Sunday, June 18, 1978

James gazed out the common room window, watching rivulets of water running down the glass as a steady drizzle drenched the grounds beyond. He glanced down at the Snitch in his hand, releasing it and letting it flutter away before darting forward to catch it again. The wings beat against his fingers as he looked at the other side of his chair where Lily had sat wedged beside him until a minute ago. He would have some time before she returned from the shower, and this might be his only chance for days. James loved how inseparable they had become, but it made it difficult to have conversations without her knowledge.

"Mary? Can I ask your opinion on something?"

Mary glanced up from her magazine. "If you're about to ask if you should expand your wardrobe a bit, the answer is yes. Quidditch t-shirts are lovely and all, but there are in fact other options."

He grinned and opened his hand. The Snitch flew over toward Mary, hovering beside her ear. He could see its wingbeats stirring little tendrils of her hair.

"It's not a fashion-related question. It's about…" His eyes darted toward the staircase, and he lowered his voice. "It's about my proposal."

Mary's eyes widening in interest, she tossed the magazine aside and got to her feet.

"Hey! I was using you as a backrest," Sirius complained, shifting to find a new position on the floor.

"Just sit in the chair like a normal person," she said, rolling her eyes.

Remus grinned and lifted his eyes from his book. "Bold of you to suggest Padfoot is a normal person."

Mary laughed. "Fair. Okay, come on," she said, leading the way out of the common room. "We should go somewhere she won't overhear. That girl is nosy, if you haven't noticed."

They strolled along the corridor, their footsteps echoing in the hushed silence. As they descended a staircase, James thought about the small velvet box hidden at the bottom of Sirius's trunk. Its mere presence filled him with a rush of joy.

"This should do," Mary said, coming to a stop in front of a wide window. She perched on the stone sill, but James remained standing, too full of nervous energy to sit. He ran a hand through his hair and took a deep breath, then performed a Muffliato even though Lily was a floor away.

"Right, so I wanted to ask your opinion about how to ask," he began, resisting the urge to bounce on the balls of his feet or run his hand through his hair again. He should have brought the Snitch, or a Quaffle, or even a crumpled up ball of parchment to toss around – anything to give him something to do with his hands.

"Padfoot doesn't have any ideas, except that we should all be drunk," he continued, pausing to enjoy the exasperated grin that spread across Mary's face. "Moony thinks I should hide it in a book or something, which would be great if he wanted to propose to Seven, but isn't really my style. And Pete is too indecisive to give me any useful advice about it, so I figured I would ask you because you're her best friend, and a girl, and, you know, not a complete idiot about these sorts of things."

She leaned her head back against the rough stone wall and laughed. "That last bit's a little

questionable, but I'll do my best. When are you doing this?"

He grinned. "I was thinking Sunday. The day after we get home." When she raised her eyebrows, he chuckled and added, "I know it's a bit fast, but I can't wait. If I had it my way, I would've asked months ago."

"I know. Meanwhile here I am, proud of Black every time he manages to say 'I love you.' I think we're up to five times."

James shrugged. "Consider yourself lucky. He never tells me he loves me."

"Oh, shut up. You know he loves you the most." She pushed a strand of hair behind her ear and looked out the window, a wide smile lighting up her face. "What are you thinking for a proposal? I find it hard to believe James Potter doesn't have something in mind."

Of course he had something in mind. The scene filled his head in brilliant, vivid detail, embellished from so many hours of daydreaming. It was so real to him that putting it into words felt pointless, because it seemed impossible that an image so tangible wasn't clear in everyone else's minds, too.

His smile widening until his face ached, he described his vision. He was looking at Mary, but he didn't take in her reaction, because he was too busy watching the proposal unfold in his mind. When he fell silent and Mary spoke, dissolving his reverie, he saw that she had a dreamy, tender shine in her eyes that told him the scene was now as real for her as it was for him.

"It's perfect," she said, smiling. "She'll love it. Even without all the stuff to set the scene, and the enormous diamond, she's going to love it if you just tell her how you feel, because you're quite good at that."

