Good Day, Sunshine

Rating: PG-13 for language, suggested drug use, and adult themes.

Title: Good Day, Sunshine Feck Off, You Swine

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters, settings, and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling as published by, including and not limited, to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books, Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. The use of these characters and settings is for entertainment purposes only; no infringement is intended or should be inferred. Additionally, locations in and around the United Kingdom are used as a basis for "historical reality" or in a purely fictitious manner.

Spoiler Alert: Books 1-5. Why not.

Summary: He thought it might have been human. It sounded vaguely human. James Potter wondered if perhaps a Jarvey had managed its way into the dorm. It had sounded a bit like a Jarvey. Though much more polite.

Pairings: James/Lily

Author's Notes: This is a follow-up piece to Lily In The Sky With Diagon Alleys, written at the behest of Tracey. This is chapter one of I think two, not more than three. As in the parent story, there are allusions to drug use. This story is not intended to neither support nor condone the use of drugs; it’s just a part of the story. Nor does this story condone the stepping upon of house elves. That’s just wrong.

_______________________________________________________________

GOOD DAY, SUNSHINE FECK OFF, YOU SWINE

[] OR, YOU MAY BE A MARAUDER, BUT YOU AIN’T NO MORRIS DANCER

_______________________________________________________________

There was a loud moan to his left.

“Owwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww....”

It sounded as though it were stretching infinitely into time and space.

He listened to the sound spiral into the vast reaches of his dormitory room, listened to it wrap itself around the bed posts, dance between the ceiling beams, skitter along the fabric of the curtains and the four-poster bed. He listened to the sound as it canvassed the circumference of the room before it finally dissipated into the floorboards.

He marvelled at it for a moment and then lamented its loss. It had been an interesting noise.

He thought it might have been human. It sounded vaguely human. James Potter wondered if perhaps a Jarvey had managed its way into the dorm. It had sounded a bit like a Jarvey. Though much more polite.

“Bugger all,” the voice moaned again.

That most definitely sounded like a Jarvey.

“Eh?” something croaked in response.

Potter realised that the something was actually him.

There was a high-pitched ‘meep’ from his right. “Wotsdat?” said the owner of the ‘meep’.

“S’me,” Potter croaked again. He attempted to clear his throat and immediately regretted it.

“Whosteppedonthebloodyhouseelf?” came a grouse from his right.

“No one,” he croaked a third time.

“The hell he didn’t,” said a different voice entirely, “and stop covering for him, Jarvis.”

“I’m not Jarvis,” Potter croaked.

“You’re not?”

“Hells no.”

There was a rustling of bed sheets, a thud, and then the sound of someone or something…crawling.

James reached to his night table to pull his spectacles onto his aching face. He turned to face the room again.

Remus Lupin popped his head over the side of James’ bed, right into James’ face, coming nose to nose and eye to bloodshot eye with him. Potter screamed, “GAH!” and flung himself backwards, clear off his bed, taking his sheets with him. He landed on his rear with a firm ‘whack’ and cursed. “SHIT!”

“No, you’re not Jarvis,” Lupin murmured, climbing into James’ vacated bed.

“YOU BERK, GET OUT OF MY BED.”

“No, s’nice and warm...”

“Who let in the Jarvey?”

“I’m not a Jarvey and I’m not a House Elf, damn you.” James sat up, set his back against the night table, and fluffed his dislocated covers around him. “Damn. You,” he muttered.

“You sure you’re not a Jarvey?”

He turned to give Peter Pettigrew, who was squinting at him, a nasty glare.

“I’m sure.”

“‘Cause, well, you ought to know, you sound a bit like a Jarvey.”

“GO. TO. HELL.” He gave Pettigrew the fingers.

“See, right then, that was well Jarvey-like.”

“He’s right,” yawned Lupin with his eyes closed. He hugged James’ former pillow tightly.

“GIMMEBACKMYBED.”

“Oi, keep yer voice down,” scowled Sirius Black. There was a moment, and then: “Here, who tucked me in so bloody tight? I can’t move. S’not funny.”

