Chapter Seven- There's Something About Mary

September 1977

When dawn broke through the cracks in the woodwork, lighting the shack on fire, engulfing it in a brilliant amber mist, Peter could almost forget the darkness that had existed only moments before.

He never slept when it was the Full Moon. Normally, he was out like a switch the moment night fell and his head hit the pillow, but the nights when his friends needed him, when Remus needed him, were better spent wide awake. The day before was always tense, and he woke up a little more alert than usual. He woke up even earlier than James, ever the early bird: he made his bed, folding the corners neatly under his pillow; had a hot shower to warm his blood; dressed; sorted his bag for the school day, and slipped out of the dormitory before anyone else so much as stirred. Sometimes, Remus' bed would be empty but Peter didn't know where he went when the wolf inside of him wouldn't lie still. He never asked.

He wasn't one for crowds of people. They made him nervous and his eye would twitch. The quietness of the Common Room was therefore a relief, and he made sure he tip-toed to the big armchair by the window so the floor wouldn't creak. Peter liked to sit there on these mornings and read and watch as the sun crept across the grounds, untucking the grass from its lake bed blanket of darkness, and staring at the simplicity with which the light shone. He wondered how it would feel to exist without a care in the world, devoid of that sickening fear that everything would go black the next second.

"Bit early for you, isn't it?"

Peter swung round. Mary MacDonald stood by the stairs to the Girls' Dormitories, in a long nightgown that brushed her shins. Her thick Scottish accent tripped over her tongue. Peter blushed.

"I'm sorry I startled you."

"It's fine," said Peter. "And I'm not usually up at this time."

"I know," said Mary, wandering over to him. "I would've guessed you weren't a morning person from the way you run to breakfast five minutes before the bell."

She stopped in front of him. Peter stared at her and swallowed. Mary smiled, and motioned for him to move up so she could perch on the arm of the chair. She tucked her knees up under her chin.

Peter got nervous around a lot of people. Teachers were obvious- apart from History of Magic, he knew he was scraping by in all of his subjects and he tried to avoid his professors as best he could. The younger students were either too frightened or too cocksure to be of any real benefit to him. Girls were a definite no-go. Girls moved in packs, tightly knitted together so you had no choice but to blend into the shadows if a group of them walked towards you. It was more a practicality than anything else.

But Peter was also acutely aware that he was not like his friends. He didn't possess Remus' natural intelligence, nor his uncanny ability to read something once and then recite entire paragraphs from books that had caught his attention. He didn't have James' easy charisma, that warm grin that put everyone at ease and made them swell with a determination to be his friend. Peter most certainly didn't have Sirius' charm or good looks. He couldn't smooth talk his way in or out of situations, and ended up stuttering through his sentence and spitting on whatever poor girl he fancied before she could hazard a guess at his point.

Peter was a round boy, a trifle fat, with thick legs and arms and a good foot shorter than Remus, who was the tallest of them all. He had small brown eyes, thin eyelashes and lips and red cheeks that quivered anxiously when James wasn't making him laugh. He knew he wasn't the type of boy girls fell in love with.

That fact didn't stop his heart speeding up when he saw Mary MacDonald.

Mary was short and bouncy. She had dark skin and dark eyes and dark hair that curled in tight corkscrew ringlets and sparked off with her magic when she got excited. Her hands were small and she wore bright nail varnish and weird rings that got stuck on her knuckles, but she had a hard punch and a toothy grin that could make roses grow from glaciers. It was her smile that made Peter blush for seven years every time she entered a room. She had a loud and raucous laugh that always started with a squeal, and reading glasses, about six different pairs, some love-heart framed ones and big square ones and wire framed aviators and circular ones that slipped from her nose when she snorted. She had big lips and small ears and gleaming sharp teeth that had held Muggle braces for the past nine months. Mary Macdonald exhaled all the joy and bliss of living voraciously, the flowers of spring and summer weaved into her hair as she laughed.

He had taken to her in his first lesson of History of Magic when she sat next to him and proceeded to argue about the rights of the Gargoyles of Notre Dame following the Strike in 1911. He didn't get a word in edgewise to disagree with her, but she finished her tirade with a rush of air and a giggle and offered him her toothy smile, name and hand. Peter had been hooked ever since.

"What's different about today?"

Peter looked out the window. It was cold, but his hands were sweating.

"Or don't tell me," continued Mary. "If it's a secret."

"It's not a secret," said Peter quickly, eyes darting to her. "I just- it's-"

"Okay," laughed Mary. "Have you done Binns' essay?"

