Chapter Nine: Of Scoldings and Quidditch

Peter came to breakfast the following morning, perfectly healthy but understandably embittered. He had no admiring gaze to lavish on Sirius that day and instead sat down glumly on the bench, edging as near to Remus as he could while still maintaining the full range of motion of his left elbow. Remus, who had felt entirely unable to keep his usual company that morning, was glad to make room for a familiar face in the sea of Gryffindor students.

'Thanks again for coming to visit me,' Peter said quietly, glancing sidelong at Sirius and James who were seated together three places down, laughing raucously about something or other. 'Nobody else bothered.'

'Betta MacFusty tried, but you were already asleep,' Remus said. He paused a minute before adding, though he only half believed it himself; 'Sirius didn't mean to hurt you. He was just being thoughtless.'

The post was coming in. James rubbed his hands in glee as his parents' majestic owl circled down to deposit in front of him his latest package from home. Remus was watching the circling birds, hoping for a note from home. He did not notice the owl that landed in front of Sirius until a hush fell over the nearby students.

Sirius was holding a brilliant red envelope, staring at it as if it threatened to bite him.

James grimaced. 'Ooh. Someone's in trouble,' he sang softly.

The colour was gone from Sirius's face, and his jaw was working nervously. 'S-she must be furious,' he whispered, his voice tight and hoarse. 'Blacks don't air their dirty laundry in public.'

'I think you'd better open it,' Remus suggested. The corners of the envelope were beginning to smoke ominously.

Sirius's hands were shaking. He fumbled with the seal, but the envelope fell onto the table. The smoke was pouring onto the table now, and the paper began to vibrate violently.

'It'll be worse if you don't open it,' James warned, snatching up the Howler and breaking the seal.

A resounding voice, magnified many times normal volume, filled the Great Hall with vitriol. '…MY FLESH! NOT ENOUGH THAT YOU DISGRACE THE FAMILY AND SHAME YOUR POOR COUSINS! NOT ENOUGH THAT YOU IGNORE EVERY WORD I WRITE YOU! NOT ENOUGH, YOU VILE LITTLE CREATURE, THAT YOU GET INTO FIGHTS LIKE AN ANIMAL – LIKE A TROLL – LIKE A MUDBLOOD! NO, YOU COULD NOT BE CONTENT WITH THAT! YOU HATEFUL AND DEFIANT JACKANAPE, YOU TAINTED EFFLUENCE OF MY BODY, IS THERE NO BASENESS TO WHICH YOU WILL NOT SINK? DISRUPTING YOUR LESSONS, BRINGING SHAME ON OUR HOUSE…'

Everyone was listening. The Gryffindors seated near Sirius had their hands clamped over their ears, but the woman's voice was so loud and pervasive that these efforts hardly served to muffle her cries. Elsewhere in the Great Hall, students sat shell-shocked or horrified as the vitriolic tirade continued. Many wore an expression of amusement, mingled in only a few cases with gratitude that they had been spared such embarrassment. Peter seemed simultaneously terrified and righteous.

At the Slytherin table, Narcissa Black was sitting with her arms crossed, looking smugly superior. Severus was watching with a sort of avid vindication. Most of the other Slytherins were snickering and trying to murmur superciliously to one another over the roars of the Howler.

Sirius, meanwhile, was sitting bolt upright, hands gripping the edge of the bench. He was staring at the tabletop with a stony, guarded look on his face, but in his eyes there was a glint of something else – terror, perhaps, or hatred. Short minutes ago, Remus had been indignant and angry at Sirius, but no one deserved to hear the things that the Howler was saying now – much less to have them shouted out for the whole school to hear.

'… TOO GOOD FOR YOU! WHEN I GET MY HANDS ON YOU, YOU CONTEMPTIBLE ABOMINATION OF MY FLESH, YOU WILL RUE THE VERY DAY YOU TOOK ROOT WITHIN ME!' With a final horrible shriek, the letter burst into flames.

After a hushed moment, conversation resumed throughout the hall. There was a great deal of laughter and snickering, and Remus picked out several taunting voices quoting phrases from the Howler. He got up from his seat and moved to be near Sirius. James, who was wearing a look of inexperienced pity, slid away to allow the other boy to sit.

'I suppose she found out about the detention,' Remus said softly.

