The next day was the day before the full moon. Remus woke up with a debilitating migraine, the kind that he could not push through despite how much Sirius knew he wanted to. So he stayed in bed, and the Marauders kept the dormroom dark and silent- dark except for the light of Sirius's wand, silent except for the sound of Sirius's whispers as he read Remus the notes from class and the scratching of Remus's quick quotes quill, obediently transcribing Sirius's every word.
"So wait, what disagreement did Hadgeworth and Bentelton have in the first place?" Remus spoke in barely a whisper, keeping his eyes shut tightly, as if every word caused him pain.
"Hadgeworth believed that wizards did not belong in positions of Muggle power, while Bentelton argued that his half blood heritage made it more than acceptable for him to pursue presidency."
Sirius spoke for another hour without interruption. Remus's next remark was much more out of the blue and much less innocuous. "I think you should talk to Snape."
"Why?" Sirius said, careful not to change the volume or cadence of his voice.
"Because he could help."
"I don't need his help."
"If someone could help me, I would take it. No matter who that was."
It was a low blow, and Sirius was sure that Remus knew it. These full moons always made Sirius emotional. Always made him feel like he had failed the most important person in the world, failed at the most important thing in the world. How could he sit there and worry about his herbology essay and Peter and his parents and his legs when Remus looked like he was on death's door every month? Sirius was tired of being so selfish.
He groaned softly. "Fine, then, I'll talk to him."
"Well, go do it then," Remus replied promptly, with a triumphant grin that quickly slid into a grimace.
When Sirius left the room, he closed the door behind him as though it were made of glass.
He was immediately shocked by the bright hallway lanterns. Where even was Snape? If I was a slimy, greasy… no, that's never going to work. Not relatable. He opted to check the Marauder's map as opposed to trying to force himself into Snape's overlarge shoes.
The library. Obviously.
Sirius couldn't deny that there was a practical benefit to eliminating this little, erm, leg issue. It was inconvenient, and Hogwarts certainly wasn't the most accessible place. It was difficult to get through the Gryffindor portrait hole and down the winding staircases. He could, of course, cast charms to turn them into ramps, slides, or escalators, but teachers often frowned upon such "destruction of property."
"Snape," he said as he entered the library, fighting to keep his voice polite. He would need to stay civil, need to control himself.
"Black!" Snape's answering smile dripped with sarcasm. "What brings you here on this fine day?"
"Erm." Sirius took a deep breath, stood up as straight as he could, and steeled himself. "I need your help."
The black eyes widened in the sallow face. Snape's smirk was entirely genuine this time. "Oh, how intriguing. What do you need from me that you could not- or do not believe you could- accomplish yourself?"
"Well, there aren't many things that fit that bill, are there?" said Sirius tersely. "Potions. As I'm sure you could've guessed."
"I charge money for tutoring, Black- although of course, that wouldn't be a problem for you." Snape's black eyes glimmered as he delivered the next line. "At least, not if you hadn't been disowned… pity, isn't it? You would've been the heir."
"Regulus is a bit better suited, I think the two of us can agree." Sirius was seething internally, but he needed to play along. "I don't want tutoring. I want you to… make me something."
Snape raised an eyebrow. How could someone's eyebrows be greasy? "And what would that be?"
Sirius inhaled. "Well, you might have noticed I've run into a bit of a health issue."
"On the contrary, I presumed it was a ploy to get the attention you've always been so desperate for."
Sirius tossed his silky black ponytail behind his shoulder. "I assure you, I wouldn't be here right now if any of this was fake. I may go looking for attention, but certainly not from you."
"Well, traditionally, students go to Pomfrey for medical help."
"And she suggested going to you."
Snape's face lit up momentarily before he successfully hid his glee. It felt oddly intimate to see Snape happy. "Now, why on earth would she suggest that?"
"She says there isn't currently anything that could fix this. She says that-" Sirius grimaced with the physical pain of having to stroke Snape's ego- "if anyone could invent a potion to do it, it'd be you."
"Oh," said Snape. "Oh."
There was something in Snape's expression that made Sirius soften, just for a moment. He looked like a little kid who'd just been told that his scribbled drawing was good. He looked so human.
And then, of course, Snape had to ruin the moment by asking, "What's in it for me?"
"I mean, I'd pay, I suppose," said Sirius. "Plus I would imagine it'd look good on your resume. And Pomfrey will be rather disappointed if I went back and told her you didn't seem to care about helping out."
"I mean, Black, here's my dilemma- and I'm sure you understand." Snape leaned forward in his armchair, folding his fingers under his chin. "On the one hand, it's an intriguing proposition. It'd be interesting, and if you were anyone else, I wouldn't hesitate. But you're you."
"But I'm me," Sirius agreed. He smiled, realizing exactly what to say. "Think it through, Snive- Snape. You have all the power here. Don't you understand how much worse this is from my end? I'm depending on you. I need your help. You could poison me, kill me, whatever, and I would let you, because you know for a fact that I'm desperate." His skin crawled from the words, but he knew they were the right ones. And sure enough…
"When you put it like that, how could I say no?"
Snape proceeded to take out his notebook and question Sirius intensively on his symptoms, diagnoses and medications. The question Sirius was dreading inevitably came. This was the one thing he could not and would not stomach telling Snape. The one thing he wouldn't do for Remus.
"And how… did this happen?"
"Spell."
"What spell? And from whom?"
"Whatever it was, it was nonverbal. But it felt… cold."