"Yes."

"Me too."

"But then I spilled ink over it and I forgot the counter-charm," finished Peter.

Mary looked at him, then threw her head back and laughed. "You haven't changed since First Year, Peter!"

He laughed a little, then stopped and wheezed. They fell into silence.

"Why d'you breathe so heavy?" she asked all of a sudden.

"I'm asthmatic."

They shared a quick look, then they both burst out laughing. Peter felt the sun creep through the window and warm him through, or maybe it was Mary that made him feel alive and awake.

"What're you reading?" she asked.

"A book."

Mary laughed, nudging his shoulder with hers. "I can see that, airhead. What book?" He flipped the book over so she could read the cover. "'Le Morte d'Arthur.' Is it any good?"

Peter nodded. "You can borrow it, if you want."

"What's it about?"

Peter shifted to sit straighter. He said, "James bought it me. It's about King Arthur. He's British legend. There's a lot to it: he had a table of Knights, including Lancelot, and Guinevere as his Queen, and then there's dragons and magic and Merlin-" he broke off sheepishly. "I don't want to spoil it for you if you read it."

Mary smiled. "As soon as you're done, send it my way! Then we can gush about Arthur and dragons and Merlin together."

They'd sat there for a while, until morning doused the other students in consciousness and their serenity was disrupted, and then Mary had gone to get dressed, and Peter had waited a little longer by the window until James came down and got him.

oOoOoOo

Now, the shack was quiet. Padfoot was curled up in a corner of the room, on a dusty armchair that had big gashes down the pillows, oozing stuffing. Prongs had settled down by the doorway. Remus was laying behind the settee, head lolling to the side, dirt and grime clinging to his body like a second skin. He was probably naked, but James had hidden a pile of spare clothes in the bathroom for him when he woke up. Peter had woken up and transformed out of his Animagus form immediately.

He didn't mind being a rat; he'd hated the idea at first, but the knowledge that he was needed to press the knot at the base of the Willow made him grudgingly accept it. Now, he quite liked it. He liked being able to squeeze into places no one else could, and the way his feet (which refused to coordinate together when he was human) would scurry over the grass so quickly and nimbly he felt like he was flying. Even so, he sat on the armchair, watching the sun rise. He wondered if Mary was sitting in the Common Room watching it too.

Peter heard a sigh, and he glanced over to see Remus raising his head. He blearily looked around. When he looked at him, Peter smiled. "Morning."

Remus gripped the back of the settee and hauled himself to his feet. He grimaced a little from the pain, but Peter noticed that there were no cuts on him this time. It had been a tame night, as smooth as he would dare to label it. They didn't always go so easily. Remus gingerly moved towards the door, but stopped when he saw Prongs. He swore under his breath.

"Wake him up," said Peter.

Remus pressed his lips together. He knelt down and stroked the deer's head. "James, if you could be a dear and move out of the way so I can put some clothes on, I would very much appreciate it."

Peter snorted, and grinned as the deer pressed itself into Remus' hand. It blinked its large eyes open, and kicked out its legs in surprise, startling itself back into James.

"Merlin," he gasped. Remus smirked wryly and left the room.

James stretched out his legs, leaning back against the wall. His shirt was creased and rumpled and his trousers ended half way up his leg. He yawned loudly. The sound was enough to wake the dog in the corner of the room, and Sirius lifted his head and surveyed them. The dog's eyes lingered on the place Remus had slept, where the settee was still pushed away from the wall. He didn't bother changing back, but clambered to his feet, stretched his legs, and padded over to where James was sat, curling up into his side.

James scratched Padfoot's ears, then rested his arms around the dog's shaggy neck. "Hello. Didn't eat any mice last night, did you?"

Padfoot huffed and pawed at his chest, licking his face. James recoiled. "Sirius! I swear- if I find out you ate a mouse and you just licked me, I will starve you!"

But the dog paid this threat no heed, and settled down beside his best friend. His head rested on his paws but he watched the door with keen eyes.

Peter said, "It still makes me uncomfortable when I think about that."

"He wouldn't eat you," said James. But he paused. "I don't think, anyway."

Padfoot swished his tail.

Sirius was the most comfortable with his form. If Peter had to hazard a guess, he'd say there was something about the freedom being a dog gave him. Sirius didn't like to feel trapped; he needed the rush of wind in his hair (or fur) and the adrenaline coursing through his veins. He needed to be reminded that he was alive, and that life was worth living.

