Tuesday, February 14, 1978
"I'm not happy with you, Black."
Sirius flopped down onto the floor in front of the fire and frowned at Mary. "Why?"
Mary glowered at him and crossed her arms. "You didn't get me any flowers or a charmed ring or a teddy bear the size of your ego, and Madam Puddifoot's closes in about five minutes and we're not sitting at a table in the back, sipping tea and gazing lovingly into each other's eyes. Overall it's been a shit Valentine's." She maintained her angry stare, but Sirius watched as her lips twitched and she broke into a grin.
"Sod you, Macdonald," Sirius said, laughing. "For a second there I thought you really were angry. Let me assure you that Valentine's Day isn't over yet, and I do have a gift for you that I think you'll like more than flowers or a moderately-sized teddy bear."
Peter snorted with laughter. "Is the gift in your trousers, by any chance?"
Sirius stretched out his leg and nudged Peter's foot. "Shh, Wormtail, it's meant to be a surprise."
Mary laughed and shook her head. "You're such an idiot, Black."
They got to their feet and Mary turned to Peter, wrapping a curl around her finger.
"You alright?" she asked, her face creasing with concern. "You won't be too bored?"
Peter shook his head, gesturing down at his Charms book.
"Don't worry about me. It'll take me a bit to finish this, and then once I'm done I'm sure I'll find something to do."
"Great." Sirius gave him a thumbs up, then hurried Mary out of the common room and up the stairs. "You look bothered, Macdonald."
"I just feel bad. We're all off celebrating Valentine's Day and we've left him to sit by himself in the common room."
Sirius waved his hand in a gesture of dismissal. "He'll be fine. He's used to it. Now stop thinking about him, because you really shouldn't think about Peter immediately before or after sex. It just sets the wrong mood, you know?"
They stopped outside the door and he put a hand on her arm.
"Wait here a minute. I've got to light the candles and sprinkle the rose petals."
She grinned. "If I walk in there and it looks like James and Lily's first time, I'm walking out."
"Liar. You'd never walk out on an opportunity to shag me. You can't resist me."
He left her standing outside the door as he slipped inside the dormitory. When he was ready he pointed his wand at the door to open it, then hopped onto the bed and waited for Mary's reaction.
"You're ridiculous," she said, laughing as she took in the scene: he lounged on the bed with a rose clenched between his teeth, wearing only pants and his cowboy hat.
"Ridiculously sexy, you mean."
The rose tumbled from his mouth when he spoke; he grinned and patted the bed.
"Hang on, you haven't seen your gift yet," she said, stripping off her clothes to reveal a matching pink bra and pants set Sirius had never seen before.
"Not sure that's going to fit me," Sirius said as he admired the way the silky fabric clung to her body. "And it seems odd that you would try on a gift that's meant for me. Bit rude, really."
She rolled her eyes and crossed the room to stand beside his bed. "I can take them off, if you like."
He looked at her for a moment, his eyes lingering on the bright pink that stood out against her pale, smooth skin, then took her hand and pulled her down onto the bed.
"I'll do it," he said, reaching behind her to unhook her bra. "Seeing as it's my gift and all."
Afterwards he disentangled himself from Mary and slipped out of bed.
"What are you doing?" she asked, propping herself up on her elbow to look at him. Her curls were wild, tousled by his hands and the pillow, and her lips turned up into a blissful, relaxed smile. The bra and pants now lay discarded on the floor, and Sirius decided he preferred them that way.
"Don't move," he said as he tossed her his pack of Marlboros. "I'll be back in a second."
He put on some music, smiling as the first strains of the song began to play, then returned to the bed carrying a bottle of wine and two chocolate bars.
"I'd like you to know that I didn't steal these from Remus," he said, setting the chocolate bars on the bed. "I actually bought them like a real adult." He opened the wine and filled two glasses, handing her one and taking a large sip from his own. "And no Valentine's Day would be complete without elf-made wine in a Chudley Cannons glass."
Mary raised her eyebrows and eyed the wine and chocolate as she lit a cigarette.
"What?" Sirius settled back against the pillows, then lit a cigarette and took a drag. "What are you looking at me like that for?"
"This is sort of romantic, that's all," she said, grinning. "The wine and the chocolate and Ziggy Stardust while we lounge in bed naked? You've recreated our best date."
