Chapter 32: A Halloween Prank and a Waltz Gone Wrong

Remus' next Transfiguration class was rather boring. There was no spell-casting: only the Transfiguration Alphabet and the standard equations, which Remus copied dutifully (even though he had memorized it all years earlier whilst bedridden after a particularly difficult full moon).

The lecture lasted a little more than an hour, and James and Sirius were almost asleep by the time it ended. "Any questions?" McGonagall asked once she had finished.

Remus raised his hand. Asking a question would count as "acting normally", wouldn't it? That would earn him a point towards the Competition with McGonagall—and Remus wanted to win. "Yes... er," he said, "how does viciousness of the object affect the transfiguration, exactly? I mean... why?" Remus had meant to ask a more innocent question, one that pertained less to his own transformations. He mentally pinched himself. It didn't hurt enough, so he mentally kicked himself. As he was preparing to mentally cast the Cruciatus on himself, McGonagall answered his question in a surprisingly even tone.

"Just as concentration of the caster plays a significant part in the intended transfiguration, state of mind of the object plays a part as well. The more docile and willing the object is, the easier the transfiguration is as well. A transfiguration against the object's will is more difficult—that's why we stick to beetles, mice, and other small, relatively harmless animals in this class."

The fact that McGonagall did not hesitate or seem to be thinking of werewolves at all lifted Remus' spirits considerably. "Thank you, Professor," said Remus, scribbling this down. He wondered if acting more docile around the full moon would make the transformations easier. He could pretend to be a beetle.

As the class started on copying the Alphabet fifteen times each to aid in memorization, McGonagall walked past Remus' desk and imperceptibly whispered, "I do believe that's another point for the both of us, Lupin."

Remus grinned. He liked Transfiguration so much more than he'd used to.

Breakfast was one of Remus' favorite parts of the day. He often received owls from his mother or father; though he didn't dare to open the letters in front of his friends, the scent was enough to remind him of home.

Sirius, Remus had noticed, was undeniably a morning person. He was so much brighter and happier in the mornings, and he even offered to quiz Peter on Bouncing Bulbs. He was rather impatient while doing so, however, and Remus took over after Sirius asked Peter if he had been dropped as an infant.

Every morning, James flew in with Sirius' post. Sirius always dramatically exclaimed something along the lines of "Oh, there you are, James!" or "How come James is always late?" or "James always smells like an owl," to which James would either roll his eyes, groan, or say "Of course he does; he literally is one." The other students would look on and laugh, which made James smile at them and mess up his hair.

James' owl, Bluebottle, would deliver post for James, as well, and James' parents sent parcels and letters frequently. "They're old and bored at home," James had explained one morning, "and I'm frightfully entertaining. I imagine life is pretty dull without me," to which Remus had replied "Dull or peaceful?" and then James had flicked jam in his face.

Bluebottle would also deliver the Daily Prophet every morning. James would flip to page two every morning and disregard the rest. "It's the sports sections," he told Remus when he worked up the courage to ask. "Quidditch, you know. That's the only reason I have a subscription, though the Quidditch magazines that I get say the same things in greater detail. Ha, looks like the Chudley Cannons have lost again. No surprise there. That team's the worst."

Remus imagined having enough money to spend it on trivial luxuries like Quidditch magazines and newspapers which he didn't even read. His father got the Daily Prophet, but it was necessary for the Lupins—if the laws on werewolves changed or there was an attack in their area, then they needed to be among the first to know. They certainly didn't have enough money to afford multiple subscriptions, just for fun, and they didn't have enough to follow Quidditch, either—although sometimes Remus' father would read the sports pages anyway to get his money's worth.

"May I... have the rest?" Remus asked James tentatively as he watched him stand up to throw the rest of the paper away for the umpteenth time.

"Sure, mate, knock yourself out." James slid the remaining pages over the Remus, and he set to reading.

There was a bit about some wizarding singer. There were a couple stories about robberies and the like. There was even a story about a Death Eater sighting, though they were quite frequent nowadays. There was nothing about werewolf attacks or laws. Remus breathed a sigh of relief.

