Upholding a Reputation

Chapter One--End of First Year

The Fleeing Feast

"We should do something."

Remus Lupin looked up from his books at James Potter, slightly irritated. Sirius Black, who had been methodically pulling the plumes off his quill with a level of concentration only the supremely bored can possess, looked up too.

James, noticing what he had come to think of as Remus's Annoyed Look, asked in a surprised voice, "Were you really studying, then?"

"Yes. Weren't you?"

"Nope. Just pretending." James grinned impishly at his friend's mildly appalled face. "Don't worry. I know it all already. 'Sides, I'm brilliant. Everyone says so."

"You want to watch that head, mate, or it'll get too big to fit through the portrait hole," Sirius advised him without any real conviction, tilting his chair back on two legs while attempting to balance the half-shredded quill on his nose. "Now, what were you saying about doing something?"

"Well, I reckon we should do one last thing. The perfect ending to our first year of pranks."

Sirius grinned. "I like the sound of that."

"You'd better keep it small," Remus warned.

"'You?' Not 'we?' As in, you're not gonna help?" James sounded confused. "But why?"

Remus had a mad urge to blurt out the truth, that he was a werewolf and the full moon fell too close to the feast for him to be thinking about anything but the exams he'd have to make up, but reigned in the urge just in time. James and Sirius were the first friends he could remember having, and he wasn't about to lose them because he couldn't hold his tongue. Not to mention all the trouble it would cause Dumbledore, the first person in authority to show him any kindness from the moment he was bitten at the age of four.

"I'll be busy studying. Finals and all. I won't be much help," Remus replied, looking down at his book. He comforted himself with the fact that this was technically true.

James shrugged, resigned. "I s'pose we owe you some peace and quiet. But if you get any ideas tell us."

Remus nodded and smiled at James before going back to studying.

"I personally think we should do something to Snivellus," Sirius said viciously, "Bloody greasy-haired, snot-nosed, slimy, back-stabbing, suck-up, perfect little Slytherin. My parents would love him," he concluded, which, for Sirius, was the worst insult of all.

James had stopped listening. "Slytherin..." he repeated absently, lost in thought. Then he sat up so quickly that he almost fell off his chair. "THAT'S IT!" he exclaimed, slightly too enthusiastically for a crowded common-room full of studying students.

Sirius was so startled that he let his chair fall back on all four legs with a thunk. Quite a few people looked up and even more shushed the three twelve-year-olds. Remus, who'd looked up at the noise as well, felt rather like cowering away from the stares of the frazzled-looking fifth and seventh years. "That's it!" James repeated, now whispering to Sirius. "That's it, that's it, that's it!"

"Potter," Sirius whisper-growled, "If you don't tell me what's it, I will be forced to hex you from here to France."

James grinned delightedly. "Why settle for Snivellus, when we can prank all the Slytherins?" Even whispering, he managed to sound triumphant.

Sirius' eyes widened, and a grin of pure anticipation spread slowly across his face as his fertile imagination began running through the possibilities. "James, you're brilliant!"

James smiled smugly. "I know."

Choosing to ignore that, Sirius whispered, "But can we do it?"

Remus, who had returned to his books, and was currently staring at the one in front of him a little too hard, gave a loud cough that sounded suspiciously like, "Small!"

"Remus is right, of course," Sirius said in a business-like tone, "We'll have to make it subtle. But what?"

His eyes wandered around the common room, as though looking for inspiration. They suddenly came to a rest and began shining reverently. James followed them to...Peter Pettigrew. The fourth and final member of their dormitory. James vaguely remembered hearing his name at the Sorting, though of course he was panicking too much at the time to really get a good look at him. Pettigrew was small and plump (due to his fondness for anything edible), with dirty blond hair and deep-set blue eyes the color of the sky, (or at least the sky when grey clouds didn't cover it. After all, this was Britain.) He had a tendency to squint, making his eyes appear smaller and beadier than they actually were, and also to water a great deal more than was strictly necessary. He wasn't really noticed by anyone but the teachers, and only then when he needed to be corrected for some particularly spectacular mistake in class. James had decided within three days that the boy wasn't worth his time.

"Pettigrew?" James whispered incredulously, "What'll we do, make him eat the Slytherins' feast?"

Sirius waved his hand dismissively. "Not Pettigrew. Well, not exactly. Look at what he's doing."

James looked.

Peter Pettigrew had been frantically practicing the Levitating Charm for the finals. If James hadn't heard him saying the spell in the background, he wouldn't have known that the other boy had been doing anything. The wand movements were all wrong, and the accents were on all the wrong syllables. By squinting, tilting his head slightly to the left, and looking very, very hard, James could just make out a gap between the table and the pencil box the small boy had been practicing on. Frankly, James was amazed Pettigrew had accomplished that. However, Pettigrew seemed satisfied and had reached for the box. It had moved imperceptibly so his hand just missed it when Sirius noticed him. By the time James was looking too, he was frustratedly chasing the box around the common room.

James snorted. "He can't do anything right."

Sirius grinned. "Exactly."

