18 December 1975

Remus liked Professor McGonagall. He did, truly. She was a phenomenal teacher—sharp with her students, certainly, but undeniably fair all the same. She treated Remus no differently than she treated any of his classmates, and for that, Remus had always been grateful.

But just this once, he wished she wouldn't.

Professor McGonagall had assigned the class three eight-inch essays on Monday that were due the last day of classes before the Christmas holidays. It was O.W.L. year, and all of their professors were cracking down, but McGonagall had taken her curriculum to another level. Normally, Remus didn't mind the workload; he relished writing assignments in particular. It came naturally to him, tracing ink into his thoughts. He loved the process; there was a routine, a normality to it that he savored. But this week—and this evening, in particular—Remus couldn't bring himself to focus.

He stared down at his Transfiguration spellbook, which was propped open on his lap where he was sitting under the covers of his four-poster bed. Dark spots appeared before his eyes, blurring the words on the page, and his head spun slightly. He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt so ill the night of a full moon. His skull felt ten pounds heavier, his skin was raw and itchy—and worst of all was his temper, which was bubbling infuriatingly at the surface.

Swallowing, Remus closed his eyes, thinking of the Hospital Wing's warm linen sheets, where he would wake up in the morning, warm and well-rested after an evening spent wandering the Hogwarts grounds with his friends. He thought inexplicably of Mary—of her brilliant smile, her dark, dancing curls and bright blue eyes…perhaps he might spend tomorrow afternoon with her, relaxing and chatting in their favorite squashy red armchairs by the common room's fireplace…

Remus released a slow, deep breath, opening his eyes and looking down at his Transfiguration book again. The passage he was meant to be reading on the defining characteristics of Animagi looked slightly clearer how. Slowly, he picked up his quill and dipped it in his inkpot, starting a new paragraph of his essay.

"I'm tired of this," Peter's whining voice cut suddenly through the dormitory air from the other side of the room, where he and Sirius were both sprawled across their respective beds. "McGonagall's gone mad, assigning us all of these essays right before the holidays."

Remus could practically hear Sirius rolling his eyes. "It's O.W.L. year, Wormtail, what did you expect? Besides, they're on the properties of Animagi. Should be pretty easy for you, now, don't you think?"

"They're still essays," Peter grumbled, his voice muffled. There was a small pause. Then, out of the corner of his eye, Remus saw Peter's gaze shift to land on him from across the dormitory, and he stiffened. Almost at once, his temper ignited, leaping and crackling like flames in a fireplace. "Moony—"

"No," Remus snapped, then flinched as his brain hammered against his skull.

"But—"

"No," Remus repeated harshly, squeezing his eyes shut.

"But I—"

"No, I will not write your bloody essay for you, Wormtail, so don't bother," Remus growled.

Peter sniffed but fell silent—and immediately, a wave of remorse crashed over Remus, making him feel nauseous. He opened his mouth to apologize, but before he could utter a single syllable, a second wave of nausea caught him unawares, and he clapped a hand over his mouth.

"Moony," Remus could barely hear Sirius's placating voice over the pounding in his head. "He didn't mean to—"

But Remus didn't hear another word. Vaulting out of his bedcovers, Remus flew down the dormitory and flung open the door to the bathroom. The next thing he knew, he was hunched over the toilet bowl, retching.

He didn't know how quite long he sat there, slumped on the cold floor of the bathroom, heaving over the toilet. By the time he managed to find it in himself to drag himself to his feet and trip back toward the bathroom door, he felt no stronger than a wisp of smoke. Trembling, Remus pushed open the door and stumbled back into the dormitory. Peter and James—who had seemingly arrived while Remus was in the loo—both looked around at the sound.

"There you are," James said in a tone of relief, stepping forward. "Are you all right?"

"Never better," said Remus, in a feeble attempt at sarcasm. Unsteadily, Remus tried to take the last few steps toward his bed, but before he could make it farther than a few inches, James stepped in front of him, blocking his path.

"We're taking you to the Hospital Wing," James said firmly. "You can't stay holed up in here any longer."

"'S'only nine," Remus mumbled, swaying suddenly—and James had to throw out a hand to steady him. "I haven't—my essays—"

"I don't think McGonagall will mind if you submit them late," Peter interjected, climbing out of bed and reaching for his cloak—and Remus felt a surge of guilt for snapping at him earlier.

With a stiff nod, Remus followed Peter toward the dormitory door. James rummaged through his trunk for a moment, then pulled out his silvery, fluid-like Invisibility Cloak and joined Remus and Peter by the entryway.

At the door, James glanced over his shoulder at Sirius. "Aren't you coming?" he asked, raising his eyebrows.

Remus looked around at Sirius, surprised to find his friend sitting at the edge of his bed with his nose buried in a copy of the Evening Prophet. Remus frowned, trying to decipher the front page headline through the murkiness of his vision, but he was only able to make out the first two words of the bold, black lettering: FIFTEEN MUGGLES.

"Padfoot?" James asked slowly.

Sirius startled and dropped the Prophet, looking up and blinking rapidly. "Oh—yeah, I'm coming," he said distractedly.

Jumping to his feet, Sirius folded up the newspaper and roughly shoved it under his quilts, before hurrying toward the door. His jaw was set in an unusually stiff way that, had Remus been in a fitter state of mind and body, he would surely have confronted his friend about.


"All right, I'm going inside," Remus said faintly, clutching one of the Hospital Wing's brass doorknob for support as he surveyed his friends seriously. "I'll be at the shack in twenty minutes. Stay under the cloak, don't be seen on the grounds, and make sure that you—"

"Moony, we know," James groaned, rolling his eyes. He turned and looked at Sirius in exasperation. "Honestly, you'd think this was our first time, the way he's talking."

