Friday, November 25, 1977
Peter and Lily slid down onto the floor, gasping for breath after a successful practice duel. They had been working diligently for the past hour, but decided they had earned a break when Peter blocked Lily's attacks and disarmed her three times in a row. His spirits soared as he thought about the calm, focused mindset he could now achieve in place of the blind panic that made him freeze up and fail to act.
"You've made a lot of progress," Lily said as she reached into her pocket and pulled out a box of Bertie Botts. "I think you just need more confidence, and that'll come with more practice." She poured a handful of beans into her hand and picked out a grass-flavored bean before handing the rest to Peter.
"It's not as intimidating when it's you," Peter said, tossing the Bertie Botts into his mouth. "I dunno how I'd do against anyone else."
She hesitated, staring into the box of candy as she chose her words. "Well, if you want practice dueling other people…"
"No," he said, reaching for the box and pouring Bertie Botts into his mouth.
"They'll want to help," Lily instead. "They're your friends, Peter. They're not going to judge you or laugh at you."
"I don't want them thinking I can't look after myself or handle things on my own," he said, although the nagging voice at the back of his mind whispered that they already thought all of these things and worse. "You can't tell them about this."
She sighed and took the box back from him, peering into it before fishing around and pulling out another green one with a triumphant grin. "Yeah, all right. If you want to be a stubborn arsehole, that's fine. I just think you're being silly."
"Yeah, well, I guess we'll have to agree to disagree." He glanced at his watch before heaving himself to his feet. "Come on, we'd better get back. Prongs will be back from practice soon, and then we'll have to leave right away for the Shrieking Shack."
"I'm nervous about tonight," Lily admitted, standing up and stretching before gathering up their things and following Peter out of the classroom. "I have a bad feeling about it."
"It'll be fine," Peter assured her with a confidence he wished was genuine. In truth he had a similar foreboding about the evening, but he was trying to ignore it in hopes that it would turn out to be needless worrying.
When they returned to the common room, their usual seats by the fire were all empty. They exchanged a glance, then headed for the boys' staircase without speaking. As Peter pulled the door open and stepped into the dormitory, the scent of cigarette smoke and a slight whiff of firewhisky overwhelmed him, and he pointed his wand at the window to let in some fresh air.
"Merlin, Sirius, how can you even breathe in here?" Lily gasped, waving a hand in front of her face to dispel the haze.
Sirius didn't answer, but rolled over to face them with a bored, detached expression on his face. He wore only pants and a t-shirt, and a half-full firewhisky bottle was propped beside him on the bed.
"Padfoot, you'd better get dressed," Peter said, leaning against his bedpost and looking at him with concern. "It's almost time to go down."
Again Sirius did not reply, but he swung his legs over the side of the bed and reached for the trousers that lay in a heap on the floor. He managed to get one leg in before he lost his balance and fell over backwards onto the bed.
"Padfoot," Peter said tentatively. "Are you drunk?"
"Well, I wouldn't say I'm sober," he said, cramming his other leg into the trousers and attempting to pull them up. "But don't worry, I'll be fine."
Peter and Lily exchanged a look.
"Are you sure?" Peter asked, persisting despite his trepidation because the memory of the last time Sirius had been "fine" kept flashing into his mind, too vivid and terrifying to ignore.
"I said I'll be bloody fine, Wormtail," Sirius snapped, reaching for his shoes and cramming them onto his feet.
The dangerous glint in Sirius's eye made Peter nervous, so he shrugged and looked down at the floor as he tried to banish the feeling of unease that was growing stronger with each second that passed.
"You've got to be careful, though," Lily urged, stepping forward and fixing Sirius with an earnest, pleading stare. "Especially if you've been drinking, because-"
"Evans," he interrupted, holding up a hand to stop her, "give it a rest, all right? There's no need for you both to be so dramatic. I had a few drinks because it's fucking Friday night, and what do you expect me to do when you leave me alone? But I know what I'm doing, and I'll be fine out there, so you can both quit looking at me like that."
"Like what?" Lily asked, crossing her arms. "How are we looking at you?"
He glared at her, the defiance in his gaze not quite hiding the glaze of alcohol and pain.
"Like I'm a fucking liability you've got to look out for because I might lose my shit at any moment," he said, shoving his hands into his pockets. "It drives me mad."
His words caused Peter a pang of guilt, because that was exactly what he had been thinking, but Lily's face softened as she stood on tiptoe to wrap her arms around Sirius.
