Upholding a Reputation

Chapter 2--End of First Year

The Train

"It should have been louder."

"James, your ambition knows no bounds," Remus remarked dryly, while privately agreeing.

Sirius got up, closed the compartment door, and reclined in one of the plush train seats. "So why not make it louder?" he asked reasonably.

"Sirius, mate, I don't know if you've realized this, but the prank is over," James informed him slightly patronizingly.

"So? There's always next year. We'll start it with a bang," Sirius said, becoming more enthusiastic.

"What kind of a bang?"

Sirius thought for a bit, then answered "The explosion kind," as though this was the answer to all their pranking problems.

"What'll we explode?" James asked reasonably.

"Dunno."

"How 'bout fireworks?" The other two turned and stared at Remus, who shrugged. "We want a bang, right?"

"Remus Lupin, I have never been so proud of you in my whole-- " James was interrupted by the unmistakable sounds of bullying outside the compartment.

Sirius, never one to turn down a good fight (or heroic limelight, if it came to that), bounded up to see who it was.

"It's Malfoy. Probably still smarting from the tripe in his hair..." He paused as he got a look at the victim. "James," he said slowly, "James, its Pettigrew..."

"What?!" James snapped, head jerking up. He bounded to the door, clutching his wand, and stormed out of the compartment. "Oi Malfoy!" he shouted. "Don't you think you're a little too old to be playing with trick wands?" Malfoy turned, snarling, the wand in question clutched in hand. "I mean," James continued, "just because you're jealous that Peter here can actually do magic..." Malfoy lunged for James who promptly jinxed him mid attack: "Petrificus totalus!"

Malfoy, who wasn't expecting anything from such a skinny little first year, was caught square on the chest. His wand tumbled to the floor as his arms and legs snapped together and he fell forward on his face, stiff as a board. James kicked him onto his back.

"Comfortable Malfoy?" he asked sarcastically. Malfoy glared and growled around his locked jaw. "No? Good. Maybe next time you'll think twice before attacking people weaker than you." With that, he grabbed Peter by the upper arm and dragged him into the compartment.

"What the bloody hell were you on about Pettigrew?" James demanded as soon as he had slammed the compartment door shut. "Picking a fight with a fifth year?"

Peter stammered and stuttered in the face of James' anger while Sirius looked at him with condescending admiration, and Remus gave him a once over for any injuries. "I-I-I...that is t-to say..." James glared at him harder. "He found out about you and the feast and then he...he said something about your mum!" Peter burst out. "So, I attacked him."

James stared at him incredulously. He postponed storming outside to hex Malfoy into painful oblivion to ask Peter one question: "But why?"

"Well, you're my friend, aren't you?" Peter responded, slightly puzzled.

James considered this a moment. "Remus," he commanded, "Prep him on next year's plan." Remus nodded, as though he were expecting it. "Sirius, come with me. I'm not done with Malfoy." Sirius grinned and bounded up, clutching his wand. They both exited the compartment, James gripping his wand, and Sirius looking nothing short of anticipatory. After all, his parents liked Malfoy.

Remus shook his head and turned to Peter. "Fireworks," he informed him.

"Huh?" Peter asked intelligently.

"Fireworks," Remus repeated. "This summer, you need to get lots and lots of fireworks..."

* * *

Beginning of Second Year

Of Singed Hair and Welcoming Speeches

The two loudest now-second year Gryffindors (and the quietest) were crowded at one end of the table in the Great Hall whispering secretively. The other second years, realizing something was up, proceeded to shield them from the teachers (after all, they were Gryffindors).

James, Remus, Peter, and Sirius had managed to get into the same compartment on the train. It was in the privacy of this compartment that they had pooled their considerable stash of fireworks, which were now sitting between James and Sirius on the bench in a very (very) large bag. They were currently waiting on Peter, whom they had lost in the chaos at Hogsmede station.

"It's beautiful," James whispered, pretending to wipe away a tear. Remus regarded him with amusement.

Sirius looked at the deceptively non-descript jumble of fireworks and sighed impatiently. "Where's Pettigrew?" he whined, "He better not have gotten lost between the train and the carriages. I want to light them before the end of this year, if that's not asking too much." He took out his wand, hoping it would make him feel a step closer to lighting their hoard.

James, sitting next to Sirius, shoved his friend's hand so that the wand was pointing away from the bag. "Wait Sirius. It's too early. The first years aren't even in the hall yet. We have an entire meal to sit through."

