It's the day before the winter holidays, and I was in the boys' dormitory, helping them pack for the journey back to London. I had already packed earlier, and James dragged me upstairs, saying he needed help deciding what things to bring home. Sirius seemed to also want as much company as possible, because he grew increasingly anxious about going home to Number 12, Grimmauld Place.

I've been so busy with Quidditch and classes and worrying about the safety of my parents that I had completely forgotten about the plan to knick Remus some blankets until the very moment when he announced, "Well...you lot have a Happy Christmas...I've got to go."

"Happy Christmas," said Peter hurriedly, too busy packing and mentally preparing for the feast that his mum would be preparing to say a proper goodbye to Remus.

Sirius dropped the books he'd been packing into his bag: he was the only one bringing along homework, as he said he figured there'd be nothing much else to be done while he was locked away in his room back home. His Transfiguration book fell off the bed and onto the floor with a thump. "You're not going out there already!"

"I've got to," Remus replied. He held up the note from Dumbledore reminding him of the moon. "I should've gone last night so that nobody saw me sneak out, but it was too cold to even dream of it. That old shack hasn't got the best insulation."

"Rats!" I exclaimed, remembering the blankets that Sirius, James and I were supposed to have gotten for Remus over the last month. I smacked my palm to my forehead, "Bloody hell, we're the worst friends in the world!"

Remus looked confused, "What?"

James looked guilty, too. "We were going to knick you blankets from the laundry room," he explained. "Clean ones, of course," he added as an afterthought.

"For the Shrieking Shack," added Sirius, "So you wouldn't be so cold out there."

Remus smiled, "I appreciate the thought," he said.

"Thoughts won't keep you warm at night!" I said in frustration.

Remus shrugged, "Some thoughts might."

Later that night, Gryffindor Tower was quiet once again with sleep and the light of the full moon streamed through the window. I sat in my bed, hugging my knees and shivering, refusing to get under my own blankets in interest of feeling the same cold that Remus must be feeling out there in the Shack. I rubbed my palms over my toes. They were like icicles.

"Bloody hell," I mumbled. I couldn't stand the idea of Remus out there, half-frozen like I was picturing. Quickly, I got up, and snuck into the boys' dorm. The moonlight streamed through the window, lighting up Remus' empty bed ominously.

"Sirius. Wake up." But Sirius didn't budge other than to roll over and pull his own blankets together. "Sirius, get up, we need to get blankets for Remus." But still, nothing.

I went to James' bedside this time, and tried the same thing. James wouldn't wake up except to mutter something about a Quidditch pitch. I sighed. Fine. I'll do it myself, then.

Alone, I snuck out of the dormitory and through the portrait hole to head to the Trophy Room, careful not to make a sound. I luckily didn't run into a single soul on the way to the room. The light of my wand cast long shadows of the trophies in their cases across the walls, reaching up toward the ceiling. I stood before the frame of Scrimgeour's empty portrait canvas and muttered Beati Pacifici, ducked into the passage quickly. I felt a lot better about not being caught once the portrait had resealed itself and I was running down the dark passage.

I hadn't gone down to the laundry room before, and so I hesitated at the edge of the seemingly endless pit, standing next to the blue flame marker with a lump in my throat. Nervously, I inched closer and peered into the darkness that loomed beneath me. It seemed a lot more daunting now that I was here than it had when I'd thought of it before, when my plan involved friends. I thought of James' heroics months before, when he'd launched himself down that very chute without hesitation to attempt to rescue Peter. I think it may have been the most brave and reckless thing I could imagine.

But this time it wasn't for Peter. It was for Remus. And not only that, but I knew what awaited me at the bottom. I took a deep breath, then hopped over the edge, holding my nose as though I was jumping into a swimming pool.

Down, down, down I fell, the wind whipping my hair back from my face and my pyjamas fluttering about my ankles. I instinctively tried to grab onto something to stop the falling but there was nothing but smooth walls that came ever closer and I had a panicked thought about the magical properties of spaces in Hogwarts. What if the chute only sometimes went to the safety of the laundry room? What if sometimes it really did never end, and here I was dropping down to the centre of the earth, where I'd be boiled alive in magma and lava? But before I could panic too much, I felt the coolness of the wall on my back and the slow change from falling to sliding and then, like I was on some crazy ride at an amusement park, I was out the chute and into a great bin on stinking laundry.