Sirius stared at him. For a moment his face was a crumpled wasteland of panic and vulnerability. Then his eyes hardened and his lips grew tight. 'Just forget about it, Lupin,' he said. 'She's got a bee in her bonnet; that's all.'

'It's over now,' James said bracingly, sweeping the ashes of the Howler onto the floor and pouring himself another helping of milk. 'Life must go on.'

Sirius shot him a withering look. 'Don't imagine you've got any worries about getting a Howler, do you, Potter?' he said dangerously.

James shrugged. 'Time will tell,' he said graciously. 'To date, I haven't blown anyone up.'

A snort that might have been a noise of derision or amusement issued from Sirius Black's nostrils. He picked up his fork and looked at Remus. `What about you?' he asked. `D'you suppose your mum would dash off one of those horrors in between the pretty hand-stitched hankies?'

Remus gestured helplessly with one hand. `I don't know that she could,' he said. `She's—'

`Right, right. A Muggle.' Sirius waved him off. `Weren't you just born under a lucky star?'

The currents of Gryffindor conversation rippled a little. A tall, patrician Slytherin student who had to be at least sixteen was striding down the length of the table. She stopped next to Sirius and shot an appraising look at Remus and James. Remus tried to edge away from her, but next to him James sat fast. Instead the young woman cast an imperious look at the second-year seated at Sirius's left. The girl moved down and allowed the older student to sit on the Gryffindor bench. This she did with indolent grace, leaning back against the table with one arm draped against it. Her legs, still on the other side of the bench, crossed neatly to reveal a costly pair of dragon-hide shoes with tall spool heels and exceedingly pointy toes.

'Are you all right?' she asked Sirius, seeming genuinely concerned.

`Of course I am,' he muttered irritably. `It's not as though I've never heard her shout before.'

`She must be fit to be tied,' the older student said. `It's not like Aunt Walburga to air her dirt—'

'We've covered that already, Andromeda,' said Sirius with a terse, dismissive gesture. `Now if you don't mind, I'd like to get back to trying to live down the morning's spectacle.'

The Slytherin girl gave him a long, hard look before nodding resignedly. Patting his arm sympathetically, she rose smoothly to her feet and sailed back towards her House table.

James watched her go. 'I take it that's some other cousin,' he said mildly. 'Not as unpleasant as the other one, is she?'

Sirius did not answer. He was focused intently on his breakfast. Suddenly Remus saw his opportunity.

'It isn't nice to be ridiculed in front of everybody, is it?' he said quietly.

Sirius shot him a vicious glare. 'How would you know?' he demanded.

Remus felt as if someone had pulled a rug from beneath his feet. His intention to corral Sirius into looking at the situation from Peter's point of view collapsed into a molten pool of shame and dread and terrified remembrance. His courage abandoned him, and he yielded the battlefield. 'You're right,' he said hastily, the lie spilling out like a protective miasma. 'You're completely right. I don't.'

'Exactly,' snapped Sirius.

~discidium~

The incident at breakfast did not seem to teach Sirius Black anything about humility. He served out his detentions with an air of good-natured amusement, and won back the points he had lost with a string of exemplary performances in Charms. He went about his daily business with lackadaisical élan even though the stigma of the Howler haunted him for weeks. It seemed a source of endless amusement to the Slytherins that the heir to one of the oldest and most prestigious pure-blood families was the object of such disgrace. Sirius bore their sniggers stoically for a long while – much longer than Remus would have expected. Yet the mounting tension that accompanied each such incident was obvious. A Black, it seemed, did not suffer humiliation lightly. As the days wore on it was inevitable that he would reach his breaking point and unleash his temper on his tormentors.

It happened on the last Saturday in October. The day began on a jubilant note. The inter-House Quidditch league was well into their season, and that particular weekend marked Gryffindor's first game against Slytherin. Remus awoke to find the dormitory filled with laughter and eager predictions him of victory. James and Sirius were already bedecked in red and gold, attempting to enchant their black school cloaks to match while Peter – who had long since forgotten the incident in the Potions classroom – looked on in worshipful delight.

Seeing that he was awake, Sirius tossed his wand James and reached to herd Remus out of bed. The smaller boy was obliged to scramble in order to tug the hem of his nightshirt over his scarred calves.