He continued to borrow James' newspaper for the next couple of mornings. There was never anything interesting, but it put Remus' mind at ease to know that all was well in the outside world. And it was such a comforting connection with his family back at home—Remus' father read the newspaper around this time every day, Remus knew, and it was so relaxing to know that he both he and Remus were reading the same paper at the same time, though countries away.

"Anything interesting?" asked James one morning while buttering his toast.

"No. I just like to know what's going on in the world."

"Cool." James took a bite of his eggs. "You can have my subscription."

Remus wasn't sure if he'd heard James correctly. He put down the paper slowly. "Your... like, have it? Forever? Every morning?"

"Yeah, duh."

"No, James, you don't have to do that..."

"Better than you nicking my paper every morning," said James. "Come on, Remus. You read it more than I ever did. Now I can nick the Quidditch pages from you. Honestly, though, I won't need to; I know it all already. Oh, and you can give us the highlights from the news section—I've never liked actually reading it, but I want to know if there's anything interesting, if ever. You know what? I don't need your approval. I'm giving you my subscription and that's that."

"James, you really don't need to..."

"A thank you would be nice," said James, already making out a letter to his mother.

Remus sighed. "...Thank you, James."

"You're welcome. Bluebottle's just gonna bring it to you every morning from now on. Enjoy the boring news."

It was such a small, inconsequential thing, but Remus couldn't stop smiling for the rest of the day.

It was the antepenultimate day before Halloween: the day of the Great Halloween Prank of 1971. The Prank had been planned down a T. All of the minute details and issues had been resolved by James, gone through with a fine-tooth comb by Remus, glossed over by Sirius, and complimented by a beaming Peter. They were quite the team.

"Professor?" Peter said, approaching Dumbledore. Remus heard the frantic beating of Peter's heart as he executed Part One of the Plan. He panicked for a second before he realized that Dumbledore probably could not hear Peter's heart.

"Yes?" said Dumbledore. "If this is about the odd noises coming from my office at midnight: I assure you that it was nothing. Sometimes I fancy rearranging my furniture in the middle of the night. I find that new environments enhance my focus."

Sirius snickered, and James jabbed him in the side.

"No, sir. I only... saw something outside... and I want you to come get rid of it..." Remus wondered if the apprehension in Peter's voice could be mistaken for fear at whatever he had seen outside. That would certainly add something to the lie, wouldn't it?

"Yes, of course," said Dumbledore. "Did it seem it life-threatening?"

"Everything around here is life-threatening," blurted out Sirius, which earned him another sharp jab from James. They were supposed to be pretending to do something else. It was so much more suspicious now that Dumbledore knew that they were listening in to his conversation, waiting for him to leave... "Whose idea was it to plant that Whomping Willow?" Sirius continued, absolutely oblivious.

Remus' heart fluttered inside of his chest; he noticed Dumbledore watching his face carefully. He was sure that he looked quite stricken, so he took a breath—in through his nose, out through his mouth. "The Whomping Willow, much like bumblebees, will not hurt you in any way if you steer clear," said Dumbledore. "The same goes for many of the things in this school. However, I will admit that there are things in here that are more dangerous than even I know, which is why it's a very good thing indeed that the professors are so adept at magic. What exactly did you see, Peter?"

"I need to show you," said Peter, "but it was really big and scary."

"Show me?" said Dumbledore, and Remus was worried for a second that he'd figured out that the Marauders were up to something... but then Dumbledore merely smiled and nodded. "Oh, yes. By all means. Language is a marvelous thing, but some things are simply beyond the power of words, are they not? Lead the way, Peter."

Peter led Dumbledore outside, and James exhaled as soon as they were gone. "Sirius!" he scolded. "We weren't supposed to call attention to ourselves!"

"I'm sorry, I wasn't thinking!"

"Do you ever?"

Remus, who did not want to witness an argument, interrupted. "We haven't got much time," he said, pointing at his watch. "Dumbledore'll be back any minute once he realizes that there's nothing out there."

"Right. Yeah. Of course. Where's Dumbledore's office again, Remus?"

Remus knew that James was only asking to make Remus feel useful. James had scoped out the office under the Cloak about twenty times. In Remus' opinion, he was much too excited about the Prank—it was, in fact, bordering on obsession.