I took a few moments to regain my wits about me, shivering in the warmth of the clothes and blankets I'd landed in. I crawled out of the bin once I was fairly certain that I could do it without my knees giving out on me. I looked about the room.

It was just as magical as James and Peter had described it, with clothes and blankets flying through the air to be magically dried and folded on their own accords into sacks that the house elves would carry up to the dormitories. It smelled sweet and citrusy in the room. I moved, ducking around the laundry flying through the air, and peered into the little bags, shuffling among them until I found one that was filled with blankets. I cinched the top of it and slung the bag over my shoulder quickly and made for the door at the far end of the laundry.

The hall beyond was dark and I wasn't certain where in the castle I was, but I found my way eventually to the Entrance Hall and I struggled to pull open the great wooden doors. Outside, it was below freezing. I had worn my thickest cloaks but I was still very cold as I ran across the grounds, my feet crunching in the frozen snow. The Whomping Willow was still, her vines and leaves icy. I used the cold snow to form an ice ball and took aim for the knot as Remus had shown us nearly two months prior. I missed.

Several ice balls later and my hands were pink from the cold, my feet starting to get numb, and tears threatened to freeze in the ducts of my eyes. I had to hit this bloody tree. You'd think with me being a Chaser, that I can do this. I can throw a giant Quaffle halfway across the pitch, but I can't toss this ice ball 15 feet away? I scraped up my seventeenth ice ball and took a deep breath, staring at the knot with determination. I still missed. There had to be another way!

I felt my wand and an idea struck me. I made one last ice ball. "Wingardium leviosa," I whispered, and I magicked the ball across the space between me and the trunk of the Whomping Willow, lining the ball up so that it hovered over the knot in the tree before cutting the spell and allowing the ball to fall. It hit the knot and the willow sighed, frozen now in a different way.

I gathered up my bag of blankets and ran across the snow to the hole in the ground and jumped through into the darkness of the tunnel.

The tunnel seemed even longer and much more dreary by myself than it had been when I was with my friends. I hated the thought of Remus travelling it alone every month, and I clutched the bag of blankets even tighter in my fists, all the more determined to get them into the shack. I pictured Remus, huddled up and alone on the floor of the Shrieking Shack, probably reading one of his textbooks, and waiting for the full moon to come tomorrow night. I didn't once think that Remus had told us he was supposed to leave last night, as the full moon would be tonight.

Not once.

When I got to the end of the tunnel at long last, I put the bag down for a moment to push open the trap door that led up into the Shack, then I stuffed the bag through and reached to climb up myself. "Remus?" I called into the dark, looking about as I pulled myself out of the tunnel and stood up. I picked up the bag of blankets.

The Shrieking Shack was ice cold, my breath came out in the clouds 'round my mouth, and I shivered. "Remus, it's me, Sabrina. Blimey it's cold out here...I brought you some blankets." I looked around, but I didn't see him anywhere.

It felt a bit like trespassing, honestly. I moved uncomfortably through the little kitchen, putting the bag of blankets down by the overturned table. On the floor, I spotted Remus' book bag, books spilled onto the floor, illuminated by a beam of moonlight that cut across the dark, pale blue like cool silver. "Remus? Hello?"

A creaking floorboard was all the warning I got.

I turned around to see the most terrifying creature I had ever laid eyes upon. It was mangy, with great bloody gashes across his body, skin chewn to the point of being almost leatherlike, with thinning grey fur that was blotchy at best, and glowing yellow eyes...the werewolf was nothing at all like Remus Lupin. I was jolted by the shock of it. The beast lunged toward me, jaw open wide.

I only just managed to get out of the way in time as the wolf came at me with teeth bared and anger in his eyes. I hit the floor and rolled, popping up a few feet away as the werewolf slammed into the table, kicking the textbooks every which way. Pages were shredded, a cover fell off, and one book slid clear across the room as the wolf struggled to his feet and turned on me, his eyes angry and wholly focused on me. I could almost feel the pressure of the eyes looking at the spot where my jugular was in my neck and I instinctively put my hands up as I cowered away.

