All usual disclaimers apply. Now, I want you people to review this time; I know you've got awesome fics to read, like Draco Dormiens and

Paradigm of Uncertainty, but give a small-time author a break: I worked for hours on this chapter and it would take you thirty seconds to give

me a review. Hope y'all enjoy!

Lesson III

Happy Halloween!

It was only two days before Halloween, and the Slytherins were furious. For three weeks, they had been running into curses in their common room, all of them very mysterious. It had started out with a small thing, a little thing, a drop of Sleeping Potion in David Crabbe's tea. In his armchair by the fire one night, he's taken a sip of his drink and - out like a light. Since David Crabbe had the IQ of mouldy cheese and the social skills of an earthworm, everyone had thought this quite funny. But then, it had happened again, to Jeremy Avery. And again, to Alexa Parkinson. And again, to Lucius Malfoy.

Professor Dumbledore had called the wave of Sleeping Potion attacks to the attention of the school, and they had stopped - only to be replaced with jinxed couches and tables in the Slytherin common room. For awhile, the House was afraid to sit down: Narcissa Laurence had tried to, only to find herself flying backwards and upwards through the air; a firecracker had been stuffed inside the armchair and the fuse lit. The pranks had continued, and although the teachers pretended not to know who was causing them, they were as aware as anyone else: it was the Marauders.

Severus Snape stared at the Gryffindor table in hatred. There was James Potter, talking as usual, Black laughing beside him. The werewolf was eating quietly on the other side of the table, but even timid Lupin couldn't resist the occasional guffaw - although really, it was more like a chuckle - at one of Potter's weak jokes. Lily Sheridan, the pretty one, sat to Potter's right; she was laughing as well, hanging over the

Gryffindor Seeker like a fan at a Befudders Brothers concert - and of course, Potter was soaking it up like a sponge.

It made Severus grimace in disgust to see how they adored that Potter; he was their fearless leader, and they were his minions, loyal to a fault, desperate to act on his every whim. They loved him, Potter the Quidditch Star, Potter the Hero, Potter the Prefect - Severus couldn't see how he'd got that job - on second thought, he could: James was not only a favourite of the students, but of the staff, and Professor Dumbledore in particular. Severus felt sick to his stomach.

"I can't stand them," whispered Darien Grey, indicating the Gryffindors across the Great Hall. "Look at them, just laughing it up. I'll bet they're talking about what they'll do to us next … there, Potter's got that evil look in his eye. He's planning something, all right, and I doubt it's his strategy for November's Quidditch match."

- Across the Great Hall, James was saying, "Okay, so you take a pinch of salt, two and a half cups of flour and a quarter of a bag of chocolate chips. You pour the dry ingredients into the wet, then stir and cook at a temperature of three hundred and fifty degrees. You wait until they're a nice, moist golden brown, and then you take 'em out and set them on the rack to cool." -

"I'm going up to our dormitory," Severus spat out. "I've lost my appetite, watching them. You going to stay?"

"Yeah," replied Darien. "Narcissa, you know … "

Severus grinned. Darien had been in love with Narcissa Laurence since their first year, and despite the fact that Lucius Malfoy had threatened Darien with disembowelment, beheading, the Cruciatus Curse and Avada Kedavra, Darien continued to pester her. Severus knew that

Darien didn't have a chance, but he wasn't about to tell him that; it was amusing to watch his friend's desperate efforts, not to mention the public humiliation that invariably followed.

Severus wasn't in the mood for listening to Narcissa's biting comments tonight, as funny as they were, so he wiped his face on his napkin, took a last swig of pumpkin juice and headed for the door. As he went by the Ravenclaw table, a short silence fell; there was a longer one when he passed the Hufflepuffs; but when he reached the Gryffindors, he may as well have been invisible; no one took any notice of him.

Severus was not accustomed to this disrespect. How dare they? He fumed, stopping in his tracks. How dare they ignore me, when the whole school knows the hexes I can do? If it wasn't for that rule about the Unforgivable Curses, I'd have that Potter twitching and jerking on the floor like a man having a seizure. How dare they not be afraid of me?

He had to say something, so he picked the nearest - and easiest - target. He reached out and pulled on the sleeve of Peter Pettigrew's robes, causing the small, pudgy boy to choke on a piece of turkey.

"Halloween's coming," Severus said silkily, ignoring the fact that Pettigrew was coughing and sputtering in his seat. "Are you scared,

Pettigrew?"

"N-no," stammered Pettigrew, his speech affected by both terror and turkey.

"Strange things happen on Halloween," Severus continued, sneering unpleasantly at the shorter boy. "Very strange things. I heard a story, a really good ghost story about a man who hung himself on a branch of the oak tree that grows over the lake. They say that every Halloween, when the moon shines onto that old oak tree, his ghost flies around in the branches, shaking the leaves off the twigs, even when there is no wind …"

"That's n-not true," Pettigrew said, shrinking back despite his bold words and trying to outstare his tormentor's cold black eyes with his watery grey ones. He's pathetic, Severus thought, his lip curling in distaste. Look at him, sitting there, whimpering …

"Leave him alone, Snape," someone snarled. James Potter was on his feet, Sirius behind him, looming over his friend like a large and impressive bodyguard. The werewolf was standing as well, pale and sick-looking, but ready to defend Pettigrew if necessary. Their end of the Gryffindor table had gone quiet.

