S. O. B.


"Hah! Sirius—Padfoot, guess what I just realized!"

"What, Moony?"

"You're an S.O.B."

"Well fuck, Moony, I know I screwed up with that whole Snape thing, but you said weeks ago that you'd forgiven me! And now—what the hell?"

"No—no—wait, Padfoot, come back! I didn't mean—"

". . ."

"Aw, sod it."


"What the bloody hell is wrong with him, James, huh? What is his problem?"

"Whoa, Padfoot, mate, slow down. What in the name of Godric Gryffindor are you talking about?"

"Remus, mate, Remus!"

"Um. . . okay? Still don't get it."

"I thought he'd put that whole—y'know—moment of temporary insanity on my part—behind him. I thought he'd damned well forgiven me and moved on!"

"Erm—he did, Sirius. I was there. Remus hugged you and you started to cry and then Peter tossed his—"

"Okay, Prongs, I get the the picture. Which is how come I don't understand why just ten minutes ago in the hallway he called me an S.O.B!"

"He called you a son of a bitch?"

"That's what I said, isn't it?"

"Ouch. That's harsh, mate. Not off the mark, if you want to get technical about it, but still harsh."

"Like I said—what is his problem?"

"No idea. But as surely as I will one day marry Lily Evans and raise dozens of little green-eyed Potter babies with her, I will help you figure this out!"

"Shit. I'm on my own."


"Ahem—if a certain Mr. Moony would kindly remove his nose from the terribly monotonous-looking reading material?"


"Yes, yes, let's cut the pleasantries, why don't we? I think you know what I'm here to discuss."

"I'm sorry—Prongs—what the hell? Erm—excuse my language."

"Oh, you're just a regular cursing machine these days, aren't you, Remus John Lupin?"

"What are you—"

"I think you know. You're my best friend, Moony, but Padfoot and Wormtail are also my best friends, and I don't like to see one of my best friends being deliberately cruel toward another one of my best friends. Now, I completely understand that it took you a little time to get over Padfoot's—erm—massive slip-up—and forgive him for that—but now this? This is—is—absolute mistreatment! Friend abuse! I never would have thought it possible from you, Moony, and—"

"James, if you're talking about Sirius not getting that—"

"—and you know how sensitive Sirius is about his family! His mother most especially! Now he's confused and hurt and—and—how could you, Remus? How could you?"

"Look, I wasn't trying to be cruel, it was just a—"

"Save the excuses, Lupin, 'cause no one's buying them. All I've got to say is that you owe Padfoot a fat bleeding apology."

"James! Oh, bloody—James, wait! Come back!"

". . ."

"Aw, sod it."


"Well, Prongs, what did he say?"

"Erm—oh, haha—y'know it's funny, really, but I might have turned just a little—um—dramatic while I was trying to talk to him. Err—"

"Dramatic? What do you mean, dramatic?"

"Cool it, Padfoot—I just meant—umm—you know, it really is humorous—I may have gotten a bit, erm, caught up in the—ah—the heat of the moment."

"James. . ."

"Ah—well—I, err, may have done most of the—um—vocalization."

"You mean you didn't give him a chance to say anything?"

"Umm—haha—erm. . ."

"Oh, damn it, Prongs!"

"Hey—all right, now, let's not pop a blood vessel, mate. Why can't you just talk to him?"

"You're bloody mad if you think I'm facing Remus while he's pissed at me—I've learned much better in the past couple of months, thanks anyways."

"Well—are you sure he's angry with you?"

"He called me an S.O.B., for Merlin's sake!"

"Yes, yes, I know the story."

"Well what are we going to do now?"

"No worries, mate, no worries. We've still got another Marauder up our sleeves."


"Pete! Let's chat, eh?"

"Oh, hey Prongs. Erm—when you say chat, you don't mean blather on about Lily Evans, do you? Because, really—"

"Moi? Blather? I should hope not. And no, nothing about the red-haired, green-eyed, most beautiful goddess of Gryffindor tower right now, Wormy. Rather, I'd like to discuss a certain canine, if you get my drift."

"You mean Sirius?"

"Not quite."


"No—that would be feline."


"No—that would be asinine. I meant Remus! I would like to talk about Remus."

