"I think I just threw up a little in my mouth, Padfoot, at remembering that." He wrinkled his nose, but his eyes were warm. "You had the worst breath, and around the full moon I had James-" he swallowed. They hadn't talked about James. "-James tackle you and get you to stop breathing down my neck so I could study. Ugh. My quill smelled like pickles for the rest of the year, I'll have you know."

He reached for his own turkey sandwich, with no cheese thankyouverymuchMonsieurPadfoot, and passed a cold - magically kept - bottle over.

"It's Butterbeer," he explained. "I thought a treat - on such a hot day - would be nice."