"First of all, that was not a date. I'm pretty sure you have to be wearing clothes for it to be considered a date. And second, I did nothing romantic. I bought chocolate and wine and put on our favorite album, and it just so happens that we did the exact same thing last summer. Actually, it's the opposite of romantic, because I just reused the same thing instead of coming up with something new."
"Whatever you say." She clinked her glass against his and added, "To the most unromantic non-date we've ever had."
The smoke from their cigarettes made the air thick and hazy as she settled her head on his chest and draped her bare leg over his. He caught the familiar scent of Sleekeazy's as her hair tickled his face, and it was so comfortingly familiar that he didn't even bother to brush away the strands. A few drops of wine spilled onto his chest as she took a clumsy sip. She giggled and bent to lap it up, her tongue exploring his tattoo and the scar that lay above it.
"Does the wine taste better in the Cannons glasses or on me?" Sirius asked, wiping off a stray drop of wine that hovered on her lip and licking it from his finger.
"I can't decide. I think I need to try a bit more to be sure."
She tipped her glass so a bit more wine splashed onto his skin. He closed his eyes and sighed, enjoying the teasing strokes of her tongue and the insistent guitar riffs and the heady taste of the wine. As Mary fed him a bite of chocolate and sloshed wine onto the sheets, he mused that the night had turned out pretty damn perfect for an unromantic non-date on the most useless bloody holiday in existence.
"It's too bad we're stuck patrolling tonight," Lily said as they strolled hand-in-hand down the corridor.
She had changed into his favorite jumper, and the necklace he had given her sparkled in the flickering torchlight. As she pushed a strand of glossy hair behind her ear, he couldn't help but admire her, and had to dart out of the way to avoid walking into a suit of armor. You bloody idiot, James Potter. How does she still have that effect on you?
"Yeah, it's too bad," he said, trying to conceal his knowing smile. "I guess we'll just have to make the best of it."
She turned to him, puzzled, as he steered her into the Great Hall rather than heading for the dungeons.
"Why are we starting here today?"
He grinned. "I just want to check something. It'll only take a minute."
Her confusion changed to astonishment and delight as he led her behind the staff table and her eyes fell on the blanket and assorted snacks he had set up earlier.
"Just like last year," she said, a smile spreading across her face. "I love it. It's perfect."
Her smile transported him back to Valentine's Day the previous year. They had spent the evening stretched out on a blanket in this same spot, lying mere inches apart and gazing up at the enchanted ceiling. It had not been a date – they had both been quite clear about that – yet James had daydreamed about that night for months. Now they were going to recreate that night, except this time James wouldn't have to settle for the accidental brush of their hands when they both reached for the Bertie Botts. This time, by some absolute miracle that he still couldn't quite believe was real, he got to hold her hand and kiss her and slip his hand under her clothes while the Invisibility Cloak hid them from the rest of the world. How did I get so bloody lucky? He had wondered the same thing every day since the first time they kissed back in October, and he suspected he would be wondering the same thing for the rest of his life.
"But what about our patrol?" Lily asked as they sat down on the blanket. "I thought we were trying to do a better job after McGonagall told us off for that disaster of a meeting?"
James shrugged and reached for the box of Bertie Botts. "Don't worry about it. Tremblay and Fawcett are covering for us."
"That was nice of them."
"Well, I paid them a galleon each," James said, pouring out a handful of Bertie Botts and picking out a green one for Lily. "But yes, I suppose it was nice of them."
Lily smiled as she accepted the grass flavored bean. "James, you didn't have to do that."
He waved his hand dismissively. "It's our first Valentine's Day as a couple. I wanted to do it right." He hesitated, running a hand through his hair and glancing sideways at her, then added, "They promised not to come patrol in here. And I brought the cloak. Just in case we – well, you know. Just in case."
She didn't reply, just chewed her Bertie Botts with an unreadable expression on her face. The silence sent a jolt of panic through him, and his eyes widened in alarm.
"Unless that's too bold? I didn't mean – We can go somewhere more private, or –"
"James." She put her hand on his leg, her eyes bright with amusement. "It's not too bold. I'm glad you brought it. You know, just in case."
