ORDER ONLY: Private Message to Sirius and Remus

The broom closet in which we are waiting is quite cozy -- I must've elbowed poor Remus about twenty times already. (Sorry about that, Remus!)

The cleaning crew doesn't get here until ten, so we've another ninety odd minutes. I'm perched on a bucket, looking firmly down at my journal, and Remus is trying to preserve his dignity while he wriggles into his guard trousers. (It's sort of impossible, but he's trying very hard.)

This is utterly mad.