"Why help this - this filth?" asked Severus, quietly, poisonously. "Why help this little slug, why even be friends with him? He's nothing. Look at the expression on his face, his beady little eyes filled with fear. He believes in ghost stories, a story that I made up on the spot. You've already got a fan club, Potter. Why defend its lowliest member - someone who believes in tales designed for first-years?"

"He's our friend, you scum - but you wouldn't understand friendship, would you, you don’t have any-" Black growled, but Potter held up a hand to silence him. The blue eyes, normally so cheerful, confident from the encouragement from all sides, were cold now, almost icy with anger.

"Ghost stories, are they?" asked Potter. ("Excuse me?" demanded Nearly Headless Nick in an offended tone.) "I'm not so sure, Severus. I knew a lady who never lied, and she told me herself that her dead uncle Ulysses had chased her home one night, holding his hand as though in terrible pain and shrieking - but you think I'm making it up, don't you? You're much too brave to believe in those stories."

"Yes, I am," Severus replied, a smile twisting his face.

"Then prove it," said Lupin, cottoning on.

"Yeah, prove it," Pettigrew squeaked nervously, not cottoning on.

"Come out to that old oak tree on Saturday night, at twelve o' clock," said Potter, staring hard at Severus. "Meet us down by the lake at midnight on Halloween. Peter'll be there too-" "What?" asked Pettigrew, alarmed, "-and we'll see who's afraid of ghosts."

"Do you have a plan?" questioned Sirius, when Snape had swept out of the Hall and the Gryffindors had started buzzing again.

"No," James replied, sitting again, "but I'll think of something."

~

James woke up early on Friday morning. He opened his eyes a full ten minutes before his alarm clock went off - which was unusual, considering that he normally didn’t get up for at least thirty minutes after his alarm clock went off - yawned sleepily, and turned over. He banged his hand around his bedside table, searching for his glasses, which he found and then put on, rubbing off the juice of the Acidic Acacia twig that Sirius had thrown at him the day before.

Seeing that subsequent attempts at more sleep would end in failure, James got up and began to make his bed. He took his jar of beetles out from under his pillow and smiled at them. "Good morning, fellows," he said companionably. "Sorry I don't have anything planned for you today - though you may be useful in the first-year dormitories this evening," he added, and cackled. "Have a good sleep?" Not waiting for an answer, he placed the jar on the windowsill and finished pulling up the sheets.

James glanced at the next bed. Its thick, red hangings could not cover the deep snoring - and occasional bark - of the person who slept there, and the noise reminded James of an old, crusty engine in need of oil. James considered a Soundproofing Charm, but decided against it - he hadn’t quite mastered that one yet, and James didn’t want Sirius walking around mute if it failed. James looked at his clock, and a small smile appeared on his face. Well, they would have to wake up soon anyway…

James picked up a pillow and crept stealthily to Sirius's bed. He waited for a moment to make sure that his friend wasn't already awake, then threw the hangings aside, shouted, "HAPPY FRIDAY!" and whacked the sleeping Sirius with the pillow.

Sirius awoke with an alarmed snort, got tangled in the sheets and promptly fell out of bed. James tumbled all over the mattress laughing, while Sirius shook his head, bewildered, then spotted the pillow, let out an outraged yelp and made a grab for his friend.

James sprang to his feet, narrowly dodged out of the way and leapt onto his trunk, laughing maniacally. Sirius leapt at James again, stumbled over the sheets around his legs, fought to extricate himself from them and ran after his friend.

"JAMES!" yelled Sirius, diving for the aforesaid criminal, who had perched himself on his bed. James snickered menacingly, leapt back to

Sirius's mattress, and, when Sirius followed, jumped and landed on the edge of Peter's bed. A muffled shriek emerged from inside the hangings, but James and Sirius could not hear: the latter was chasing the former around the room, and Sirius was enraged.

"PRONGS YOU GIT! COME BACK HERE!"

"You're the boss!" said James, reversing his direction and running headlong into Sirius, who swung at him, missed and tripped on a pile of loose parchment (which was later discovered to have been Peter's Divination homework). The pages ripped, Sirius cursed, James laughed and Peter tried in vain to untangle himself from the curtains, which had wrapped themselves tightly around him and were obstinately refusing to budge.

Sirius made one final dash at James, who looked around, saw that there was nowhere to run, and quickly wriggled under the bed.

"What's going on?" asked a groggy voice. Remus.

"That little rat -" "Hey!" Peter objected "- woke me up with a pillow to the face, tried to run, and hid under the bed! Come on out, Prongs, and duel like a man!"

"That's an awfully small space under there," Remus observed. James noticed that indeed it was - small, and rather cramped. In fact, now that he thought about it, James realised that he couldn’t move his head or shoulders - they were jammed tightly between the bottom of the frame and the floor.

"James?" asked Remus. "Are you alright under there?"

"He won't be if he doesn't come out soon," growled Sirius.

"Well, you can't go in and get him, he's too big," Peter piped up.

"That's probably why he did it, Wormtail," said Remus. "James?"

"I'm - kind of - er, stuck," James admitted. "Can you guys …?"

After indulging in a fit of hysterical laughter, Sirius promised to help him get back out. "Gimme your hand," he ordered, stretching his arm under the frame. James grabbed onto Sirius's wrist, and Sirius pulled.

"Ow! That did not help!" shouted James. Sirius had tugged as hard as he could, and James thought his shoulder was going to come off; added to the fact that his face had been scraped against the wooden slats as Sirius tried to haul him out, it was perfectly understandable that James would yell.

"Can't you get out, Prongs?" Remus questioned anxiously.