Sirius playfully lit his wand and brandished it near the fireworks, mostly to annoy James, but partly because he was getting impatient. "I don't see why it's so important we wait till the end of the feast."

James snatched Sirius's wand out of his hand mid-brandish. "Sirius, stop it! It's not the right time. Trust me. Just don't light them now."

Peter hurried up at this point, unnoticed due to the procession of wide-eyed first years currently entering the hall. He was just in time to hear the words "...light them now". Afraid to miss out on the fun, he quickly lit his wand. "Hullo," he said to the group as pleasantly as possible, trying to make a good impression on his New and Important Friends, "sorry I'm late, I couldn't find a carriage--oops!" He had dropped his lit wand into the bag of fireworks.

There was half a second of horrified silence, as each boy processed the situation. Then, almost simultaneously, Peter lurched away from the bag, tripped over the bench, and fell flat on his back, James screamed "NO!!" loud enough to attract the attention of every person in the hall, Sirius clamped his hand over James's mouth, hissing "Shut up!", and Remus lunged for the bag and threw it away from the students in a graceful arc into a corner. Well, at least he tried to. Unfortunately, the bag exploded halfway on its journey, just as McGonagall ushered the last of the first years into the Hall.

There was a brilliant flash of colours, accompanied by several loud bangs. Enormous sparks of green, gold, and orange quickly dispersed into the student body, their progress marked by yelps of pain, as about five sparklers shot straight up, exploding near the ceiling, and showering everyone with purple dust. Red and silver banners of fire stretched outwards from the point of explosion towards all four sides of the room, as several muggle fireworks (courtesy of Remus) drew attention to a blue lion roaring above the staff table. To top it off, shining disks of every colour imaginable (sometimes two or three) whizzed through the hair over the first years' heads at dangerous speeds, before exploding with a final BANG which seemed to shake the entire castle.

There were several seconds of stunned silence following the display. Then James stood up, and climbed on the bench, his now purple-dusted hair smoking slightly. He took off his glasses and wiped them clean, before addressing himself to the stunned first years. "Ahem. Welcome to Hogwarts. Do try to get into Gryffindor." He then bowed and sat down. Sirius, in a desperate attempt to salvage the situation, quickly began applauding, joined almost immediately by Remus and Peter. The weak applause echoed through the hall for a few excruciating seconds, before a couple of the braver first years followed suit. In under half a minute, the entire hall was ringing with clapping and cheers from all the tables, including the Slytherins. The four second years, presumably off the hook (for now), sighed in relief.

* * *

As expected, McGonagall did go over to the Gryffindor table to have a word with the troublemakers. It was at the end of the feast, and the majority of the students were leaving the Great Hall, pleasantly sleepy. James, Sirius, Remus and Peter got up to follow suit, when a familiar voice stopped them in their tracks. "Gentlemen," Professor McGonagall called sternly. As one, the four friends turned slowly on their heels to face imminent doom. "Might I have a word?" she asked in a way that had been honed over the years to make every troublemaker to whom it was directed tremble with fear.

The second years walked over to her (well, Sirius glided, as becomes a Black, but the others walked). McGonagall wasted little time. As soon as the four boys had reached her, she began to speak. "I wanted to remind Mr. Black, Mr. Potter and Mr. Pettigrew of the detentions they were assigned last year." Ignoring the confused, but vaguely hopeful glances that passed among her students, she continued in a business-like tone, "Mr. Filch will expect the three of you in the front hall tomorrow at 7:30 sharp. Please do not be late." With that, she turned and began to walk towards the exit out of the Hall. Before she reached it, however, she stopped and looked over her shoulder. "It may interest you four to know that Gryffindor has broken all records this year for most new first year students. Good night." She opened the door to the hall, walked through it, and closed it behind her, leaving four dumbstruck twelve-year-olds on an irreversible path to mischief-making legend.

For the reader's satisfaction, the four friends were idolized by every member of the new year, and all the years following them throughout their entire career at Hogwarts.

* * *

End of Second Year

The Sticky Table

It was a dark and stormy night (or would have been, had Sirius had any say in the weather), and the four newly-dubbed marauders (Remus had read it in a book and liked it) were seated in a circle in their dormitory, whispering plans not meant for innocent ears. Fortunately, they did not consider themselves innocent.