She reached over and adjusted his glasses, then ran her hand through his hair and kissed him. Her mouth tasted like grass Bertie Botts, a flavor he usually detested, but somehow he didn't mind the taste on Lily's lips.
"I didn't want to tell you at the time," she said as she lay down on her back. "I was afraid it would go to your head, but last Valentine's Day meant a lot to me."
He stretched out beside her and laced his fingers through hers. "Did it?"
"Yeah." She fell silent for so long that James thought the conversation was over. He was reaching for another handful of Bertie Botts when she spoke again. "I thought about it for weeks. Months, actually. And that night, after we spent the evening together, I had a dream about you."
James rolled onto his side and smirked at her. "Oh really? Did you set anything on fire?"
She gave him a playful shove and he flopped onto his back again. "Not that kind of dream. Just a dream about us together. We might have…" She lifted her head to look up at him, a shy smile on her lips. "We might have kissed."
"Evans! Why didn't you tell me?"
He shook his head, imagining the rush of happiness he would have experienced last year if Lily had confessed to kissing him in a dream.
"I couldn't tell you. I wasn't even ready to admit to myself that I liked you, never mind tell you I was dreaming about you." She moved closer to him and rested a hand on his chest. "Besides, you would've been insufferable. "
"Would not." He slid a hand underneath her jumper and trailed a finger up and down her waist until she giggled and grabbed his hand. "I'm never insufferable."
"See, only an insufferable person would say that."
Her fingers crept under his t-shirt, and he struggled to repress a laugh.
"Evans, if you're trying to tickle me, you're going to be disappointed. I'm probably the least ticklish person on the planet." His abs tensed as he fought the urge to drag her hand away from his stomach. "Try tickling Mary, if you want to tickle someone."
She had both hands inside his shirt now. His lips twitched as he tried to maintain a straight face.
"I don't want to tickle Mary. I want to tickle you." She stared at him, and under the pressure of her gaze he caved and let out a peal of laughter. "You are ticklish, you liar!"
He grinned as his hand returned to her waist, and her squeals of protest only encouraged him. They rolled around on the blanket in a tangle of limbs and laughter, until James blinked and Lily was on top of him, her body pressed against his as she caught her breath and gazed down at him with wide, bright eyes.
"Truce?" he murmured.
She didn't answer, but instead pressed her lips against his and dug her fingers into his skin. He twined a hand in her hair, pulling her close and enjoying her soft sighs and gasps that were so different from the shrieks of laughter of a few minutes ago.
"Evs," he whispered when she began fumbling at his clothes. "Do you want to use the cloak? Just in case?"
"Yeah. Just in case."
"I can't believe we did that," Lily said.
Her arms were around James and her hair fell into her face. Even in the dim light of the Great Hall, James could see the flush on her cheeks. Bertie Botts were scattered across the blanket, and the box lay on its side, knocked over by one of them in their haste to remove clothing without disturbing the cloak. James grabbed a yellow bean and popped it into his mouth, then searched for a green one for Lily.
"It's okay, they're still fine to eat."
Lily laughed. "Not the Bertie Botts. I mean I can't believe we did this. In the Great Hall. Under the Invisibility Cloak." She grimaced and raised her eyebrows. "Not exactly model Head Boy and Girl behavior."
"Evans, we've done plenty of stuff that wasn't model Head Boy and Girl behavior. But that doesn't mean we're not the best Head Boy and Girl this place has ever seen." He grinned and brushed a strand of hair out of her face. "And the best looking."
"If you say so." She traced the sharp jut of his collarbone. "Do you think we would have ended up together if we hadn't been made Head Boy and Girl?"
James laughed and raised his eyebrows. "Are you kidding? First of all, there's no question of you not being Head Girl. Nobody else even comes close. It was always going to be you, from the moment you stepped foot on the Hogwarts Express, even if you were too stuck up to sit in my compartment."
"I would've sat in your compartment if you weren't such a prat," she said, tilting her head up to kiss him.
"Well, even if I was a prat, I was an adorable prat." He stroked her silky hair and pressed his lips against the top of her head. "But anyway, you were always the only girl for the job, and don't tell me Stacy Tremblay could've been chosen instead, because she's not even close to as talented as you are."
"You're biased. You think the sun shines out of my arse," she said, trailing her fingers up and down his arm. The light touch raised goosebumps on his skin.
