The sun was setting.

His fingers drummed impatiently against the tabletop. Though his Charms homework lay spread out before him, it had long since been forgotten in favor of waiting in giddy anticipation for the coming of night.

James Potter knew should have felt slightly guilty, being Head Boy as he was, about what he was planning on doing. It was in violation of just about every law that had ever been set before a student of Hogwarts, and he, of all people, was going to be the perpetrator. Professor Dumbledore had given him the badge because he trusted him to obey the rules and set an example.

He snorted to himself. Yeah, right, he thought.

Besides, it was tradition: they, the Marauders, went out together every full moon, since the beginning of time (or, more accurately, since the beginning of their fifth year). It was like Christmas coming all over again every month.

"Calm down before you wet yourself, Prongs," one of his companions said dryly. Sirius was stretched lazily on the rug in front of the heart, musing over a game of wizards' chess with James' other best friend, Remus. The latter sighed as he prodded his rook forward to begin beating up his opponent's queen. "Checkmate," he said in a bored voice. "I can't believe you fell for that move again. I win."

"Big surprise," another grumbled from the armchair above their game, looking up from his Transfiguration essay. "Remus always beats you, Sirius."

"Oh, shuddup," the loser in question snapped. "You won't even try."

"He knows it's hopeless," James remarked, stretching. "How long did you stay in the game this time, Sirius?"

The dark-haired boy glanced at his watch, and raised his eyebrows. "Seventeen whole minutes… not bad."

"What's your record?" the boy in the chair asked.

"What do you care, Peter?" he growled, heaving himself off the carpet and installing himself in the chair next to James. "I guess it'll give you something to aspire to, seeing as your record's about… let me think… zero."

"Leave him alone, Padfoot," Remus groaned. "Can't you ever lay off him?"

"What is your record anyway?" James asked, elbowing Sirius as he reached for his bag of chocolate frogs that lay on the table.

"Against Remus?" He frowned, taking one and cramming it into his mouth. "Twenty-two minutes," he said, spraying bits of chocolate everywhere.

"Sirius!" James moaned, brushing it off his homework in disgust. "You can recopy this Transfiguration essay for me, now that you've gotten your saliva all over it..."

"Twenty-two minutes?" Peter said, looking up in surprise.

"With his average closer to three," Remus added, joining them at the table. "James, honestly, you'd think you actually did your homework with as much space as it's taking up. Move it, will you?"

James gathered all his papers into an untidy stack and shoved them into his bag. He glanced out the window. "Don't you think you oughta be going, Moony?" he muttered, leaning closer to him. "The sun's nearly down."

"Eh… probably." He sighed and stood up again. He looked weak and shaky, but he grinned mischievously anyway as he stood up. "Don't you go getting into any trouble tonight," he warned his companions. Then he was gone, disappeared out the portrait hole and into the night dark corridor beyond.

Peter continued working on his Transfiguration homework, while James and Sirius played a rather violent game of tic-tac-toe, in which the loser was attacked by his opponent's quill until he was covered from head to toe in black ink and painful cuts. They were both laughing uproariously before they had finished their fifteenth successive game, and before long they had broken into a fully-fledged ink fight. Then the portrait hole opened, and Sirius, who was facing it, stopped mid-throw and grinned sheepishly at whoever had just entered.

James, whose back was to the portrait hole, whirled around to find himself face to face with a very pretty, very cross, and very dangerous seventh-year, a redheaded young woman. "Oh… Evans," he said, grinning. "How nice it is to see you! Care to join in our game?"

"Thanks, Potter," she said scornfully, "but I'm busy. In fact, Professor Slughorn was just telling me that he needed help scouring his iron cauldrons; I'm afraid his first-year class managed to get them rusty again." Her face lit up in mockery of having a sudden idea. "Hey—maybe you two would like to help!"

James made a face. "Are you kidding?"

"Yes, actually," she said smugly, "of course you wouldn't. But you're going to anyway. Detention at eight o' clock in Slughorn's office tomorrow night. After you clean up this mess." She gestured at the ink-splattered tables, walls, and chairs. "I'll let him know you're coming."

"You can't give me a detention!" James said indignantly. "I'm Head Boy!"

"Lord knows why," she muttered, rolling her eyes. "Though it's not detailed in my job, I suppose it's my responsibility as Head Girl to at least make sure you don't behave worse than the third-years. Good night, Potter."

James glared after, his hands clenching into fists. "Hey, mate," Sirius said, clapping him grimly on the shoulder, "at least the common room was mostly empty, or she'd have made us scrub it off all the whiny little first-years who got dirty, too."

"Hey, Peter!" James shouted across the room, throwing one of the armchair pillows at the person in question, "come help us clean this up!"