"It's only your fourth time," Remus said irately, his temper fizzling again. "And as I've said a million times, you're risking your lives by doing this. This doesn't suddenly make you all experts—"

"Moony, shut up and go inside," James said firmly, crossing his arms. "We're not going to let you spend the full moons alone ever again—I thought we'd made that clear in September."

Remus opened and closed his mouth several times, unable to speak. At last, he gave his friends a slightly jerky nod. "Thanks," he whispered.

Without meeting any of their eyes, he swung open the door to the Hospital Wing and slipped inside.

Madam Pomfrey was waiting for him by his usual corner bed, holding the pair of raggedy blue pajamas he always wore on the full moon; they had been destroyed during his transformations and then put back together so many times that they were extraordinarily tattered, now. Remus reached out and took the pajamas from the matron, and she drew the curtains around his bed, allowing him privacy to change.

"Who was outside with you?" Madam Pomfrey asked. "I heard voices."

"James and Sirius and Peter," Remus said, yanking on his rumpled pajama shirt and smoothing it out. "They walked me down."

"Hmm," Madam Pomfrey sniffed disapprovingly. "It's almost curfew—if I go out there and find a Dungbomb outside the door, you can be sure I'll have some choice words for them tomorrow…"

Remus forced a laugh, trying very hard not to imagine what Madam Pomfrey would say if she knew what his friends actually had planned for the night. Pushing the thought away, Remus swung his cloak on and stepped out of the curtains. Madam Pomfrey gave him a small, thin smile and patted his shoulder, leading him toward the doors.

They walked toward the Entrance Hall in familiar, comfortable silence. Madam Pomfrey's company on the journey down to the Whomping Willow every month meant more to Remus than he would ever find the courage to tell her. Remus glanced at the matron's thin face, swallowing. He just wanted this night to be over—as much as he knew his friends were looking forward to tonight's escapades, he just wanted to close his eyes and wake up in a body that didn't feel raw and uncomfortable—

"Mr. Snape."

Remus whirled around, his heart leaping into his throat. With a jolt, he saw the stringy, sallow outline of his Slytherin classmate, half-hidden in the shadows of the castle's first floor landing. Snape's dark eyes seemed to glitter slightly in the dim torchlight.

"What on Earth are you doing out and about?" Madam Pomfrey demanded, crossing her arms and glaring at Snape. "Curfew starts in fifteen minutes."

"I'm going to the Owlery," Snape said defensively, pulling an envelope out of his cloak and showing it to the matron. "I need to send a letter."

"It can wait until tomorrow morning," said Madam Pomfrey impatiently. "Go back to your dormitory—"

"Curfew doesn't start until ten," Snape protested. "I'll be back in my dorm long before then."

Madam Pomfrey's nostrils flared and she narrowed her eyes at Snape. "Very well," she snapped. "But if I catch sight of you roaming the corridors once more tonight, Mr. Snape, I will march you straight to Professor Slughorn. Am I clear?"

Snape's expression grew sour, but he nodded.

"Good," Madam Pomfrey said curtly. "Come along, Mr. Lupin."

Remus determinedly avoided Snape's piercing gaze as he turned and followed Madam Pomfrey across the landing.

Suddenly— "Where are you going, Lupin? Don't you have a curfew, too?"

Remus froze, his entire body tensing, Slowly, he glanced at Snape over his shoulder—the Slytherin's eyes were narrowed, his expression leering. Remus's mouth went dry.

"Mr. Snape, this is your final warning," Madam Pomfrey barked. "Move it along."

Snape scowled at her, then threw one last loathsome look at Remus before he took off up the staircase, in the direction of the Owlery tower. Exhaling loudly, Madam Pomfrey shook her head and turned on her heel. Remus hurried down the staircase after her, his heart twisting into an uncomfortable knot in his chest.

The December wind was needle-sharp and biting as Remus and Madam Pomfrey stepped out of the Entrance Hall and onto the castle grounds. Patches of melting snow crunched beneath their feet, and the thick, cold air settled over Remus like a suffocating cloak. The memory of Snape's gleaming black eyes kept flashing across his eyes.

"All right, Mr. Lupin."

Remus blinked, somewhat startled to find that they had already arrived at the base of the Whomping Willow. Madam Pomfrey had stilled the branches with a wave of her wand, and the opening in the roots was clearly visible, even through the darkness. Numbly, Remus reached up and removed his cloak, handing it over to the matron.

Madam Pomfrey took the cloak, fixing Remus with serious a look. "Stay safe, Mr. Lupin," she said quietly. "I will see you in the morning."

Remus nodded, giving her his best attempt at a smile. "Thanks, Madam Pomfrey."

Turning around, Remus stepped toward the Willow, toward the crevice hidden in the knots of the base. Ten hours, and it would all be over. Ten hours, and he would be back to himself, back to normal. The image of Snape's accusing face cropped up again in Remus's mind, but he shook it away.

With a deep breath, Remus ducked into the base of the Whomping Willow, all at once hidden from the world. The passage to the Shrieking Shack loomed before him, cloaked in blackness.

Remus clenched his jaw.

Ten minutes to moonrise.


Author's Note:

If you've read my story 'Big Days,' you'll probably know what's coming. If you haven't...well, you'll find out next week! Chapter 18 and Chapter 19 go together.

Thank you all so much for reading! Hope you enjoyed it :)

Ari