* * *

"Pass the chicken," fifth-year Slytherin Lucius Malfoy snapped to someone down the table. In this house, the least show of politeness meant weakness, and weakness meant... well, it meant a lot of things, and none of them were pleasant. Lucius made a point of never being weak, something that had quickly raised him up the Slytherin hierarchy. He was about as respected as some of the sixth years (though that may have had to do with the fact that his lackeys, Crabbe and Goyle, were extremely intimidating...).

Snapping out of his philosophical reverie, Lucius noticed that nobody was passing the chicken. "Must I do everything myself?" he muttered aggravatedly. Getting up, he managed to "accidentally" elbow the runt-of-a-third year next to him in the ribs. The student's yelp of pain gave him some satisfaction as he glided down the isle between the Slytherin and Ravenclaw tables.

A couple feet down from his original seat, he stopped in front of the elusive chicken, clearing his throat pointedly. The two first years yelped and slid aside, creating space through which Lucius could reach for something on the table, or even sit down if he so chose. With the air of a king who is gracing the peasants with his presence, he stretched both hands out to grab the plate. Suddenly, he felt something ram into his legs. Caught off guard, he lost his footing and went flying onto the table, food splattering everywhere as he slid.

* * *

Earlier that evening, Severus, too, had reached for the chicken. It was his last meal before going home to that god-forsaken place called his family home and he intended to eat food enough for three months. Discreetly, of course. Severus hated chicken, but his mother had told him that it gave him the most energy in proportion to volume consumed. He knew that what his mother meant was for him to eat it in large quantities. And as much as he disliked chicken, he loved his mother.

So Severus reached for the chicken.

Which moved to just beyond his grasp.

Normally, Severus would have spared himself the indignity of flailing for the disgusting hunk of meat, as Bellatrix Black was doing further up the table. But, for love of his mother, he persisted.

Eventually, the entire plate of chicken subtly wended its devious way off the table, landing on the floor with a thunk. Severus, not to be undone by a greasy plate of poultry, sighed long-sufferingly and serenely followed it.

Once out of the view of his fellow housemates, he conducted himself with much more vigour. He logically assumed that the creeping-slowly approach, which he had been using up until this point, was not working. He therefore dived for the chicken, accidentally knocking into someone's legs in the process. He almost had it when the cursed thing dodged, like some sort of roasted, greasy snitch avoiding capture.

In fact, it dodged right out into the isle between the Slytherin and Ravenclaw tables. Severus recomposed himself, smoothed his hair back to erase any clue to his unbecoming conduct under the table, and emerged on all fours. He was about to straighten, when he felt a sharp blow to his stomach and a heavy weight falling on top of him with considerable force.

* * *

A few minutes before and further down the table, Bellatrix Black reached for another plate of chicken with the gracefully cold Black hauteur she conducted herself with, whether brushing her teeth or mingling in "society". This hauteur was slightly spoiled by the fact that she couldn't quite reach it by sitting properly in her seat and extending her arm. She rose disdainfully and stretched out her hand. She looked almost bored. And miraculously, she still couldn't reach the dish. She looked properly at the unworthy thing for the first time. This was most embarrassing. She had been taught that Blacks should never concentrate on what they reach for. It spoils their impeccable persona. Next thing she knew, she'd be concentrating on the dip at gatherings.

The chicken was annoyingly close to her hand. She reached for it with cold Black fury. If the chicken had not been killed, stuffed, and roasted several hours before, it would probably have squawked with fear. And, even while looking at it, she managed to miss it. Because it had moved. The movement was so small that it would have been imperceptible to anyone else (or so Bella thought). But Bellatrix Black was not anyone else. There was only one person, to Bella's knowledge, who could be responsible for this.

She whirled around, her long raven hair whipping majestically behind her. Her eyes scanned the room, settling on her obnoxious cousin Sirius across the hall. They narrowed, sending her message as clearly as if she had actually said it: "I am going to kill you slowly and painfully." Sirius looked back, every inch the Black heir, yet somehow familiarly impertinent. He smirked. Bellatrix knew that smirk. The last time she saw it, frogs jumped out of her soup. Ignoring the commotion that seemed to be occurring on the other side of the Slytherin table, she began to move gracefully across the Great Hall, in a towering fury that struck even the Ravenclaws she passed with fear. The effect was slightly spoiled by her tripping over something and landing hard on the stone floor.

To Bella's credit, she arose from the wreckage with superhuman grace and dignity. What was left behind on the floor was Severus Snape, doubled over and clutching his stomach where Bella's foot had kicked him as she tripped over him.

It was about that time that Bella became aware of the utter (and undignified) chaos that was erupting at the Slytherin table. Sirius, Bella decided, is a dead man.

* * *

"Where is he?"

"James, calm down. He'll be here."

"He better be. Brilliant, Sirius. Absolutely bloody brilliant. 'Let's use Peter Pettigrew, because he can't do anything right.'"

"James, calm down. Look! He's coming right now."

"Yeah, mate. What Remus said. You need to learn how to breathe."