"Why are you hugging me, Evans?" he grumbled, leaving his hands in his pocket and maintaining a slightly stiff, resistant posture.
"Because I love you, even if you're a grumpy, drunk arsehole," she said. "Now hug me back."
Sirius sighed and pulled his hands from his pockets, then put his arms around her. His expression was annoyed and impatient, but Peter could see his body relax in her embrace.
"Padfoot, we don't think you're a liability," she said once she pulled away and stood there looking at him in that piercing, perceptive Lily Evans way that always made Peter feel a bit too seen. "We just don't want you hurt because you take unnecessary risks."
"You called me Padfoot," he said, the ghost of a smile creeping over his face. "You've never called me Padfoot before."
"Yeah, I did," Lily said with a self-conscious grin. "I figure if I'm going to put up with all your shenanigans, I've earned the privilege to use your silly little nicknames."
"Yeah, I suppose you have," he said, shrugging. "Come on, you were in a hurry to get going a second ago."
He grabbed his jacket from on top of his trunk and set off down the stairs, and after a moment Lily and Peter followed.
When they reached the common room, they spotted James heading in their direction, still dressed in the clothes he had worn to Quidditch practice and looking apprehensive but excited.
"Ready?" he said, running a hand through hair that was already tousled from the wind.
He turned his attention to Lily, wrapping her in a hug and holding her close for a moment before pressing his lips to hers.
Peter caught sight of Seven over Lily's shoulder and remembered the book in his pocket.
"Hey, Seven!" he called, weaving around people to approach her. "Remus wanted me to give this to you."
He took the book from his pocket and handed it to her, and her face lit up as her hands closed over the slim volume. A scrap of parchment peeked out of the top, and she snatched at it and read the words written there, smiling even wider as she slipped the parchment into her pocket.
"I suppose that means we'll see you in the hospital wing tomorrow?" he asked.
"See you there," she said, looking happier than Peter had seen her since Gryffindor won the Quidditch cup last year.
"Are you going to sleep in my bed tonight?" James asked when Peter returned to his friends..
"I might," Lily said, still clinging to his hand, reluctant to break the contact. "It depends what Mary wants to do." Her eyes darted to Sirius, but he pretended he hadn't heard. "We might just fall asleep down here."
"Well, either way, try to get some sleep, and don't worry about us idiots," he said, before leaning in and murmuring, "And if you sleep in my bed, feel free to borrow a shirt and wear nothing else with it."
She blushed but chose to ignore his last comment. "Be careful, all of you," she said, leaning over to kiss James one more time. "See you in the morning."
"Don't forget what I said about borrowing a t-shirt," he said, flashing her a mischievous grin before leading the way out of the common room.
They passed Mary in the corridor just past the Fat Lady. She nodded at them, but her friendly expression turned to one of concern as she took in Sirius's appearance.
"Merlin, Black, you look awful," she said before biting her lip, apparently regretting the words as soon as they escaped her lips. "I didn't mean-"
"That's rich," he retorted, scowling. "Have you seen your hair lately?" He cast a withering look at her frizzy curls. "Been off shagging Edgecombe some more, or have you moved on to a different bloke?"
A flash of anger replaced the apology in Mary's eyes.
"Sod off, Black," she snapped. "I went to buy bloody Sleekeazy's because some dramatic tosser chucked my full bottle at the wall, not that it's any of your business what I've been up to." She hesitated, looking from Peter to James with worry creasing her features before adding, "Be safe tonight," and hurrying off to give the password and retreat into the common room.
"You sod off," Sirius muttered, glancing back over his shoulder to glare at her, but nobody else spoke for a minute.
"Pads?" James said after they had left Gryffindor tower behind and were making their way down a staircase. "You good?"
His tone was flippant, but his eyes were fixed on Sirius's with a searching intensity.
"I'm good," Sirius replied, meeting James's gaze. Peter thought he looked more sober than he had in the dormitory, and wondered if the change of scenery and movement had snapped him out of his drunken melancholy.
"Because if you're not…" James continued.
"I said I'm bloody good, Prongs," Sirius said, his voice echoing off the high ceiling.
"All right, guess you're good, then," James said with a shrug. "Bloody hell, it's cold outside tonight. We should've brought him an extra blanket."
He quickened his pace, and the others sped up to match his strides, eager to reach Remus so he didn't have to be alone for the impossibly long stretch of waiting.