Unlike Padfoot, James thought, filling in the unspoken bit of her sentence.

"You think she's going to say yes?" he asked, raking a hand through his hair and keeping his eyes fixed on Mary. His heart pounded as though he had already asked the big, momentous question, and he took shallow, quick breaths as he waited for Mary's reply.

"Of course she's going to say yes," she said, shaking her head and tossing her curls from side to side. "I've never seen two people more disgustingly in love."

He raised his eyebrows. "Except you and Padfoot."

"We're not disgusting." She stared out the window; James followed her gaze and watched the wind shaking the tree branches and sending leaves fluttering to the ground.

"Thanks, Mary." He pulled her into a hug. Dark curls tickled his face, frizzy from the day's humidity and smelling of Sleekeazy's and cigarette smoke and, vaguely, of Sirius. As she gave his back an awkward sort of pat, he wondered what color bridesmaid dress she would wear at their wedding, then pictured her dancing with Sirius, a bottle of champagne in her hand and her head thrown back in laughter. He released her, bursting with so much joy that he had to stop himself from racing back to the dormitory and pulling out the ring to ask Lily then and there.

"You're welcome," she said, sliding off the window sill. She took a step, then paused and held up a hand. "Add some fireworks," she said, a thoughtful smile tugging at her lips. "For the proposal, I mean. Lily loves fireworks."

"Alright, I will." He set off down the corridor, brimming with happiness as he revisited his plan, adding fireworks into the scene. It was perfect, simple yet elaborate at the same time, and so irresistibly, tantalizingly soon. He allowed himself to picture Lily's face, the sparkling diamond reflecting in her bright green eyes, then shoved the thought aside before he gave in and proposed that day. Sunday would be there before he knew it. Until then, daydreams would have to sustain him.

Tuesday, June 20, 1978

A light breeze rustled the leaves and plucked at Remus's clothes as he trudged across the lawn beside Madam Pomfrey. Dew coated the grass and drenched the bottom of his trousers, but he didn't mind. He would be removing them before long anyway.

"I can't believe this will be your last transformation here," Madam Pomfrey said, breaking the silence. She glanced over at him, and Remus saw her brisk, businesslike manner softening.

"The time did go by fast. Well, not these days, but the rest of it." An owl passed them overhead, emitting a soft hoot before it disappeared into the trees. "It's strange to think I won't make the walk down here again."

His footsteps slowed as a surge of nausea twisted his stomach; she matched her pace to his but didn't comment or ask questions. He appreciated her silence, as her concern made him self-conscious and speaking through his queasy moments was nearly impossible. When he took several deep breaths and was able to speed up again, her eyes flicked over to assess him, and then she spoke as though there had been no pause in the conversation.
"Do you have everything sorted for where you'll be next month?" she asked, her voice quiet but clear. "Will you be at your parents' house, or…"

She left the question unfinished, a note of discomfort in her tone. They hadn't spent much time discussing Remus's future, but he supposed after years of patching up his cuts and walking him to and from the Whomping Willow, it was natural for her to be curious.

"I've got my own place," he replied, his chest filling with an ache of gratitude as he thought about James's generosity. "Out in the middle of nowhere, and it has a very secure cellar." He grinned and added, "The landlord believes I have a very large, destructive dog."

"Not far from the truth," she said, returning his smile before putting out a hand to steady him when he stumbled on the sloping ground. "Well, I'll be thinking of you during future full moons. Thank you again for the gift, by the way."

Remus thought of the small potted plant with delicate blue flowers that now sat in the windowsill in Madam Pomfrey's office. It was embarrassingly inadequate, giving her a damn plant to thank her for seven years of healing his cuts; Vanishing his vomit; allowing his friends to visit him even though they spilled Bertie Bott's and laughed too loudly and called her Pom-Pom.

"A Moondew," she remarked, glancing over at him and smiling. "You have a good sense of humor, Remus."

"It felt appropriate," he said, a faint smile flitting across his face despite the pounding headache clouding his vision.