"Even if I am biased, it doesn't mean I'm wrong. You are talented. The way you brew a potion? It's like a bloody work of art. And you nearly beat me when we dueled, and at the risk of sounding like an arrogant toerag, I'm pretty damn good at dueling." He smiled, remembering the exhilaration of sending spells back and forth, the determined focus on her face, the way she had gasped for breath when the duel ended and they clung together, desperate and hungry as they tore at each other's clothes.
"And more importantly, you're one of the kindest people I've ever met, and Stacy Tremblay is kind of a bitch," he went on. "I've hexed her more than once for making rude comments about Peter. So no, there's no chance you wouldn't have been Head Girl. They could've chosen someone else in my place, though — it really should've been Remus."
"He'd be a good choice," Lily agreed.
"I expect they didn't think he'd be able to handle all the extra responsibilities on top of the transformations," James said. A rush of sadness tugged at him as he imagined Remus, pale and sleep-deprived after the last full moon. "Which I suppose is fair. He'd wear himself ragged trying to keep up with it all."
"Poor Remus," Lily said. "But I don't think he'd make a better Head Boy than you. You're…" She paused, frowning as she searched for the right phrasing. "You're a leader."
He laughed. "Am I?"
"Don't laugh — it's true. You have a way of getting people to work together, getting them to listen to you. That's why you're such a good Quidditch Captain. And you got all the prefects to do a secret Santa—"
"That's just a silly idea I had."
"But it was more than that," she said, her tone stubborn. "It boosted morale and built a sense of community among a group of people who don't all necessarily like each other. And you look out for your friends—"
"We all look out for each other, Evans."
"But you keep the group afloat," she insisted. "I've seen it. It's one of the reasons I love you."
"Evans." James found himself unable to keep a smile off his face. "You know, none of this is good for my ego."
She laughed, and her warm breath tickled his neck. "At this point, your ego is so enormous I don't think it can get any bigger."
He laced his fingers through hers and pulled her closer. "You might be right. Anyway, this was a really long way of saying that we would've ended up together whether or not we were Head Boy and Girl, because I don't give up easily. It's always been you. It was always going to be us."
"You're so sure," Lily observed, reaching up to run her hand through his hair.
"Must be my enormous ego," he said, grinning. "I love you."
"I love you too." She lifted her face up to kiss him, then shivered as the cloak shifted and let in a draft of chilly air. "I guess we should probably get dressed."
James rubbed her arms, trying to dispel the goosebumps. "I mean, technically we should, but that doesn't mean we have to."
"We can't lay around naked in the Great Hall all night," she said, feeling around beside her for her clothes. "Besides, I'm cold."
James sighed and sat up with slow, careful movements to keep the cloak from exposing Lily. "Alright, we'll get dressed. Don't move, I'll get your clothes for you." He scanned the area around their blanket and burst into laughter when he saw a black, lacy bit of fabric resting on top of the staff table. "Think we should leave your pants there to give Dumbledore a good laugh at breakfast tomorrow?"
She pressed her hands against her face and groaned. "I'd die of embarrassment. Can't you reach your wand to Summon them?"
"Nah, it's in my trousers which ended up over there," he said, pointing at a crumpled heap that lay out of reach.
"Well, hang on, I'll try to get off the blanket and you can wrap it around yourself." She shifted and tugged at the blanket, but James covered her hand with his.
"It's okay, I'm just going to make a run for it." He took a deep breath and pushed himself upright.
"James!" she squealed, her eyes widening in astonishment. "Someone might walk in and see!"
"Here's hoping they won't." He slid out from under the cloak and made a grab for the pants. As the cold air raised goosebumps on his skin and Lily's giggles drifted out from under the cloak, he wondered once again how he had gotten so lucky.
Remus turned a page and adjusted the blanket to cover Seven's feet. The movement rustled the empty chocolate wrappers that littered the floor beside them, and Seven looked up from her book, smiling.
"How's the book?"
"It's excellent." He slid his bookmark between the pages and set it down beside him, then rolled onto his side to look at her. "How's yours?"
She set it face down on the blanket and draped her arm around him. "Depressing. But in a good way." Her eyes scanned the collection of wrappers surrounding them. "Did we eat them all?"
Remus sifted through the wrappers and nodded. "We did. It's impressive, really."
