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Chapter 1: Yes. They Really Did Not Know.
A/N: Gods, it's been so long since I posted something new here.
Anyhow. CRACK, beware! Er... so, yeah. This is just a crack-y little something I wrote a while ago, but never got around to posting. I thought I might make it a little longer, but after I reread it, I decided it worked best as a ficlet. And here it is: Gred and Forge Find Out Who The Marauders Are. Hope you enjoy it (and then leave me a review telling me if you liked it or not).
DISCLAIMER: This is in no way mine. It all belongs to The Supreme Being, Her Penmanship-ness, the one, the only J. K. Rowling.
“Dinner is delicious, Molly,” Remus compliments as he was wont to do whenever he stayed at Headquarters at night.
“Oh, it was nothing,” Mrs. Weasley titters happily and serves Remus more stew, as she is wont to do to everyone.
Except Sirius, that is. Harry can't quite understand why the kind woman looses all her compassion when it comes to the ex-prisoner. All right, well he does know. It happens to be because she and Sirius are just so...different. Yeah, that's it.
Not an understatement at all.
The table is noisy as always around Harry. On his left side, Mr. Weasley is busy discussing wrenches with Tonks, whose dad has an entire Muggle toolbox. A few seats away are Ron and Hermione, bickering about something or the other, and Fred and George are regaling Hagrid with yet another prank they've got planned for the upcoming school year- their last.
Sirius, who is occasionally whispering suggestions to Fred sitting next to him, catches Harry's eye, winks while covertly stealing a bun off Remus' plate. Harry grins back at him, glad to see the rare playfulness return to his godfather's features.
“Moony, pass the pepper, will you?” Sirius asks of Remus, who obliges.
The question, however, is followed by a loud clatter, a bump of an elbow Harry's ribcage, and crash as Fred and George's plates fall to the floor.
The entire table looks at the twins in surprise. It's not like them to break china. Tonks, yes. Fred and George, no. Harry scowls, rubbing the place where George's elbow assaulted him. He is sure it will bruise by tomorrow.
“What did you call him?” Fred demands, staring at Sirius and Remus with comical wide eyes.
“Moony?” a perplexed Sirius offers. Remus looks equally confused. He looks to George for an answer, but Harry's neighbor looks as dumbstruck as his brother.
“You- that's not- wh-” George dissolves into incoherent splutters.
“Complete sentences are useful, you know,” Sirius says slowly. He delivers the sentence while looking at a pained Harry still rubbing his chest. Harry shakes his head, not wanting to warn his godfather. He understands where this conversation is going. He exchanges an amused glance with Ron and Hermione, who've caught on as well. “Easier to understand.”
“That's impossible!” Fred shouts, ignoring Mrs. Weasley's hissed admonishment.
Remus blinks. Looks to Sirius. “I don't follow. What is impossible?” Sirius shrugs.
Sirius jumps at the combined yell of Fred and George. Remus, used to loud teenagers from his teaching days, does not react.
“What are you on about?” Bill asks, struggling to keep a laugh down from by his spot next to his mother.
“The Marauders!” The twins cry again unhelpfully in reply.
“Bless you, dears,” Mrs. Weasley says kindly. They ignore her. Harry bites the inside of his cheeks to keep his own laughter at bay.
Sirius looks positively terrified for his safety. Fred is practically crawling into his lap. “Yes, the Marauders.”
“Are you really them?” George asks dazedly. He has a distinct hero-worship look about him. He's leaning all the way over the table, clutching at the front of Sirius' robes and shaking them. “Are you?” Both of them look on the verge of hysteria.
Hermione is turning steadily red from curbing her laughter while both Ron and Ginny have given up and stuffed their fists into their mouths, shoulders shaking from soundless laughter.
Sirius presses into Remus in his attempt to escape the fingers holding onto him in a vice-like grip.
“Yes?” Remus answers, scratching his head, thoroughly confused.
There is moment of silence during which Harry swears he can hear the crickets outside before Fred and George fall to the floor in a tumble behind Remus and Sirius, making the latter two twist in their seats to look at the twins with a mixture of shock, incredulity, wonder, and horror as they kneel.
“Our mentors!” Fred says.
“Our inspiration!” George nods in agreement. Remus' eyebrows have disappeared into his hairline.
“Our gods!” Sirius shoots a distinctly smug look at Remus at that.
“The very fire that lit our mischievous hearts!”
“-ourselves up to you, the Masters of Mischief, with the hope that your will guide our starved souls-”
“-and fill our humble minds with your teachings!”
There is half a beat of silence before the entire kitchen erupts in laughter, no one holding back any longer. Sirius and Remus are laughing the hardest, wiping tears from their cheeks, clutching at their abdomen as though in pain. Fred and George merely grin like lunatics at Remus and Sirius.
“I-” Remus gasps, chortling some more. “I don't think- ah!- I've ever been...called a- a god before.”
“I'm not sure whether to find this creepy or flattering,” Sirius shudders as his guffaws die down.
“A little bit of both, I'd reckon,” Harry says, breathing deeply to catch his breath.
“Well?” Fred asks breathlessly.
Sirius rolls his eyes, grabs Fred by the scruff of his neck and hauls him back onto his seat. “You don't have to bloody prostrate yourselves. You could have just asked.”
“Don't forget offer, sacrifice, and submit,” Harry can't help but point out. The twins frown at him. Harry smiles back cheerfully. “Your words, not mine.”
“So...you're Moony and- and...” George stares hard at Sirius. “Padfoot, right?”
Sirius bows slightly. “At your service.”
“And Prongs?” Fred asks eagerly.
Remus and Sirius glace as one at Harry. “Your dad?” Fred turns the hero-worship look on Harry. “Your dad was Prongs and you never told us?” He looks ready to prostrate himself at Harry's feet as well.
Harry scowls, holding his fork up threateningly. “If you kneel in front of me, I promise I will hex you.”