They drew to a stop beside the Whomping Willow, just out of reach of its thrashing branches. Madam Pomfrey pointed her wand at a stick lying nearby, levitating it through the morass of branches to prod the knot and make the tree go still.

"You're alright to go through the tunnel on your own?"

He nodded, wincing as a throb of pain shot through his head. Even on his worst days, he dragged himself through the tunnel, because it was too humiliating to accept her help. She didn't argue, understanding his need to preserve what shreds of dignity still remained to him.

"See you in the morning, then," she said, reaching out to touch his shoulder. "Good luck."

He choked out a thanks, then started the long journey through the tree trunk and along the low, sloping tunnel. Each step drained his already depleted energy, so that when he reached the Shrieking Shack he slumped to the floor, not caring how pathetic he looked, since there was nobody there to see. For a moment he remained there, crumpled against the wall with his head in his hands, trying to summon the energy to open his eyes. When he did so, he lit his wand to illuminate the grim interior of the room, and burst into laughter at the unexpected sight.

Across the wall was a large banner bearing the message Congratulations! Last Hogwarts transformation ever! Below the words was an illustration of a werewolf wearing a jumper; a speech bubble beside him read I'm over the moon with excitement.

"Idiots," Remus muttered, grinning. His eyes scanned the rest of the room, taking in the red and gold balloons bobbing against the ceiling and bouncing around the floor. You'd think this was a birthday party, not a damn transformation, he thought, yet the smile remained on his face.

"What do you think of our decorations?" James asked when the three of them trooped in a short while later.

"You're ridiculous," Remus said, rubbing his temples. His body was humming with the peculiar tingling prickle that always preceded a transformation, as though his cells were rebelling against the impending, inevitable pain.

"I thought we should set up glitter bombs that went off when you walked in," Sirius said, plopping down onto the floor beside Remus. "But we decided against it."

"Good thing," Remus said darkly. "You know how I feel about glitter. I'd probably remember even as Moony and bite you."

Sirius shrugged. "I can handle a nibble or two."

Remus groaned and leaned his head back against the wall. "Why do you torture me this way?"

"You haven't even seen the best part." Sirius pulled something from behind his back and handed it to Remus. "Congratulations."

Remus took the shiny gold trophy, frowning. "What's this?"

"It's your trophy," Sirius said, smirking. "You know how I'm always telling you there's no trophy? Turns out I was wrong."

A smile tugged at Remus's lips as he peered closer to make out the engraved lettering.

"Most Stubborn Arsehole Award," he read, chuckling although the laughter made the tingly feeling in his limbs worse.

"You earned that," James said, batting away a balloon and sitting down across from Remus. "And you can display it beside the 'Most Professorial Cardigans Award' you won two years ago."

"Where do you want to go this time, Moony?" Peter asked, taking a seat on a rickety chair, worn and flimsy from being repaired too many times. "We figure you should decide, since it's our last full moon here."

"I don't care. Wherever you like." Remus never cared much where they went during the full moon, as long as they kept him a safe distance away from anyone he might try to take a bite out of.

"Let's go up the mountain behind Hogsmeade," Sirius suggested. "We can find that little cave again."

James smirked and raised his eyebrows. "I think you and Mary already found it."

Remus laughed, then winced when the laughter made his head pound harder. He checked his watch and sighed. Forty minutes. Resting his head against the wall again, he closed his eyes and tried to recite Transfiguration laws in his head. He was working his way through the exceptions to Gamp's Law when he gave in and checked his watch again.

"You'd better change," he muttered. His whole body was vibrating and his thoughts whirled, growing louder until it was impossible to recall what the fourth exception to Gamp's Law was. There were three soft pops, and he knew without opening his eyes that his friends had transformed. He heard a gentle thump against the floor; a moment later Sirius's shaggy head nudged his leg.

Sod off, Padfoot, he wanted to say, except his brain wouldn't communicate with his mouth, so instead he gave Sirius a reluctant pat. The smooth fur between his fingers grounded him, mooring him to reality when his thoughts threatened to swallow him up and drag him down into oblivion. He checked his watch. Five minutes.