"Well, now I've accomplished half of my goal for Valentine's Day."
Remus toyed with the end of her braid. "What's the other half of your goal?"
The wicked glint in her eyes was as clear as any verbal answer. Her fingers twined in his hair as her other hand clutched his shoulder, and he wrapped his arms around her, his book forgotten. His breathing quickened as she pressed her lips against his; her tongue explored his mouth as her fingers explored his waistband. While she trailed kisses down his neck he scrambled for his wand to extinguish the torches, but she put a hand on his arm to stop him.
"Leave the lights on," she urged. "Please?"
A sick wave of shame made Remus tense in her arms. "I can't. You know I can't."
"I know you don't like me to see you," she said, rubbing gentle circles on his back. "But I just thought maybe you could learn not to mind it so much. For me."
He shook his head and sighed. "Why would you even want to see me?" He cringed as he remembered the last time he had really looked at his body in the mirror. The scars that decorated his pale skin flashed into his mind, bearing witness to his painful secret. The thought of stripping himself bare in the unforgiving torchlight while Seven's eyes roved over his marred skin made him physically recoil. His eyes slid sideways, avoiding her gaze as he picked at a cuticle.
"I like the way you look," she said, taking his hand in her gentle yet firm grip before he could tear at the irritated skin. "I like it better when I can see you."
"I don't see how," he said bitterly.
"Well, why do you like seeing my body?"
"Because your body is bloody perfect." His eyes drank her in, admiring her flawless skin, her full lips, her fine, dark hair.
"Well, so is yours." She released his hand and traced his jaw with cool fingers.
"Seven." He whispered his protest into her hair, his tone incredulous and full of doubt. How could she not realize how ludicrous her statement was?
"It's true," she said, her eyes locked on his, earnest and pleading. "I know what you think about yourself, but nobody else sees you that way, especially not me. And I know it's hard to change the way you see yourself, but I really wish you would let me help you try. Because there's so much more to you than your scars, even though you think that's all anyone sees."
"Because it is all people see," he insisted, his voice rising in frustration. How did she know what everyone else saw, anyway?
"No, it's not. Those are just marks on your skin. There's so much more to you. You're kind, and thoughtful, and you work harder than anyone I know. You have a surprisingly dirty sense of humor, and you have excellent taste in jumpers and in books, and you're Honeydukes's best customer, and anyone who takes the time to know you will see all of that."
Her words began to thaw his hard shell of self-loathing, but he couldn't shake the nagging sense that she was wrong, that none of that outweighed the horrific story his scars told.
"But besides all of that, I like your scars," she continued as her thumb caressed a faded scratch on the side of his face.
"Seven, you can just say you don't mind them. You don't have to lie to my face," Remus snapped. Her words sent a hot stab of irritation through his body, because she must think he was pretty bloody stupid to believe something so inconceivable.
"I'm not lying," she retorted, a tiny crease appearing between her brows. "Your scars show that you've been through hell, and it makes me sad every time I see them, but they also show how strong you are, to go through all of that every month without giving up. You're the strongest person I know, and that's incredibly sexy to me. So I know it's unfair to expect you to be fine with leaving the lights on just like that, but maybe we could start with just a minute or two?"
He bit his lip and studied her face, torn between overwhelming gratitude and paralyzing panic. She gazed back at him, stubborn and unrelenting, until his resolve crumbled.
"If it makes you happy, I guess we can leave the lights on for a minute. But you're going to have to help me take my clothes off," he said with a grudging smile.
Her face lit up, and without a word she stood and pulled off her shirt, then unbuttoned her trousers and let them slide to the floor. A shy smile spread across her face as she stood before him in her cotton bra and pants, and then those were gone and it was just Seven. He didn't take his eyes off of her as she lifted his jumper and t-shirt over his head. The air was cold on his bare skin, but then her hands were tugging at his trousers and all thoughts of temperature evaporated from his mind. After she discarded his clothes in a tangled heap, she knelt beside him and her eyes traveled over his body. His eyes fixed on a spot on the ceiling so he would not have to see the rejection in her expression, but she put a finger under his chin and turned his face until he met her gaze. There was only tenderness in her face, tenderness and the same desire he knew must be mirrored in his own expression. Slowly, gently, she ran her fingers over the scratches on his arm, across his chest and down his stomach to the matching bite marks on each leg, now so faded they were almost invisible. He closed his eyes as her lips brushed against the jagged line on his shoulder and the dark red crescent moon on his hip. Under her loving, worshipful touch, his scars were less repulsive. They were just marks on his skin, not hieroglyphs proclaiming his lycanthropy or a written confession of his sins.
