A/N: The best laid plans, am I right? I sincerely apologize for the long delay here, its been a lot of one thing after another. Between moving, and traveling, my computer breaking, and some family news, things have been a little bit crazy. I finally finished the next chapter today, but I didn't want to make you guys wait any longer (it's been long enough). So looking forward... the next chapter is almost done, but I'm going to wait until next Wednesday to post it, to give myself time to edit and stuff. So next chapter on 4/10. Depending on how things look next Wednesday, I'm going to make a decision as to whether or not to keep this weekly, or switch to every other week. I hate keeping you guys waiting, but I want to make sure I have adequate time to write these chapters properly. But, like I said, we'll see how things look next week.

As always, comments are always welcome, and very much appreciated (even if it's just one word), so please let me know what you're thinking!

Now that that's settled, I don't really have any other notes for this chapter, so enjoy, and I hope you like it!


o . o . o


November rolled around bringing with it a plague of scorch throat, and Sirius was delighted when he came down with it right around the full moon. He might not be able to be with Remus while he transformed, but at least Sirius could be with him while he recovered in the hospital wing. He tried to make Remus laugh by exhaling flames with every word he spoke, hiding the winces each time he felt the burn tear through his throat. It was worth it to see even the most fleeting of smiles on his friend's face.

That month, the full moon was worse than it had been before, and Remus had been sick the whole day leading up to it. He'd woken in the middle of the night vomiting from the pain, and he had rushed to the hospital wing, settling in the bed next to Sirius until sunset.

"I wish there was something we could do to make Remus feel better," James sighed as he and Peter trudged through the chilly halls to class.

"We try to help him get better as much as we can," Peter answered, sadness passing over his face despite his words. "And we help him with homework and notes and stuff so he doesn't fall behind."

"I know, I just... those transformations must be bloody awful, and I wish there was something we could do to make them easier," James said.

"What happens if he bites an animal while he's transformed?" Peter asked, an idea nipping at the edge of his mind.

"Nothing," James answered with a shrug. "Well, not nothing, but they don't get, you know, infected."

"So animals can't become werewolves?" Peter clarified, chewing on his cheek slightly.

"No, only humans," James said, Peter's line of questioning lost on him.

"What do you think would happen if he bit a person who was transfigured into an animal?" Peter continued, not entirely sure about what he was suggesting.

"Dunno," James said, cocking his head to one side. "Why? What are you thinking?"

"Well, just that, if animals are immune to lycanthropy, and wizards take on all the traits of animals when they... morph into them or whatever... well would that mean that they couldn't be infected while they were in animal form?"

Peter looked nervous as he asked the question, as if concerned that James would laugh and say he was being ridiculous.

"I'm not sure," James answered. "No one really knows how much you change. But I think... I don't think so, I mean they're still human, right? You don't really turn into the animal, you just take their form. But genetically, you'd still be human, so I think you could be infected."

"But what if you can't though?" Peter pushed, feeling a little more confident in his idea.

"Well, it'd still be pretty risky," James said. "I mean, werewolves are still pretty lethal, you could still get mauled or eaten or something."

"Yeah, but maybe not," Peter proposed, a bright glint in his eye.

They had reached the door of the Charms classroom, and the two boys ducked inside, filing into their seats. Peter mulled things over in his mind as the class continued, unable to focus on their lesson about Cheering Charms.

About halfway through the class, Professor Flitwick asked a question that Peter didn't hear. Lily's hand shot into the air, and Peter watched as James reached up from his seat next to her and slapped her palm in a hard high-five. Lily let out an annoyed huff, but she didn't acknowledge James' action in any other way, her hand never wavering. James grinned happily and leaned back in his chair, pushing the front two feet up into the air slightly.

"You are a complete arse, Potter," Lily hissed, after she had answered Professor Flitwick's question, the satisfied smile slipping from her face.

"C'mon, Evans, you know I'm charming," James smirked, and she rolled her eyes in response.

The rest of the class, and the day, passed in a bit of a blur. Peter felt unfocused, his mind drifting away at every opportunity, and he couldn't have brought it back if his life depended on it. As he went through the motions of going to class, eating dinner, even visiting Sirius, Peter's thoughts kept returning to Remus, trying to piece together a way to help him.

Once the other Gryffindor boys had all fallen asleep, a chorus of snores echoing from James, Lance, and Firmin's beds, Peter decided he had to have an answer to the question burning in his heart. He leaned over and grabbed a pair of socks from his trunk, sliding them off his feet, and then slipped silently through the dormitory. It must have been later than he realized, as the common room was nearly empty, and the few students who were there paid no attention to Peter as he snuck through the portrait hole.

"Going somewhere?" the Fat Lady asked, as the portrait closed behind Peter.

"I need to see Professor McGonagall," he squeaked in surprise.

"You'd better hope that no one else finds you along the way," she answered, giving him a curious look.