'Come on now, get dressed double quick!' Sirius said. 'No time to muck about getting changed in bed today; we've got to get down to breakfast or we won't be at the pitch in time to get decent seats!'

Remus watched feebly as Sirius began to rummage through his cupboard, tossing out neatly folded robes and a change of linens. 'Actually, I hadn't really planned on going,' he said, stooping to gather his scattered belongings.

Sirius froze, gawping at him. 'Not going?' he said blankly.

'Didn't I tell you?' James asked. `Remus isn't big on Quidditch.'

'Not big on Quidditch?' Sirius parroted. He grinned sympathetically. 'Chudley Cannons fan, are you? They really ought to change their motto.'

Remus shook his head. 'I don't follow it,' he confessed.

'Don't follow Quidditch…' Sirius seemed to be struggling with this concept. 'I can't believe it!' he exclaimed. 'You really don't follow Quidditch?'

Remus bit his lip. He couldn't bear anything that smacked even faintly of rejection, and his friend's consternation was frightening. 'It's just that I never really had the opportunity…' he said hurriedly, trying to back out.

The other boy clicked his tongue. 'Unbelievable,' he said. 'Well, who've you seen play, then?'

'Nobody,' Remus whispered, taking a step backward so that he could grip the bedpost.

'Nobody?' echoed Sirius. 'Seriously? Literally nobody?'

Remus nodded mutely, wishing the floor would swallow him up. James looked shocked by this revelation, too. Peter had a pleasantly surprised look on his face – as, no doubt, he tallied up the games that he had seen.

Sirius whistled. 'Blimey,' he said. 'Never seen a Quidditch game. Mixed marriages really are a terrible thing.' When Remus didn't comment, he continued brightly. 'Well, then, today's match will be your first one! You've got to go!'

Remus looked at James, who grinned. 'Whatever you're going to do, make up your mind quickly, okay? I absolutely refuse to miss the toss.'

A little over half an hour later, dressed carefully against the morning chill, Remus found himself hurrying across the grounds with Sirius's fist closed insistently on his elbow. The sun was shining with a benevolent autumnal indifference, and the Forbidden Forest was streaked with every shade of crimson and orange.

The game was not due to begin for almost an hour, but the stands were already filling with students. James took the stairs of the Gryffindor box two at a time, with Sirius tugging Remus after him. Peter Pettigrew tried to keep pace, but soon had to fall back as the other boys outstripped him.

'Second row,' James said resignedly, taking a seat. 'Well, it'll have to do. C'mon, Sirius. Sit by me.'

'Not a chance,' said Sirius, moving his hand onto Remus's shoulder and pressing down upon it until he sat. 'This one looks like he might bolt if he gets half the chance. You guard his left.'

Remus felt a flush of embarrassment creeping up his collar. He stared down at his mittens. The crowded box made filled him with unease, and he could feel the other boys' eyes upon him.

'Remus,' James said in an earnest voice touched faintly by puzzled concern; 'you needn't be so nervous. We're only ribbing you, you know.'

He could not reply that he didn't know; that the difference between friendly teasing and malicious mockery eluded him. Like his sense of humour, it seemed his ability recognize friendly jibes was woefully underdeveloped. 'I know,' he mumbled.

'D'you understand the game?' Sirius asked, and Remus's chest was suffused with warm gratitude as the other boy changed the subject. 'There are seven players on each team, and…'

By the time the match began, Remus had been tutored on the basic rules of Quidditch, the intricacies of several popular plays, and a concise history of the sport. As usual he said little, preferring instead to watch the animated faces of the other two as they spoke to him eagerly with broad smiles on their faces. Now and again one of them would leave out some point that the other felt was utterly indispensable, and a brief, laughing debate would ensue. At such moments Remus could not help grinning rather foolishly, remembering the ferocity of the early quarrels.

He was almost disappointed when the two teams came cruising out onto the pitch, because James and Sirius stopped talking and leaned forward eagerly to watch.

It was strangely exhilarating, sitting in the midst of a thunderous crowd all cheering for a common aim. The action on the pitch moved to quickly for Remus to follow it all, but it was easy to tell when Gryffindor made a good play. Then the box fairly shuddered with the collective jubilation of the spectators. Remus found himself applauding eagerly with the others, and once even dared to call out in celebration. Whenever the Gryffindor Keeper made especially spectacular save, James clapped him between the shoulders. As for Sirius, he took the occasional hiatus from screaming himself gleefully hoarse to explain the mechanics of particularly interesting play for Remus's benefit.