"...it needs to be impressive. We have a reputation to uphold," James was saying importantly to Remus, who looked as skeptical as a thirteen-year-old werewolf can without actually going cross-eyed. "After the fireworks, people will expect..."

"That's exactly the point, isn't it?" Remus interrupted. "Something loud and showy is exactly what they expect. We need something smaller, something that'll slip between the cracks..."

"Not slippery," Sirius said, not looking up from the charms text he'd 'borrowed' from Professor Flitwick earlier that day. Remus and James stopped arguing and turned to look at the raven-haired boy.

"What do you want, then?" James asked sarcastically, "Something powdery?"

"Or maybe silky?" Remus suggested, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. Peter snickered, content for the moment to simply watch his friends duke it out.

"No, more like sticky," Sirius responded airily, finally looking up from the book. He turned it around and pushed it across the floor to his friends. They looked down at it skeptically. James frowned as he quickly scanned the page, his eyes lighting up as he realized what Sirius was suggesting. Remus, on the other hand, merely raised an eyebrow and fell to studying the wand movements. Peter craned his neck to get a better view of the page, squinting a little to bring the print into focus. He frowned.

"The Gliamorphus Charm? It sounds like something my grandmother would use!" The other three ignored him.

"What're we going to do with it?" Remus asked.

"Make something sticky, of course," James responded, a faraway look in his eyes as he imagined the possibilities. Remus rolled his.

"Yes, brilliant, James, I never would have guessed from the name. What are we going to make sticky?"

"Everything!" James exclaimed enthusiastically.

"But mainly the Slytherins," Sirius amended.

Remus shook his head and pursed his lips. "We won't have enough time. I just looked over the wand movements. They're very complicated. It would take the four of us all night to do the entire hall. Yes James, even with you helping," Remus added the last bit, as James looked up and opened his mouth confidently, managing to seem as though he were swaggering even sitting down. "What I suggest," he continued, "is that we do one table. Just the table."

James waited patiently for Remus to finish speaking before completely dismissing such an outrageous underestimation of his magnificence. "C'mon Remus. Don't be such a...a...Professor. It's us. I can do at least two tables in an hour. Pro'ally more."

"No James," Sirius said, looking up from a close study of the spell. "We can't. There are different wand movements for different sized object...it gets really hard. I hate to say it, but Professor here is right. Don't be a prat, there's a prank at stake."

James sulked his concession, but immediately brightened up at a new thought. "So, which table?"

"Slytherin," Sirius responded reflexively.

"We've already done Slytherin," Peter pointed out. "I think it should be someone else, you know, spread it even."

"Evenly," Remus corrected. "And I agree with Peter. How 'bout...ummm...Ravenclaw?" he asked, picking a random house to condemn.

James considered it. In his mind's eye, he pictured the prim Ravenclaws with their hands, their robes, their precious salad forks, all stuck to the table... He liked the vision. "'K," he agreed. "Ravenclaw it is."

Sirius shut the book with a slam. The candles flickering in their holders made him feel conspiratorial. He decided that raining or not, it had to be said. "We move tonight!" he exclaimed dramatically, as thunder crashed and rumbled in his imagination.

* * *

As it happened, they did not move that night. Each boy, thinking the other would wake everyone up, fell asleep, and woke to a cheerful, sunny, Saturday morning. James could not have been more depressed.

"It's the last day," he said, sounding more like someone had died than a boy about to start his summer vacation. Remus and Peter tried to comfort him, patting him awkwardly on the back, while Sirius, facing James, stared hard at the wall, thinking. "They're probably all done with breakfast by now," James continued forlornly, "They're wandering the lawns...having fun...not stuck to the table... We won't see them 'til the feast. There's no saving it now. It's not fair!"

"Unless..." Sirius, still staring at the wall, trailed off.

James looked up, half annoyed that Sirius would dare interrupt his misery, half hopeful. "Unless what?"

"Unless," Sirius said much more briskly, snapping back to reality, "We charm the table for dinner."

"We'll be caught for sure," Peter squeaked immediately. "There's no way we'll manage it while everyone can see us."

"Wait," James said slowly, his mind working furiously as it came up with a plan, "All we have to do is look like we belong there. That way, it won't be suspicious. Nobody looks too hard at stuff they think is s'posed to be there."

"We could be cleaning the Great Hall for detention..." Remus suggested uncertainly.

