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Sirius grinned cheekily. “But Mum, I don’t want to!”
James glared his fellow Marauder from where he stood below the table, trying very hard not to look at McGonagall, whose lips were nearing the point of implosion from all that compression. A part of his mind idly noted that that might be a physical possibility. “I said get down!” He hissed under his breath, “You’re ruining my one and only chance to impress Evans!” Sirius grinned even bigger. “What’s that, Jamesy? You want to impress—oof!” James had hit him with a jelly-legs hex, and he literally slid off the table and onto the floor, where he looked up at a smirking James, who said, “Don’t you remember what happened last time? I still have nightmares!”
“What, you mean my lovely performance?” Sirius huffed. “I was HELPING you, Prongs!”
“How, by singing that bloody awful song?”
Sirius was up on “stage” (read: the staff table), hair charmed bright-pink and screeching—he really couldn’t sing so well—“I’m a little teapot, short and stout! Here is my handle, there—oh, damn, there is my—scout? Spout! Yadda yadda I don’t know this Muggle song...tipmeoverandpourmeout! Dink dink dink dink dink dink waa waa waaaaaahhahhaaaaaahhhhh...EvansgooutwithProngs...yaaaaaaahhhhh yahhh yaaaahhhh yaahhhh pleasepleaseplease—” gasp for breath “—SNORK waaaaaiiiiyyyahahhhhhhhhh...”
Evans was laughing hysterically at the horrific noises the Marauder was making. James was trying not to hex his friend. The Slytherins looked, depending on the person, like they were about to have aneurysms or suffocate from laughing into their puddings. McGonagall, not surprisingly, looked about to snap her wand in half—Sirius got detention for a week—and Dumbledore appeared to be enjoying the whole spectacle.
“Yes! I was making myself look bad so Evans would see how good you were in comparison!”
James pondered this for a minute. He realized two things simultaneously: he had been gravely insulted, and McGonagall looked ready to launch herself across the table. “Truce,” he said hurriedly, and muttered the counter-curse. Sirius jumped up, dusted himself off, ran a hand through his unfairly-perfect hair, and swaggered off down the aisle between the tables, a blinding smile on his unfairly-perfect face. James groaned. Evans was sitting there, looking...pleased? He instantly forgot The Wrath of McGonagall in a haze of pink and flowers and Lily’s wonderful perfume, and his grin rivaled Sirius’s.
They returned to the common room in Gryffindor Tower. Sirius flopped on the couch by the fire and began twirling his wand. James rolled his eyes. “How much detention did we get this time? Or, should I say, how much did you get?”
“We got 3 days.”
“You git! You dragged me into this?”
“What are friends for?” Sirius winked.
James noticed Lily watching this little exchange. He ruffled his hair and said in a deeper voice, “You can’t put this on me, Padfoot. I tried to stop you. I’m going to go see McGonagall—I mean, Professor McGonagall—about this.”
Sirius looked dumbfounded for a moment, then he grinned evilly. Tonight’s display was, of course, revenge for James’s telling the entire House that Sirius slept with a pink stuffed animal—strictly untrue, of course. As the lanky boy headed for the door, Sirius called out gleefully, “James, for the last time, dressing up as a belly dancer and giving Professor McGonnagal a lap dance is not going to get you out of detention.”
James turned. He looked at Sirius, Remus, Peter, and Lily. The latter was giving him the oddest look, and he realized that it was suppressed amusement. Amusement might have been too mild a term. Lily choked and began positively howling with laughter. James dove on Sirius and wrestled him to the floor.
Sometime between James’s pulling Sirius’s hair out (“My hair! My beautiful hair!”) and Sirius crushing James’s glasses into the carpet, Remus yelled, “Stop!” In fact, he yelled this several times, and it was only on Peter’s suggestion of “Simon Says with firewhiskey!” that Sirius suddenly stopped punching James in the ribs—“all in fun”, as the friends claimed later—and looked very interested. Lily rolled her eyes and went off to get her girl friends.
Three bottles later...
“Simon sayyyys...yourrrrre out!” Sirius slurred triumphantly. Remus leaned over and clapped him on the shoulder. “You don’ttt do Sim’n Sayz OUT,” he exclaimed, “you tell’m siddown.”
“Riiiiiight. You heard Moony. You, kid in the purplllle, siddown. Yerrout.”
She fell on her rump and giggled. Only Lily and James were left standing, and that just barely.
“Siiimon sayssssss...” Remus leaned over and half-whispered something in his fellow Marauder’s ear. Sirius grinned drunkenly. “Go out with the perssooon next t’you!”
Unbelievably, James didn’t seem to comprehend this. It was Lily who grabbed him and kissed him full on the mouth. “I liked the teap’t song Siriiiii sang for you James,” she said loudly. James, reeling from the kiss, found that he now fully comprehended everything, including trigonometric equations written in binary—or Martian—and he winked at his friend. “I toooold him t’do that, y’know.” And no one, downing their next shot of firewhiskey, argued.