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Cinnamon



Remus ran up to the dormitory after he’d given Sirius an appropriate amount of time for being alone - expecting to find him on his bed, ready to talk it out, but the dorm room was empty. He stared at Sirius’s unmade, empty bed for sometime and reached to upright the chair that had fallen from the ceiling. He spotted James’s tie laying across the bed… and Sirius’s leather jacket, missing.

Red flags went up in his mind.

Those two were always - always - always in trouble when they were left alone.

Peter came running in the dorm, “I’ve gotten us butterbeer and tarts!!”

“Well, it’s snack for two, the lads have turned up missing,” Remus said. And he spotted the parchment lying on his pillow.

“Turned up missing?” Peter looked worried. “You don’t reckon someone’s imperiused them and dragged them off to some other death eater’s house to get us back for what happened at the Lestrange’s??” His voice pitched with legitimate fear.

Remus, however, was staring down at the note Sirius had scribbled out.

Messers Padfoot & Prongs do solemnly swear that they are up to no good. Messers Moony & Wormtail are advised not to fear, we shall return once we’ve had our share of fun, firewhiskey, and whatever other mischief we can get our paws (and most hopefully hooves) into...

“Oh bloody hell,” he murmured, handing the parchment to Peter.

Peter read the parchment over and looked up. “S’all the more butterbeer for us, then?” he asked hopefully.

Remus shook his head, “We’ve got to go find them.”

“I knew you were going to say that,” muttered Peter, shaking his head and putting down the butterbeers he’d collected from the kitchens on the seat of the one chair. “Can’t we at least eat the tarts first?”

But Remus was already tying his scarf about his neck.




The shaggy black dog slid beneath the gap in the fence that surrounded the Shrieking Shack, clutching the bag in his teeth, and looked back briefly to be sure nobody had followed him before running across the field. Somewhere far off, a bird called, the caw-caw echoing over the snow-covered grass. A stag stood beneath the trees lining the far side of thickest part of the field, where the grass loomed taller than the dog. The blades swished as he ran through, the paper bag crunching as it swung from his teeth. The stag looked up, lifting his head from a log, where he’d been peeling bar from the wood and chewing on it as though it were gum. He watched the dog approaching with twitching ears, his long-lashed eyes blinking calmly. The dog came to a halt where the snow tapered off into dry bracken and dropped the bag unceremoniously before transforming back into an evilly-grinning Sirius.

“Bloody hell,” he said, “Hogsmeade is right busy. Should’ve seen it, crowded as could be. The Three Broomsticks was busting at the seams and even the Hogshead had loads of people going in and out of it. Wonder what’s going on? I haven’t heard about anything going on, have you?”

The stag stared at him, chewing the bark in one side of his mouth and grunted in his throat.

Sirius grabbed the paper bag and opened it up. “Got the firewhiskey, though. Knicked it pretty easy. We’ll be owing the Hogshead a galleon or two for it, I’m sure, but that’s what the old blighter gets for leaving the storeroom unlocked I reckon…” He pulled the bottle out of the bag. “Also managed to get these…” he pulled out a bag of rolled cigarettes and grinned quite rebelliously.

The stag stared at the bag dangling from Sirius’s hand and his tail twitched and flicked.

Sirius opened the bag and withdrew one of the cigarettes, smelling it.

James changed from the stag to a person and staggered, now feeling unbalanced on just two legs with knees that bent the right way. He held his arms out to steady himself as he said, “You want to smoke now, too?” But he sounded quite a lot more interested than he’d intended to. “What is that? Is that tobacco leaf or -- or something else?” he raised his eyebrows meaningfully.

“Well it sure doesn’t smell very tobacco-y,” Sirius answered with a positively evil grin.

“Where did you ever --”

“Knicked ‘em off a bloke in the Hogshead,” Sirius said.

“Sirius, if we ever got caught ---,” James said.

“Dumbledore would probably light up, too. Probably knows how to blow smoke rings, like all the oldest wizards do in muggle fairy stories,” he laughed.

“Seriously, Sirius, if somebody tells on us --”

Sirius looked around, “Because the trees might give us up?”

James looked about. It was true, there wasn’t a bloody being anywhere in sight, nobody dared come past the fence of the Shrieking Shack and behind them the forest stretched on for miles and miles indefinite. There was never a more perfect place in the world to give the cigarettes a go…

James inched closer and reached in the bag, taking one of the cigarettes out and smelling it for himself. “Bloody hell,” he murmured, feeling a tingle of excitement at how bad they were being. This was truly the baddest thing they’d ever done. “We can’t do this,” he murmured, looking over it at Sirius. “...can we?”

Sirius laughed, “Well. You wanted to forget the pain.” His eyes twinkled.

“Hell.” James breathed in more of the scent. “Does it really do that?”

“Let’s find out, shall we?” Sirius held up his wand. “Incendio,” he said, and the wand sparked and he pressed the little joint to the wand tip, lighting it up.

