Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.
He took a deep breath, his lungs filling with the wonderful fresh spring air of the Hogwarts grounds. He sat at the edge of the Forbidden Forest, looking up at the castle; it looked incredibly impressive against the inky black sky. Several of the windows had candlelight blazing out of them. He couldn't see Gryffindor Tower from here, though he couldn't stop his thoughts from drifting to the bespectacled boy who would be there. Would he be asleep yet? He didn't have a watch, and he wasn't sure how late it was.
He waited until a few of the windows' lights were extinguished before making a move, shifting onto four legs and padding across the grounds. The grass was soft under-paw, making his footfalls silent as he ghosted across the grounds.
When he reached the large oak front doors, he noticed that Filch had not closed the door; maybe it wasn't so late after all. He slipped inside and slowed down, taking care to make sure that his claws were not making a sound on the stone floor.
It was not the first time he had made his way into the castle since he had escaped; granted, his previous attempts had been anything but successful, and he had to admit that he was not entirely sure what his aim was in this incursion. He had no real hope of getting anywhere near Gryffindor Tower, nor either the rat or the boy within it that interested him. Yet it was almost a purely nostalgic enterprise. He had undoubtedly had the best years of his life within the castle walls, and with every corner he turned he was flooded with memories.
Before he knew it, he had reached the third floor. He walked along the corridors and until he reached the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom.
He stopped. The door was closed, and he knew it was foolish to assume that the professor would be in there at this time of night, yet he found himself staring at it for a long time.
How could he have thought that Remus was the spy? He had been the most loyal of all of them. If only he had trusted him… James and Lily might still have been alive…
A wave of guilt washed over him, but his reverie was interrupted by the sound of an animal making its way towards him. Hope flared within him. Could it be Pettigrew? Could he get his revenge once and for all?
He turned, but found himself disappointed. It wasn't Pettigrew; it was the large ginger cat he had befriended. The cat walked up to him and sniffed his face, looking up at him as if to say, "What are you doing here? Are you an idiot?"
He realised that it was probably foolhardy to be standing in the middle of a wide corridor with nowhere to hide if someone were to come down here. The carefree part of him reasoned that it was probably highly unlikely that anyone would be coming this way at this time of night, yet that thought was cut short when the sound of a large crash came up the nearby flight of stairs.
A manic laughter followed the crash, then someone was shouting and singing loudly with glee:
"Poor Ulric's fallen over,
What's he going to do?
His head's fallen off and it's down the stairs,
Poor Ulric – he must be blue!"
"Peeves!"
Filch's cry reached the third floor corridor, almost as loud as the crash had been. The ginger cat gave him a look as if to say "I told you so". He glared at it once before tearing in the opposite direction, not stopping until he was in a stairwell filled with shadows.
He paused to catch his breath. Once he had regained his composure, he looked around to see where he was. The staircase spiralled high above him, and he realised that he was in the Astronomy Tower.
He reasoned that the Tower was well-hidden enough that he could transform, and he made his way up the rest of the many stairs on foot. He had not been up the Tower since his own days at the school, and he was surprised at how familiar it all seemed to him again, how easily he slipped back into the mindset of his teenage self. He was passing windows every so often, and through each he could see that the sky was still dark, with no sign of becoming lighter.
When he emerged onto the top of the Tower, he took a deep breath. The air was so cool up here, filling his lungs and refreshing him from within; it brought a smile to his face. It hurt his cheeks to do so, but it spread a warm feeling through his body that was akin to happiness, yet at the same time was so alien to him that he could never remember feeling it before.
Slowly, he walked towards the edge of the Tower, placing his hands on the wall and looking out over the grounds. He could see everything from up here: the large grounds and their vast expanse of grass; the Forbidden Forest stretching out of sight into the darkness; the glittering Lake that looked so dark yet shone in the moonlight. The surface of the water looked smooth, as though you could run your fingers over the surface and it would feel like marble.
He stared at the water, transfixed by the wonders of the Lake. He had always had an affinity with the Lake. James had often joked that in another life he could have been a pirate – after all, he looked the part with his long, shaggy black hair.
Filled with a longing to steal a boat from somewhere – anywhere – and set sail across the Lake, across the sea, away from all his troubles and to some far distant land, the words of a poem that he had read in his sixth year returned from his memory and spilled from his lips.
"I must go down to the sea again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by,"
He looked up at the sky and saw the stars twinkling against the black ink. He only lacked a tall ship tonight.
"And the wheel's kick and the wind's song and the white sail's shaking,
And a grey mist on the sea's face and a grey dawn breaking."
He had seen plenty of grey dawns in his time. Every morning at Azkaban had been a grey dawn. So much time had been wasted there. What could his life had been like it none of it had happened? If he hadn't gone to prison?
It was all Pettigrew's fault.
Everything.
"I must down to the sea again, for the call of the running tide
Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;"
He wondered why he had risked his freedom for vengeance – risked his life, even. Was Pettigrew really worth it? Had he become unhinged in his time in Azkaban? The call to Hogwarts was too strong for him to ignore. He had to do this, to clear his name, to provoke justice, to see Harry again…
"And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,
And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying."
Remus was downstairs, somewhere. Was he looking for him? Did he know that he was in the grounds; or had he assumed that he had left, that he hadn't been as stupid as to stay around in the grounds of the castle where he could so easily be caught?
He wanted to see his friend again: to apologize, to explain. Yet the werewolf would no doubt hate him. He had been responsible for James and Lily's deaths. Not as much as Pettigrew had been, but responsible enough. He didn't deserve Remus' forgiveness. He was better off without him.
"I must down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life,"
He had had enough of sleeping rough, of being rudely awaken by various creatures in the Forest at ungodly hours. Not that he had any concept of time nowadays; he had begun to feel as though he were living outside of time. How long had it even been since he had escaped?
"To the gull's way and the whale's way where the wind's like a whetted knife;
And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover,
And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick's over."
He desperately wanted to see Harry again. How old would be now? Thirteen? So much time had been lost. At least he had the Firebolt. He had managed to give him that. But material gifts weren't enough. He needed time. He needed to make friends.
The sky began to lighten when he finished reciting, the sun touching the horizon as the ink turned blue from black. He stayed for a while, before slipping back through the castle and out again, back to the Forest.