“You’re not tucked into bed. You’re on top of the covers,” Lupin mumbled into Potter’s pillow.

“Stop breathing your...wolfy morning breath into my bed things,” James scowled.

“If I’m not tucked in...” There was another moment. “OHGODMERLINMYLEGS!”

“Eh?” said Peter.

“ICAN’TMOVEMELEGS.”

“You sure?” muttered Lupin, rubbing his face against James’ pillow.

“WILL YOU STOP…GETTING YOURSELF ALL OVER MY BED, YOU SWINE? And wot’s the matter with your bloody legs, Padfoot?”

“ICAN’TMOVEMYLEGS.” There was the sound of struggling. “AIGH! ICAN’TMOVEMEARMS.”

“Really, now?” asked Peter.

“WHYCAN’TIMOVEMYARMSORLEGSWHATDIDYOUDOTOME?”

“Calm down, Padfoot, calm down, I am certain there is a reasonable expan--expin--esplan--reason for this,” mumbled Remus. He sat up on Potter’s bed and rubbed his eyes wearily. He looked over to Sirius Black’s bed.

Sirius was lying completely straight on the bed, his legs rigid, his arms clasped to his sides. He was staring at Lupin with wide eyes.

Mad eyes.

Rabid eyes.

In a most fortuitous stroke of what could only have been properly catalogued as sheer dumb luck, the sight woke and sobered (as much as was possible) Lupin immediately. “Oh dear...”

“WHATDIDYOUDOTOME?” shouted Black, spittle flying from his mouth.

“Oi, Prongs…”

“What?” he snapped, sitting on the floor and pouting furiously.

“Prongs…” said Remus again, trying to put a note of warning in his voice.

“And I said, what?” Potter finally got to his knees and looked across his bed to Sirius.

The sight sobered (as much as it could have) him as well.

“Bugger,” he finally managed.

“Are you sure there isn’t a Jarvey in here?” asked Pettigrew.

“SCREW YOU AND SCREW THE BLOODY JARVEY, WORMTAIL. WHAT IN THE HELL DID YOU PRICKS DO TO ME?”

Pettigrew finally took notice at that, sitting up in his bed. When he saw the fearsome aspect of Black’s reddening face, he squeaked and skittered back against his headboard, his slightly bulging eyes made wider.

“Damn, what do we do?” Lupin was on his knees atop Potter’s bed.

“What do you mean, what do we do, Moony? I’ve no idea; I’m not the one who did the spell.”

“DO YOU MEAN TO TELL ME THAT YOU CAN’T REVERSE IT?” Black thundered.

“I didn’t say that, Padfoot.” James adopted a pensive mien. “I suppose that we could reverse it. After all, we did create the map, didn’t we? That was not simple magic. That was bloody complicated.”

“That’s right; we were geniuses for making it. I’m sure that we could reverse it...”

“I DON’T CARE ABOUT NO SODDING MAP, JUST REVERSE IT ALREADY!”

“Bloody hell, man, you are apt to wake the entire tower.” Remus frowned and held out his hand. “Accio wand.”

“IT’S ABOUT BLOODY TIME, NOW YOU UNSTICK ME, MOONY!”

Lupin pursed his lips, waved his wand at Black and said, “Silencio.”

Sirius’ mouth opened and closed without a sound. His eyes widened dramatically and his face began to turn a rather intriguing shade of violet. He thrashed about on his bed as best he could, resembling a rather large fish out of water. His vehement movement caused the feet of his four-poster bed to scrape against the floor of their dorm room.

James shook his head and ‘tsk-ed’ loudly. “That will never do.” He held out his hand, spoke, “Accio wand,” and then added, “Lectus Tacere.”

While Sirius kept jarring the bed, no further sound came from his movements.

“That’s bloody brilliant,” Lupin marvelled. “I shall have to remember that for next time.”

“The next time what?” said Pettigrew from immediately behind them. Both boys jumped and nearly lost hold of their wands.