"Thank you," she whispered, extinguishing the torches with her wand and reaching for him in the dark.
Words caught in his throat, an incoherent jumble of emotions and thoughts. How could he express everything he was feeling, when he couldn't even puzzle it out in his own head? He kept returning to the pure adoration in her eyes as she took in his every flaw and imperfection. Again he found himself completely and utterly baffled by her appreciation of what he considered his biggest flaw. He mulled it over for a moment, then gave in to Seven's insistent fingers, resolving to figure it out when he wasn't so distracted.
Peter turned the page of the newspaper to find the continuation of the story. He read the first few sentences, trying to convince himself he was invested in the report about Harold Minchum's visit to Azkaban to inspect the cells, but it was hard to summon any interest when Lily had already ranted about the issue for half of breakfast and most of their Herbology lesson. Her voice echoed in his head, sharp and bitter: Inspecting the cells, my arse. They should lock him in a cell. Heaving an irritated sigh, Peter tossed aside the newspaper without finishing the story and slumped down in his seat. Beside the newspaper lay his Transfiguration textbook, a Quidditch magazine, and one of Remus's novels, abandoned as Peter lost interest and moved on to the next potential distraction.
"Hey Pettigrew?" Kath stood beside Peter's chair holding a pack of cards. She gestured down at his pile of Chocolate Frogs next to The Daily Prophet. "Can I have one?"
The empty wrappers crinkled as he shifted them aside. Did I really sit here and eat eleven Chocolate Frogs? That's bloody embarrassing. He located the last uneaten Chocolate Frog and handed it to her, shoving the wrappers underneath the newspaper with a sheepish grin.
"You can have the cards, too, if you want." He pointed at a small stack of cards on top of A Guide to Advanced Transfiguration. Peter set the cards aside every time, even though he had given up on collecting them years ago.
"Thanks!" She tore open the wrapper and bit off the frog's head, then flipped through the small stack of cards. "Ooh, you sure you don't want any of these? Xavier Rastrick's in here, and he's hard to find." She held up a card bearing the image of a tap dancing wizard dressed head to toe in shocking pink. "You don't collect them?"
He thought of his collection of over 500 cards, alphabetized and stored in a tin somewhere in his bedroom back home. The neat stacks of cards gave him a sense of calm and order, and there was something immensely satisfying about obtaining a particular card after a lengthy search. Sirius's favorite joke was rearranging the cards, usually at random, although once he had taken the time to put them in reverse alphabetical order. Peter would force a laugh and set to work sorting the cards without complaint, but eventually he grew tired of the process and gave up collecting all together. Kath's offer tempted him, because he had never managed to get his hands on Xavier Rastrick, but of course he couldn't keep it. He wasn't about to take it back after he had already given it to a first year, and he wasn't even sure where his tin of cards had gotten to. Perhaps his mother had thrown it away along with the broken quills, candy wrappers, mismatched socks, and other detritus left behind when he had left for Hogwarts in September.
"I used to collect them, but not anymore. You're welcome to them."
"Cheers." She watched Xavier Rastrick tap dance for a moment, then nodded at the empty chairs surrounding him. "Where are all your friends?"
He ignored the pang of sadness her words prompted and shrugged. "Off doing things first years shouldn't hear about, I expect."
"Oh, right, it's Valentine's Day." She took another bite of her Chocolate Frog and held up her pack of cards. "You can play Exploding Snap with us, if you like," she said through a mouthful of chocolate. "You look bored."
Peter glanced across the room at the table where Kath's group of first year friends sat talking and laughing as they waited for her, and for a moment he considered saying yes. The expression on her face veered too close to pity, however, and Peter shook his head before he could change his mind.
"Nah, I'm okay." I can't spend Valentine's Day playing cards with a bunch of first years because my friends are all out having lives. That's too pathetic, even for me. "But thanks anyway."