Remus pointed, and the three of them ducked behind a corner to don the Invisibility Cloak before proceeding to Dumbledore's office. James was practically quivering with excitement. "Fudge Flies," he announced, which was the most recent password that Dumbledore had given Remus.

The furniture was indeed arranged differently from Remus' last visit. "Okay, lads. We'd better hurry before Dumbledore comes back," said James, pulling a small bag out of his pocket. James' mother and father had bought James a bag with an Extension Charm before he'd left for Hogwarts, and James had stuffed it with decorations of all sorts: some left over from Peter's birthday, some that he'd just had in his trunk (Remus didn't dare question why), and some brand-new ones that must have cost a fortune.

The next fifteen minutes were spent hanging decorations with outstanding speed. James and Sirius were amazing at it, of course—they Levitated decorations, performed Sticking Charms like they were nothing, and altogether left Remus in the dust. They were performing Permanent Sticking Charms, even, which Remus refused to try.

There were portraits on the walls of Dumbledore's office, but they were always kept covered. Remus wondered why, but he didn't let himself wonder for long. The Marauders could not risk getting distracted: they had a job to do.

"Can they hear us, do you think?" asked James, gesturing towards the portraits. "Mine can at home, even when they're covered. They just can't speak."

"So what if they can?" asked Sirius scornfully. "They're only portraits."

"They could tell Dumbledore what we've been up to."

"But they won't recognize our voices, so we won't get caught. They're only portraits."

"But the prank will be spoilt!"

"What's done is done." Sirius' tone was dismissive. "It's not as if we can fix it now."

Remus realized with a jolt that, if James was correct, then the portraits had heard every conversation that had occurred between himself and Professor Dumbledore. "Maybe they're empty portrait-frames," he supplied hopefully. "They've always been covered when I visit to talk about my mum."

"Have you done so multiple times?" asked Sirius. Remus nodded.

"Er, yeah. A couple times. He informed me when she was... getting ill again."

And it was about to occur again, come December second, though Remus dearly hoped that he would not have another one-on-one with Professor Dumbledore this month. Remus pushed the thought down and continued to hang tiny spiders on Dumbledore's desk.

"Okay, that's enough," said Sirius. Spiders, pumpkins, black cats, banners, streamers, and other festive items covered the office—not to mention tens and tens upon tens of plastic bats. Remus didn't know where James had gotten all those bats, but he'd learned not to question these things. "What did you say we had to do, Remus?"

"The trigger point," Remus reminded him. After much research, they had learned to "connect" all of the decorations to one specific item. Whenever a spell was cast upon the trigger point, all of the other decorations would follow. It was extremely complex magic, but Remus had supplied James and Sirius with the information that they needed and the two of them had managed to pull it off.

Remus was very jealous.

"Which is this bat, right here," said James, pointing to a rather large bat slightly to the right of Dumbledore's desk. He mumbled the Disillusionment charm, tapped the bat, and then all of the decorations instantly became invisible.

"They're still solid to the touch," said James. "If Dumbledore decides to... rearrange his office... then we're done for."

Sirius shook his head. "Nah. The prank will still have served its purpose. Chaos. He'll be confused, and he'll figure out how to undo it. And it's Dumbledore. He'll leave the decorations up."

"You're probably right," affirmed Remus, mostly because James eyebrows were crinkled in a very worried way. He hadn't wanted Dumbledore to leave the decorations up originally, but he suddenly found that he was extremely proud of the work that he and his friends had done. He hoped that Dumbledore would leave them up, actually, even if doing so ended up calling attention to Remus.

"Fine. Let's go," said James. "I don't know how much longer Pettigrew can distract Dumbledore."

They crawled under the Cloak and exited Dumbledore's office as silently as possible.

They had pulled it off. They had pulled it off! They had done it!

They had done it.

Oh, no. They'd done it.

Now Remus felt incredibly guilty. Here Dumbledore was, letting a werewolf into the school, making monthly accommodations and even viewing a gruesome memory of his... all to help him, Remus Lupin. He had soothed Remus' anxieties about attending Hogwarts, he had played Gobstones with him, he hadn't pitied him or feared him, and he believed that Remus deserved just as much as any other student—which was something that Remus himself didn't even believe sometimes.