"No, no, of course I can," James replied sarcastically. "It's just that the scenery's so nice in here, all the dust bunnies and old Quidditch socks and pointy quills sticking into my back - I think I'll spend the day."

"How are you going to get unstuck?" Peter demanded, sounding frightened.

"Maybe if you guys lifted up the bed for a minute, I could scurry out from under it …" James said thoughtfully.

"It's way too heavy," Peter said. "We'll never be able to pick it up - hey, why don't you transform?"

"Probably because his antlers would punch a hole in the mattress, Peter," Sirius replied, his voice dripping with disgust. "And the rest of him would be so big that he's be even more squashed and would probably suffocate. But other than that, great plan, go ahead, Prongs, turn into a deer and cause permanent damage to school furniture."

James coughed, his nose wrinkled at the smell of dust. He didn't like it very much under there - it was hot, stuffy and dark, and while darkness usually made for good cover, he would have preferred a little light and air. Above him, his friends argued over what to do. Peter was all for fetching a teacher, but as Remus pointed out, they were setting up their classrooms, and by the time someone could get to the Transfiguration room, explain, and come back, they would already be late for breakfast.

"You know, I think we could try lifting it," Sirius thought, walking around the bed and trying to guess its weight. "Remus and I do pretty wicked Hover Charms, and Peter - uh, Peter, you can help pull James up when the bed's high enough for him to come out."

"We'd have to be careful, it's only nine feet away from the ceiling," said Remus. "We don't want a huge gaping hole in the roof of our dormitory - it would be kind of hard to explain to Professor Dumbledore if one of the house-elves told him."

"Alright," said Sirius, rolling up his sleeves and picking up his wand, which had been thrown through the air during the scuffle and had been found lying among Peter's ruined homework. "Let's give it a try. Ready, Moony?"

Remus nodded, wand in hand. Standing on opposite sides of the trapped James, they pointed their wands at the bed, said, "Volas!" and concentrated, both closing their eyes. Nothing happened for a minute, but Remus's forehead wrinkled convulsively, and beads of sweat began to break out on Sirius's forehead. Peter looked from one to the other, hoping … and slowly, the bed began to vibrate, then to shake, and finally, Remus's end of the mattress lifted from the floor, closely followed by the other. Slowly, surely, the bed rose into the air - three inches, then six, then a foot, then two, three, four, five, six …

Peter, the only one with his eyes open, cried out in alarm; Remus and Sirius nearly lost their focus.

"What is it?" Remus demanded, eyes still tightly shut in concentration. Sirius seemed to be in a trance: he was breathing deeply, and did not speak. His wand was trembling slightly; with Remus busy speaking to Peter, Sirius had to take on most of the work.

"He isn't there! James isn't under the bed!"

"What?"

Sirius immediately broke the charm, but before the bed could crash to the floor, he pointed his wand at it and commanded, "Immobiliat!" The bed stopped, unmoving, and the three Marauders looked with bewilderment at the bare floor beneath the bed. There was no sign of James Potter.

Peter voiced what they were all thinking. "Where on earth…"

"I'm up here, you dolts," said an extremely amused voice, and the necks of Sirius, Remus and Peter turned around so fast that it was a miracle they didn't all get whiplash. Then, three pairs of jaws fell open, and with good reason: James was looking down at them, a large and bloody scrape on his nose, from directly under the bed - which was now seven feet above the floor. He didn't appear to be holding onto anything, the three with their feet on the ground were shocked speechless.

"You hit me with the Hover Charm," he explained, trying not to snicker.

Getting over the surprise, Sirius laughed. "That's why it was so heavy."

"I was wondering when you'd notice I wasn't there," said James, smiling despite his disfigured face. "Can you get me down now?"

Remus jumped, caught the edge of James's sleeve and pulled him to the ground. Together, they looked at the bed, hovering seven feet in mid air.

"That's got to be the best charm work I've ever seen from anyone other than professor Flitwick," James said at last, gratefully. "I could never lift something that heavy - thanks, you two - um, you three." Peter nodded graciously, forgiving the error.

Sirius waved his wand at the troublesome piece of furniture. "Finite Incantatem," he said carelessly, without thinking, and though James,

Remus and Peter shouted, "No!" the damage was done; the bed plummeted to the floor and, with a deafening crash, slammed into the carpet with a force so great the walls shook, a goblet fell off a bedside table and Sirius's picture of his parents jumped wildly in its frame.

Before the Marauders could find out if anything was damaged, the Head Boy barged into their room in a fury.

"Christopher Columbus!" he shouted, red in the face. "What in blazes were you doing in here?"

Remus looked at Sirius. Sirius looked at Peter. Peter looked at James.

"Nothing," they said together.

~

The common room was buzzing with energy. Happy chatter filled the air as the Gryffindors prepared for the Halloween party that would take place the next night, and as usual, James and Sirius were in the thick of it.

"Alright, bring that over there a bit - can you fix…? Good," said Sirius, directing the hanging of a large Gryffindor banner from the ground.

Two of the Quidditch team Chasers, Dara Stockholm and Elisabeth Crouch, were flitting around the room on Silver Arrows, trying to follow

Sirius's confused instructions and twisting the flag beyond recognition in the process.

Several other people were on broomsticks as well, hanging tapestries and throwing confetti around for decoration. The Keeper was hanging around a picture on his ancient Butterfly Wing model H, dusting the frame of one of the portraits, a red headed Victorian lady who was complaining loudly about the dust getting into her hair, and a reserve Chaser, Rick Jeffries, flew back and forth between bickering first-years and a vase of Violent Violets, trying to sort out an argument and arrange flowers at the same time.

