Four To The End (prev Shifting Lines) - Book One (Marauder Era)

Chapter Eighty-Three - Remus's Big Prank

Second stop: Myrtle's bathroom. He usually visited her about once a week still, tried his best to visit all his ghost friends from the pre-Marauder days. He knew he could trust her. He practiced the spell as hard as he could, not sure how much time he had. He knew Gryffindor needed to win by quite a few points so he assumed they'd prolong the game to do so. It wasn't very advanced--they'd be learning it probably at the start of their second year--however doing it on such a large surface took a lot of concentration. Myrtle giggled when Remus took his sweatshirt off, stripping down to his t-shirt. He was soaked in sweat as he focused hard.

He managed to do a small area. Then a larger area. After an hour of exhaustive pushing he managed to do the entire bathroom floor. Then got rid of it.

"You're wicked," Myrtle said. "I can't wait to see everyone."

"I wish I could but I can't take the risk of being seen," he replied.

"I'll tell you all about it later," she promised, hovering uncomfortably close to him. One nice thing about ghosts was the fact they all smelled very similar: a vague whispy sort of death-y smell (at least he assumed that's what it was since only ghosts had that smell). He couldn't smell any kind of pheromones, the overload of little scents that living beings gave off. It was like a break for his nose.

"I just hope Filch doesn't ruin it." Actually, someone leaving the game early could ruin it. A likely chance of happening, actually, one lone person coming in, realizing, then going to get someone.

"Filch?" Myrtle stuck her tongue out and blew a raspberry. "He's at the game, didn't you know? Wants to see who wins the match."

"Really?" He hadn't thought of Filch as being much into Quidditch.

"He wants Slytherin to win, so he's rooting for Ravenclaw," Myrtle said, tossing her pigtails back. "It's awful, having someone like him root for us."

Remus was rather hoping Ravenclaw won too, just so Gryffindor wouldn't be partying all day and all night again. "I'll see you later, Myrtle." He left, going down to the entrance hall as fast as he could but he was pretty exhausted by this point. He wasn't even sure if he had it in him to do what he wanted to do.

On the way down he listened for the sounds from the game. Cheering, still, but not continuous so he doubted it was over. So he took the time to rest. Part of him wanted to giggle, the other part figured someone would ruin everything. Even if they did, at least he gave it a try. He just hoped it worked out.

After a while he got up, feeling mostly better. I suppose I should thank my werewolf stamina for that, he thought, then finally arrived at the entrance hall, a very Marauder-y grin on his face as he set about with his work. It was exhausting, draining him of all energy. He was soaked in sweat by the time he finished and on the verge of passing out but he managed to put the finishing touch on the steps leading up to the first floor, then staggered off to one of the secret passages to rest a little bit. He curled up on the floor, still grinning to himself, wishing he could stay and see. He'd probably be caught if he did, though, so... back to the dorms he had to go.

*

Gryffindor lost without having gotten enough points. So, even though Ravenclaw won the game... Slytherin won the Quidditch cup. Something Remus would forever not understand. And Ravenclaw had gotten enough points to just barely make second instead of third, knocking Gryffindor into third. James, Sirius, and Peter were in pretty foul moods when they came up to the dorm... made fouler still by something that had happened.

"What a crap day!" James tore his scarlet hat off, throwing it onto his bed. "First, we don't get enough points, then Ravenclaw probably cheats their way into second place, and then some jerk goes and booby-traps the entire entrance hall!"