"I'm going to change," he said, struggling to his feet and clinging to the wall when his legs shook.

Sirius's nails clicked against the floor as he stood up and turned around. Remus could sense the silent exasperation in his friend's movements. I'm not looking, Moony, for fuck's sake. Yet Remus insisted on the show of privacy, because these last few minutes were the most dehumanizing of the entire transformation. Stripping off his clothes to huddle under a blanket was bad enough, but sometimes he would topple over if his leg got caught in his trousers and he lost his balance. He had forbidden the others from trying to help when this happened, although Sirius and James often ignored his wishes. Now he wrapped the blanket around himself and settled back onto the floor, taking deep breaths as he counted down from one hundred. It wouldn't be long now.

97… 96… 95… Goosebumps erupted all over his skin. 94… 93… 92… A rushing filled his ears, blocking out all other sound. 91… 90… 89… A tingling started at the tips of his fingers and toes, spreading through his hands and feet, his arms and legs, rippling through his body. 88… 87… 86… His teeth began to itch. He knew this made no sense, but there were no other words to describe the peculiar sensation. 85… 84… 83… Saliva filled his mouth, sour and vile. 82… 81… 80… His fingers twitched… 79… 78… 77… Tremors shook his arms and legs, chattering his teeth, knocking the blanket to the floor as he lost his grip. 76… 75… 74… Sweat broke out on his skin, cooling and making him shiver even more. 73… 72… 71… Sharp pain shot through his legs, then his arms. He wasn't going to make it to one hundred. 70… 69… 68… He closed his eyes, because it was better not to watch the bones breaking and reforming under his skin as he sprouted fur and claws and sharp, sharp teeth. 67… 66… 65… His skin was on fire and he could hear sickening snapping, tearing sounds, and his eyes were bulging out of his head. He bent over, gasping for breath, head pounding, as a blinding flash of white hot pain ripped through his body. 64… He tried to keep counting, but his brain was melting and his arms were being torn from their sockets and he was drowning in a sea of agony…

Moony opened his eyes, blinking as his sight adjusted to the dim room. He got to his feet, moving in slow, jerky movements as he readjusted to his body and stretched his limbs. His nose quivered as he smelled the musty, damp odor of the room and three other scents, distinct and familiar to him. He turned his head, taking in his surroundings, searching for someone or something to sink his teeth into, to tear with his claws until the iron tang of blood filled the air and matted his fur. The deer stood by the door, his wide, dark eyes fixed on the floor. The rat was tucked away out of sight, but Moony smelled him and heard his shallow, rapid breathing. And there was the dog, rolling onto his back to expose his belly as his tail thumped the floor and his tongue lolled out of his mouth. The urge to attack faded away, because where was the fun in attacking when the dog was already surrendering? There was something about his familiar scent that made Moony feel calm and safe. His hackles fell as he took a step toward the dog, sniffing the air. The dog thumped his tail once, twice, then got to his feet and stepped forward until he was inches away. He stood there, tongue hanging out of his mouth, and then he bounded away, pushing open the door and stopping in the tunnel beyond. A loud bark rent the silence, and Moony knew it was a summons. He followed the dog out into the tunnel, his feet carrying him over the uneven ground until they emerged into the night.

The moon illuminated the grounds as the dog struck out across the grass. Moony followed; behind him he could hear the deer's hooves thudding across the ground, mingling with the occasional high pitched squeaks of the rat. The chill night air filled his lungs, and he smelled earth and flowers and the swampy scent of the lake and the rotting carcass of a squirrel in the forest and very far off, a hint of wood smoke. And he heard things, too: the rustle of leaves and the creaks of branches and the call of a thestral and music from Hagrid's hut and the plop of a frog jumping into the lake. It all mingled together, echoing in his head and overwhelming him until he wanted to lash out to relieve the pressure, but then the urge passed as his feet pounded the ground and the breeze tugged at his fur. The night stretched out before them, inviting and full of possibilities, and Moony experienced a rush of simple, pure joy. The dog set the pace, matching his speed to Moony's, and the deer brought up the rear with the rat clinging to his back. They had the whole night ahead of them, and there was nowhere Moony would rather be, nothing he would rather do.

