Carve Me Open / r.l. + s.b. /

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There absolutely had to be chocolate, and it was clear they didn't hesitate to stock up on that. Bars upon bars of dark chocolate were laid out, chocolate frogs hopping on top wildly. Finger sandwiches took up another plate. Some had been cucumber (this had been Sirius's favorite, and he most likely put up a proper fight to have them there), while others were tuna fish. He could imagine James whining like a child at the smell. A bowl of crisps was simply begging to be eaten, and, just as he'd smelled, a cake sitting right in the middle.

Now, it was evident to Remus that whatever Peter and James had eaten was, in fact, the cake. What had once been a two-layer, circular cake with frothy, brown frosting (must've been chocolate) and three large candles in the shape of witch fingers was now shaped to be a crescent moon; how fitting. One of the candles leaned dangerously to the left and dripped wax onto the platter while the others waited happily to blow out. On the top, in bright red icing, was written Feel Better Lupin.

The smile never faded.

"Who decided the cake should be brown," Remus asked smugly, "because they need to be Stupefied."

The three other boys, who'd engaged in a rather intense wrestling match, froze in place. Peter's legs had been bent in questionable angles while Sirius was aggressively rubbing James's face into his armpit. Through muffled protest, James cried 'Uncle' several times to no avail.

"See, James," Sirius shrieked, throwing his face away from him and clambering to his feet. He brushed himself off, tucking his hair behind his ear and regaining some of his dignity. "I told you it looked like a bloody turd."

"So rude," Remus gasped halfheartedly.

"Yeah, well, he wanted it to be gray," James gasped for breath, pulling Peter to his feet. The portly boy hurried over to the table, making plates for each of his friends with a soft smile. "Who the hell ices a cake gray?"

"Someone obsessed with their own eye color," Peter snickered. "I'm sure he'd look in the mirror all day if we let him."

"I'm not the one who ate half a turd," Sirius pointed out arrogantly. "Don't snap at me, James. Don't worry. I know you're used to eating shit, what with your face up my—"

"Sirius, be quiet," Remus warned, taking a bite of a tuna sandwich. His appetite had returned along with his spirits.

"Be quiet yourself, Remus," Sirius retorted, tossing his hair over his shoulder.

With an eyeroll, Remus took his plate from Peter. If he had another bite of chocolate, he might have gone into cardiac arrest. In fact, it had been the only thing Remus consumed for three days except for pumpkin juice and Skele-Gro. By now, he might as well have been pissing chocolate, according to the vulgar mind of Sirius Orion Black. Always has his head in the gutter, clearly. Peter must've been thinking along the same lines as Remus, and he piled his plate with more finger sandwiches and carrot sticks.

"Sirius insisted on giving you vegetables instead of sweets," James groaned, flopping onto his bed.

"Just because you don't look after your body doesn't mean you must subject the rest of us to your life of piggishness," Sirius crooned, stroking his hair out of his face. "Don't complain when your gut drops before your balls."

Remus opened his mouth to reply but closed it just as quickly, knowing this argument was better watched than engaged in. Several minutes of bickering went on for what felt like seconds, Remus only being drawn out of his reverie by Sirius haphazardly asking for his two cents which hardly ever meant a thing in the grand scheme of things. Both boys went back and forth from the color of the cake to whether or not James's broom would be able to hold him up during the next Quidditch match. Remus didn't really care what they argued about, to be frank. He simply soaked in the atmosphere, relishing in the comfort of his second home.