The few house-elves who had shown up to help were gently being shooed out of the common room by Bridget Bishop and Margot Langstroth; the gnomes hadn't understood about the confetti and were trying to sweep it into a dustbin. Considerably upset, they were almost beyond condolences for their failure, but when a sympathetic Lily Sheridan pointed out that someone had thrown toilet paper around in the girls' washroom and it needed cleaning up, the eager sprites hurried off to do the job, forgetting their unhappiness.

Several people were sitting around the fireplace, roasting marshmallows on long pokers and talking, but they were dispersing one by one to join the party group: from the happy, relaxed atmosphere, you would almost have thought that the celebration was happening presently, and no one wanted to miss out on the fun.

Sirius had finally got the Chasers organised, and the banner, which stretched from one end of the common room to the other, was being hung with only a few, minor disasters ("No! No! Not higher, tighter, tighter! There you go,") and Sirius was now dividing his attention between the flag and Remus, who was trying to persuade Sirius to come with him; Remus had something important to say.

"Alright, I'm coming, I'm coming!" Sirius said eventually, surrendering, and called up to the Chasers, "Just turn it that way - no, your other that way - and fasten it there! That's right, now you can start on the other one, I'll be back in about ten minutes. Remus, what on earth is it?"

"Prongs is sending me a message," Remus said in an undertone, unrolling a familiar, square piece of parchment. He showed it to Sirius, who read the following words, which were appearing on the page in a hasty scrawl, written by an invisible hand:

"We have time," said Sirius, looking at his watch. "Seven-fifty - we'd better hurry or we won't make it there in time."

"I wonder what he thought of," Remus said worriedly as they headed out into the corridor, narrowly dodging a pair of second-years who shot past, having a high-speed game of tag. "Has James been reading up on any new curses lately?"

"Not that I know of, but I've been working on my motorbike a lot lately -"

"I noticed," said Remus. "You've been swearing a blue streak in there ever since your engine blew."

"Not my fault; rats got into the wiring," Sirius replied. "Foul little creatures. I'll never understand why Peter had to go and pick that for his animal when the rest of us were deciding on stags and dogs."

"I find that offensive," said Peter, coming up panting beside them. "Sorry, I was trying to talk to Kelly but she was being shy again - I think she really likes me. "

Remus raised his eyebrows, but said nothing; Sirius coughed suspiciously into the collar of his robes.

"What's the word from James? Where is he?" asked Peter, blissfully ignorant of the feelings of his friends concerning the Kelly issue.

"Hogsmeade," Remus replied.

"On the other hand, I think I'll go back and help out with the party," Peter said hastily, almost tripping over his feet in his haste to get back to the common room. "The Quidditch captain wants me to help set out the-"

"James is the Quidditch captain," Sirius said, grabbing Peter's arm and pulling him along. "And don't be scared. I'll make sure you're safe this time - no more cats in the Shrieking Shack. I promise."

"I dunno …" Peter began, but since Sirius was dragging his along the corridor by the sleeve of his robes, he really didn't have any choice in the matter.

~

"Okay," whispered James later that night, pretending to browse through the shelves at Zonko's while he spoke to his friends. "We've got it all figured out, right?"

"Well, it's not like it's hugely complicated," Sirius reminded him.

"Simple, but brilliant," said James. "Snape'll be screaming blue murder by this time tomorrow."

"If he comes to the tree at all," Remus pointed out.

"Trust me, he'll be there. He's never backed out of a challenge."

"But where are we going to find the dragon?" asked Peter.

"Come with me."

~

"The Halloween carnival?" Remus demanded, horrified, as James rounded a street corner and the Marauders heard the faint music. "Are you crazy?! We can't go in there, not after what happened last year! If that reptile guy sees us one more time he'll have our heads for sure, he said he would! Maybe we could go if we hadn't played our part in the Firebreath Incident, but after that…! He'll come up to the castle and murder us in our sleep!"

In the pale lamplight of the Hogsmeade alleys, Remus could see that even daredevil Sirius was hesitating, reluctant to walk toward what would surely be his untimely death at the hands of Yonkey Yelps, the reptile keeper of the Halloween carnival. Finch had sworn to set his most vicious animals on the Marauders after their last Halloween trick, and three of them, at least, were anxious to stay in his good graces.

James turned to his friends, surprised. Sirius looked troubled, even a little frightened, but James could see that he was willing to follow, if only to get revenge on Snape. Peter kept glancing around to all the shops, searching furtively for an escape route, his small and beady eyes darting from one doorway to another. Sensible Remus seemed almost angry, and James really couldn't blame him - Remus was the only one who had ever been caught by Yonkey Yelps, and still felt pain whenever his shoes rubbed against the scars on his ankles.

"Come on, you three," James said in his best wheedling voice, the voice he used when he tried to convince Professor McGonagall to let him have an extension on his homework. "It won't be that bad. If we're careful, and we stay out of the reptile house, Yelps won't even know we're there. He keeps the bigger animals in the yard out back behind the tent, we can just slip in, get what we need, and slip out again."

They still looked doubtful.

"We've known Yelps for the last four years, guys, and every time, we've managed to get away - I mean, with our lives," James added, as he saw Remus glance pointedly at his own feet. "We're wise to him now, we know his tricks inside-out and backwards."

"And he knows ours!" Peter whimpered, looking fearfully up the street.

