This fic was in response to a challenge at Fictionalley… writing a winter's tale from the point of view of a character in fifth year, and ten of the thirteen words on the card up for auction at Sotheby's.
Disclaimer: The Harry Potter world and all of its characters belong to JKR; I'm making no money off of this!
~*~
Madame Pomfrey closed the door with a thud and a forced smile as she left. Final, Remus thought, but pitying. Breath condensed in icy billows before him, faint in the dark. He shivered and pulled the woolen blanket tighter around himself. It was always cold here in the winter. He wore nothing under the blanket, but his family couldn't afford to buy him a new robe after the transformation each month, so he endured.
In Hogsmeade, people walked the streets, caroling. Celebrating. Remus could hear individual voices raised in song.
"...Peace on Earth, good will to man..."
Peace. He hoped that they'd leave. They wouldn't find any when the howling started. Go back to your homes and pull the shutters tight.
Transforming on Christmas Eve, destroying this peace, must carry repercussions. He huddled deeper into the blankets, wishing for a way to lock his jaws closed. He didn't have his wand, or he'd try to cast a silencing charm on himself. It was in his dormitory. They were afraid he'd break it when he was a wolf. 'They.' 'They' are only Professor Dumbledore and Madame Pomfrey. Not even the other professors know. Yet.
Defense Against the Dark Arts had become an ordeal. He felt increasingly nervous around the new teacher, who suspected something, he was certain. He'd given Remus strange glances the first days back after each full moon. If the professor discovered Remus's secret, Dumbledore himself could be sacked.
I'll try to be quiet... I'll try to just sleep before the transformation.
He lay down. The bed is so cold... He closed his eyes. Tried to imagine himself at home, with his parents.
"Sorry, dear," his mother said to him last week, connected to Hogwarts through the Floo Network. "It's the Ministry again... they're working your father like a house-elf. He's been called away on another project..."
His mother turned away from him. He knew she hadn't wanted to see his face. It was useless to protest, and she had known he wouldn't, but still explained, as thought it would make him happier, "The Ministry won't let you stay her for the transformation... You know, we've been fortunate so far. Someday, things might change... The Ministry gives us more liberty than most families with a werewolf child, because your father's an Auror. Let's just try to be grateful he's been so hard-working this season. When he's away, he's helping others..."
He helps. He protects people against monsters like his son.
He shook his head. Christmas. It's Christmas in a few hours. James wants a new broom. I just want silence...
What did he want, really, for himself? James could easily say he wanted a broom. Sirius had been longing for a Muggle motorcycle to illegally enchant. They were happy enough; they could afford to want things. Peter, he understood a little more. Although his friend had never confided this to him, he knew that Peter wanted to get a higher grade in Transfiguration than James, just once. As for him... he had his friends, and that was as much as he could ever wish for. But, if he could, he'd have taken his wand and blown up the moon, and watched the silver shards rain down on the castle. He imagined bits of shiny rock falling in his friends' hair as they stood outside, lit only by the stars. Alike in their humanity.
He recalled Christmas morning, one year ago. After the preliminary flurry of owls, the greetings and the tearing of wrapping paper, his father had retreated to his study and brought out a simple, paper-wrapped package. A book, judging by the shape.
He'd held it tenderly, and handed it to Remus almost reverently.
"I know it's not the longest volume you've received," he'd said, "but it might help."
Remus had undone the wrapping, first one corner and then the next, and eased the book out.
"Hairy Snout, Human Heart," he'd read aloud.
His mother had sniffed as his father told him the history of the book; it was the personal account of an anonymous werewolf and his struggles.
"Remus," he had said in a moment of intensity, "we know how lonely it must be. We know we don't really understand it. We thought... we'd hoped... that this book will give you a role-model; that you'll feel less isolated."
Remus had looked at the book, at its plain cover, devoid of illustration or a hint of the author, and at his father's expectant look, and hadn't had the heart to tell him that he didn't want to feel horrible about somebody else's problems as well.
Now, a year later, he treasured the little book. He wished he could read a passage from it to distract himself, perhaps imagine that he was talking with that werewolf, but as always, he carried nothing valuable to the Shrieking Shack. Somewhere else, he knew, that werewolf was also locked away, waiting for the moon to rise.
Another group of carolers walked past the Shrieking Shack. He tried to concentrate on their song.
"Oh hush the noise, ye men of strife, and hear the angels sing..."
Hush the noise... hush the noise... He breathed deeply.
Something else was breathing deeply, too. He heard panting on the other side of the door leading to the tunnel. It creaked open. He sat upright.
"Who's there?" he called, and winced as his voice cracked. No answer. He didn't see anything.
"Look, this isn't funny..."