The walk through the tunnel felt longer than usual, as they shuffled along, bumping their heads on the low ceiling and stepping on each other's feet. It was a relief when they reached the end and stepped one by one into the dim, drafty room, lit only by a single, bare bulb in the ceiling and the flames of a small fire Remus had conjured. He sat huddled under a blanket on the floor, his back resting against the wall and his hands hovering above the flames to warm his fingers.
"Hi," he said as they made themselves comfortable around the fire. Sirius chose to sit astride a chair with the back ripped off, but Peter and James settled on the floor across from Remus. "Bloody cold out there, isn't it?"
They nodded but didn't reply. None of them ever spoke much during this charged hour of waiting, filled with a strange mixture of tedium, dread, and nervous excitement. Remus read a few pages of a book before snapping it shut and setting it on the floor beside him. Without being asked, Peter picked up the book and stood up, then crossed the room and pried up a loose floorboard to reveal a spot where they stored anything they didn't want damaged during the transformation. Placing the book inside, he spotted a box of Bertie Botts and pulled it out, frowning.
"I'd forgotten about these," he said, returning to his spot in front of the fire and holding them up for inspection. "Are they still good, do you think? Do Bertie Botts go bad?"
"Toss me one and I'll tell you," Sirius said, holding his mouth open.
Peter selected a bean and aimed it at Sirius's mouth, but it ricocheted off the side of his face and landed in the fire while Sirius tried to make a grab for it and swore under his breath.
"How much did you have to drink, Padfoot?" Remus asked with a small, tight frown. His tone wasn't angry, more disappointed and resigned as he took in Sirius's slightly uncoordinated movements and the faint whiff of firewhisky that was detectable when he spoke.
"Not much," Sirius said, unconcerned. "I would've caught that if Pete knew how to make a decent throw." When Remus continued to stare at him, Sirius stood up in irritation and began pacing around the room, navigating around the broken furniture and splintered bits of wood that littered the floor. "Don't give me that look. You're just as bad as Evans. I wouldn't put us in danger. I just needed a few sips to take the edge off. All right?"
Remus shrugged, his eyes finally leaving Sirius's and returning to the fire. "Not much we can do about it now, is there?" He glanced at his watch. "Twenty minutes."
James and Sirius both handed their wands to Peter, who stood up and returned to the loose floorboard where he deposited the two wands along with his own.
"Oh, hang on," James said, getting to his feet and removing the whistle around his neck before dropping it on top of the wands. "I know it sounds nuts, but last time I left it on when I transformed I swear I could feel it bouncing around all night."
"I'm pretty sure that's all in your head, Prongs," Sirius said, attempting to tip backwards in the broken chair and almost falling backwards.
"Before we transform, do we have a plan?" Peter asked as James roared with laughter and Sirius scowled. "Or do you just want to see where the night takes us?"
"What do you think, Padfoot?" James asked. "Head for the forest first, and then go from there?"
Sirius shrugged and stood up. "Yeah, that's fine, but don't try to bloody race and then give me that smug Prongs look if you beat me."
"I dunno, can a stag even look smug?" James wondered, running a hand through his hair.
"Maybe not a normal stag, but you certainly can," Sirius insisted. "It's the fucking big eyes and little antler toss." He widened his eyes and tossed his hair around to demonstrate.
James grinned. "Your impression of me is awful."
Sirius rolled his eyes. "How would you know? How many times have you looked in a mirror when you're in stag form?"
"Once or twice," James said evasively. "We've all done it, don't act like you haven't. I've seen you look in a mirror and bark at your own reflection."
"I thought it was an accurate impression," Peter said as Sirius grinned in spite of himself.
"Fifteen minutes," Remus said in the same tight, hollow tone.
At his words, the other three fell silent and exchanged a look before transforming into animal form. James took his position at the edge of the room, out of the way but close enough to intervene if things got tricky. Peter retreated to a little opening in the wall that Remus had made years ago when his friends were not around to keep him occupied. Here Peter could stay tucked out of harm's way until it was safe to come out. Sirius settled beside Remus, curling up on the floor with his head resting on his paws. It was the same routine every month, and Peter found the predictable steps of the ritual comforting. He thought Remus must feel the same way, because it gave him something to cling to in the face of the impending loss of control.