"Are you saying," James started slowly, "that we haven't learned anything in the last year?" Peter hesitated, unsure. James began to pace in front of his friends. "We're not a bunch of dumb teenagers or stupid pranksters anymore. We don't fall for the Slytherins' tricks, or get found out, or get scared, and Filch hasn't caught us for months, even though he really, really wants to.

"We make plans, not vague, uncertain schemes. We have rock-solid alibis, not lame excuses, and we know what we're doing, not what we'd like to be doing. We can proudly say that we are the best pranksters Hogwarts has ever held. We believe in organisation, not random acts of evil; large-scale missions, not schoolboy tricks; and that the Slytherins are a bunch of brainless, fluff-minded nitwits!

"We all have audacity! We all have guts! And we are pretty damn clever, no matter what Professor Wilson used to say, we are! The Marauders are in the second-oldest year, the first-place Quidditch team, and the best house in all of Hogwarts! We are the Marauders, and we can do this!"

Sirius began to clap, slowly at first, then faster as Peter joined in, and then, finally, Remus. James smiled and bowed. "That's my Rant for today, folks. Thanks for the applause - really, you're too kind."

When the clapping had died down, James looked around at his friends with a grin. "So are we doing this or not?"

~

They crept into the carnival, stealthily, quietly (well, three of them did. I will refrain from mentioning the name of the individual who kicked over a bucket by mistake and nearly got them all killed, stupid Rat-Boy … oh no, I've said too much!).

Sirius, as a dog, led the way, trotting silently along in front of the rest. In the dark, he could find his way better than any of them, and his sense of smell would lead them right to the reptile tent.

They skulked in the shadows behind the tents of the carnival, ignoring the brightly-coloured snack bars, lighted rides and advertisements (Lose

Your Lunch For Only A Sickle!). The Marauders kept to the back areas, near the trash bins and empty Butterbeer mugs, despite their longing to have a go on the invisible roller coaster, which could be seen by the multitudes of people who seemed to fly through the air in groups, throwing up their arms and screaming at regular intervals.

Sirius, who bore an uncanny resemblance to a Grim in his Animagus form, poked his head out from behind a tent. James stood at his side, looking around cautiously. If they were caught… they had been banned from the Halloween carnival the previous year, after Remus had been caught, and anyone who saw them would run immediately to the manager.

Sirius glanced up at James, smiled with a doggy grin and trotted out into the open, rapidly taking shelter behind the next tree. They crept from tent to tree to garbage bin to tent again, searching for the reptile house, where their intended prey would be found. Finally, Sirius stopped, lifted his head high and sniffed the air.

He popped back to human so suddenly that Peter yelled and tripped over a root in fright. "I've got it!" Sirius whispered breathlessly. "I smelled dragon for sure!"

"You're sure it wasn't just another burnt hot dog?" James questioned suspiciously.

"Positive," Sirius replied. "It came from over there -" he said, pointing. "Across the field, over there be the stream. I think it's the big blue one with the streamers - yeah, there are definitely dragons behind that. Forget transforming, I can smell them as a human. Shall we go and make a dash for it?"

James looked at Remus, who shrugged, a mere shadow in the dark. "Yeah, okay," he said, turning back to Sirius. "But wait-" and the warning didn't seem unnecessary; Sirius was already halfway out from behind the tree. " - go back to the dog - and Peter, you do the rat thing. I won't change, a stag's not exactly common at a carnival."

Peter vanished, and a few seconds later, there was a rat on Sirius's newly black and shaggy shoulder. The pale blue eyes focussed on James, who peered around the trunk, looking for someone who might know him. James waited until the manager, a plump man who wore striped suspenders, had passed out of sight, and then whispered, "Go!"

Sirius dashed toward the reptile tent, with Peter hanging on for dear life, nearly knocking over a group of witches who made various indignant exclamations as their shopping went flying. James and Remus followed hot on their heels, dodged around those same witches - the recovered shopping was lost again - and ran full out, dashing for the reptile tent, desperate not to be recognised.

Sirius and Peter, still in front, skidded around the corner of the tent, hurried behind it- and ran headfirst into a chain-link fence. The dog flipped onto its back, dazed from the impact, and the rat jumped off, squeaking. A moment later, Peter Pettigrew had sprung up from the ground, and he was yelling at the dog in near-hysteria.

"What d'you think you're doing, running into a fence like that?" Peter demanded, furious. "I could have been thrown off, or squished, or stamped on, or - or killed! You could have slowed down a bit when you came around the tent, you could have stopped to see what was behind it, but noooo-oooo, you had to run smack into the fence! You might have stopped to think about me, but nooo-oooo, nobody cares about Pettigrew, he's just the little rat-boy, isn’t he, and Pettigrew doesn't matter, does he? Noooo-ooooo, Pettigrew can go through anything, he can get hurt as much as the great Padfoot likes, can't he? You could have taken a nanosecond-per-metre off your speed, but noooo-ooo, you had to -"

Peter stopped suddenly; Sirius had placed his jaws around the leg of his robes and was looking up at the small boy with a falsely innocent expression on his canine face. Peter smiled nervously, reached down with a trembling hand and patted Sirius hesitatingly on the head. "Good boy," Peter said, gently extracting his ankle from Padfoot's long, white razor teeth with his other hand, "nice fence avoidance back there. No harm done, eh, old chap?"

Sirius changed back to a teenager, straightened up and brushed the dust off his robes. "No, of course not," he said breezily. "Don't mention it, amigo."

