A/N: La la la la. Wrote this a long time ago. Watch spell stolen from Terry Pratchett's books.
On his fifteenth birthday James, Sirius, and Peter pool their money to get him a watch. When they say pool he knows that James paid for most of it with maybe a fifth of his monthly allowance, that Sirius did the insanely intricate charm work, and that the painstakingly wrapped box with its limp red ribbon and dog-bone wrapping paper is all Peter. He smiles at them, flashes them a glimpse of teeth, and hopes he's acting cool enough that they can't see he has no idea what he did to deserve friends like this. That is why he wears the watch, though he has a perfectly good one of his own. Sirius tells him he found the spell in a book at the Black's residence, and 'modified' it slightly. Around the rim of the watch are the phases of the moon in a curious iridescent silver.
He doesn't have the heart to tell them that he knows when it's coming. Three out of four weeks in the month he would do anything to give it up, to be able to sleep out under the stars and not be afraid of what he might find in the morning. But in that last week as his muscles tighten up in response to waxing moon, as his hair begins to brush his shoulders, and he polishes off half a chicken during dinner he wouldn't give it up for the world.
He can't tell them this, because he knows they wouldn't understand. Can't tell them the thrill he gets as his eyesight takes a side seat to his nose. Can't tell them about the way he's sometimes secretly thrilled at the wolfish gold gleam in his otherwise mud brown eyes. He can't tell them that in the last week before the Change he dreams of running over green fields, his muscles bunching and snapping back in one glorious elastic moment as he pounces, bites, and howls under the silvery light of the moon.
One day in his third year, two or three days before the Change, he falls off a broom. Well, no. He doesn't. He jumps off. His body twists and slips through the air and his spine curves until he lands on all fours. When his body gets over the shock of what he has just done he realizes that he is perfectly fine.
He loves stalking down the halls of Hogwarts, his stride lean and muscular, his own person bubble expanded to include the entire school. He enjoys watching the bullies, the so called strong, he enjoys watching them watch him—because he is just aching for a fight. These are his friends, these are his halls, and this is his school and no matter what James says, he has no need to urinate to mark his territory.
He loves the feel of his elongated teeth biting into flesh, and when he closes his eyes he can forget that the chicken is boneless, plucked, and garnished with rosemary. Instead he can feel the blood gushing down his chin—the iron tang exploding in his mouth, and the sweet rip of victory.
Remus Lupin is 29/30ths human. Remus Lupin 1/30th beast. And that is just fine by him.