They made their way along the path, pebbles and dust flying out behind them as they raced. Moony drew up beside the dog and they skirted the village, heading for the cpath up the mountain. The ground grew steeper, rockier, more treacherous, yet they continued on until the dog stopped and sniffed the air, then turned right and padded through the thick brush. Moony followed, sticks jabbing at his skin as he stepped over roots, and then the forest opened up into a small clearing as a cave came into view. Moony thought he had been here before, although he couldn't remember when or why. The dog bounded up to the entrance and let out a loud bark, the sound of it echoing in the empty cave and ringing in Moony's ears. Moony joined him in the cave, exploring until he reached the rough stone wall, damp and musty and cracked. He scraped his paw across it, grinding his teeth together as his claws grated against the stone, and then he turned and rushed back into the night.

He bounded down the mountain, reveling in the rush of the wind in his face and the moonlight illuminating his path. Behind him he heard the footsteps of the dog and the deer, and he slowed to give them time to catch up. They had all night, and he didn't want to outrun them, because their scent and the sound of their breathing was pleasant. When he reached the foot of the mountain, he turned right instead of left, leading them into a small field drenched in moonlight. He stopped, waiting for the others to catch up, then turned his face up to the sky and howled, savoring the ripple of the sound as it left his throat and erupted into the night.

The deer joined him first, grinding to a half in a flurry of flying limbs, followed by the dog. The rat hopped down, scurrying a few feet away, although Moony could gobble him up with a well-placed pounce, if he wanted to. He had no intention of doing so, however, because the rat wasn't bothering him, and he couldn't imagine ever being bothered by something so small and unobtrusive. The wind stirred his fur as he stood there, panting and soaking in the moonlight and looking around at the others. They stood a little ways apart, allowing him enough room to show their deference, yet he took comfort from their proximity. He remembered their scents from past full moons, a vague, unformed memory that was more of a feeling than an actual thought. His mind was blissfully empty, and he knew he wouldn't remember much of tonight the next day, but even still, the others gave him a sense of happiness, and peace, and belonging. In the back of his mind, the violent instinct still lingered, but with the dog, deer, and rat around him, Moony could keep it in check.

He turned his head, taking in the sight of the others, and as they gazed back at him, a word penetrated the haze of his mind. Friends. It floated up from the deep recesses of his consciousness, a remnant of another Moony, his other self that he couldn't access right now. No matter what happened, these three would be beside him, offering silent support and company and a barrier against the frightening side of his nature. He raised his face to the moon again and howled, then took off running again. As his friends' footsteps pounded against the ground, Moony's other emotions fell away, leaving him with only a wild, pure happiness. He sped up, letting all thoughts fall away as he savored the feel of the wind in his face and the thud of the ground under his feet.

Thursday, June 22, 1978

Sirius paused outside of McGonagall's office, rapping on the door before she beckoned him to come in. He found her seated behind her desk, frowning down at a stack of parchment.

"I've come to pay for this library book I've misplaced," Sirius said, placing a notice on her desk that she had handed him earlier during lunch. "I'd also like to point out that three Galleons is an absolutely obscene amount of money for a book that is poorly-written anti-werewolf propaganda, but I know that's out of your control." He placed three Galleons on top of the notice, then took a folded piece of parchment from his pocket and set that on her desk along with a handful of Sickles and Knuts. "This one's from Macdonald. Well, it's her missing book notice, but my money. She claims she took this book out for me when I was banned from the library, and I supposedly lost it, which doesn't sound at all like something I would do, but I wasn't going to argue with her over three Sickles and five Knuts."

"Mr. Black," McGonagall said, ignoring the second book notice and handful of money, "which book is poorly-written anti-werewolf propaganda?"

Sirius shrugged. "I dunno, it's on the notice." He reached for the parchment on her desk and held it up, then read "Lupine Lawlessness: Why Lycanthropes Don't Deserve to Live by Professor Emerett Picardy."