James grinned. Detention it was.

* * *

The four friends, having the reputation that they did, were cross-examined by many more Professors than they had expected. However, every time, their excuse held up. In fact, by the time Professor Flitwick walked away, they had a formula. Sirius presented the excuse with his usual Black charm. James threw in some details with a remarkably good impression of sincerity, and then Remus supported it, relying on his reputation as the "good one." Peter, somewhat lacking in charisma, provided the final impression by scrubbing industriously in the background, while managing to continue their real work by pretending to lose something under the table every so often, and disappearing to "retrieve it."

They were feeling quite cocky about the whole thing until the Professor Twigg Incident.

* * *

Ambrose Twigg had been a professor at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry for running on ninety years. This gave him the remarkable ability to smell trouble a mile away (almost literally: he had tested it once) and a strange fondness for treacle. Thus, when Professor Twigg walked past the Great Hall on his last day as a Professor, he immediately surmised two things. The first was that there would be no treacle at the feast. He made a mental note to go down and visit the houselves about that. The second was that there was Mischief afoot. In the Great Hall. He pushed open one of the heavy oaken doors and took in the culprits. Potter. Black. Lupin. Pettigrew. Why was he not surprised? He sighed and opened his mouth to give them detention. He, however, was rudely cut off when Black spoke.

"Evening Professor Twigg," Black said smoothly, "we were just finishing up a detention."

"With Filch," Potter added, his mouth twisting in a convincing imitation of distaste.

Twigg checked his watch. If he was going to save the treacle he didn't have time for such tomfoolery. "That was very convincing gentlemen. Mr. Filch supervises all of his detentions. Hold on a minute Mr. Lupin, and please listen to what I have to say before you jump to their aid." Lupin snapped his mouth shut and looked slightly embarrassed. Professor Twigg continued, "I should give you all a real detention for whatever you are planning, but as I am retiring in about..." he checked his watch again "six hours, I will not waste my energy. Whatever you do, kindly do not do it to the professors' table. Good evening." And with that he strode off to the kitchens, the door shutting with a very satisfying thunk behind him.

After that, the four friends quickly wrapped up their "detention".

* * *

Lily Evans was incensed. It was the leaving feast of her second year and her perfect day had been ruined ten minutes and (she checked her watch) 37 seconds into the dinner. McGonagall had told her that she had done excellently in her exams that year (third in the year and first in Charms), and she had rewarded herself with an entire day down by the lake rereading her favourite book. She'd been looking forward to a quiet evening eating an excellent meal and enjoying her friends' company.

Apparently, it was not to be. About ten minutes into the feast, it became apparent that there was something wrong at the Ravenclaw table. For one thing, nearly no one applauded when Dumbledore announced them the winners of the House Cup. For another, they all seemed to be staring at the feast rather than eating it. Curious, Lily leaned forward. Something was magically off: the older ones were muttering charms under their breath and looking analytical, while the younger ones were becoming increasingly distressed.

Of course, it soon became apparent that the Ravenclaws were stuck to their table, and as the teachers ran over to help, and everyone at the other three tables strained to look (while subtly taking their hands off the wood in front of them), Lily watched with growing horror as one of the first years burst into tears. Then she noticed James Potter. Laughing.

Which brought her to her current position: standing behind Potter and angry enough to scare even the most talented of seventh years.

* * *

James didn't see it coming. He was far too busy watching the chaos at the Ravenclaw table, snickering and congratulating himself on a prank well executed. Feeling a tap on his shoulder, he turned around, fully prepared to flash McGonagall an innocent smile. He had less than a second to realize that it was not, in fact, McGonagall before Lily Evans' right hand connected with his face. Hard.

"How dare you ruin the Ravenclaws' celebration with your revolting jokes! You make me sick. Just because you and your little band of troublemakers..."

"Marauders," Sirius corrected sullenly.

"Shut up, Black. Just because you ruined Gryffindor's chances for the Cup this year does not give you the right to cheat Ravenclaw out of a celebration..."

"Evans, pranking Ravenclaw was my id--"

"You shut up too, Lupin." She rounded on James again. "You disgust me," she told him nastily before turning around (smacking him with her hair and smothering him with a lilac scent in the process) and marching back to her seat.

James remained where he was in a state of shock. Peter, who had said nothing through the entire exchange, patted James on the hand and stole his pork chops.

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