The Gryffindor team was strong, but so were the Slytherins. The score rocked back and forth between them, mounting past fifty to a hundred and beyond. The two Seekers were colourful blurs as they zipped around the pitch. The air was warmer now, and some of the Chasers were slowing down. The game had been going for almost two hours when the Gryffindor captain called for a timeout.

While the teams huddled up to strategize and take some water, the spectators fell into eager conversation. James got to his feet and scooted past Remus. Sirius reached up to catch his sleeve. `Where do you think you're going?' he asked.

`Where else?' James said. 'To ask why they're letting Slytherin lick them!'

Remus glanced at the scoreboard. 'We are up ten points,' he pointed out.

'Exactly. We should be up sixty at least! Either one of our Chasers isn't doing their job, or Eldritch McKinnon is off his game. Either way, they could obviously use a little encouragement.'

Sirius chuckled. 'You're going to give captain of the House team what for? This I have got to see.' He released James's sleeve and stood up. 'Save our seats, would you?' he said to Remus. Then he and James were gone, tearing down the stairs and out of the Gryffindor box.

Remus saw them dashing out onto the pitch far below. There was some scattered laughter as other spectators became aware of the young intruders. Avian spotted them, but by that time James was elbowing his way into the midst of the red-robed Gryffindor players with Sirius on his heels. There was a flurry of disorder as the Gryffindor team reacted to this interruption. The Keeper was gesticulating at James while the older players looked on bemusedly. Sirius leaned in, no doubt to offer his own thoughts. By this time the flying master had reached them and he was trying to shepherd James and Sirius away.

James turned his attention on the adult, launching into what was no doubt an animated explanation of his reasoning. Sirius was trying to offer advice to one of the Beaters when the Slytherin Seeker – who was also a fifth year prefect – broke away from the rest of his team and strode over to lay a censuring hand on Sirius's shoulder. Sirius turned to see who had touched him, and a posture of disdainful impatience overtook his whole body. His mouth moved dismissively, and he tried to shake off the prefect's hand.

The Slytherin must have said something, because Sirius's stance changed instantly. He hurled an arm at the bigger boy's face, retreating four steps and drawing his wand. There was a flash of light, and the Seeker was clutching at his brow, blood showing dark against his pale hair. He was unarmed, of course, but he groped for his broom and swung it like a cudgel. Sirius danced out of the way, diving in to shoot another jinx. James had caught sight of the affray, and he dodged around Master Avian and whipped out his own wand. The sound of his shouting voice as he sent off a hex reverberated dimly and unintelligibly towards the stands.

The flying master was digging in his robes for his wand, and Professor McGonagall came running onto the pitch. She was armed and ready, and with a flick and a stern incantation the two boys' wands flew high into the air. James and Sirius froze, startled, as their Head of House descended upon them, fury writ upon her brow.

The Slytherin team was clustered around their Seeker now, and Avian turned towards them. Other members of staff were appearing on the pitch: tiny Professor Flitwick, looking uncommonly stern; Professor Slughorn, obviously agitated; and Professor Dumbledore, who moved to close his fingers on Sirius's wrist before he could take a swing at McGonagall.

Edgar Bones strode out from the Gryffindor stands, while Andromeda Black came running from amid the Slytherins. Her expression was unreadable, but she had her robes hitched up in a less-than-elegant fashion and she scarcely glanced at the fallen Seeker as she hurried up to the Headmaster and took hold of Sirius's other arm. She seemed to be scolding him; there was a cold and stubborn set to his jaw, and neither Dumbledore nor McGonagall moved to stop her.

The Head Boy trotted up the pitch, collecting the two fallen wands. He tucked them into his belt and presented himself to Dumbledore for instruction. Edgar led James away, off the pitch and out of sight beneath the stands. The Headmaster kept his hold on Sirius, who was too occupied with his cousin to make any attempt at writhing away.

There was another argument going on now; McGonagall and Slughorn had Avian cornered. Under Flitwick's supervision two other Slytherin prefects were helping the Seeker to his feet. He seemed able to walk, but his face was bloody and there was something green and writhing protruding from one of his sleeves. As he was led away, Professor Slughorn began to hop up and down, arms flapping in protest. McGonagall cast him a disdainful look and resumed her stern discussion with Avian.