Sirius wagged his tail and nudged Remus's hand with his head, and Peter could almost hear his friend's voice in the bark that echoed through the silent room: Pet me, you tosser. You know it calms you down. The four of them had spent a surprising amount of time debating whether or not it was weird for Remus to pet Sirius while he was in dog form. After much discussion, Remus conceded that it wasn't weird while he was still dressed, but any petting once he had removed his clothes and wore only a blanket crossed the line.
"So bloody needy, even as a dog," Remus muttered as he ran his fingers through Sirius's fur.
Sirius thumped his tail against the floor and emitted a little sigh of satisfaction. Remus rolled his eyes but continued to pet the shaggy black dog until he checked his watch and whispered, "Ten minutes." He gave Sirius's ears one last scratch before extinguishing the fire and crossing the room to the loose floorboard with the blanket still draped around his shoulders. Peter turned around to face the wall, and although he could not see them, he knew the others were doing the same.
"All right," Remus said after a minute, and Peter turned around in time to see him dropping his wand into the hiding place in the floor on top of his clothes before replacing the floorboard.
Clutching the blanket tight against his body, he made his way back across the room and sat down next to Sirius, careful not to lose his grip on the blanket as he settled himself on the floor. His skin looked ghostly pale without the warm light cast by the fire, and he stared across the room at a spot on the wall, his body still and his breathing shallow. Sirius shifted so that his head rested against Remus's blanket-covered leg. Remus showed no indication that he even noticed, but kept his gaze fixed on the wall except for the occasional glance at his watch.
"Two minutes," he said, the words catching in his throat, and at this signal Peter turned around again.
He heard Remus get to his feet, and a moment later a soft rustle of fabric and the click of nails against the floor told him Remus had let the blanket drop and Sirius had dragged it out of the way. After this, the only sound was Remus's ragged breathing and the muffled sound of the wind outside. The last two minutes always stretched on, an excruciating eternity of staring at the wall while Remus's dread became tangible and filled the room until Peter felt his heart speed up. Just before the waiting became too much to bear, Peter heard the sounds that signalled the start of the transformation.
Peter never watched Remus transform, not since that very first time, because seeing it once was enough. More than enough. When Remus had described the way his body resisted the transformation month after month, Peter had not fully grasped what that meant until he witnessed it for himself. Now, with his keen rat hearing he could hear the skin tearing and reforming, hear the bones cracking and shifting and reshaping themselves as limbs lengthened, teeth sharpened, hands and feet became paws, fingernails became claws. When a low growl filled the room, Peter knew the transformation was complete, and he turned and peeked into the room to see a werewolf where only moments ago his friend had been. Remus was still there, somewhere behind the yellow wolf eyes and snapping teeth, but it took a certain combination of coaxing and force to call him back, especially at the beginning when his mind was most wolfish. For some reason, Sirius was best at handling the wolf and finding the glimpse of Remus lurking underneath, so Peter and James hung back and watched for the first few minutes after the transformation and let the big black dog take control during these crucial minutes.
The werewolf emitted another low growl and took a step towards Sirius, his yellow eyes narrowed and his tail swishing slowly back and forth. Sirius made no sound in reply, but flopped onto the floor and showed his belly in a clear sign of submission that always made Peter want to laugh, if rats could laugh. The werewolf came even closer and sniffed the air before letting out a long, piercing howl. Sirius responded with a loud bark, and the sound sent a stab of fear through Peter, because Moony did not appreciate being barked at, whether he was in human or wolf form. He gave a deeper, warning growl and bared his teeth, and Sirius continued to show his belly, letting his tongue loll out of his mouth as his tail thumped the floor. Again, Peter could hear his voice through the dog's actions: Don't growl at me, Moony. I'm not going to hurt you, so you can put those scary wolf teeth away and stop with that rubbish.
After a moment, the wolf took a step back, satisfied that Sirius posed no threat, and his eyes began to scan the rest of the room. The fur on his back stood up as he caught sight of James, and he made the same low growl in his throat as he stepped forward, his lips pulled back to expose his teeth. James remained very still, his head bent and his eyes fixed on the floor, and Peter watched with a pounding heart as the wolf crept closer. This was the part that made him the most nervous, because it sometimes went wrong and Sirius had to intervene.
