can guess what Aunt Tabby wants, if you like, but you’ll have to wait until the next chapter to find out if you’re right ... in the meantime, don’t forget to drop me a review and tell me what you think!