A/N: The betas over at PTB are an amazing group of women, especially the poor souls that have my chapters show up in their inbox. On an up note, I now know what a "em dash" is, and I've figured out dialogue tags. I think. I'm pretty sure. Its a work in progress, alright? Old dog, new tricks and all that. (I was totally wearing my dunce cap while editing this chapter, though, LOL!) All errors contained herein are my own, as those ladies know their stuff inside and out.

Thank you to everyone who is reading, reviewing, and lurking. I appreciate it!

Edit 08/07/12: Edited to fix a reoccurring error that slipped by me. Sorry about that, guys.

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.

Chapter Two

As it turns out, the Primordialis Ipse Draught is a crucial step in the process of becoming an animagus. There is no way to avoid or go around it; it must be brewed and, according to Tail Feathers, Paws, Fins, and Fur: the Path to an Animagus, drank thrice over a three month period to open the path between human consciousness and animal instincts. (On a somewhat unrelated note, Sirius finds he rather fancies the word thrice, and is now quite intent on using it more often).

There are two very specific problems with the need for the Primordialis Ipse Draught. First, the whole lot of them are bollocks at potions. Remus melts cauldrons on an astonishingly regular basis, and Peter has yet to go an entire month without creating a flesh eating acid from the basis of a seemingly harmless brew; James and Sirius, on the other hand, do not have the patience required for potion mastery. Their inattention to detail tends to result in spectacular explosions, not all of them prompted by the question, "Oi, James, what say you to adding a handful of salamander scales and seeing what happens?"

(There is just so much sitting, Sirius mourns, how can one devilishly handsome young man such as himself be expected to spend hours stirring, chopping bat wings, and waiting for liquid to boil? He is – thankfully – not Snivellus, who is content to spend his life dipping his massive nose into smelly potions.)

Second, asking someone to brew the potion for them would alert an untrusted outsider as to what they are doing. Well, actually they would have a fifty-fifty chance of discovering that three classmates are attempting to become illegal animagi to keep their friend the werewolf company - though really, unless they happen to be Seers, the bit about Remus being a werewolf wouldn't be in there. Just the part about becoming illegal animagi, which is really bad enough on its own.

The other conclusion would be that Peter, James, and Sirius were using the Draught for its secondary usage: to create a familiar from an otherwise ordinary animal. (From what Sirius understands of the process, it involves taking a bit of one's own consciousness and sticking it in the chosen creature - Primordialis Ipse being used to prepare that bit of themselves for the transfer.) Which is, as it were, also illegal without Ministry issued permits.

"Aw," Sirius sighs, fingers furrowing deeply into his long hair as he slouches over the book. "I didn't get to use thrice."

"Isn't that a nice word?" asks James, tugging Tail Feathers, Paws, Fins, and Fur from between Sirius's elbows. "We should use it more."

"It's catchy, isn't it? Thrice. Thricely. Thrice the mice ate lice while rolling dice." Digging his blunt nails into his scalp, Sirius scowls at the table. There must be some way around the potion...

"Shakespeare is dying all over again because he didn't think of that one himself." James begins to scribble notes on a wrinkled bit of parchment. "What if we...no, that really wouldn't work either...but maybe..."

"Shakespeare often weeps in his cold grave over not being as frightfully clever as I. But then again, most creatures – living or otherwise – suffer the same disappointing reality."

"On that note, I think I'm going to be sick," murmurs Remus from behind his fort of tomes. Sirius can only see his eyes and badly ruffled hair; it makes him look a bit like James.

"Why don't we have someone brew the potion for us?" Peter holds out a Pumpkin Pasty to Sirius as he speaks, which Sirius ignores. He is not blind to the fact that Peter seems ready to set fire to the library in an effort to escape it's walls, however.

"Because, Peter," James hisses with a glare that could melt metal. "That person would be able to very easily figure out what we're doing."

"But what if it was someone we trust?"

"Pete, there is no one in this school, that is not sitting at this table, that I trust enough to hand that kind of information to!"

