sixth-year-charms

Marauders: Dares, for anon

Dare or Die. The infamous Marauder slogan that even puny first-years with half a brain were (painfully) aware of. That teachers had come to dread and enjoy in equal parts. That was the bane of one Lily Evans’s life.

It all started way back in the fresh, innocent (really) days of first-year when a grinning Sirius Black dared his new best mate James Potter to tie that fiery little redhead’s shoelaces together one fine Potions afternoon. He gladly obliged, thus gaining two whole Galleons and a mighty smack on his cheek from said fiery redhead. Suffice it to say, James thoroughly enjoyed both.

Not to be left behind, a rotund, eager Peter Pettigrew dared Sirius Black to call McGonagall ‘McGee’ to her face in second year, which he did, smirk firmly in place. Merlin only knew how a bloody twelve-year old had managed to perfect such a casual yet deadly smirk. Sirius gorged on his new supply of Cauldron Cakes smugly while a laughing Peter good-naturedly thumped his back. In detention, of course.

Now, you lot may not know it, but Remus Lupin was a wily one, indeed. When James offered a month’s supply of Honeydukes’ best if he managed to dose Snape with their new, patented surprise potion, Remus agreed, albeit grudgingly. A wizard’s gotta do what a wizard’s gotta do, after all. The next morning saw a hushed silence as the other three waited to see if Remus had come through. And boy, had he. There was a vivid flash of gold sparks at the Slytherin table, followed by a loud roar and a very pissed-off looking Severus Snape storming out of the Hall, shooting a dark look back at the four guffawing Gryffindors. Did I mention he was sporting bright scarlet and gold hair and a rather attractive set of similarly coloured dress robes, frills and all? Remus really loved his chocolate.

Peter was particularly adept at stealth and recovery operations, as one might guess. There was a sly sparkle in Remus’s brown eyes when he prompted Wormtail to replace each sixth-year Gryffindor’s wand with charming fake ones that erupted into giant radishes which smelled something horrid, once waved. They firmly shook on it and by the next afternoon, had eight fuming classmates banging at their notorious dormitory doors, threatening to call Dumbledore. Peter accepted his beloved box of cheese with a broad smile.

You might ask when this ostentatious business of theirs finally came to an end. Well, it didn’t. The Marauder Dares carried on right till they were old and grey and twenty-fucking-one, war be damned. However, there was one certain Dare which could be called a grand conclusion of sorts.

Never one to refuse a triple dare, it was a cloudy Quidditch afternoon in their last year when James Potter swooped down to the stands right after their glorious victory and planted a big smacker on that very redhead’s lips. This time, though, instead of reaching up to slap him across his fat smug face, Lily’s hands wrapped around his neck, burying themselves in the messy black locks that she so famously claimed to hate. James almost fell off his broom before regaining his composure (yeah, right) and deepening the snog with gusto.

“Good one, Prongs!” The three other Marauders cheered, along with most of the student population of Hogwarts.

James simply smiled; he’d just won himself a week’s drinks at The Three Broomsticks and the elusive heart of the love of his life, judging by the sheer intensity of her kiss.

Long live the Marauder Dares!