Apparently deciding that his staff were in need of some arbitration, Dumbledore handed Sirius over to Andromeda Black and moved to settle Slughorn. The two Quidditch teams, one short a crucial player, were now arguing loudly as well. Sirius cast a long look over his shoulder as his cousin, gripping his wrist and marching with grim resolve, began to drag him off of the pitch.

Remus got up, struggling to squeeze his way through the crowd of Gryffindors now congregating in the lower tiers of the box to watch the affray. He ran down the stairs and left the pitch just as Sirius and Andromeda were emerging.

'—can't just go around hexing prefects,' the older girl was saying, her voice filled with exasperation. 'Not in front of the whole school. Do you really think you can get away with that kind of behaviour, Sirius Black?'

He was trotting to keep up with her. 'Ow, Drommie, leggo my arm…' he said petulantly.

She whirled around and bore down on him, still maintaining her grip. 'Look, I know what you're doing and I understand,' she said emphatically. 'But do you really think this is the best way to use your first taste of independence? What do you think your mother is going to do when she hears about this?'

Sirius looked sullen. 'She wouldn't hear about it at all if Cissy would just keep her bloody trap shut.'

'It wasn't Narcissa who wrote home about the firecrackers,' the girl said. 'She was just as surprised as I was when you got that Howler. And even if she keeps quiet about this you know Lucius will find some way to let it slip to Walburga. Why did you do it, Sirius?' There was a desperate, imploring flavour to her voice now.

'Because he's a great bullying prat, and he was muttering that bit she said about me taking root… you know.' Sirius's face convulsed with disgust. 'As if I want to think about that.'

Andromeda's expression softened marginally. 'You can't just go around hexing prefects,' she said again. 'Especially not Lucius. You've got to find a more creative outlet for your frustration, Sirius, or you'll be spending every school holiday for the next seven years shut up in the—'

Abruptly she caught sight of Remus, standing nervously in the shadow of the pitch. Her mouth settled into a hard line and she straightened her back, tilting her chin regally. 'You run along, you nosey little thing,' she said with a chill in her voice. 'There's nothing to see here, and if you don't stop staring I'll feed you to the Giant Squid.'

Sirius whipped his head around and tugged his arm free of his cousin's grasp. 'Lay off, Drommie: he's a friend of mine.' He hurried over to Remus and said out of the corner of his mouth; 'I'd make tracks if I were you, mate. I have a feeling I'm in for a record spat of detention.' Before Andromeda could grab him he sauntered back to her, wrists held out in a gesture of surrender. 'Let's go,' he said. 'McGonagall's office, just like they said.'

~discidium~

Remus did not see either of his friends again that day. He was asleep when they finally returned from the first of their detentions. The following morning, Sirius received a letter from his mother. It was not a Howler this time, but an ominous-looking note written on black parchment. Sirius read it with white-lipped resolve, and then tucked it inside of his robes. Later that day Remus caught him burning it on the hearth of the Gryffindor common room. He said nothing, and slipped away before Sirius noticed him.

While the rest of the school was enjoying the scrumptious Hallowe'en feast, Sirius and James were off serving their punishment. Recalling the plate of food that Sirius had brought out for him two months before, Remus assembled a wide assortment of treats on a platter to keep for his friends.

'Where are you going with that?' Dorcas Meadowes asked, eyeing him sharply as he rose to leave. 'No food in the dormitories.'

'Leave him be,' Edgar Bones said, looking up from his slice of chocolate cake. 'It's only once a year.' He smiled at Remus. 'How are you liking Hogwarts, then?' he asked.

'Very much, sir, thank you,' Remus said politely.

The Head Boy laughed. 'You needn't call me "sir",' he said. 'I'm not that imposing, am I? I showed him 'round last fall,' Edgar said to Dorcas. 'Muggle mum: sometimes they take some reassuring.' He took another forkful of cake, and nodded at Remus. 'Go on; get out of here with that before McGonagall catches you.'

Remus hurried off, casting a furtive glance at the staff table where the Gryffindor Head of House was nibbling at a slice of pumpkin tart while she conversed cheerfully with Professor Sprout.