Sirius is opening his mouth to agree with James when, like a bolt of lightning from a clear sky, he realizes it is not true. There are two others he trusts – Regulus, despite the fact he probably shouldn't, and Wynne Riley.

Riley is actually quite adept in potions, as Sirius knows well from years of copying her essays. Besides, they drove Molyneux out of the school last year in defense of her honor (sort of like knights errant, though with less armor and more dungbombs) – not to mention that they had ran the risk of expulsion by torturing a professor the way they had (though Sirius seriously doubted McGonagall would have even suggested it; she might not have been able to prove Molyneux was shagging his students, but she certainly disliked him).

"Riley. We could ask Riley to do it."

"Wynne?' Remus's head pops entirely over his stacks of books, eyebrows crowding his hairline. "She's a nice girl, Sirius, but I don't know if she would attempt to brew a potion NEWT level potion for us."

"And would she keep it a secret?" James adds quickly, skepticism written plainly across his features. "I know you're friendly with her, but -"

"Friendly!" Snorts Peter so violently he sprays bits of half-chewed Pumpkin Pasty across the table. "Friendly is a handshake; Sirius shagged her."

"That has nothing to do with it." Irritation stabbing meanly through him, Sirius gives Peter a sharp look. "Riley is a good sort, and she's covered for us before."

"This isn't hiding us in a broom cupboard or sneaking stink pellets back from Hogsmeade because Filch checks us for them. This is serious." Shaking his head, James gestures emphatically. "We can't risk it – besides, what if we ask her, and she squeals on us?"

"If she doesn't agree to do it, or it seems like she might betray us, I can oblivate her." Sirius's tone is grim, and he develops a sour taste in his mouth at the thought of it. But there are certain risks one must take, and he isn't about to leave Moony alone in that shack anymore; besides, he does not quite know what it means to lose.

"That is really advanced magic, Sirius." Looking faintly horrified, Remus turns white under his scars. "And you might end up hurting her – really hurting her -"

"Father taught me Oblivate the summer after my second year." Feeling rather stiff at the memory, Sirius begins to neatly line up the books in front of him to keep his hands busy. He keeps his gaze locked on Remus's, though, daring the other boy to condemn him. "I practiced on the house elves."

"Why would your father teach you – ouch!" Remus and James both kick Peter in the shins under the table; Peter, for his part, flings himself forward with such strength he nearly bashes his head on the table on the way down to grip the aching spots.

Out of Sirius's three friends, its Pete who understands Sirius' upbringing the least. He's just so...naive.

"It doesn't feel right, planning to oblivate a classmate. Wynne is our friend." A part of Sirius agrees very strongly with Remus – it isn't right to think about erasing the memories of someone he knows trusts him. But...

"There's no way we can brew this potion and not poison ourselves," James throws in his two knuts with a dark sort of determination. "Riley is clever with potions, and Sirius trusts her. If this is only way we can help Moony..."

Remus appears both distinctly uncomfortable and utterly overwhelmed at further proof of how far his friends are willing to go for him. Prat, Sirius thinks fondly, he'd do it for us.

Nearly an hour later, Sirius finds Wynne behind Greenhouse Three, sitting sideways in Donovan Slaughter's lap. Beside them is Finn Talbot, who is in the process of passing a cigarette to Donovan while Wynne nearly falls out of his lap to escape the smoke. Her nose is tightly crinkled, and she appears none too pleased.

"Just try it!" Donovan is laughingly urging, trying to press the fag to her lips.

"I am a vocalist, Van - the day I start inhaling smoke and burning my throat is also the day I stop plucking my eyebrows!"

"And you mustn't ever quit, as otherwise it looks like a furry caterpillar has crawled across your forehead and – oh, hello there, young Mister Black." A bright smile flutters across Talbot's face as he catches sight of Sirius, and a stray bit of sunlight that escapes the dark clouds glints strikingly in both his and Wynne's fair curls. He reaches out, pinching Wynne's bare knee with a wink.