Why had Remus agreed to go along with the plan? He didn't want to get in trouble, and he certainly didn't want Dumbledore's trust in him to be tarnished.

He pushed down the emotions. He had just decorated Dumbledore's office. He wouldn't have done it if it had been mean-spirited or terribly inconvenient. It was in good spirits. It was for fun. Dumbledore could Vanish it all with a flick of his wand, after all. Probably.

And if Dumbledore really believed that Remus deserved just as much as any other student, then why shouldn't Remus have the opportunity to cause a little mischief? The other students got to do that without fear of being expelled, so why shouldn't Remus?

Remus wondered if he was still afraid. His heart was beating wildly and he felt something in the back of his brain, past the wolfish instincts and the guilt that was always there, somehow... and it felt familiar... but no. Remus knew fear, and it didn't feel like fear.

It wasn't until Sirius threw the Cloak back onto James' bed and started laughing uncontrollably—like he always did after a prank—that Remus realized that it was not fear.

It was excitement!

This was the same feeling that Remus had had after the Atrimentum Converto prank, after Peter's birthday, after the Dungbomb prank (eventually, sort of), and whenever Remus teased his friends and was teased in return. This was a welcome feeling, especially after years of fear and hiding and staying indoors with only his parents for company. It was a good feeling.

And by golly, he was going to do anything possible to keep it. Even if it meant betraying Dumbledore's trust a little... just a little.

It's not anything serious, he reasoned. And what else would he expect? I am, after all, a Marauder with a penchant for mischief.

The Sorting Hat, it seemed, had been right all along... and Remus was okay with that.

They scurried downstairs to retrieve Peter as soon as they had all calmed down. Sirius, James, and Remus stayed out of sight, watching. Peter was still distracting Dumbledore admirably, making wild gestures so as to describe the imaginary thing that he had seen. Dumbledore was watching Peter fondly, a little like Remus' mum used to watch Remus when he pretended to "read" (even though he was only reciting memorized words). Remus was about ninety-nine percent certain that Dumbledore knew exactly what they were doing.

"I told you, Professor, it looked like a Manticore," said Peter. "It was all big and furry and had a bunch of brown fur around its face."

"It sounds to me like you are describing Hagrid," said Dumbledore, clearly amused, "and I assure you that he is not scary or life-threatening in the least."

Sirius snorted and sauntered up to Peter as they had planned (because Sirius had "the most charm and grace"... which were his words, not Remus'). "C'mon, Pete, you've bothered the headmaster enough. You're late for supper, besides. And you know how impatient Remus gets."

"Impatient?" Peter said. "Remus? What? You're the one who gets impatient. Remus is the most patient person ever." Peter looked up at Dumbledore as Remus tried not to laugh at the absurdity of calling a werewolf patient. "But you've been very patient, too, Professor—thank you ever so much."

"It was my pleasure, Peter. Enjoy the rest of your evening."

"Let me know if you find that Manticore!" called Peter as Sirius pulled him away painfully by his arm.

As soon as Peter and Sirius rounded the corner, the four of them walked as briskly as possible to the Great Hall and took their seats. "Well, lads!" said James, breathless. "The Marauders have officially conducted their first big Prank! Come on, let's eat dessert first to celebrate!"

Dumbledore was probably going to discover the decorations, Remus mused as he split a piece of vanilla cake with Peter. In fact, Remus had a feeling that Dumbledore knew what they were planning and had allowed Peter to distract him. Dumbledore, who always seemed know what Remus was thinking to the point of finishing his sentences on occasion, would never be fooled by some Disillusionment Charm and a story about Manticores. So the only explanation was that...

Remus glanced at the staff table, where Dumbledore was talking with Madam Hooch. Before Remus could look away, Dumbledore looked directly at the Marauders and smiled slightly, though it was barely visible behind his long white beard—and had that been a wink? Remus couldn't be sure.

Remus had the odd feeling that Dumbledore had tricked them more than they had tricked him.