"I know how to breathe. It's just that...Pettigrew...on a mission...of such grave import--Hi Peter! Did you do it?"

"Yep."

"What did you charm?"

"The chicken."

"What else?"

"Just the chicken."

"Just...the...chicken? Stop stuffing your face and talk to me!"

"Mmmphwmd."

"Ok. Swallow and talk to me."

"It's just that, well, there was a lot of chicken."

"Its ok, mate. You did well. Don't look at me like that James, it wouldn't have done for him to get caught. He'd squeal on us in a second." (A/N: IRONY DANCE TIME!)

"Besides, it was supposed to be subtle. So it all worked out didn't it? You needn't take it so seriously. You were less worried about finals than you are over this prank."

"Remus, this is my final."

"So why'd you let Pettigrew do it?"

"I didn't Sirius, you did."

"Oh. Yeah. Well, you agreed."

"James, if it makes you feel better, I think this is working. Actually, it seems to be working quite well. I give it fifteen minutes to utter chaos. Oh, and Sirius, don't look now, but your cousin is glaring at you. No, Sirius, I said don't look."

"Oh no. It's quite all right. She only wants to kill me. Nothing to be worried about."

"Sirius...never mi--ooh, she appears to have tripped--"

"What?! No. Not possible. Blacks don't trip. Bellatrixes don't trip. Bellatrix Black does not trip. It's the end of the world...Nice knowing you all."

"Ahem. As I was saying, she appears to have tripped over Snape."

"She tripped over Snape?? ...Peter, you're brilliant."

"Mmphwmm."

"James, Sirius, shut up. If McGonagall sees you, we're toast. Look at Lucius Malfoy!"

"Sweet Merlin! Is his head in the tripe?"

"It is! It is!"

"Remus, ssshhhhh. Just because he stole your transfiguration book and never gave it back...Actually. Never mind. Enjoy, Remus."

"Thank you. I will."

"This is the most brilliant prank we've ever...Oh, er, evening Professor?"

* * *

Stray sounds of Slytheriny chaos drifted up from the Great Hall all the way to McGonagall's office. There was a silence while McGonagall slowly paced the room, mounting the tension. In the distance, several someones screamed, and a plate shattered. Remus, who was staring at his hands, winced, Sirius looked bored, and James felt a surge of almost paternal pride. Peter had an urge to shout out that they had made him do it and please, please don't expel him, but James had growled at him on the way up to keep his mouth shut and let them do the talking.

Suddenly McGonagall stopped pacing and rounded on them. The four boys cowered as one while she shouted at them. "I have never been so ashamed in entire life! Such disgustingly immature behaviour from Gryffindors! What precisely did the four of you think you were doing?"

"Remus had nothing to do with this!" James interrupted in all of his righteous 11-year old fury, forgetting the amount of trouble he was in.

Remus stared incredulously at James. Then he seemed to come to himself. He returned to looking at his hands, but with a small smile. However, the smile quickly faded when he remembered their situation.

"I will decide who is and is not involved Mr. Potter," Professor McGonagall replied coldly.

"But he was studying! And then he was sick! And then he was studying while he was sick! He didn't have time, Professor," James persisted.

"That is quite enough Mr. Potter. I think that you're in enough trouble as it is."

"Professor, James didn't mean any disrespect," Sirius interrupted smoothly. "He simply meant to explain that Remus had been in the common room studying for the finals when we first decided to play this prank, and then was sick for the majority of the planning. He wasn't in the least involved," the young Black finished, proud of himself for being technically true.

McGonagall was silent for a moment. Then, she turned to Remus. "Mr. Lupin, your friends seem to believe that you had no knowledge of the...plan to disrupt the Leaving Feast. Is this true?"

Remus was silent for a moment, weighing he avoidance of punishment with solidarity in a time of desperation (or, as he thought of it, not leaving his friends in a lurch). He settled on a compromise: the truth.

"I didn't help them plan or carry out the prank...but, I did know about it."

Sirius melodramatically but silently hit his head with his hand several times, while James gave Remus a look of exaggerated frustration.

"Then you are guilty of aiding this prank by not actively working to stop it," McGonagall said decisively, completely ignoring Sirius and James' antics. Remus hung his head. "As punishment, you will help the houselves clean the Great Hall, since the points are now frozen. Hopefully, it will remind you of the difference between loyalty and working as an accomplice. You are dismissed. Now, Mr. Lupin," she said firmly as Remus showed signs of waiting for his friends. Remus cast an apologetic look at the other two and left the room.

McGonagall turned back to the three remaining felons and glared hawkishly. Peter almost whimpered. "As for you three," she continued, "you will also help clean the Great Hall, and you will serve a week of detention with Mr. Filch--"

"But Professor, it's the last day of school!"

"--when you come back."

James and Sirius remained in their seats, lost in grudging admiration of McGonagall's creativity. Peter, meanwhile, was thanking every deity he had ever heard of (and some that he made up just then) that he had not been expelled. McGonagall surveyed them with something akin to fondness. However, when she dismissed them, saying, "You all may leave now. I believe you have a hall to clean," her face was nothing but stern.