James and Remus rushed around the corner of the tent just then, gasping for breath. They took no notice of Peter and Sirius, but jumped and stared at the fence as though in shock. Remus backed up, but James stayed where he was, rooted to the spot, gazing at the fence behind Sirius.

"What is it?" asked Peter when he saw James's expression.

"Look behind you," James said shakily.

Peter and Sirius turned to face the chain-link fence. A horrible sight met their eyes.

The fence was at least thirty feet high, reaching far above their heads, and there was good reason for this: at least ten dragons were inside it, stretched out on the grassy ground and sleeping soundly.

They appeared drugged: throughout Peter's rant, not one of them had not woken up. The horrid, scaly skin twitched as flies landed on it, mounds of enormously powerful of flesh rising and falling with each enormous breath, and it was a truly awesome sight. There were at least a hundred and fifty tons of deadly reptile spread out in that huge enclosure, each of them absolutely quiet. Remus almost wished that the dragons were awake, deliriously clawing at the fence, trying frenziedly to reach the Marauders; he was more frightened by the silent calm than by anything the dragons could have done while awake.

"Wow," Sirius whispered, staring hypnotised at the monstrous, sleeping forms.

"Yeah," James said hoarsely, "That would pretty much sum it up."

"I didn't know he had this many," Remus said, awed in the way that you're both awed and repelled beyond words. "The reptile keeper was supposed to own two or three at most - I had no idea that there would be…"

"We've got to get out of here," begged Peter, tugging at James's sleeve and nearly crying with terror. "We can't go in there, please James, think about what might happen - if we go in and they wake up, it won't be one dragon that gets us - it'll be fifteen!"

"You're right," James said, nodding. "We're not going in."

Peter breathed a sigh of relief; Sirius and Remus were shocked.

"James, what-"

"I'm going in," James finished.

"You're WHAT?!"

"Oh, be careful!"

"Not without me, you're not!"

But James shook his head. "No, it's my fault we're even here. I dared Snape to go out to the tree tomorrow night, and I convinced you guys to come to the carnival. I got us into this, and I'm going to make sure the job gets done."

"How are you even going to climb in there?" reasonable Remus combated, hoping that James wouldn't know the answer to his question; if James had a way to get in, he was going in, and nothing under the sun would be able to stop him.

"I'll climb over," James said, walking around in front of the fence. "It shouldn't be hard - I took rock-climbing lessons as a kid, and this is easier." He squinted in the dark, made out the worried faces of his friends, and sighed. "Oh, stop it. I've got the clippers-" he indicated a large pair of garden shears strapped to his back "- I've got sense, and I know how to cut off a dragon's toenail without him feeling it."

"Have you ever tried?" Remus asked, but James was already halfway up the fence, scrambling for the top like a monkey. Sirius hesitated, but then leapt and grabbed a hold of the wire wall. James, sitting atop the fence, saw his friend coming up, grinned and waited for him. Sirius caught up with minimal injuries: two cuts, a bruise and possible blood poisoning from the dirty wire.

"Knew you'd be coming along," James said.

"Only to cover your butt," Sirius parried.

"Try and make a good job of it, won't you? I've got no desire to become the next Insomniac Hollow horror story: 'The Boy Who Talked With Dragons.'"

"Don't doubt my butt-covering abilities, Prongs, I've been doing it for five years."

"I'm glad to have an experienced person along, then," said James, and together, he and Sirius clambered carefully to the bottom.

Inside the dragon cage, things were very different. The reptiles seemed to grow three times as large, and James almost felt himself shrink.

Sirius swallowed hard, and daredevil or not, he couldn't help imagining how long the fangs, concealed inside those fiery mouths, had grown.

"Okay," James whispered at last, breaking the silence. "Let's go."

"Which breed are we looking for?" hissed Sirius.

"Canadian Redtail," James said. He scanned the area for the target, and then spotted it: in the very centre of the cage, there was an enormous hulk of dark dragon, noticeable only because of its tail, which glowed red, beckoning to them through the blackness. "That one." Sirius shut his eyes tight, then opened them again, took a deep breath, and nodded.

They tiptoed through the minefield of giant lizards, stopping to glance fearfully at a flickering eyelid or a claw that moved as a dragon stirred in its sleep. On occasion, one of them would snore and fire would shoot out of its mouth in a rather alarming manner. Sirius got a terrible shock the first time this happened - the jet of flame had passed only an inch from the heel of his shoe, and his socks had been singed by the incredible heat.

Neither boy dared to talk; they were dreading the possibility that, any moment now, they would be staring into a pair of open enormous, reptilian eyes. James tried not to think about the worst-case scenario; Sirius concentrated only on putting one foot in front of another, and making sure that neither one fell on dragon hide.

After many close calls, and at least a dozen half-heart attacks apiece, the boys reached the Canadian Redtail.

"I'll hold up the claw," Sirius whispered to James. "You clip the toenail."

James slung the shears off his back and knelt down by the Redtail's claw. He couldn't help noticing how incredibly large and curved it was, almost as big around as Peter's head, as wicked-looking as a hawk's talon but a thousand times as dangerous, jet-black in colour, the tip as thin as a scissors blade. Sirius lifted the claw, with difficulty and utmost caution, and James got to work.

He fit the garden shears around the bottom five inches of the dragon toenail and began to push on the handle, being careful not to twist the claw. James pushed as hard as he could, the blades slowly, oh so slowly, cutting through the hard substance, which was almost as hard as human bone.