"No," he scowled, throwing it back. "You made the mess."

James shrugged. "Fine." As he turned his back, Peter yelped, staring in horror at his hands, which had turned all splotchy—with ink, apparently.

Sirius sniggered. "Not sure I like your new look, mate," he said, nodding towards the inky effect that was now spreading over Peter's face. He turned away. "Scourgify," he muttered, and the ink on one wall disappeared.

"No hard feelings," James beamed at Peter, who was glaring at him murderously.

"What's the counter curse?" he demanded.

"We'll tell you," Sirius said good-naturedly, "if you'll help us clean up."

Muttering darkly, Peter pitched in.

Half an hour later, the tip of the moon made its first appearance over the distant horizon. James looked up from his Exploding Snap tower, a thrill of excitement shooting through his body. "It's time," he whispered.

Upon which his deck of cards promptly exploded in his face.

Anxious and excited despite his singed eyebrows, James crept through the entrance hall towards the enormous oak doors on the other side, squeezed between his two friends, a piece of parchment in one hand and his wand, the tip lit with a yellow glow, in his other.

"I think we're getting too big for this, mate," Sirius whispered, wincing as James accidentally trod on his foot.

"We're fine," James muttered. "Stop moving the cloak, Wormtail, or someone's going to walk in here and see three pairs of legs sticking up from the ground.

"No one's anywhere near here," Peter snapped. "Filch is on the third floor, and most of the teachers are in the staff room."

"All the same, we don't want to be seen," James hissed.

"Well," Sirius said dryly, "it won't help being invisible if they can hear us talking."

"Then shut up," James muttered.

Finally, they were out, free on the grounds that were bathed in silver light. They hurriedly made their way towards a gargantuan, imposing tree about five hundred meters away.

As they shuffled towards its base, it seemed as though the branches of the tree came alive. They began creaking, twisting, moving, like a predator that smelled its prey approaching. James yanked his Invisibility Cloak off the three of them.

"Wormtail," he said, bowing mockingly and motioning to the tree, "the stage is yours."

Peter took a deep breath and began running towards it. As he ran, he began shrinking. His legs began to rotate differently, and it wasn't long before he was down on all fours, using his hands to run as well… except that they were no longer hands. They were tiny clawed paws, which sprouted from the body of a rat with red eyes and a long, bald tail. The rat crept towards the tree, which began flailing uncontrollably. However, the rat moved unharmed past its deadly branches and leapt up to a spot on its trunk about two feet from the ground. The knot it pressed shuddered slightly, and then the entire tree ground to a halt.

"Hurry," Sirius whispered, prodding James forward. "Thirty seconds."

James looked as though he were about to get down on his knees and crawl, but before his hands even touched the ground, he had transformed as well. A magnificent stag with four sets of tines on its antlers pawed the ground and snorted, then looked to its left to be confronted with an enormous black dog where Sirius had been. If the stag hadn't known that dogs couldn't smile, he would have thought that this one was smirking.

Prongs led the way past the dead-looking branches of the Whomping Willow and into a dark hole at the base of its trunk, between the roots. Wormtail leapt from its perch on the tree to the stag's left antler, where it curled up and wrapped its tail around a tine for balance.

They followed the tunnel for a half-mile in silence before it came to an abrupt halt at the foot of a flight of rough stone steps. The three animals exchanged excited glances. They could hear an unearthly howl above them.

His hooves making sharp noises against the stone, Prongs ascended the staircase and emerged into a house that looked as though it had been attacked by a stampede of ferocious beasts. It was only one beast, actually, a beast that was only a beast once a month—namely, their friend, Remus.

The wolf growled, its ears perked, as they climbed the next set of stairs to the second floor. It had paused in the middle of chewing up a leg of the bed that was pushed against the wall. It looked up, and Prongs saw some of the madness fade from its yellow eyes.

Hello, Moony, he thought.

Carefully, the dog, the rat, the stag, and the wolf crept down the stairs and to the front door of the house. It had been boarded up to keep the wolf from getting out, but the animals had wrenched it open and slipped through it many times. They found themselves looking down at the village of Hogsmeade. The stag was ready and riling to take off towards the trees in the distance, but the dog sat still, watching as the rat slipped away and into the darkness to keep watch.

What? Prongs thought, wondering if he'd read the look in his eyes and the jerk of his head correctly. What are you thinking?

And then Padfoot bounded off silently after the rat.

After a moment, Prongs realized why. He's suspicious, he thought. He doesn't trust Wormtail to do what he says he's doing.

Pawing the dirt nervously, he looked at Moony, who was snarling softly. I can take care of it, he thought confidently. I can do it.