James tossed the one he’d taken out into the bag and Sirius tucked the bag carefully into the pocket of his leather jacket and, holding the little cigarette between his thumb and middle finger delicately. He held the joint up in a cheers, “I solemnly swear that I am up to no good,” Sirius grinned and then he brought the tip of it to his mouth and took a drag. The smoke entered his lungs faster than he’d expected it to and he choked instantly, hacking as it stung the muscles in his throat. He’d never been so bloody aware of exactly where the balloons of his lungs were in his body before, but he certainly was now - he felt the smoke swirling about in his chest, hacking as the white smoke came out his nostrils as well as his mouth. He handed the cigarette to James and hurriedly slammed his fist on his chest.

“Very smooth,” James laughed, poking fun at his mate.

“You give it a go,” wheezed Sirius, “See if you do without choking!”

“No problem,” James said, over-confident, and he brought the cigarette to his mouth, taking a long inhale, but holding the smoke in his mouth instead of actually drawing it into his lungs. He let it stream out. He felt his eyes water with the effort not to cough but, after having made fun of Sirius for it, he refused to let himself choke on the smoke.

“Show off,” accused Sirius.

James laughed.

“Let me have another go at it, then,” Sirius said and James took a quick second drag, then handed the cigarette back to Sirius. They sat there on the fallen log, passing the joint back and forth between them, making fun of one another as they breathed, choked, hacked, and puffed their way through the whole of the thing until the tip started to burn Sirius’s fingertips and they finally stamped it out on a rock. “Dunno ‘bout you --” Sirius said, his boot rotating against the stone, “I don’t feel a bloody thing from it.”

“Not particularly, no,” James agreed. “Maybe you got a shoddy batch and it doesn’t work?”

“Maybe,” Sirius said.




Fifteen minutes later, they’d trooped off through the forest feeling quite unable to sit still. Sirius was bellowing he wanted food. “I’ve never been so bloodyfucking hungry in all my life, Prongs. I’m going to die. Waste away to nothing. I’m going to be a skeleton. Worse than a skeleton. I’ll be dust. DUST. Nothing but dust!”

“I’M STARVING TOO MATE!” James shouted. He’d been shouting for the last ten minutes.

“I’m right here, you don’t have to shout.” Sirius said.

Then James noticed he was holding a paper bag. “Heyyy, maybe there’s something in there we could eat! YOU SHOULD CHECK!!!” James shouted.

“Still right here next to you, mate,” Sirius said and James grabbed onto and ripped open the bag to find the bottle of unopened firewhiskey inside. “Ferfuckssakes it’s only the Firewhiskey, Potter.”

“I BLOODY LIKE FIREWHISKEY,” James bellowed, “IT TASTES LIKE CINEMA-ONIONS!”

“Cinnamon?”

“OI, THAT’S IT EXACTLY -- THAT’S WHAT I SAID!”

“Nooo you said cinema onions, like onions that are at the cinema!” Sirius said, laughing uncontrollably.

“NO I SAID CIMMANNINNAMIN!” James shouted. “WHY IN HELL WOULD A CINEMA HAVE ONIONS?”

“Perhaps to make a film seem sad, they release loads of onion smell through the air ducts into a film and EVERYONE starts crying and they all tell their mates how bloody fantastic a film is because it made them cry and really it’s just the cinema onions that’ve done!”

“THAT’S THE DUMBEST LOAD OF TOSH I’VE EVER HEARD IN ALL MY LIFE!”

“You’re the dumbest load of tosh I’ve heard in all my life!” Sirius snapped, laughing.

James rolled his eyes, then whined, “SIRIUS, I’M SO BLOODY HUNGRY!”

“I know!” Sirius laughed, “You’ve only just said that.”

“HEY CHECK YOUR BAG THERE, SEE IF YOU HAVE ANYTHING GOOD TO EAT IN THERE!”

“We’ve just checked, James, it’s only firewhiskey.” Sirius was grinning now, eyes twinkling as he watched James trotting along ahead of him.

“I LOVE FIREWHISKEY!” James yelled. “CIMMNNNNNNNNERMONEY!”

“It’s cinnamon you wanker!”

“CINTERFORCE!”

“Nope; say it with me now… Cinnamon.”

“SILLLLMARILLLLEON!”

“Cin. A. Mon.”

“CIM.ANA.MOM!”

“No, that’s still wrong.”

“SIRIUS, I’M HUNGRY!” James was trotting ahead of him through the bracken - his mind so far from the incident with Lily and Snape that it was very nearly forgotten. He was spinning as he walked. “YOU KNOW WHAT I FANCY?”

“What’s that?”

“APPLES!! DON’T A LOAD OF APPLES SOUND QUITE FINE ABOUT NOW?! ALL CRUNCHY AND JUICY AND SWEET WITH THAT WEIRD LITTLE BIT OF SKIN THAT’S ALWAYS CHEWY FAR LONGER THAN IT NEED TO BE? DOESN’T IT SOUND BLOODY FINE ABOUT NOW, SIRIUS? BLIMEY WHY HAVEN’T I EATEN MORE APPLES IN MY LIFE? I BLOODY LOVE APPLES. AND YOU KNOW WHAT APPLES GO FINE WITH, PADFOOT, DO YOU KNOW?”