"Drag, Black?" asks Slaughter, holding the fag out. Sirius takes it easily, his other hand occupied with ruffling Wynne's hair in greeting. She squawks in a fowl like fashion, slapping his fingers away before attempting to blindly set it to rights.

"Jesus Christ, do you have any idea how long it takes me to fix this mess in the mornings? Stop doing that!" Slaughter places one broad hand on the top of Wynne's head, and proceeds to muss her hair so badly that the curls lose shape, and Wynne begins to look remarkably like a very blonde sheep.

"Damn it, Van!" she shrieks, rocketing out of his lap with such force she nearly trips over Talbot's legs. She clamps her hands over the top of her head, turning to scowl at Sirius from between her arms. "The hell do you want, Sirius?"

"I was wondering if you could spare a moment of your precious time for a bit of chat." He takes another drag before passing the cigarette back to Slaughter, who gives Sirius a cheeky sort of wink in reply. Wynne appears rather confused (friendly they may be, they rarely seek each other out outside of the common room, and not once before now in this first week of their fourth year) nodding slowly.

"Yes, of course. Um – I'll just catch you boys later, then." They wave cheerfully, and while Wynne's back is to them, Sirius doesn't miss the wink Talbot throws his way - they seem to be under the impression that he is stealing Wynne for, at the very least, a snog. It would be positively uncharitable to dash their hopes and dreams, wouldn't it?

"Come, my love butterfly!" He says with loud enthusiasm, popping one hand against her bum. Wynne squeals and bounces several steps ahead, her hands curling over bottom.

"Sirius! What the hell?" Obviously startled, her eyes are so large Sirius fears they may burst free of her skull.

"Let us retire to our love nest and spend hours worshiping each other's bodies!" She struggles as he loops an arm around her waist, nearly tripping them both.

"You have been reading my romance novels – I knew you were the one that took The Viking's Thrall from my bag!"

"Don't you want to be overwhelmed at the mere sight of my throbbing sword of passion?" Purpling, Wynne appears briefly in danger of choking on her tongue. Sirius thinks he may crack a rib from containing his laughter. "Or be consumed by your desire, which is both as hot a flame and as moist as the morning dew on a rosebud?"

"Now you're just mocking me." Wynne scowls, trying to stomp on his toes with every other step.

"I would never mock you! I yearn only to lay you out on my bed of furs, where – "

"Did you memorize it? Because that says more about you than it does me."

"Where," Sirius continues strongly, attempting to ignore Wynne's entirely valid point and the throbbing of three of his toes after being ground under her heel. "I would lovingly torture you with my kisses and roughly gentle hands."

"Obviously you're remembering what happened between us much differently than I do. As I recall, there was more of this -" jerking and twitching so violently she nearly takes Sirius off balance, Wynne pulls a truly disturbing series of facial expressions. "And then you nearly got sick when you saw I was bleeding just the tiniest bit."

"I did not 'nearly get sick!'" Sirius protests loudly, digging his fingers into Wynne's ribs, startled to feel a faint flush crawling up his cheeks. "I was concerned that my obviously well endowed self had done you serious harm. Obviously."

A second year Hufflepuff boy pauses on his way to the greenhouses, head slowly turning to eye them as they pass. Sirius winks, jerking a thumb towards Wynne as he says in a rather loud undertone, "She was frightened at first. This big, really." The Hufflepuff takes off at a run after Sirius spreads his hands well over a foot apart, leering broadly.

Wynne – free at last – smacks him so forcefully on the back of his head that Sirius fears he has forgotten parts of his childhood (before promptly recalling there isn't much about it he'd actually like to retain).

"Ow! What was that for?"

"Telling lies to children," she sniffs primly. "I don't think it's possible for one to become that large. Outside of a centaur, of course."

"We've only been back at Hogwarts a week, don't tell me you've already manage to shag a centaur. That's just filthy." Finally succumbing to a flaming blush, Wynne settles a wide eyed look of horror on Sirius.