The nail was seven inches thick, and after what seemed like an eternity, James was only an inch through. He concentrated as hard as he could, pushing to his absolute endurance, the muscles in his arms straining, beads of sweat slowly forming on his forehead.

The rubber-coated handle began to cut into James's hand, leaving bruises that would swell the next day, and James was certain that he wouldn't be able to hold a quill for a week if he had to keep this up. James quickly banished the thought; his whole being was centred on getting the claw off of the dragon and into his pocket.

The dragon stirred and groaned; James didn't stop, but kept pushing down on the handles, almost crying out from the effort. Sirius wasn't having such a good time himself - he had his back to the dragon's face, and it was unnerving to stand there, struggling to keep the foot up for the cutting, not knowing if the horrid eyes were open or closed.

James put his whole body into the struggle, pushing down with absolutely everything he had, refusing to give in to the screaming pain in his arms and shoulders - he was so close - there were only three more inches - he began to grind the blade against the nail, trying to saw it off - two and a half - James urged the two blades downward and upward, slowly narrowing the gap that was filled with dragon claw - one inch - half an inch -

James gave one final, giant push, and the claw fell to the ground with a dull thud.

"YES!" James yelled, leaping to his feet in ecstasy and flinging the shears to the side. The foot-long scissors left his hand in what seemed like slow motion - Sirius tried to leap for them, but missed - the shears flipped over in mid-air - and buried themselves in the Canadian Redtail's nostril.

An agonised bellow filled the air, resounding over the carnival, shaking the invisible roller coaster and tipping its riders upside-down, making the reptile tent shudder forty feet away, nearly deafening the Marauders as the dragon reared up, screaming in pain.

"Uh-oh," said James.

~

The hospital wing was quiet and clean. The white walls, bare and uninteresting, gave a medical, businesslike atmosphere to the room, and the beds, organised neatly into rows, were all spotless. The sheets were tidy; the floor was swept to perfection; and there was an air of calm and serenity in the silent chambers.

"Are they going to be alright?" Remus asked, looking at the three sleeping boys lying in front of him.

Madam Pomfrey leaned over Peter, dabbing at the burns with a shimmering green ointment, and Remus almost smiled. Poor little Peter - last night, as each dragon in the cage had woken up in a panic and James and Sirius had run for their lives, the pudgy boy had stood transfixed behind the fence, thinking he was safe, hardly daring to watch. A fury-maddened, stampeding Norwegian Ridgeback, half-crazed and confused, had fired as jet of fire through the cage, and Peter had stood directly in its path. Remus was the only one who had escaped uninjured.

"They'll all be fine, deary," Madam Pomfrey said kindly. "Pettigrew here might have some scars, and there's nothing I can do about that, but the other two - they'll be up and about by this afternoon. I'm sure that Potter and Black are going to be awake until one in the morning, dancing up a storm at your Halloween party.

"Don't know what they've been doing this time," Madam Pomfrey muttered as she moved on to assess Sirius's wounds. "Something dangerous, that's obvious - can't understand it - mad, each and every one of them - my children were never like this…"

~

Their damages repaired, the Marauders stood in their dormitory, peering into the cauldron that bubbled on top of the carpet, a magically conjured fire burning beneath it (Peter stayed far away from the flames).

"Salamander eggs?" Sirius asked.

"Check," James said, throwing them into the brew with his mended arm.

"Ostrich feather?"

"Check."

"Dragon claw?'

"WHERE?!" cried James, pretending to panic. He tossed the troublesome appendage into the cauldron and stirred happily. "This'll be ready by eleven-thirty tonight, I reckon - perfect timing for our little rendezvous down by the oak tree, eh, Peter?" Peter gulped. James continued.

"This is going to be brilliant, I can feel it in my bones. One Paranoia Potion for Snape, coming up!"

~

It was midnight. The witching hour.

The front doors of Hogwarts opened, and four boys climbed down the stairs, carefully, cautiously, looking around to see if they were being followed. One carried a bucket full of something that was slopping back and forth, squelching like the sound a shoe makes when it sinks into a patch of marsh. As the four boys walked toward the lake, a chilly Halloween wind whipped around them and Peter squeaked in terror.

"It's alright, Wormtail," Remus said comfortingly, putting a hand on the trembling shoulder. "No dragons here." Peter shuddered.

Sirius was the one with the bucket. He was swinging it carelessly back and forth, whistling cheerfully. Occasionally, he burst into song, singing in a glorious tenor that drowned out the crickets.

" …Now I'm a broken man on a Newfoundland pier; the last of Barrack's privateers!" he called out to the night, and it responded with an indignant cacophony of bird's whistles and rustling branches, the forest upset at the disturbance.

"Enough with the sea chanteys, Padfoot," Remus stated firmly. "You are not on an eighteenth-century sailing ship. Just let it go."

"Can't; I'm suffering from post-dragon-attack psychological trauma," Sirius said cheerily, echoing Madam Pomfrey's pessimistic diagnosis in the hospital wing (of course, Sirius had been singing "Farewell to Massachusetts" at the time, so the matron's dark suspicions were quite understandable).

They reached the old oak, and as they got closer, James began to see why Snape had chosen it for his tale. Lichens hung low from the branches, floating eerily on the breeze; leaves swung listlessly on their twigs, half-dead; the knots that covered the trunk looked like old man's eyes. There was definite haunting potential.