"Remus, it's me," I said desperately, my back against the wall. Wallpaper was ripped and hanging limply against the wall where it had been scratched away. My eyes moved to the trap door, upon which the werewolf (it was impossibly hard to think of it as Remus) stood, baring his teeth and growled lowly, the hairs the ran along the ridge of his spine all straight up and prickly. "Oh God," I whimpered. I don't think I have ever been so terrified of anything in my entire life. "Remus, please, it's me...Sabrina. Your friend. From Gryffindor. You know, we're friends, you and me. You're such a great guy, I care about you so much..." The wolf stepped closer and I swallowed, crouching in fear. "You're Remus Lupin…" I trembled. "You know who I am. Please. Remember who you are, Re!" But there wasn't even a flicker of recognition in the wolf's eyes.

I knew I had exactly three options:

Stay here and let the wolf bite me.

Problem: I'd maybe become a werewolf. Or I'd DEFINITELY be killed.

Grab hold onto something, like a chair or book, and try hitting the wolf.

Problem: It could make the wolf angrier and more aggressive, and kill me regardless.

Draw the wolf away from the trap door a bit, enough to get it off the door, and make a mad dash for it.

Problem: It could leap through the trap door and not only kill me, but possibly be loose in Hogwarts.

Seems like option #3 was the way to go. I stood slowly, inching my way up the wall, the wolf watching, calculating its attack. At any moment, he would lunge forward and I would be done for. I held up my palm, shaking. "Good...good doggy," I whispered. "Good doggy." My voice was but a squeak.

I backed slowly away, keeping my back to the wall, my knees too weak to hold me up. Just a couple of feet, I thought. Not too far. I can do this. But would I be able to make the move to get to the door without the wolf grabbing onto me? That part I wasn't so confident about.

The werewolf took the bait, though, stepping closer with each motion that I took away from it, keeping the distance equal. Slobber was coming from the lips of the wolf, falling in great thick stands. It made my stomach churn.

Suddenly, sick of the slow steps, the wolf made his move. He leaped through the air, his strong back legs springing him forward. Luckily, I had seen the tensing of the muscles and I dove to the floor, sliding painfully across the wood and rolling to the trap door. The wolf rebounded off the wall and ran toward me, snapping and snarling as he came, his long yellow teeth bared. I pulled open the trap door as quickly as possible, and swung myself down into the tunnel. I was afraid that the wolf would follow. I reached for the cord to pull the door shut behind me. The wolf stretched out his long clawed-foot, catching my right arm with his claws and ripping the skin, tearing it away, drawing blood. I screamed in pain, but managed to hold onto the cord as I pulled it the rest of the way shut. The wolf's paw caught in the door and struggled to push his way through, but I pulled the cord with my entire body weight and the wolf was forced to withdraw as the trap door slammed shut, sealing the angry wolf onto the other side.

I clutched my bleeding arm as I fell to the floor, tears in my eyes, breathless. I could hear the wolf snarling and snapping and scraping at the door, digging, and I imagined that the wood might break and the wolf might break through and get into the tunnel. I scrambled to my feet, heart in my throat, and ran as fast as I bloody well could through the tunnel, blood leaking out of my right arm and dripping onto the floor.

I felt dizzy as I stumbled to the other end. I'd run that full length and my lungs burned and I struggled to pull myself out of the dark after pulling the lever on the hole. I rolled across the ice and snow that covered the ground beneath the Willow. Blood stained the snow reddish-pink and I was sobbing as the cold crystals bit into the skin around the wound. I looked at it, trembling. Four bright red gashes circled from the middle of my forearm to the base of the back of my hand, deep and oozing.

I knew I had to go to Pomfrey. There was no way around it. If I didn't, I would certainly lose all of the blood within my body. I already felt as though I had lost a good amount of it. What will I tell Pomfrey, though? I wondered desperately. What if she took one look at it and knew it was a werewolf that had caused the wound? What would happen to Remus? Did werewolf scratches work the same way as a werewolf bite? I stumbled across the snow, headed for the main doors of the castle, so cold I could barely move, clutching my arm as the night and the castle swam before my eyes, blurry and far off.

I fell down the stairs...once, twice...a third time...my knees scraped against the stone, pain jolting up my arm as it broke my fall. I was so tired.

"Bloody hell," I heard a voice say from what seemed like eons away. "What's happened to you?"

I fought to focus on the face that peered down at me. Why was Derek outside, yet again, at this late of an hour? But I didn't have too long to wonder as I lost my strength entirely and everything went dark.

Note: I hate the trope when OCs fall unconscious randomly. I hate it sooo much. But I feel like getting attacked by a werewolf and nearly bleeding and freezing to death are pretty good conditions towards getting knocked out.