"There was a line," she informs him gravely, "And you just pissed all over its mother's grave." Honestly, Sirius feels rather proud.

"So, did you steal me away from Finn and Van just to talk dirty?" As quickly as her snit over his teasing came, it passes, and she's got one arm looped through his as they reenter the castle. She sort of leans against him; not being held up, not being guided, just there. Comfortable. As though she's saying well, since we're going this way together, why not have a bit of a cuddle?

Sirius hasn't ever pegged himself for the type to enjoy cuddling – it seems rather...girly, doesn't it? – but its kind of nice.

"Actually, we have a bit of a problem that we need your assistance with."

"We?" Wynne quotes back, looking suddenly wary. "The last time you said something that sounded like that, I spent the last week of my second year doing nightly detentions with Slughorn just for being in your company when the dungeons were flooded. I didn't even know what you boys had done!"

"There was no proof that we had anything to do with that, thank you very much. But didn't we have fun disemboweling rats?"

Wynne gags at the mere memory, pressing suddenly sweating fingers to her mouth.

"No. No, we did not have fun. You stuck a rat corpse down my shirt, and James got entrails in my hair, and then I almost died."

Giggling at the memory, Sirius recalls the way her face had gone bloodlessly white before she began swaying dangerously, as though close to fainting after James had draped said entrails across her head. Remus had stepped in and saved the day, of course, and in the end Slughorn had released Wynne early, citing that spending time with the four boys was more than enough punishment for one young woman.

"That dance you did when I put the rat down your blouse – " dancing quite awkwardly on his toes while flailing one arm, Sirius somehow managed to not slow their pace down. "It was brilliant. Too bad Pete didn't have his camera..."

"If you had gotten that on film I would have killed you all in your sleep. Saint Cyprian." The portrait of the Fat Lady gives them a smile, blinking rather coyly.

"Well, don't the two of you look cozy." She remarks as she opens, leaving Wynne to roll her eyes as they clamber inside. Sirius pulls her towards the staircase leading to the boy's dormitory before she can pass it, earning a rather sharp look before Wynne follows with a shrug. James, Remus, and Peter are waiting in the fourth year boys dorm room, looking rather nervous, though Wynne gives them a cheerful wave as she enters.

"Hello, lads – oh my God, what is that smell?" As Wynne staggers backwards, Sirius is quick to dart behind her and throw the door shut, bolting it for good measure. She regards the discarded Quidditch equipment in the floor with obvious horror; the smell seems to be a combination of Sirius and James's Quidditch boots and sweaty robes.

"You get used to it," Peter assures her with a knowing nod. Feeling rather sick – hoping he was right and she is willing to do this, that it won't come to erasing her memories – Sirius pulls his wand out and begins to nervously twirl it between his fingers. Remus stands, gesturing Wynne towards his bed. It is neatly made, despite the fact the house elves have not been in to clean (James's looks as though pixies have been nesting in it), and Wynne hurries towards Remus's area of the room. Even his books are neatly organized on top of his nightstand.

Perching on the edge of Remus's bed, Wynne looks rather uncomfortable.

"Well," she asks after a long moment of silence, "Is this the bit where you explain ritual sacrifice to me?" James gives a loud snort while Remus sort of wheezes. Peter, true to form, plows right in with all his usual grace and asks,

"Hasn't got nothing to do with ritual sacrifice, does it? We're not heathens, running around the country side painted blue and flashing our bits at everyone. We just wanted to know if you'd brew the Primordialis Ipse Draught for us."

"Oh, for fucks sake, Pete -" James nearly howls, toppling backwards across his bed.

"Tact, Peter, tact!" Remus groans. Pulling a chocolate bar from his nightstand drawer, Remus breaks off a piece and shoves it into Wynne's hands before taking a large bite of his own. She doesn't seem to notice, being far too caught up in gaping at Peter as though he has lost his mind.