Before he could talk himself out of it, he took off towards the distant forest, cutting through the village, Moony close in his wake.

It was not long before dawn; the moon hung just above the western horizon. Prongs' coat was slick with sweat and his mouth foamy with lather, but the thrilling exhilaration that pumped through his veins drove away any exhaustion.

He glanced at the moon with a slight feeling of regret, and he gave the wolf a nudge towards where he knew the shack was. Obediently, Moony bounded in that direction.

They had almost reached the Whomping Willow when Moony ground to a halt. His nose sniffed the air, his body rigid. Then his eyes went wild.

Uh-oh, Prongs thought.

Before he could intervene, the wolf bounded in direction of the forest once more.

The stag took off after him, taking his eyes off his friend only long enough to glance at the moon overhead. Only a tip of it was still showing; would it go down in time?

They were nearing the edge of the woods. Whose blood does Moony smell? Prongs asked himself furiously. Who's stupid enough to come out on a full moon? There aren't even any Muggles around!

He kept glancing at the moon while trying to gain on the wolf. Go down… he urged it. Go down…

It did.

The wolf collapsed. Prongs skidded to a halt beside where it lay, twitching and convulsing. Slowly, the hair started to recede and the limbs reformed. The snout grew shorter and lost its black nose, and after a moment, a very pale, very sick-looking young man lay in the dirt, moaning in agony.

"Prongs," he whispered when his dark eyes flickered open. His face contorted as another wave of pain hit.

The stag glanced around nervously to make sure they were alone. They were in a secluded clearing, surrounded by low, tree-covered hills; they were safe.

Prongs reared up on his back legs, pawing the air, and then James Potter stood where the stag had been. He dropped to his knees.

"James…"

"Shh," he commanded. "Lie still."

"Why're we… why aren't we in the Shack?"

"You… you bolted off just before I got you inside."

What color was left in Remus' already white face drained out of it. "I smelled someone, didn't I."

James shrugged, turning away. "Maybe."

"James," Remus moaned, trying to sit up again, "this is too dangerous. I could've bitten someone…"

"Lie still," James growled, pushing him back down.

He complied, but after a moment, he sat bolt upright again. "What was that?"

James looked at him strangely. "What was what?" He hated trying to discern noises that Remus heard; his friend had exceptionally sharp hearing even when it was not the full moon, but for the three days on either side of it, Remus couldn't even stand it when they talked loudly around him because his ears were so sensitive.

"That," he said, looking wildly around for the source of whatever he was hearing.

"You know I can't hear it," James said exasperatedly.

He had spoken too soon. The noise came again, and this time it reached James' ears.

"Barking," he whispered. He looked at Remus.

"Sirius," they said simultaneously.

Crack.

Peter jumped and looked around him nervously. The three people he was standing with gave exasperated sighs. "Listen, Pettigrew," one of them drawled, "For the last time, there is nobody here. We're not going to be discovered."

The man sounded sure, but Peter knew differently. There were at least two others in these woods, though he wasn't about to tell the other men that.

"What if he finds out?" Pettigrew muttered, reaching out hesitantly for the vial the other man proffered. "He probably has ways of detecting attempts on his life. Why can't you do it?"

"Goodness, halfwit, do you really think he'd drink something he gets from me? He'd know there was something suspicious with that. He hated me when I was at school."

"Dumbledore?" another one of the people, this one a woman, scoffed. "Dumbledore doesn't hate anyone. Not even you, Lucius, merited though it may have been."

"Shut up, Cissy," he snarled. "So, Pettigrew, good luck, then."

The first rays of dawn were lighting the sky. Peter was a lot more relaxed now, knowing that Remus was no longer charging through the woods as a fully-fledged werewolf.

"Wait…" their third companion hissed. "There's something coming."

Peter's eyes widened, and he whirled around, panicking. Whoever it was would find him associating with Death Eaters. "Make it look like you're attacking me!" he whispered hurriedly. "Otherwise I'm dead!"

"Obligingly," the one called Lucius grinned.

Peter found himself flat on his back, ropes curling around his body, a wand at his neck. Not a moment too soon, it turned out. Emerging from the trees into the clearing in which they stood was an enormous black dog.

"Sirius," he gasped, pretending he was in pain.

The dog, seeing the fix he had walked into, began backing away slowly, barking.

Lucius raised his wand.

"It's just a dog," the woman sighed. "Leave it alone."

"Just a dog, eh?" Lucius snarled, a strange glint in his eye. "Then why did this prat call it 'Sirius?' Strange coincidence, seeing as your dear blood traitor of a cousin is named Sirius."