Peter didn't wait to find out what her expression meant, turning on his heel and walking quickly down the hall. He reached the door of Professor McGonagall's office without incident, and he took a deep breath as he raised a small fist to knock on the ancient wood.

It was a long moment before the door opened, Professor McGonagall standing on the other side in a tartan dressing gown. Peter had a flurry of nerves as he saw her, suddenly wondering why he hadn't just waited until morning to do this.

"What are you doing out of bed so late, Mr. Pettigrew?" Professor McGonagall asked, as she looked at the young boy in front of her.

"Professor, you know how on our first day of class in first year you turned into a cat and back?" Peter said, shuffling his feet nervously.

"Yes, Mr. Pettigrew, I vaguely remember," she answered dryly.

"What's that called again?"

"An animagus, Mr. Pettigrew, you ought to pay better attention," she chided, although she was not surprised. First years were almost always too nervous or excited to pay much attention on the first day of school. Those with nonmagical upbringings hardly ever remembered anything about animagi until they began to cover it much later on.

"Right, well, I was wondering... if a werewolf bit an animagus while they were an animal, would they become a werewolf too?" Peter asked, trying to seem as casual as possible.

"Why do you ask?" She raised an eyebrow at him, immediately suspicious of his question.

"I was... reading about werewolves and it said only people can be affected."

Professor McGonagall seemed surprised that he had retained this information, or indeed been reading about anything academic other than the passages that his coursework dictated.

"You were reading about werewolves?" she clarified. "A topic which is somewhat beyond your current education level?"

"Yes, Professor."

"Mr. Pettigrew, if you think –"

"I don't," Peter said hurriedly. "And if I did I wouldn't tell a soul. It wouldn't be right. But I don't. It's just a... a hobby. An interest."

"Well, Mr. Pettigrew, I must assure you that you are quite safe from werewolf attacks, and needn't worry –"

"I'm not worried, Professor, I was just curious... it must be lonely for them..." he explained, lost in his thoughts for a moment.

"Since I see very few instances of curiosity from you, Mr. Pettigrew, I feel inclined to encourage it by answering your question, but only if you stop interrupting me," Professor McGonagall said sternly. "I do not believe that a wizard, bitten while in his or her animagus form, would be inflicted with lycanthropy, no. They are, physically, the animal they appear to be, with its traits, including, I believe, immunity from lycanthropy. Of course, no study has ever been performed on the subject. It would be incredibly dangerous, and as such, not many would volunteer for it."

"Thank you, Professor," Peter said sincerely, turning to leave her office.

Professor McGonagall watched him go, his words sticking in her mind, and she considered the young Gryffindor currently alone in the Shrieking Shack. Peter had a point, Minerva couldn't even imagine how terrifying it had to be, transforming into something so wild and uncontrollable, doing so alone. In an instant, she knew what she had to do.

Minerva left her office, pulling her warm, tartan cloak from its place on the coat rack and wrapping it around her shoulders as she moved. She swept through the halls of the empty castle, until she stepped into the night air. A gentle rain was falling, giving the autumn air an extra bite. The moon was full overhead, visible mostly as a hazy glow through the cloud cover.

"Lumos," she whispered, the tip of her wand igniting, lighting her path.

Minerva strode through the grounds until she found the Whomping Willow. With a wave of her wand, a branch on the ground transformed into a snake and slithered to the base of the tree, pressing a knot in the trunk with its tail. Immediately, the branches of the tree stilled, and Minerva was able to step closer.

There was a small opening between the willow's roots, which Minerva knew led to a dank passage. She closed her eyes and focused on her transformation, a moment later finding herself in feline form. Quickly, she trotted through the stilled branches and down into the tunnel. It was a long trek, particularly as a cat, but it was easier than being hunched over.

Some twenty minutes later, Minerva felt the ground slope upwards beneath her paws, and she emerged into the creaking entryway of the Shrieking Shack. She could hear snarling from above, footsteps pacing back and forth. Long nails clicked against the wood, and a loud growl accompanied a crash.

Carefully, Minerva padded across the floor and up the stairs, soft creaks issuing from beneath her paws. When she reached the landing, she could see the werewolf pacing through the gap in the doorway, his claws reaching to destroy any furniture he could find. Minerva sat in the doorway, watching for a moment.

Softly, she meowed, getting his attention. Remus. His yellow eyes fixed on her, and for a moment his lips curled up to show his teeth, a deep rumbling echoing in his chest, but then he paused. A hint of recognition seemed to cross his face, and his muscles relaxed a little.

Remus returned to pacing the room, but he seemed less frantic, less agitated. After he passed by her for the third time, Remus stopped in front of Minerva, staring at her, and growled lightly. But it was more of a conversation than a threat, like he was trying to tell her how frustrated he felt, how angry, how scared.

They spent a few hours this way, in passing conversation of sorts, before Remus curled up on the floor, huffing heavily. Minerva crept closer to him and leapt onto the sole in tact chair, curling up herself. She meowed softly once more and watched Remus close his eyes, watching over him as he drifted off.