As the wolf took another step forward and sniffed the air, he stopped growling. Peter watched as he tilted his head to the side and widened his eyes in something akin to recognition. He had found something familiar in the stag's scent, and his manner was now evolving from threatening to grudging acceptance. It never took the wolf long to get used to Peter's presence, perhaps because he was so small and couldn't possibly be seen as a threat, and he guessed it would be safe to emerge from his hiding place in a few minutes. After that, they could escape the confines of the Shrieking Shack before the wolf could get frustrated with just how much the little room restricted his movement.
Peter let his mind drift to the night ahead of them spent exploring the grounds, but his thoughts were interrupted when Sirius stepped forward, tail wagging, and gave a loud bark. Before James or Peter had time to react, the wolf whipped around, snarling, and slashed at Sirius's front leg. A long, thin line of bright red blood bloomed against the thick black fur and began to drip onto the floor. You bloody idiot, Padfoot, Peter thought. You know you can't startle him like that, not when he has his back to you. He watched as Sirius retreated a few steps and began to lick at the blood running down his leg while the wolf eyed him with mild interest, the fear and anger gone from its eyes.
James's eyes met Sirius's, and they somehow communicated an entire plan in a single look. Peter had seen them do this many times over the course of their full moons together, and he never failed to marvel at this ability to understand each other so effortlessly. He watched James turn his head to look directly at the little hole in the wall, then back at the door before leading the way out into the tunnel. After a moment's hesitation, the wolf followed, leaving Sirius and Peter alone among the broken furniture and boarded up windows.
Peter waited several minutes before leaving his hiding place to transform. By this point Sirius had already returned to human form to examine the gash on his arm.
"You should change back," Peter said, biting his lip and frowning at the blood that had spattered Sirius's trousers and t-shirt. "In case he comes back. I'll handle your arm if you keep an eye out."
"He won't be back," Sirius said, wiping away blood with the edge of his t-shirt and wincing as the fabric scraped against his wound. "Prongs is bringing him towards the Forbidden Forest. I'll just fix it myself, because last time you tried you fucked it up. Hand me my wand, will you?"
The casual dismissal stung, but Peter didn't comment as he retrieved Sirius's wand from the hiding place in the floor. He stood off to the side, keeping one eye on the door while Sirius's wand moved over the wound, binding together the torn skin. Cursed wounds resisted magical healing methods, but Sirius and James could usually get a cut like this to stay closed for around an hour before it started bleeding again. Peter could see Sirius struggling to keep his hand steady, and the trembling motion kept undoing his progress so the wound kept knitting together and opening back up. He's too drunk, Peter realized. He's too drunk to do it properly, and he's too stubborn to admit it.
"Fucking hell," Sirius muttered after the cut opened up again for the fifth time.
He stalked over to the hiding place and swapped his wand for Peter's, then handed it to him and held out his injured arm. The murderous glint in his eyes warned Peter to remain silent, so he accepted the wand and began to bind the wound back together. His healing spells were mediocre at best, but he managed to stop the bleeding on his first attempt. Sirius looked down at his handiwork and nodded, a grudging acknowledgement that Peter had succeeded where he had failed. That's probably the closest to a compliment I could expect when he's in that sort of mood, so I suppose I'll take it.
"This should hold for a bit," Peter said. "Oh, hang on, change back. I have an idea."
When Sirius again became the shaggy black dog, Peter used a Severing Charm to cut a strip from his own shirt and wrapped it around the injured front leg.
"For when it starts bleeding again," Peter explained before returning his wand to the hiding place and replacing the loose floorboard. "You good, or you need a minute?"
Sirius wagged his tail and took a step towards the door, and Peter nodded before transforming back into his rat form. He set off for the tunnel, but Sirius lowered himself down and looked right at Peter. The two of them had never shared the same ability to communicate that James and Sirius had, but it was clear to Peter what he was meant to do, and he clambered up to ride on the big dog's back.
Sirius set off through the tunnel with Peter clinging to his thick black fur, and the latter felt a rush of exhilaration and happiness. Despite the fresh memory of the wolf's razor sharp claws slashing at Sirius's skin and spattering the ground with blood, Peter couldn't help but feel a sense of satisfaction and peace. He had succeeded in doing complicated, difficult magic, he had been helpful and useful to Sirius without pointing out his friend's failings, and he was looking forward to the night ahead. They all loved these nights, even Remus in his own way, because it was a shared secret that bound them together, and because it was so freeing and exhilarating to explore the grounds at their leisure. As Sirius reached the end of the tunnel and took off across the open grounds, the wind whipped their faces and the moonlight illuminated their way and for once, Peter felt that he really and truly belonged.