Sirius just feels rather ill. Here it is, the moment where Wynne hurls her bit of Honeydukes' Best at Sirius' face before attempting to flee the room. And while her back is turned, or maybe when Remus tries to grab her and convince her that really, it isn't as terrible as it sounds, he is going to have take away a bit of her mind - and even though she'll never know it, he'll be losing her trust.

He'll be doing exactly what his father wanted when he taught him to perform the charm (Sometimes we Blacks do things in the...heat of the moment, as it were, Orion had told his son, frowning rather fiercely at the then thirteen year old, and we must protect not only ourselves, but the reputation of the family as a whole. This may be unpleasant in some situations, but it may also be an incredibly important tool, Sirius). Two months Sirius spent wiping Kreatcher's mind – it was no wonder the elf had gone even further around bend.

"First of all, boys, in case you have not done extensive research on this potion -"

"Oh, we have," Peter assures her blithely. He pauses a moment, eyes narrowing as he lifts one shoulder. "Well, they did. The library is very dusty, see, and I've got allergies..."

"Ah yes," Wynne bites out squeakily, "Allergies. Well, just to inform you at least then – and perhaps you three other morons as obviously you haven't done as much research as I would have hoped –"

"How do you even know anything about it?" demands James, as though that really matters at all.

Sirius debates, chucking a discarded boot at his head – honestly, who cares how Wynne knows, they should just be thankful he hasn't had to wipe her memory (yet).

"Merriweather's eldest brother is attempting to become an animagus – he began the process last year, and she and I researched it. It's incredibly difficult magic, you know, and I'm frankly shocked that Basil hasn't sprouted feathers and begun attempting to perch on chairs, because he hasn't got the common sense God gave a goose, and I'm certain he's going to bung it up, somehow – " Sucking in a terrifically deep breath, Wynne knots her fingers together in her lap and seems to concentrate on breathing for a moment. She closes her eyes and sort of hums, toes tapping a moderate rhythm before she shoots James a mean glare. "And how I know isn't important, is it? You four are the ones that are either planning on sticking a bit of your brains in a...a pig, or something...or you're going to – "

"Now honestly," Sirius can't help but cut in, tossing one hand into the air. "A pig? Of all the animals we could choose, you think any of us would choose a pig?"

"Dragon," Peter says with a firm nod. "I've given it considerable thought, and if I were ever to create a familiar, it would definitely be a dragon. A Chinese Fireball, because they are wicked looking. And I had a stuffed one when I was a small. His name was Smokey."

There is a considerable moment of silence as four pairs of eyes lock on Peter. It takes him a moment to pull out of his fantasies, but when he does, he seems startled at all the attention.

"Erm – what?" Peter questions, flustered.

"Actually," Wynne muses in an almost reluctant fashion, "That would be rather spectacular. But wherever would you get a Chinese Fireball?"

"Well," looking as though he has been handed an early Christmas present, Peter practically begins to vibrate with excitement. "Merlin's Big Top Circus has a Fireball – Marlon – and I thought that first -"

"I really don't think the whys and wherefores of how to obtain a dragon is important right now," Remus cuts Peter off in a strained manner – he looks as shaken and surly as Sirius feels. "And we are neither confirming nor denying if our plans involve a dragon. Just so we're clear."

"Oh yeah? Fine. Don't tell me what you're planning to do, I don't want to know. I won't have to testify at your trial when you're drug before the Wizengamot." Scowling fiercely, Wynne licks melted chocolate from her fingers before popping the piece into her mouth, chewing with a sort of violence rarely seen. She doesn't meet their eyes; instead she directs her anger at the toes of her shoes. "Do you have any idea how intense the Primordialis Ipse Draught is? One of the key ingredients is diluted basilisk venom, do you know that? One part per million; one tiny bit of basilisk venom, and the rest is water; but it is so powerful that if you were to drink it, it would kill you. So if I mess up – if, say, I were too add too much diluted venom or too little of the diluted phoenix tears after the initial brewing period, then you're dead. Like that." She snaps her fingers, her lips going nearly white.