That evening, Sirius stormed into the dormitory clutching another letter. His good mood was gone. "Everyone out. Except Remus."

Peter and James dutifully obeyed, and Remus blinked. "Is this going to become a regular occurrence?"

"We should form a club. The Tragic Backstory Club, or TBC."

"That also stands for To Be Continued," said Remus, not knowing what else to say.

Sirius snickered. "Yeah. Appropriate, because it's not stopping anytime soon." Sirius' dark mood nearly stained the air black. "Letter from my mum. She expects me home for Christmas."

"Oh... oh, no. I'm sorry." Remus wasn't sure what to say. He knew that Sirius had been looking forward to staying at Hogwarts over Christmas. Sirius and James had been talking about it for ages—it was to be Sirius' first Christmas away from his parents.

Remus couldn't even imagine how horrible it was to be a member of a prestigious family. He had only ever attended one fancy dinner, and it had been horrible. Of course, he had also been three and a half years old. He didn't actually remember it, but he did remember his father telling him stories: apparently, Remus had knocked over a very expensive teapot and smashed it into a million pieces. Fortunately, his father was adept at Reparo, and no one ever found out. "Are you going home, then?"

"Can't very well not, you idiot," said Sirius bitterly. "She expects me. Are you staying at Hogwarts?"

"Probably not," said Remus. He couldn't burden Madam Pomfrey like that. She needed a break, and he knew that he was high-maintenance. But even though he missed his parents awfully... he sort of dreaded going home. His parents couldn't afford the potions that Hogwarts could. His father wasn't nearly as at good at healing magic as Madam Pomfrey was.

His parents were both wonderful, of course, and he missed them dearly. His mum spoke soothing words and ran her fingers through his hair, and she didn't flinch at the blood, and she read him poetry even though she didn't like poetry much (save the occasional Lewis Carroll). But Remus knew that, by going home, he was in for a long winter break and many days of healing up on the couch as opposed to the two days that Madam Pomfrey usually kept him. There was so much more pain at home, less furniture in the cellar to destroy, and another change in scenery that was sure to agitate him when the moon was high. He wasn't sure he wanted to go home.

Merlin's beard, he was selfish.

"...dinner parties!" Sirius continued, and Remus felt even more selfish when he realized that he hadn't been listening. "I hate it. I hate her. I hate it all. I want to... throw her to a Thestral, put her remains in a busy road, drop them in the ocean, and then fish them out and bury them... just so that we can dance on her grave."

Remus didn't know what to say to that, either. "Do you know how to dance?"

"Of course. I'm a Black. Do you?"

"I can waltz."

James and Peter returned to the dormitory right about then. "I can waltz, too!" said James excitedly. Remus wondered how much of the conversation they'd heard, but he didn't think it prudent to ask.

Sirius held out his hand towards James and stuck up his nose. He suddenly looked like a completely different person—a little like the pictures that Remus saw of Orion Black in the papers sometimes. "My good sir," Sirius sniffed, and James took his hand.

The next half-hour consisted of Sirius and James dancing expertly. Remus tried to teach Peter, but Peter kept stepping on Remus' toes. Remus didn't mind: even though James often called him a fragile china doll, his pain tolerance was ridiculously high. Peter still apologized every single time, and Sirius got so annoyed by Peter's frequent apologies that he ended up hitting him. James hit Sirius in return, and that turned into a full-out scuffle between the four of them that escalated so far that Sirius could not breathe due to laughter, James had a bruised cheekbone, Peter was bouncing up and down from excitement, and Puttle came up to the dormitory to tell them to be quiet.

"Wish I could stay with you lot," gasped Sirius, who was gradually recovering from his laughing fit. "Mum would never go for all this. Can you—can you imagine—?" He started laughing again, and Remus worried a little about the state of his lungs.

"Yeah. I know," said James, also laughing. "You're coming back, though—right after holidays."

"I suppose I am." Sirius smiled widely. "And then we can do the polka!"

AN: I took a ballroom dancing class once, but only because a friend coerced me into it. I ended up sitting out the whole time because I was too embarrassed to try it. But it was fun to watch!