"It's so perfect," Sirius said in wonder, craning his neck to see the top of the tree, which towered above them. He placed the bucket on the ground. "Give me a leg up, will you, James?" James bent down by the tree and laced his fingers together, forming a cup with his hands, and

Sirius stuck his foot into it. The taller, heavier boy (James was struggling and perspiring under his weight) groped around, searching for a low-hanging branch, found one hidden in the leaves, and pulled himself up.

"Pass me the bucket," Sirius ordered, and James handed it up. Now it was Remus' turn to help James into the tree, although Moony certainly had an easier time of it; James was small and skinny, only three inches taller than Peter, and weighed much less than Sirius.

James found himself sitting on the branch beside Sirius in the dark, the bucket placed conveniently between them. He grinned at his friend, although Sirius couldn't see it. "Snape's late," he whispered.

"So were we," Sirius returned. "Glad he wasn't already here, that would've been a real nightmare."

"Yeah," James agreed. "It wouldn't have had the same effect if we'd just thrown the potion on him and left. I want to really scare him - especially after what he did to Peter. I was going to sock him one in the eye back there at the dinner table, but something told me to wait - and look what came of my genius." He shook his head in admiration of himself. "It's true; I'm brilliant. Shower me with praise."

"How about Paranoia Potion?" asked Sirius, reaching menacingly for the bucket.

"Save it for the real criminals."

"Real criminals, huh? What would you call a guy who sneaks into a cage full of dragons to get an ingredient for a highly illegal potion that he's planning to use on a fellow student, out of bounds and after hours?"

"Einstein's resurrection?"

Sirius coughed. "Ahem. No."

"Guys, shut up!" Remus hissed from underneath the tree. "He's coming!"

James and Sirius fell immediately silent. Fearing that Snape would see them as he approached, they didn't dare to peek our of the leaves that obscured their vision, contenting themselves instead with the sound of approaching footsteps.

James crossed his fingers, hoping, hoping… it was Remus' job to convince Snape to stand directly under the oak, right where Sirius and James could see him, but Snape might refuse, he might suspect …

Sirius was waving frantically at James, motioning him to look down. He did, and his face cracked into a malevolent, satisfied, smile. There, directly below him, was the top of Severus Snape's greasy black head; James could not see his expression, but was sure that the Slytherin prefect was wearing a sneer.

"So sorry that Black and Potter couldn't make it," Snape was saying in a voice that dripped with sarcasm and false courtesy. "Quite regrettable indeed, that they were injured. How did it happen, again?"

"Well, there were these really big dra-" Peter started earnestly, but Remus cut him off.

"Cheering Charm gone wrong," Remus explained with an admirably straight face.

"Really…" Snape said, slightly confused.

"Now?" Sirius whispered to James, so low that the whisperer himself could hardly hear it.

"NOW!" James yelled, and together, he and Sirius hoisted the bucket to their shoulders, turned it upside down, and emptied seven Galleons of perfectly mixed Paranoia Potion into Snape's open mouth.

Snape doubled over, coughing and hacking. He fell to his knees, gasping for breath, tried to get up, staggered backwards, and fell over again.

Remus disappeared mysteriously into the bushes, dragging Peter with him and leaving the unfortunate boy to himself.

Snape lay ten feet from the tree, choking and coughing in the last vestiges of the Potion. When he looked up again, staring at the offending tree (which showed nothing but leaves, bark and lichens) his eyes were stuck open, wide with fear.

"L-l-l-Lupin?" he stuttered, getting shakily to his feet. At Snape's countenance of terror, James felt a most reprehensible desire to laugh; now he knew why the recipe for Paranoia Potion had been found in the Restricted Section. "P-p-p-Pettigrew?"

Snape glanced fearfully about the grounds, starting at every breath of wind, every shake of a blade of grass. He found it all petrifying: the way everything was so apprehensively still, as though it was waiting for something; the way the lake behind him was threateningly black and inky; the way that haunted old oak tree was shaking - wait a moment - shaking?!

"Severus," a spectral voice said in chilling, undulating tones. "Severus…"

Snape trembled all over his body. "Who - who are y-you?"

"I am the man who hanged himself from this tree, Severus. I am the spectre you invented two nights ago," said the voice, the branches swaying mightily with each horrifying syllable. "You thought you were making me up, thought that it was all a tale to scare those wonderful, brave Gryffindor boys, but that, Severus Snape, was no ghost story."

Snape began to whimper, sounding like Sirius had when, in dog form, his paw had been cut by a long, jagged piece of glass, broken off from the neck of a beer bottle. The black tunnel eyes flicked to one side, then the other, as though searching for an escape route; but wherever he looked, Snape found something that terrified him.

"You should not have made a joke out of my tale, Severus Snape," the voice went on. "You should not have told it to frighten a small boy, you should not have used it for your advantage. I do not like being used, Severus Snape."

"I - I - I'm sorry, I-"

"I will not accept being used, Severus Snape. You did wrong by me, and now you must pay the price…"

If you had been out in the Hogwarts grounds at twelve o' clock on the night of October 31, 1974, you would have seen an extraordinary sight.

You would have seen a teenaged boy, with a hooked nose and long black hair, his robes flying out behind him as he ran crazily through the grounds. If you were close enough, you might have head him saying something, shouting it out in the desperate, futile hope that someone would hear.

"GHOST!" screamed Severus Snape as he tore through the pumpkin patch, stumbling over his feet as he booted it to Hagrid's cabin, running as quickly as he could, getting caught on creepers and vines that reached out to grab him as he ran. His eyes were bloodshot; his skin paler than a vampire's; he was foaming at the mouth and shrieking in panic. "GHOST!!"

Happy Halloween!