The Gryffindor common room smelled of firewhiskey and smoke, the open windows doing little to dispel the haze. It was a night of celebration, the Marauders and their friends reveling in yet another triumphant victory over Slytherin on the Quidditch pitch. Someone had found an old record player, and music filled the air, punctuated by the occasional cheer or burst of laughter.

James was in his element, dragging a reluctant Lily into an impromptu dance in the center of the room. Peter, blushing furiously, was cornered by a group of giggling girls who found his awkwardness utterly charming. And Sirius? He was perched on the windowsill, knees tucked to his chest, cigarette in hand. His dark hair fell in soft waves around his face, his eyes half-lidded as he exhaled a curl of smoke into the cool night air.

Leaning back in the chair beside him was Remus, his head resting lazily against Sirius’s knee. A half-empty bottle of firewhiskey dangled from his fingers, and his lips curved into a lazy smile as Sirius murmured something low and teasing. The two of them seemed in their own world, the hum of their conversation too quiet to carry over the noise of the party. Every so often, Sirius’s hand would brush lightly against Remus’s hair or shoulder, the small, absentminded touches speaking volumes to anyone paying attention. The music swelled, laughter echoed, and for the Marauders, the night was perfect in its fleeting chaos.