“GAH!”

“Stop creeping about like that,” hissed James, slapping Pettigrew on the forearms. “You’ll be the bloody death of me!”

“Honestly, man, do I have to tie a Sneakoscope round your neck?” added Remus with a glare.

The three boys walked over to Sirius bed and stood aside of it, arm to arm. As Black silently vowed death, dismemberment, humiliation, revenge, and skulduggery upon his mates, the threesome watched his violent pantomime, titling their heads from side to side in unison as Black sputtered mutely, shifting the bed from its position, slowly inching it toward the centre of the room.

After some minutes had passed and after Sirius had managed to move the bed about two metres, Remus finally spoke. “Fascinating.”

James blinked. “Yes.”

“Rather,” concluded Peter.

“Are you still arseholed on those brownies, mate?” James asked Remus.

“Um...” Remus thought for a moment. He looked up at the ceiling. Then he looked down at the floorboards. Then he looked at Potter. “Yeh.”

“Fascinating,” said James.

“Yes,” said Peter.

“Rather,” added Lupin.

“D’you think he’s still arseholed?” wondered Lupin, pointing a long and slender finger at the silently snarling Black. Their prostrate roommate bared his teeth and snapped at Remus’ finger. “OOH!” exclaimed the intended victim, his eyebrows rising. “OOH, YOU! YOU! YOU…MORRIS DANCER! HOW DARE YOU!”

Potter took his wand and waggled it at Black punitively. “Bad dog,” he said sternly. “Bad.”

Sirius mouthed something that looked suspiciously like, “Meat tea, Proctor.”

Peter squinted at Black. “Did you just say what I thought you said?”

Before Black could repeat his lip flaps, there was a banging on their dormitory room door. “Oi! You in there!” yelled a familiar voice. “Wot in the bloody hell is goin’ on with all of the shoutin’ and the thumpin’? You lot after having a bit of rumpy pumpy? It’s too bleedin’ early for that!”

The Marauders looked to one another in wide-eyed shock. Knowing the perpetrator of the banging upon their door, they quickly recovered.

“Well, I never, Fartbottom!” James hollered at the door, very much affronted.

“And if we were, wot’s it to you?” Pettigrew added in a loud voice.

“Oh, shut it, Peter!” snapped Remus, giving the smaller boy a shove as he stalked over to the door.

From the bed, Sirius mouthed, “Mata buoy, Noon He.”

Remus flung the door open and glared at Frank Longbottom. “What’s all this then?”

Longbottom arched an eyebrow and snorted derisively. “Wrong way round, Lupin. You’re s’posed to be the bill round here. Why are you after playin’ the heavy? Where’s your man Black at?” He strolled into the room and stopped short at the site of the prone Black. “Good shite!”

“Yeah, it was,” tittered Pettigrew.

Longbottom was still gaping at the foaming and frothing and silent Marauder. “...the hell happened to you, Black?”

Sirius lipped something about, “dose mucking punts hid his do fee.”

“I am not a mucking punt,” James countered with a pout.

Longbottom motioned to Black. “Wot’s with the panto?” he wondered.

“We had to shut him up, didn’t we? He was being a bloody nuisance, wasn’t he?” muttered Remus.

“We were wonderin’ what had happened to him. We reckoned you threw him out the window finally.” Longbottom folded his arms and nodded at Black. “Did you do a full body bind as well?”

“No, he woke up like that,” answered Pettigrew.

“So, you just shut him up?”

“Yeh.”

“Who got him stuck, then?”

The three of them started to look round the dorm. Peter made a woeful attempt at whistling.

Sirius began madly writhing on his bed, as best as he could, considering his predicament.

“Shush, darling, you’ll frighten the children,” said Lupin. With a wave of his wand, he drew the curtains on Sirius’ bed to a close. The bed continued to hop up and down without a sound.

Longbottom regarded the three visible Marauders suspiciously. “What…happened to the lot of you?” he asked. He began to slowly back toward the door.