Remus returned, fully dressed, and Padfoot perked up, moving to meet him. Remus laughed a little, but it must have pained him, for he winced soon after. He stroked the dog's head with his long fingers, massaging his scalp.

"I wasn't too bad last night, was I?" he asked.

He didn't look at anyone when he spoke. Padfoot pressed himself closer against Remus' legs.

James said, "No, it was uneventful."

Peter said, "You went in the lake, played a bit with Padfoot, then came back here."

Remus nodded. His shoulders sagged. "Good."

The shack wasn't as unwelcoming and discerning as what it once had been. Peter remembered the first time he had stepped foot in the place; the floorboards creaked and groaned underfoot and the doors hung from their hinges. He'd started to count the cobwebs but gave up when he saw something that looked suspiciously big for a spider scuttle into a dark crevice. The Shrieking Shack left him with a bitter taste in his mouth and he never looked forward to the Full Moon, but he looked forward to it less at the knowledge he would have to spend a night in that house. He persisted though: Peter knew why it was so important that they did what they did. He wasn't sure whether Remus would be able to cope with Moony on his own. The shack had become a haven to them, a dilapidated, moaning safe house that they could always count on to keep their secrets.

Except for that one time it didn't.

They always seemed to gravitate to this room in particular. There was a large, three-seater salmon settee pushed against the far side of the wall, and a shelf that clung fervently above it with one or two books and dead, black plants. By the window, Peter sat in the ripped armchair, shifting to avoid the springs. The room curved round to the left, forming an L shape, and the foot of the L contained a grand piano that was surprisingly well-kept, all things considered, and another chair that Sirius tended to occupy. The windows had been boarded up, but somehow, the straining sunlight still slipped through.

"I heard you were chatting to Mary this morning. Or yesterday morning, even," said James. Padfoot made a noise. James flicked his ear. "Don't be rude." He looked back at Pete and waggled his eyebrows. "What's that all about?"

Peter felt the blush creep up his neck and ears, defusing into his cheeks. "Nothing really. We were the only ones up. It wasn't like she was spoilt for company."

"Peter, any girl would be lucky to hold your company," said Remus. He'd moved over to sit on the settee. It was too low down for him, and his gangly legs were bent at a funny angle so his knees very nearly kissed his chin.

Pete scratched his head. "Thanks. I mean, it's nothing really. We hardly spoke."

"How long have you fancied her?" James asked. He wasn't wearing his glasses. He always left them in the dormitory for these nights, so his eyes were big and hazel and he kept blinking.

"It's a bit hypocritical if we go there, isn't it?"

Remus huffed a laugh, glancing at James. "He's got you there."

James shook his head, but Padfoot snickered in a way uncommonly human-like. James tapped him on the nose, and the dog growled. "Don't laugh at me."

The dog tossed his head away.

"I just mean, don't you think it's high-time you tell her?" continued James. "Or at least say more than three words to her!"

"I have said more than-"

"The Goblin Revolution doesn't count."

Peter shut his mouth. He swallowed thickly. His eyes followed a little ray of light that had escaped onto his skin. "I don't think she'd be interested anyway."

"Why not? She'd be mad not to be."

Peter shrugged.

"Peter," said Remus. He spoke in such a way that commanded you look at him, like the unspoken audacity of a meteor shower that forced you to stare at a dark sky if only for one glimpse of a shooting star. "Any girl would be lucky to have you. Stop thinking you're a burden. You have a lot to offer."

Peter stared at him, and he nodded a bit unevenly, before he looked down at his feet. The room was quiet. Their bones were tired and it made trivial conversation an effort.

James yawned again and he stopped stroking Padfoot to cover his mouth. The dog pushed his wet nose into his hand. James continued obediently. "I sure am glad it's the weekend."

"What do you think about Hogsmeade later? D'you fancy it?" asked Peter.

James pulled a face. "I don't know. Remus, will you play us something?"

Padfoot lifted his head.

"Is it not a bit early?"

Peter shook his head. "Sun's up."

Remus smiled a little, half-smile at that. He got to his feet, and his body looked heavy as he moved over to the grand piano, running his hand along the top of it as he sat down.

Remus lifted the lid.

"Any requests?"

"Something beautiful," said James.