The dog took off, but it did not get far before the blue spell from Lucius' wand hit it in the side. It yelped, thudding to the ground. Several moments later, a young man stood up, holding his wand high and shaking his long, dark hair out of his face. "Hello, Narcissa," he spat, walking slowly towards them.

The woman inhaled sharply. "He's… he's an Animagus," she whispered to her companions.

He bowed mockingly. "At your service, Cissy."

"Our Lord will reward us greatly for bringing him," the other man whispered.

"Quiet, Ignatius," Lucius snapped.

"So," Sirius began, advancing slowly, never loosening his grip on his wand. He was glad they couldn't tell how slippery from cold sweat that grip was. "You have joined Lord Voldemort."

"Don't say his name," Ignatius hissed. "Not with your filthy, unworthy mouth."

"You're right. I should never have let a word like that defile my speech," he sneered. He sounded a lot cockier than he felt. James, he thought desperately, now would be a very good time to show up. "Let Peter go," he demanded.

Narcissa laughed out loud. "You've grown brazen, cousin."

"I'm no longer your cousin," he spat. "My dear old mum has blasted my name off of the tapestry of the 'Noble and Most Ancient House of Black,' I'm sure."

"You are a plague to your family," she hissed. "A filthy blood traitor. You don't deserve to be called a Black."

"Good riddance," he said vehemently. He was stalling for time, and judging by the way Lucius' eyes were narrowing, he knew it. James, where are you? Surely you know something is up by now…

Lucius had been walking slowly towards him. Without warning, he shouted, "Crucio!

Sirius screamed in pain, writhing and twisting as he fell to the ground. It felt as though white hot iron were being pressed against every inch of his skin, as though his entrails were being torn out of his body.

The curse lifted, and he lay still, half moaning and half whimpering. Lucius stood over him and spat in his face. "You stupid boy," he said derisively. He waved his wand, and Sirius gasped; a long, bloody gash had appeared across his chest. "One spell. That's all it took, and now you're out of commission." He made the cutting motion with his wand again, and another one crossed it. He cried out in pain.

Ropes snaked out of the end of his wand, wrapping themselves tightly around him and binding him effectively. An anti-Apparition spell kept him where he was.

Great. Just great, he thought. James! He sighed. At least one good thing might come of this. I screamed so loudly just now James must've heard it.

Someone was approaching, and a second later, the newcomer entered the clearing. Painfully, Sirius lifted his head from the ground to see who it was, though he was almost positive it was James. The person he saw, however, was quite the opposite of his best friend.

"Well," he said dryly, putting his head back down, "hello, Lily."

Her heart pounded wildly as she glanced around at the scene before her eyes. This was far from what she'd expected.

Well, she berated herself angrily, what did you expect? Someone was screaming. That should've indicated trouble.

"Now, what have we here?" one of the men said mockingly.

Black and Pettigrew were both lying on the ground, bound tightly with thin, gray cords. She inhaled sharply at the sight of the former: his chest was smeared with blood, and his face was contorted in pain. There was a man standing over him, his foot on his chest. For the first time in seven years, Lily Evans felt sorry for Sirius Black. Neither Potter nor Lupin was there.

There was crack, and Black raised his head again, this time to see what the noise was. Lily glanced towards where it came from. There was a figure coming through the trees, who had apparently stepped on a stick.

She had spoken too soon.

There was Potter, glaring and pointing his wand very determinedly at the men and woman who stood over his friends. "Get away from them," he spat heatedly.

"Ooh," the woman laughed. "I'm terrified."

"We need to go," the man standing over Black said. He grabbed a fistful of Black's hair and wrenched his head off the ground, and suddenly his wand tip was digging into his captive's neck. "Put your wand down, kid, or I'll kill your friend."

This wasn't what she'd bargained for. She'd gone down to Hogsmeade early on Professor McGonagall's orders to order five barrels of butterbeer for that night's Halloween Feast, but the Three Broomsticks hadn't been open, and while she was waiting, she'd heard the screams. Without hesitating, she had run towards the source, which turned out to be about half a mile into the woods. Now she half wished she hadn't.

Potter glanced nervously at Lily, then did a double take. "What are you doing here?" he demanded.

"Wand down, kid!" the other man shouted.

"Alright, alright," Potter said quickly, tossing his wand to the ground. "Evans, put yours down."

"No," she said angrily. "Are you kidding? They'll kill us!"

The man dug the wand into Black's neck.

"You're killing my best friend!" he snarled. "Put it down!"

She glanced from Black to Potter to Pettigrew, and slowly, she lowered her wand.

The woman Disapparated without another word, as did the man whose wand wasn't at Black's throat. The remaining man grinned at Potter and Lily, standing there looking murderous. "Goodbye," he laughed, and then he disappeared.

And so did Black.