Of Pranks and Pineapples

Remus Lupin has been spending an increasing amount of time living at 12 Grimmauld Place. He doesn't need to, not really. He could just easily have remained at his cottage outside Kent when not on missions. Grimmauld Place is by no means an inviting place. It's all dark corners and ancient shadows which speak of misery. There is only one reason that he chooses to remain in this mausoleum of a house, not a home at all. Sirius Black is that reason.

The Sirius Black that he remembers from decades past does not belong in a house like this. That Sirius Black was technicolor, all brightness and laughter and friendship. The Sirius Black that resides in Grimmauld Place with him has turned to shadows, fading into the dark woodwork of his childhood home, as if the gloom of it could consume him completely. Rationally, Remus realizes that this is hardly Sirius's fault. The years spent in Azkaban have stolen an essential part of Sirius away, leaving behind only the bare necessities. The tiny irrational part of Remus that he wishes that he could keep locked up, locked up deep inside along with the other less savory parts of himself, hates Sirius just a little bit because of it.

It's been fourteen years of pain and regret without the respite provided by human companionship, and Remus fervently wants more than anything to have back the joy of times past. They can't have those times back though, not now, not ever. James is dead and Peter was never who he thought he was. Sirius is all that he has left, and Remus wants, not entirely selfishly, for his friend to be himself again. For Sirius to smile again.

And so, Remus begins to plot.

~*~

"WHAT THE BLOODY HELL?"

Remus looks up from the paperwork that he was doing for Dumbledore, glasses resting lightly on his nose and a firm smirk fixed across his face.

A few seconds later, an irate Sirius Black comes storming through the doorway into the kitchen, coming to a stop in front of Remus.

"Remus, why the bloody hell is my hair pink?" Sirius demanded.

Sure enough, Sirius's formerly dark locks were now a bright shade of fuschia. Even more amusing was that in his ire, Sirius's face had come to match his hair color.

"I thought that the house needed some brightening up."

"You thought that the house needed some brightening up? If you want to do some brightening up, you buy a bloody pot of flowers!"

"Look at it this way. At least now you have something to talk about with Nymphadora," Remus said somehow with a perfectly straight face.

Sirius continued to glare, stubbornly, as if hoping that the mere act of it would change his situation. When it didn't, he sighed and stomped back up the stairs, muttering all the way about sneaky, evil werewolves who have no consideration for their friends, none whatsoever.

Remus wasn't worried however. Behind the ire, there had been a spark. The same spark that existed every time James used to pull a prank on Sirius back in school. A spark that said while he was irritated that he was the victim, he approved of the very act of mischief. It wasn't much, but it was a start.

~*~

The following few days had found Remus nervously anticipating the revenge for his little hair-dye prank. Recalling the Great Mangos and McGonagall Debacle of 1975, Remus couldn't help but feel trepidation at what could potentially await him. He checked the hallways twice before exiting his room in the morning and was constantly looking over his shoulder. Of course, it is the way of the world that the moment he let his guard down was the moment when Sirius chose to enact his revenge.

It happened, most innocuously, when Remus chose to sit down at the kitchen table to continue his paperwork. His tea was brewed just the way he liked it, his notes organized, quill ready and then an unfortunate sound let loose the second his rear touched the seat of the chair.

"A whoopy cushion, Sirius? Really? I lived in fear for three days for something as hopelessly immature as a whoopy cushion?" Remus let out a sigh and rubbed the bridge of his nose in irritation.

"Perhaps I'm going through a mid-life crisis."

"At thirty-five?"

"Well, I feel older beyond my years."

"Besides that, doesn't a mid-life crisis usually imply going out to buy something ridiculous and shagging a girl half your age?"

"I can't exactly go walking down the street to buy myself a brand new motorcycle, now can I? About the girl though...." Sirius gave Remus an incorrigible grin.

"Do you think that Hermione would have me?"

Remus shuddered, paused a moment, and then shuddered again.

"Sirius, that's horrible. And I rather suspect that Ron Weasley would kill you."

"It hurts me to know that you have so little confidence in me, that you honestly believe that a fifteen year old could possibly best me."

"It hurts me to have the mental image of Hermione and you burned into my brain, so I think that you deserve what you get."

"Why are you against our love, Remus?" Sirius inquired with a broad grin which somehow managed to light up his gaunt features.

With no better reply in mind, Remus picked up the nearest heavy object from the table and lobbed it at Sirius's head.

"Fu-OUCH! What the-? Who the hell throws a pineapple?"

~*~

Between the whoopy cushion and the added insult which comes from a mental image so horrible that you have cleanse your brain with bleach, Remus knew that his retaliation would have to be good or he would never live it down.

However, try as he might, Remus couldn't quite come up with the perfect retaliation. It used to be so much easier when they were younger, full of exuberance and with a plethora of dung bombs at their fingertips. Now, faced with the cold realization that comes with age, Remus realizes that they just can't do things like that anymore.

Which, of course, is what led him to decide to begin idly flicking bits of crumpets towards Sirius's end of the table one morning in a final act of rebellion.

"Stop it."

"Stop what?"

"Stop flicking things at me! I thought that you were always the mature one between the two of us?"

"I was. But I can't think of anything better to do so I'm just going to keep flicking crumpets at you. Sorry, there's just no use for it. You can't stop me."

Remus watched with barely contained glee as Sirius arose from his chair across to the pantry and pulled out a container of ketchup which Arthur Weasley had bought needlessly the other day out of pure fascination. Before he could even begin to protest, Sirius approached him and proceeded to squirt said ketchup all over Remus's threadbare sweater and getting it all over his glasses.

Naturally, as any Marauder would, Remus grabbed at a jar of jam. Before he knew it, there was even more food and childish tackling and suddenly he and Sirius were spread across the kitchen floor at Grimmauld Place as if decades hadn't passed since they'd last done this in the Hogwarts kitchen. The floor was an intricately covered canvas, decorated with all manners of condiments surrounding them.

"Hey, Moony?"

Remus's ears perked up at the familiar and yet rarely used nickname and he raised his head up from the sticky floor.

"Yes, Padfoot?"

"Thanks."