"Well you could have just said so. What about Remus?"

"Well, Wormtail, have you talked to him in, oh, the past thirty minutes or so?"

"Um—yeah. The four of us had Charms last period together. . ."

"Well—do you have any clue what his motives might be for referring to a fellow canine, if you will, as—"

"You mean Sirius this time, right?"

"—for calling Sirius a son of a bitch?"

"Um—well, Padfoot's mum is rather—"

"Yes, Peter, but Remus is his friend, and friends don't call friends sons of bitches! Not unless they're very angry with each other. Have you got any idea why Mr. Moony might be angry with Mr. Padfoot?"

"I thought they were all 'best mates again' ever since—well, I don't really like to think about it, thank you. Especially not after having just finished a pack of Bertie Bott's."

"Right—well—absolutely no idea why he might be pissed at Sirius, then?"

"None whatsoever, Prongs."

"Maybe you—err—want to talk to Remus about it? Sirius is upstairs sinking into a deep depression, as it is. Perhaps you could convince him to apologize? I would but—well, I've tried already, and—you know—he's in the library and Lily Evans is here in the common room, and she's wearing that amazing Muggle skirt—"

"Got it. I'll be off, then."


"Hey Moony. How's it going?"

"Peter! You—err—aren't here to yell at me, are you?"

"Course not, mate. Course not. Simply here to inquire about a rumor I've heard, um, milling about. Or—y'know—from James."

"Oh dear. Look, I tried to explain it to both of them, but—"

"Well, so you did then?"


"You called Sirius a son of a bitch?"

"No! Well—not really. In a sense—"


"No, no—I called him an S.O.B. You see? But I think he took it rather personally. . ."

"Well who wouldn't take it personally, Moony? You can't just go around calling your friends names like that!"

"Honestly Peter—"

"Why in the eleven hells—"

"Seven, you mean. Though really it's nine, if you're referring to Dante's—"

"—would you say that to him, Remus?"

"I—it was just—"

"Never mind, never mind. Doesn't matter now, I suppose—the damage is done. Look, you kind of hurt Padfoot's feelings or—whatever. You might want to apologize—he's up in the dorms sulking, I think."

"Fine. I'll apologize to Sirius. God help me."



"Err—James. If you're going to yell—"

"No, no, mate. Not at all. In fact, I'm—ah—rather sorry about that little—display—earlier. I'm worried that rather than encouraging you to apologize I simply caused you to become disinclined—"

"Right. Well, no worries. What are you doing up here? And where's Sirius?"

"Ah, well, I thought I'd try to help my best mate pull through these dark, dark times. Padfoot's behind the bed curtains—you know how he gets those bouts of sulkiness and whatnot. Hah! And to think he teases you about PMS."

"I can hear you, you idiot!"

"Well—anyway, James, um—if you could just get him to come out, maybe—I was planning on apolo—"

"Perfect, perfect! Sirius! Stop sulking and come out from behind the bed curtains! Right now! Okay—you two just kiss and make up—I'll bring Pete up with me in a few to make sure no irreversible physical damage has been done, etcetera. Gotta run—when I left the common room, Lily had her legs crossed!"






"I'm sorry."

"Why did you say it in the first place?"

"I—it was a joke, Sirius!"

"Poor excuse for a joke, calling someone a son of a bitch!"

"Oh, Merlin—I wasn't—it was a pun on your initials. S.O.B. Sirius Orion Black. I never wanted to insult you!"

". . ."

"I figured there weren't really enough stupid puns to go with your first name and your surname already. Thought you needed one for your initials, too."

". . ."

"That was sarcasm."

". . ."

"Sirius, please say something. I know it wasn't exactly the wittiest thing I've ever—oh."



"I'm so sorry, Moony! I—I—just—it was so awful before—and I thought maybe I'd done something wrong again—and I hate it when you're mad at me—and I'm so dense, I should have realized—mmph."



"Padfoot—I didn't realize—"

"Fuck, Moony, you must think I'm—"

"Just—should we even—we're both—mm."




"Damn it, mates! Irreversible physical damage to my eyes! When I said kiss and make up, I didn't mean litera—oh, God!"

". . ."

"Fuck, Peter, not on my new shoes!"