He cracked his fingers, dusted the keys, before he started playing. He had pianist fingers, long and spindly, and he closed his eyes when he played, reciting the movements from memory, his shoulders swaying with the force of the music. They couldn't always get him to play; Sirius had discovered he could by pure coincidence, and had tried to persuade him to play more often. Remus was usually too tired. When he agreed, however, it warmed the shack like the sun outside, drenching them all in something both melancholy and bright. James closed his eyes too and leaned his head against the wall. Padfoot watched. Peter stared at the sunlight.

oOoOoOo

December 1975

The castle grounds were dark. It was early morning but you wouldn't be able to tell from the sky as no light could be seen, cracking the horizon open to make way for the new day. Winter meant that morning started later. It also meant that there were more shadows to hide in and the ground was stiff and difficult to navigate. A biting wind snaked through the undergrowth, making the grass rattle, occasionally whipping up to lash out at tree trunks and the towering castle walls.

The first figure appeared quite abruptly. It was a small thing, scurrying about, no larger than the overgrown grass it raced through. The rat poked its head out of a hole in the earth, nosed the air, seemed to check left and right, before scurrying back to whence it came. It appeared once again a few seconds later, daring to go much further out before it turned into a plump boy. He sat in the grass and waited.

The second figure to break the night was actually a clump of three figures, joined together by limbs and hips and gangly legs. They appeared from the same hole the rat came from separately and then re-joined, heaving their way up the hill. The boy-that-waited shot to attention and led the way.

They ventured onto the path for easier footing, choosing to risk detection rather than skirting round the shadows. The middle of the three boys was the slowest and had the smallest gait, despite being tallest vertically, limping up the pathway. The other two must have been supporting him. It was doubtful he could do it alone.

It took them a long while to reach the castle doors but when they did, the patient boy retrieved what looked like a stick to tap the lock, and they waited only a few seconds for a crack in the door which they slipped through silently. Inside, the labyrinth intensified. They set off to the right. They needed to be on the opposite side of the castle, upstairs, in one of the highest towers, but Filch was patrolling and they'd memorised his schedule. The figures had prepared and prepared well.

They had been preparing this night for years.

Inside, they stuck to the shadows, skirting round the glowing silver of the waning moon. The clouds had since come out, drifting across the sky, wary that the sun was imminent on the daybreak. The boys were wary too and they moved faster than before, all but carrying the slowest of them, dragging him silently along. Their route was much longer and laborious than what it needed to be, and they reached the dungeons before they doubled back and took the farthest staircase away from the Entrance Hall, turning left when they reached the first floor instead of carrying on going up. They paced the length of the first floor until they made it to the staircase on the opposite side of the castle, hauling their tired bodies up a floor before repeating their movements along the second floor to get back to the first set of steps they'd deviated from. This continued, they weaved in and along and up the floors, until they reached the seventh floor, where they could move a bit faster, sound in their knowledge that they had outmanoeuvred the caretaker. They were cautious to be careful, however. It would not do for their complacency to trip them up only metres away from their destination.

The boys near ran when they caught sight of the Portrait Hole, and they were too consumed in their glee to notice the indignation of the Fat Lady when they roused her from her sleep with their utterance of the password. Collapsing into the Common Room, they didn't give themselves the time to stop, hurrying straight to their dormitory.

Their bodies ached from the night they had endured and the mission to get back afterwards. Still, they were too enraptured in their euphoria that, after years of planning, it had paid off. Moony would no longer have to be alone in his midnight venturing. Remus would not have to suffer in solitude anymore. He had his friends to sneak into the dark and light the way for him.

The door clicked shut behind them. Sirius collapsed onto his bed. Peter ran to the toilet. Remus faltered a little bit from all of the energy he'd spent in the last twelve hours. James took a deep breath. He turned to the others and said incredulously, "We need a map."

AN: Ok the asthmatic line between Mary and Peter was an actual conversation between me and my friend in the taxi to our lesson today. I couldn't stop laughing. I found it so awkward that I put it into the scene.

You know, it's bizarre because I was sitting in class thinking about continuing writing this chapter and my first thought was I can't wait to escape back to Hogwarts. It didn't strike me that this world wasn't real and these characters aren't breathing people. They're real to me and it was such a weird experience to think about that first and the fact that they are my (at least in this fanfic) construction second.

Anyway, this chapter is a little different as you can probably tell because I wrote it in Peter's POV. This fanfic is the MARAUDERS' story, and he is a Marauder, and so I'm going to cover all of the characters that are integral to telling this story (or my version of it, at least). Also, I wasn't sure whether they had clothes when they turned back into humans from their Animagus forms but for the sake of this fanfic, and the agreement with the films at least, we'll go with it.