Sirius and James returned to the dormitory just before midnight, grubby and tired and smelling vaguely of mildew. Their faces lit up when Remus presented them proudly with his plunder.

'A prince among wizards!' Sirius exclaimed, flopping down on the floor between their beds and picking up a little cake covered in sugared violets. 'All we got were sandwiches in that greasy caretaker's office. Egg and pickle,' he said, grimacing.

'How'd you get this lot up here?' James asked, clearly impressed.

Realizing that the story was less than epic, Remus shrugged. 'I have my ways,' he said, trying to sound shrewd and knowing. He watched happily as the other two dug into his spoils.

'You're a lifesaver, that's what you are,' Sirius mumbled, his mouth full of caramel apple. 'Five hours mucking out some attic that's stood untouched since the dawn of time… don't know how I'd have made it 'til morning without some decent food.'

'I'm just proud to see you showing a little independent spirit,' James told Remus. 'You're too quiet by half.'

There was a rustling at the far side of the room, and Peter Pettigrew came around the beds, rubbing sleep from his eyes. 'Wha's goin' on?' he mumbled sleepily. Then he caught sight of the food and grinned eagerly.

Sirius looked oddly possessive as he eyed the other boy, but James patted the floor beside him. 'You'd better join us,' he said, grinning. 'That way you're an accomplice. Can't rat us out.'

Peter sat down happily and reached for a custard tart.

'How many more days is it?' Sirius asked, trying to work it out on his fingers.

'Four,' said James. 'But I hear Malfoy's still in the hospital wing; the matron can't figure out how to detach the tentacles.'

'Where'd you learn that one?' Sirius asked. 'Seems like bad form for an international duelling champion father.'

James shrugged. 'It was one of those ones Snivellus tried to use when we got into that scuffle. Figured I'd give it a go. I didn't expect it to do anything like that.'

'Oi!' Sirius said, swatting Peter's hand away from a thick slice of chocolate cake. 'That's mine.' He grinned at Remus as he took it. 'How'd you know, anyway?'

'Know what?' James asked, much to Remus's relief.

'S'my birthday,' Sirius said. 'Has been for a good twenty minutes now.'

'You prat. Why didn't you say?' demanded James. 'I would've sent away for a gift or something.'

Sirius shrugged. 'It's not important,' he said. 'I'm not exactly expecting the moon on a platter or anything this year. I'm certainly not in the height of favour back home right now. Uncle Alphard's away in Pretoria until Christmas. Drommie's usually good for something, but she's pretty annoyed with me just at present, too. Still,' he added, winking at Remus; 'it's nice somebody noticed.'

The truth was on the tip of Remus's tongue, but he could not bring himself to utter it. Sirius looked so delighted that someone had troubled to acknowledge his birthday. And his happy words sounded so much like praise, like approval. He smiled. 'Happy Birthday.'

'Should we give you a rousing chorus of "He's a Jolly Good Warlock"?' James asked. 'Or are the Blacks more of a "Bon anniversaire, nos vœux les plus sincères" kind of family? Toujours pur,' he added hastily with a stiff salute.

'Actually, they're more of an "At Your Age You Ought To Know Better" kind of family,' Sirius said. 'How do you know so much French, anyway?'

James shrugged. 'Spent last spring in Marseilles. You pick it up.'

'We shouldn't sing,' Peter Pettigrew said around a mouthful of fudge. 'We'll wake everybody up.'

'He's right,' Sirius said, turning conspiratorially to James. 'And then we'd have to share.'

'Very true. Very true.' James nodded sagely. He reached for another biscuit and grinned hopefully at Remus. 'It's not just a birthday thing, is it?' he asked. 'You'll do it every night, won't you?'

Remus did not answer. Even if he had it in him to bend the rules again, he had another grim commitment looming just ahead. A shiver of dread coursed down his spine. He rested his chin on his knee, watching as Sirius shared around a large cinnamon pasty. He was determined to enjoy it, this wondrous feeling of camaraderie and acceptance, as long as he possibly could.

~discidium~

At breakfast on Monday, Sirius did receive one envelope in the post. He scarcely more than glanced at his name on the front before stowing it inside his robes, but Remus caught sight of the graceful lettering as he did so. It belonged to the third hand that customarily sent letters that angered Sirius. As predicted, the two Black girls kept their distance that day. There was no further mention of Sirius's birthday; even James didn't have the gall to bring it up, unless he did so during their shared detention.