Her nostrils flared and her eyes widened. "That book was in the Hogwarts library?" She spit out the word book like it was a filthy swear word.

Sirius nodded. "Yup. Dark creature section. That's the one near the back, second aisle—"

McGonagall held up a hand. "Yes, Black, I'm familiar with the layout of the library." She pursed her lips. "Did you read it?"

"I couldn't get past the first few pages." He grimaced. "It was, well, exactly what you'd expect." His mind hummed with anger as he remembered the hateful words splashed across the pages. He had snapped the book shut, afraid Remus would somehow see over his shoulder even though he wasn't even in the room.

"What happened to the book?" she asked, peering at him over the top of her glasses.

Sirius grinned. "I tossed it into the fire." He waited for a stern rebuke, but instead her mouth twitched as it often did when she repressed a smile. She studied him for a moment, and then she snatched up the Galleons and thrust them back into his hand.

"You will not be paying for that book, Black."

His fingers closed over the coins, but he didn't withdraw his hand. "What? But I destroyed it, Professor. If Pince knew she'd fucking skin me alive — sorry for swearing, but she shouted at Evans for ten minutes because she folded the corners of a couple pages."

McGonagall gave a small shake of her head. "Well, page folding is a terrible way to treat books. But in any case, you will not be required to pay for that book. I will speak to Dumbledore, and he will inform Madam Pince." An indignant scowl formed on her face as she added, "He'll be furious when he finds out that sort of trash was on the Hogwarts shelves."

Sirius stared at the coins in his hand for another moment, then slipped them into his pocket and raised his eyebrows.

"So, just to clarify, I'm not paying for the book, and I'm not being punished for burning it?"

McGonagall snorted. "Well, I wouldn't make it a habit of throwing books into the fire." She treated Sirius to a true smile that made the corners of her eyes crinkle. "However, in the case of this particular book, I'd say you did the world a favor by destroying it, so no, you will not be punished." She hesitated, her smile slipping, and added, "Did Mr. Lupin read any of that book?"

Sirius's eyes widened in alarm. "No! Why do you think I burned the bloody thing?" He held up a hand. "Language, I know. Sorry."

She didn't remark on the profanity. Instead she gave a curt nod and said, "Good." Her eyes fell on the Sickles and Knuts on top of Mary's missing book notice, and her tone became brisk and efficient once more. "I will cross Miss Macdonald's name off the owed book list and send the payment along to Madam Pince so she can order a replacement."

He gave her a thumbs up. "Great. Thanks."

Her eyes narrowed. "You didn't burn this one, too, did you?" She picked up the notice and inspect it. "Because I hardly think An Anthology of Eighteenth Century Charms contains anything inflammatory enough to deserve such extreme measures."

Sirius shook his head, chuckling. "No. I'm not sure where that book is, to be honest. It's either at my flat, or somewhere in James's house, or I smudged chocolate all over it from a chocolate bar I stole from Remus and I hid the evidence. That might have been one of Remus's novels, though. I can't remember."

"Lovely," she said, a note of disapproval in her tone. "Remind me not to lend you any books, Mr. Black."

"But tell you what," he went on, waving away her remark. "If I do find the book and it's not covered in Honeyduke's nougat bar, I'll send it back so the library can have an extra copy. It might come in handy, if any other delinquents such as myself decide to check that particular book out. Consider it a parting gift."

The barest hint of a smile returned to her face. "How generous of you."

He shrugged. "I do what I can."

Slipping his hands into his pockets, he turned to leave, but paused before he reached the door.

"Thanks, Professor." His smile was earnest and grateful, different from his usual nonchalant, lazy grin.

She returned his smile as she set down Mary's missing book notice and placed her payment into a tin on top of her desk with a soft clang. "You're welcome. I think I've said this before, but Mr. Lupin is lucky to have you as a friend. Even if you do steal his chocolate and smear it all over his books."

"I do what I can," Sirius said again, before turning and striding out of McGonagall's office.