He stood up and pulled the blanket tighter around him. Footsteps echoed in the barren room, sourceless. He spun around and took a deep breath.
"Whoever found their way in here... Needs. To. Get. Out. Now..." And had the breath knocked out of him. He was pinned to the bed and couldn't see his attacker.
Only minutes to moonrise. He thought he'd cry.
"Out," he pleaded, "before somebody dies."
Abruptly, the weight lifted.
"Moony... I'm so sorry. I- didn't mean to scare you," came Sirius's voice. Before Remus's eyes, the head of his best friend materialized above him. He was in James's Invisibility Cloak!
Remus saw red.
"Sirius, what were you thinking?" he asked coldly. "Get out- now- before I kill you!"
Sirius just stood there; why wouldn't he leave? "Get out! Go! Our friendship won't save you! There are only a few minutes left!" He shoved Sirius's chest, hard.
The door burst open.
"Remus, wait!" It was James and Peter. They brushed past Sirius and pushed Remus down onto the bed, again.
Dully, he looked at them.
"What, are you mad, all of you? The full moon-"
James looked at his pocket watch.
"Well, Remus, we've got... hmm... twelve minutes. I wouldn't worry quite yet. It doesn't take that long to cross this room." James patted his shoulder. "Relax. Take a nice, deep breath... there, that's the stuff."
Peter sat down on his other side and pulled open his cloak. "We had some presents for you... we thought you really ought to see them now."
Remus took another deep breath, and nodded. Peter reached under his cloak and pulled out a small package. He tossed it over Remus's head to Sirius, who caught it deftly.
Sirius knelt on the floor at Remus's feet, apologetic and trembling like a dog afraid of a beating. He handed Remus the package.
"I'm sorry, Remus, I'm sorry we scared you like that," he murmured. Remus frowned and looked at the package. He ripped open the paper, looked down and found... A collar?
"Sirius, what...?"
A shaggy black dog with Sirius's pale eyes pushed its head into his lap. He didn't know where to look first; at Sirius, at James and Peter, or at that ridiculous collar.
"You... I... just don't know how I can..."
James smiled. "Merry Christmas, Moony. We won't let you be alone tonight."
Remus inhaled shakily. They did it. They did it.
"And, you...?"
Remus looked to Peter, who turned into a gray rat. James slid off the side of the bed and became a young stag. He was awed by the three animals before him.
"It's... it's perfect. Thank you," he whispered, and reached down to stroke Sirius's head.
His friends reverted to their human forms. "We broke into the Restricted Section and read through thirty-eight chapters in So, You Think You're a Transfiguration Genius before we found that final incantation," Peter said with satisfaction.
James looked at his watch. "Five minutes."
Remus gulped. "This isn't going to be pretty. At all. I hope you know..."
Sirius watched him earnestly.
His friends met his eyes, and three sets of hands pressed against his own. For a moment, he felt totally protected, as though their presence could ward away the moon.
"We know."
A shudder ran up his backbone.
"It's... time..." he hissed. They stepped back awkwardly, and transformed. He sat in the middle of the bed and measured his breaths. The tingling there, in his tailbone, and in his jaw, came first. His skin crawled. He faced away from his friends.
Don't cry... don't howl, not that...
He lay face down in the mattress.
Don't... moan...
Something new happened. The wolf uncurled itself from the back of his mind and stretched out with his spine and his jaw and the fur sprouting thick, and took his nose and inhaled deeply, and caught the whiff of others. It paused. Pack? Remus's conscious fell away.
~*~
Remus awoke on the bed, arms wrapped around Sirius, James and Peter on the other side of the bed in very awkward-looking positions. The four of them had huddled together for warmth overnight.
Carolers were walking past the Shack again; headed to church, he thought. He closed his eyes and savored the moment.
"A thrill of hope, the weary world rejoices, for yonder breaks a new and glorious morn..."
"Good morning," Sirius said with a smile.
James and Peter stirred.
"'Morning, Moony," James yawned.
"How could I ever- Wait," he hissed, hearing footsteps climbing the stairs. "It's Madame Pomfrey."
The three were in the corner, under the Invisibility Cloak, before he heard the door creak open.
"'Morning, Madame Pomfrey," Remus said with feigned weariness.
The Mediwitch dropped her medical bag at the sight of him. She gathered up the hems of her work robes, hurried to him, and smoothed back his hair.
"Why, Remus. You're looking very well this morning," she said incredulously. "Hardly a scratch on you. It's enough to give me faith in the holiday spirit." She helped him to his feet and he arranged his blanket.
He cast a furtive glance over his shoulder as Madame Pomfrey escorted him out of the Shack.
"I'd say it was the good will."