As she crossed the room to rejoin her friends, Peter rose and strode out of the common room before he realized what he was going to do. He walked to the end of the corridor, then ducked behind a suit of armor and transformed into his rat form. The castle had a hushed, secretive air as he continued along the corridor, as if each alcove and broom cupboard and secret passage hid couples engaged in illicit activities. It was all in his imagination; only once did he stumble upon one of these secluded spots that was actually occupied, and he scurried away without bothering to spy on the heedless couple. No matter where he wandered, he couldn't shake the vague sense that he didn't belong, that he shouldn't be there, so after roaming every floor of the castle, he found himself outside on the snow-covered grounds.
A bitter wind rattled the bare tree limbs and blew little puffs of powdery snow into Peter's face, but the cold never bothered him much when he was a rat. Breathing in the bracing air, he set off with no destination in mind. The moon illuminated the ground ahead of him, and Peter looked behind him to see the tiny prints his feet left in the snow. In the castle there had been a sense of people lurking just out of sight, but out here there was an opposite feeling, as though Peter was the only living being for miles. Somehow he was less lonely out here than he had been surrounded by all the other Gryffindors in the common room.
His feet propelled him forward until tall trees and saplings replaced the smooth expanse of white. Human Peter would draw his wand and glance over his shoulder at every snapping twig or rustling leaf, but rat Peter was not afraid of the mysteries the forest held. He was small enough that he could duck out of sight at any sign of danger, and except for one unfortunate run-in with one of the school owls, he had never feared for his life out here.
As he followed the path deeper into the forest, the trees grew denser and blocked the light of the moon. Peter could see only a few feet in front of him, but he knew the way after many full moon forays into the forest. Several times he stopped, his ears straining to detect a threat, but he reached a clearing without incident and transformed back into human form.
A slight prickle of fear ran through Peter as the icy air bit through his clothes, but he lit his wand and scanned the trees until he was satisfied that there was no imminent danger. He cast a warming charm, then sat down with his back resting against a wide tree trunk. The stars and the quarter moon shone through the sparse branches above him, and Peter stared up at them until his neck ached.
In the distance an owl hooted; as if in response, the wind picked up again, throwing a spray of powdery snow into Peter's face. He shivered and repeated the warming charm, brushing snow from his collar and grimacing as a drop of water rolled down his neck. His thoughts drifted to his friends, but he pushed them from his mind, deciding it was best not to think about what they might be doing at this moment. If he really wanted to know, Sirius would tell him later with more explicit details than anyone wanted or needed.
Now that he was alone with only the stars and the trees and whatever creatures caused the occasional rustling, Peter had no choice but to face his loneliness. He was happy for his friends, of course, but at the same time he was filled with an overwhelming, aching sadness. As much as he tried to bury his feelings by reading the Prophet or roaming the castle or eating eleven Chocolate Frogs, he couldn't deny that he was lonely. Why else would he consider playing cards with a group of first years? Why else would he end up in the Forbidden Forest, sitting on the ground looking up at the stars like a prat?
Desperate to stop feeling sorry for himself, Peter focused on a happy memory. He closed his eyes and let it fill his mind until all other thoughts faded away.
A light snow was falling, blanketing the path as Peter ran through the forest. Ahead, he could just make out Sirius's shaggy tail as he bounded after James and Moony. Snowflakes gathered on Peter's downy fur, but the cold didn't bother him — adrenaline and the intoxicating pull of their new freedom kept him warm. Sirius had now disappeared into the trees, and Peter experienced a brief flash of anxiety. What if he couldn't find them again, or what if something larger found him first? He pushed his little legs to run faster.
A bark boomed out, shattering the snowy stillness, and Peter skittered to a stop as Sirius emerged from the trees, panting and wagging his tail. Relief and pure, blinding joy filled Peter as the two of them took off together, dodging trees and sending snow flying behind them as they raced to join the others.
"Expecto Patronum!"
Peter opened his eyes and watched a silvery rat burst from his wand to scamper through the air. It skirted the clearing, leaving a trail of luminous mist in its wake. Peter followed its meandering path, taking comfort from its presence. It returned to him and dissolved, but Peter's eyes stayed fixed on the slight phosphorescent glow it had left behind. He remained on the frozen ground, his fingers growing numb as his warming charm faded, thinking about the happy glow of the memory and that little rat-shaped ball of light.