On Tuesday Remus made his way to the hospital wing straight after lessons to discover, much to his horror, that the Slytherin prefect had yet to be discharged. He seemed more imposing in his hospital bed than he had on the Quidditch pitch, his sharp eyes lighting upon the first year who had dared to enter the ward. Remus had been caught unawares, hurrying into the hospital wing without troubling to check for other patients. He stood still for a moment, startled, and then backed against the door. The handle dug into the base of his spine and he gripped it with one shaking hand.

Just as he was wondering whether he ought to flee, Madam Pomfrey came out of her office. 'Why, hello!' she said, as if she were surprised to see him. 'Coming down with a bit of a cold, I daresay. It's that time of year. Onto that bed there, dear, and I'll look to you in a minute.'

Remus obeyed, his knees shaking. The bed she had indicated was in the main ward, and he glanced longingly at the door that led to his little room. But of course she could not usher him in there with another student looking on. He gripped the edge of the mattress and let his sore legs swing gently over the side.

Madam Pomfrey was tending to the Prefect, plumping up his pillows and offering him a cup full of some kind of sharp-smelling potion. 'Drink it up,' she said in her brisk, efficient fashion. 'Only three more doses and we should have you put to rights. Now you just rest while I see to this little one and get him back to his dormitory. I expect the whole first year class will catch it in a week, and I'll be run off my feet.'

She came back to Remus and started to mete out his usual medicines. Once her back was turned to the Slytherin boy, she touched her finger to her lips and smiled reassuringly. 'Drink up, dear, and we'll see about getting you excused from lessons tomorrow. A day or two in bed will see you right. Come along, now, while Professor McGonagall's still in her office.'

She took Remus by the hand and led him smoothly from the ward. Once in the corridor she turned, not towards McGonagall's office, but down the corridor that led out of the castle. Remus followed her, struggling to keep pace as she swept out onto the lawn and down towards the Whomping Willow.

'Madam Pomfrey, I'm not dressed yet!' he protested, tugging at his school robes. He never wore his good clothing on the night of a transformation; the clothes always smelled of humans, and more than once the wolf had gone after them.

She looked at him worriedly. 'I know, Remus, and I'm so sorry. I've been trying all afternoon to convince him that he's well enough to go back to his dormitory, but I rather fancy he likes being waited on hand and foot.' She had reached the tree now, and she quickly froze it. 'If only we had more time,' she said, leading the way down the tunnel. 'But it's sunset at a quarter to five tonight.'

Remus was all too aware of that. The long winter nights, when the moonlit hours stretched from twelve to fourteen, then fifteen, then sixteen, were terrible. The wolf grew ever more hungry as the night wore on, and morning bore gruesome testament to the consequences.

'How will you get me back inside?' he asked, suddenly stricken with that horrible prospect.

Madam Pomfrey had a determined look on her face as she hoisted the trap door and offered him her shoulder for leverage to lift himself into the house. 'I'll manage it somehow,' she promised. 'Perhaps Professor Slughorn can have a word with Mr Malfoy. Someone has got to convince him to stop malingering.' She climbed up onto the bare floor and gave Remus a long, gentle look. 'Don't worry, dear. We'll get you in safe and unseen. I promise.'

Her voice was so reassuring that Remus managed an unsteady smile. 'Thank you,' he said softly.

She hugged him swiftly and offered a few quick words of comfort, but then she slipped away. It was after four now, and Remus undressed. He climbed into his usual chair, hugging his knees to his chest. The room was filled with a damp chill that settled right into his bones. As his teeth began to chatter he looked longingly at the great stone fireplace. He wished desperately that he might have a fire, but of course it was too dangerous. The wolf might so easily set itself alight, and the whole house with it. Remus did not know if werewolves burned, but he could imagine…

He screwed his eyes shut, trying to close his mind to the nightmarish images. He thought back to Sunday night – Monday morning, really – in the dormitory. Sirius was laughing at something James had said. Little Peter was munching happily on a square of treacle fudge. Remus watched them, crumbs of chocolate sweet upon his lips. Sweeter still was the taste of companionship. As his limbs began to tremble and the bones in his neck began to twist and change, he held on to that.