"And anyway," she continues, "I would need a note from Professor Slughorn to order several of the ingredients, and let's be honest, unless I was willing to ask him while naked -"

"That would work..." James points out, nodding thoughtfully.

"My sister Martha works at Slug & Jiggers. She'll let me buy whatever I want, so long as I don't tell mum and dad that her boyfriend spent most the summer at her flat with her." Peter appears impossibly smug.

"It takes four months to brew, and needs too much supervision to just toss it in a cupboard and wait until the time is up. Where would I keep it? It's not as though I can put it in my dorm – there's six of us crammed in there. I can't put my mascara on without poking someone else in the eye." Growing more and more agitated, Wynne folds her arms under her breasts, rigidly displeased.

"You can keep it here. We can keep an eye on it –" Wynne gives a great snort of at James' words, to which he holds up a hand. "And if something needs done or looks off, we can have you come up to 'borrow a book' from Remus or something."

"Jesus Christ." Lips pressed tightly together, Wynne gives each of them a vicious glare in turn. "I don't want you idiots trying to brew it yourselves and dying because Tweedledum and Tweedledee –" she jerks a thumb towards Sirius and James with a glower – "over there thought it would be a good idea to toss Filibusters in and see what happens. But neither Peter nor Remus are allowed to touch it –"

"I honestly wouldn't dream of it." Remus assures her quickly.

"Cross my wand, hope to – er – not die." Peter adds, smiling as innocently as he can manage.

"I promise I will not bring Filibusters or any other kind of explosives near it. And neither will Sirius. Right?"

"Right." Sirius agrees easily with James, rather blindsided – it sounds as though she's planning on –

"So long as you can convince Peter's sister to sell you idiots what I need, then I'll make it. Unwillingly." She tacks on stiffly. "Because I know you'll do it with or without me. But I expect one of you to help me with my Arithmancy anytime I need it, and...and I don't know what else, I'll have to get back to you on it. But it will be something extravagant and outlandish and possibly even deadly, and you can't tell me no. So...there."

"What did I tell you?" Sirius asks James, gifting his friend with a glance blow with a loose fist off James' bony shoulder. He is so relieved his insides feel like liquid, sloshing drunkenly around under his skin.

James shakes his head, a reluctant smile pulling at his narrow mouth.

"One time you're right, and we're never going to hear the end of it, are we?"

"One time?" Lunging forward, Sirius captures James in a headlock. "I've been right plenty more times than that, thank you – I am always right!"

"Oh, ah, well then." Scooting across Remus' bed, Wynne begins to drift towards the door. "I'll just be on my way, now."

James somehow manages to get Sirius's feet out from under him, and they topple to the floor in a tangle of gangly limbs. One arm still locked around James's neck, Sirius stretches one hand out in an attempt to trip Wynne as well. She darts away, however, her eyes wide.

"Stay!" Sirius urges, planting a foot in James' stomach. His friend gives a great, breathy groan of pain before managing to escape Sirius's headlock, latching onto Sirius's arm and twisting it up behind him. "You can wrestle the winner!"

"If either of you break an arm or something, I'm not taking you to the Hospital Wing." Remus informs them with a lofty sort of disregard for their health (probably spawned from competing in so very many of their wrestling matches at this point).

"I will," Peter assures them faithfully.

Moments after Wynne flees, Peter hurls himself onto both Sirius and James, planting his feet in James's back (James, for his part, shrieks quite shrilly). He bellows, "I'm king of this dog pile!" while at the very bottom Sirius wheezes brokenly and feels certain he has a cracked rib or five.

"Is that so?" Their mild mannered werewolf questions before tackling Peter.

A little over an hour later, they are treated to another lecture from Madam Pomfrey on the dangers of tomfoolery and horseplay. While her back is turned, Remus smugly mouths, "I win."

Sirius consoles himself with the fact that the black eye Madam Pomfrey refuses to heal (hoping it will teach him a lesson, or some other rubbish) makes him look incredibly roguish.