“What do apples go fine with, Prongs?”

“CIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIMARMARILAMINIMUM!”

“Bloody hell.” Sirius chuckled.




Remus looked up. “This way,” he said, and he turned through the trees.

Peter scrambled to keep up. “How do you know?” Peter asked, sticking close to Remus, glancing about through the branches and trunks, nervously searching for glowing eyes that might indicate a predator - or a Death Eater - lurking, certain the woods were full of nasty creatures that would kill them as look at them.

“First off, I can hear James.”

“You can?” Peter listened. “I don’t hear him.”

“Oh I do. And second, I can smell them.”

“All I can smell is… well it smells like a holiday tree gone mad,” Peter said, his nose twitching.

“Yeah,” Remus said, “That’s them.”

“The holiday tree gone mad is?”

“Yeah. They’ve been up to loads of no good by the smell of it…” He sighed and shook his head, “I don’t know what we’re going to do with them… They’ve been out of control lately… and…”

A branch cracked in the trees.

Peter inched even closer to Remus.

“Squirrel,” said Remus, sniffing.

Peter clutched Remus’s jacket just the same as they walked on, Remus smelling the air and turning here and there, until finally, through the trees...

“....AND IN POPOVERS, TOO. BLOODY BRILLIANT TASTING IN A POPOVER WITH A BIT OF CREAM WHIPPED UP AND POURED OVER… AND CIMMYNIMMY ON TOP…”

Peter perked up, “I hear him now!”

They stepped through into a small clearing and there they were, Sirius building a fire while James lay across a log on his back, his legs in the air, hair wildly hanging from his head, his glasses dangling up over his forehead as he talked, “OR WARM IN A CAKE WITH VANILLA ICE CREAM DRIPPING OVER EVER CRUMB OF IT… YOU KNOW I RECKON LILY EVANS’S NECK TASTES LIKE VANILLA, I WANTED TO GIVE A GO AT TASTING IT WHEN I GAVE HER THE NECKLACE BUT I DIDN’T THINK SHE’D LIKE IT VERY MUCH IF I DID. HEEEEEEYYYYYY LOOK IT’S YOU GUYS!”

Sirius looked up from the little pile of twigs and leaves he’d made. “Oi, Remus! Pete!” he said, and though he wasn’t quite as flushed and wildly high as James, the effects of the smoke was still in his eyes. “You’ll never believe what we’ve been up to.”

“Oh I’ve an idea,” said Remus.

Peter looked confused, “Is it something to do with the holiday trees?”

Sirius grinned, “Oh you’re adorably stupid.” He reached in his leather jacket pocket. “Fancy a smoke, Wormtail?”

Peter stared at the little bag a moment, then his eyes widened as he put two-and-two together and he gasped. “You - you - you -- weed! You’ve smoked weed!”

Sirius was laughing quite hard as he started to put his hand into the baggie to grab another cigarette, but before he could coordinate his fingers ‘round the little things, Remus reached out and took the bag away. “I’ll be holding onto that now, thank you,” he said and he stuffed it into his robes pocket.

“Killjoy,” muttered Sirius.

“KILLLLLLLL JOYYYYYYYY,” James echoed Sirius’s word.

“No,” Remus said, “No. Not killjoy. This was a really bad idea, you’re just lucky we found you and not somebody else - like the bloody centaurs or whatever else inhabits this forest!”

Sirius rolled his eyes, “Look, Moony - it’s like this - Prongs came to me with a broken heart, what was I supposed to do? Had to get him out of the castle, had to clear his mind, went for firewhiskey and I saw a wizard in the Hogshead making a deal with another wizard for this - said it would solve all the man’s cares if he smoked one up - all medicinal herbs, he says - and so I knicked the lot. And look -- James is feeling a lot better now.”

James was spitting out a bit of bark he’d peeled off the log he was laying over and tried eating. “THAT TASTED QUITE A LOT DIFFERENT WHEN I WAS A STAG A MOMENT AGO BECAUSE I CAN BECOME A STAG NOW YOU LOT; I CAN ANIMORPHIMANUS NOW!”

“This is better?” Remus asked.

“At least he’s not moping on about Evans.”

Remus stared, frowning.

“It’s all in fun, Moony. Lighten up.” Sirius stood up and slid his arm ‘round Remus’s shoulder. “You’ll be prefect if you aren’t careful, with this do-good-only attitude you’ve been throwing about.”

Remus rolled his eyes, “Dumbledore would be daft to make any of us prefects.”

“Gonna have to make one of us one, isn’t he? We’re the only ones in our year,” Sirius snickered.

Remus stared at Sirius. “Bloody hell,” he murmured.

“OI WORMTAIL… MOONY…… DID YOU LOT BRING ALONG ANY APPLES OR CINNAMON?”

Sirius grinned, turning about, “PRONGS!!! You’ve said it right!!!!”

Peter looked at Remus, who was rubbing his forehead in exasperation.