“Erm...”

“Well...”

“You see...”

“It’s like...”

“BROWNIES!” squealed Pettigrew, running across the dorm to dive into his bed.

Potter, Lupin, and Longbottom stared after him, then looked to one another and shrugged.

“Wot’s he mean by brownies?” asked Longbottom.

“Well, you see, the thing of it is that, erm...yes...well…ah…Jamescantellyou,” Remus demurred and took a step back.

“WHAT?” James glared at Lupin and then turned to stare at Longbottom. “Well. Um...ah...yes...well…Black...it was Black, you see, he stole a package that came for you owl post.”

“He stole…a package,” Longbottom said slowly.

James nodded.

“A package of brownies,” added Remus.

James nodded again.

Longbottom blinked.

“From Tonks,” Remus elaborated.

James nodded his head again.

Longbottom stopped blinking.

“BLOODY HELL!” he yelped. “You...the four...you...you ate the brownies! THOSE BROWNIES?!?!”

“There’s some left,” bleated Pettigrew from his headboard.

Longbottom darted for the exit.

“Where are you going?” demanded Remus, visions of the Head Boy and the Head Girl wagging their fingers at him dancing through his muddled head.

“You don’t understand...you lot...bloody hell, I need help with this.” He opened the door and stepped into the hallway.

“Help with what?” asked James, a note of panic in his voice.

“You...blow me...you lot...okay. Those brownies...”

“They’re his ‘Bespoke Eat But Not Smoke Brownies’, we know, Evans told us last night.”

“No, Remus, man, you don’t understand...this was a special batch.”

“Special?” echoed Remus.

“Batch?” said James.

“The effects last for days,” Longbottom clarified, wide-eyed.

“DAYS?” shouted Lupin.

Sirius’ bed jumped high into the air, more than a metre, before crashing down without a sound.

“I, ah, I think I’m getting the fear,” Pettigrew yelped from beneath his covers. “I’m definitely getting the fear.”

James and Remus ignored him, fixed on Longbottom. “It’s s’posed to go on for days,” he said again.

“Frank,” began Potter, a look of horror on his face. “I swear on all that is holy or whatever…”

“Yeah. I know. So I need help. You need help. Bloody hell. Just...stay here. Don’t go anywhere. Stay here. I’m not having a wheeze or nothin’, just don’t leave, yeah?” With that, Longbottom shut the door with a loud bang. Then it opened again and he poked his head through. “And don’t open it for no one other than me.” Then he slammed it shut again.

James blinked at the door. “Days?” he said in a small voice.

“We’re buggered,” whispered Remus.

“We’ve class tomorrow,” Peter said in a pathetic voice. He had clambered to the foot of his bed. “We’ll…we could be expelled showing up like this.”

“What do we do now?” wondered Lupin, dejected.

They were silent for a moment, while Sirius’ bed hopped in the background.

James held his arms out from his sides in a furtive gesture and then slapped his hands against his thighs. “Sleep, I s’pose.” He shrugged. “We’ve got nothing else to do. It’s not as though we could study. Like we would. Or, well, anything,” said Potter morosely.

“Sleep,” said Lupin. “Right.” He yawned loudly, shuffled over toward Potter’s bed, and fell face down onto it, bouncing as the mattress took his impact.

James’ eyes positively bulged at the second invasion. “DAMN YOU, GET OFF MY BED!” the owner seethed, stalking over and grabbing hold of a bedpost.

Remus answered him with a loud snore. He was joined by a wheezing snore from Pettigrew’s side of the room. Peter was curled up at the foot of his bed, his nose whistling away.

Potter scowled at the both of them, ignored the still hopping bed and curtained bed holding Sirius, and settled himself into his comforters piled on the floor next to his annexed bed. “I don’t want to feel like this for days,” he scowled to no one in particular. James settled himself in and decided to practise a good, long, bottom-lip-stuck-out-and-eyes-narrowed-just-so pout. One never knew when a good pout might come in handy…

†