"From whom, Black?"
Sirius shook his head minutely.
Snape grinned. "I'm not doing this if you don't tell me who. Although I think I can guess. Was it dearest Walburga?"
Sirius said nothing, knowing that his silence would only confirm Snape's suspicions.
"My, my," he said. "The Black family drama is just astounding."
"Look, it's none of your business." Sirius could feel himself shaking now.
"On the contrary, I believe I have just been hired to make it my business." Snape looked up from his notebook. Almost immediately, the slippery grin dropped off his face. "Don't, erm, worry, Black, I don't see any reason why it needs to be anyone else's."
"Thank you."
Snape nodded, waving Sirius out of the library with a pretentious hand as he bent his greasy nose over his notes and got to work.
As Sirius left the library, his chest constricted, his ribcage seeming to grow smaller. Why did Snape have to know? He tried to breathe, but felt as though he was coming up empty. Breathe. Breathe. But he couldn't-
Snape knew, and despite what he said, he would tell people, because how could he resist, and then everyone would know that Sirius was weak, weak and stupid and unable to avoid the wrath of his parents despite doing everything he could, and everyone else seemed to do just fine, and-
Breathe, he told himself, sitting down against the wall of the corridor. Everything around him sounded fuzzy and muted. He could hear his heart beating, and his lungs seemed to be too full to take in air- like he was stuck, somehow, at that point after an exhale, unable to pull any air in.
Remus had told Sirius what to do in these scenarios, so he felt for solid ground beneath him. Found five things he could see. His hands, his feet, the corridor walls, the library door, some second year twerp who was staring at him with slight fear. Four things he could hear. Whispers from the library, creaking of the nearby staircase, footsteps, faint music. Three things he could touch. The ground. It was cold, hard, and very much there. His sweater, soft and hand-knitted by Mrs. Potter. His school bag.
He took a deep breath in, and this time it worked. Inhale, exhale. His surroundings came back into focus.
"You okay?" asked the second year, sounding like this was the second or third time he'd asked it.
Sirius looked up and forced a slight smile. "Yeah. Um. I'm fine." He got up and headed back to the dormitory, knowing he would not mention any of this to Remus, knowing he'd tell his boyfriend that talking to Snape had gone well and he was glad he'd done it. Knowing that Remus couldn't handle hearing anything else right now.
When the sun rose on the next morning, the full moon was hanging in the sky- behind the clouds and overshadowed by the sun, sure, but there nonetheless. Sirius, James and Peter attended classes without hearing the lectures, took notes without knowing what they were writing. Remus waited in his own private room of the hospital wing for the sun to set.
And then it was time. Sirius quickly changed into shorts and a t shirt and headed down to the forbidden forest. He couldn't pretend he wasn't excited to be a dog again. Unfortunately, he could never lose his human mind, but the senses that accompanied his transformations- the sheer thrill of seeing a squirrel, the wagging of the tail, the panting- were so much more simple, easier, than his day-to-day experiences.
James and Peter followed, and the three hid behind a tree as they waited for Madam Pomfrey to finish accompanying Remus down to the Shrieking Shack.
Then, they sprang into action.
Peter was the first to transform, his body shrinking and melting into a rat, who started forward and pressed the knot on the Whomping Willow, making the tree stop thrashing. Sirius was next, following Peter down into the Shrieking Shack, and James, prancing with the knowledge of his magnificent antlers, brought up the rear.
Sirius always, selfishly, wished that they could miss seeing the actual, physical transformation, but that was when Remus needed them the most. At least as a dog, he didn't have to talk. No words would ever be enough.
Remus was hunched over, clutching his stomach and sweating, his face pale white. Sirius whined, curling up at his feet, and Remus ran a hand through his fur. He wagged his tail involuntarily. Stupid dog.
Peter crouched in a corner, always a little nervous being surrounded by three massive animals. James, in contrast, stood right next to Remus, bowing his head.
And Remus's bones began to crack.
As a dog, Sirius's ears were a million times more sensitive, and he could hear each ligament tear, each muscle pull, each joint pop. Remus screamed once, twice, and the screams made every strand of fur stand up straight on Sirius's spine. These were screams of torture. This is what Walburga would prompt from a carefully casted Crucio.
And then it was over, just as suddenly as it had begun. Remus stood in the center of the room, a wolf now, with rippling tawny fur and piercing eyes. He made eye contact with Sirius, who could've sworn he'd seen Remus's signature crooked grin somewhere under the fur…
He barked loudly and ran forward, grabbing Remus's tail gently with his teeth, and the two began to play while James stood on the sidelines, ready to charge if things got too aggressive.
Peter had brought a ball, and clutched it between his two little paws in order to throw it. Sirius swore that no human drug could compare to the feeling of being a dog and seeing a ball. He chased it with reckless abandon- but as big as Sirius was, Remus was bigger, and got to the ball first.
Sirius growled playfully. James rolled his brown eyes, huge in the face of a stag, and grabbed the ball from Remus with his teeth, and the three were wrestling playfully soon enough while Peter snored gently from his corner.
In the morning, Sirius would feel guilty about enjoying this night. For getting even just a little bit of pleasure out of something that brought Remus so much pain. He would wonder if maybe this was what was holding him back from finding the cure for lycanthropy, some subconscious fear of losing the nights spent trampling around the Shrieking Shack with his best friends. How could he be so awful?
But all of that could wait until morning. For now, he was just a dog with a ball.