Monday, 29 November 1993
Hogwarts
The optimistic relief Mary felt at having finally completed her detentions lasted a surprisingly short period of time. It was less than two full days, in fact, before she was brought back to Earth by a pair of Monday morning conversations.
On that particular Monday, there was little in the manner of interesting conversation at the Slytherin table: the next Slytherin Quidditch match was not until January, and after the Board voted on the new professorial standards, interest in the morning papers (aside from the daily 'Has Sirius Black been spotted?' check) had waned considerably. Most of the other third-year girls seemed to have taken up skipping the morning meal entirely, and Mary's Minions (as Dave and Alex had taken to calling themselves, much to Mary's embarrassment) were animatedly discussing Professor McGonagall's end-of-term exam.
Given the lack of stimulating alternatives, Mary was eavesdropping on less-than-discrete conversations around herself. Her ear had been caught by a mention of her name, and she was not pleased by what followed.
"And Mary Potter was there?" an excitable voice said, somewhere behind her, at the Hufflepuff table.
Shrill Ria Prewett, her voice all too familiar from evenings in the common room and Daphne's tea parties, answered in a most self-satisfied tone. "Yes, she was."
"Can you introduce me? I really, really want to meet her!"
"We're having one last get-together before the hols, you know," Prewett hinted. "I could ask Miss Daphne if there are any seats available…"
This was news to Mary. Neither Daphne nor Lilian had mentioned an upcoming tea party.
"Do it!" the Hufflepuff urged Prewett excitedly.
"Hmm… I don't know…firsties aren't really supposed to invite people…"
"Pleeease," the other girl whined.
"I'll see what I can do," the Slytherin said, "but you'll owe me a favor."
"Done! Anything!"
Mary squirmed uncomfortably. Prewett probably wouldn't make her do anything that bad, but really… an open ended favor for an introduction to Mary? Not even an actual introduction, really, but just a potential introduction?
"Excellent," Prewett said smugly. "I'll let you know."
It was about that time that the hall started clearing out, as students made their way to their first lessons of the day (or the library, or the commons, or anywhere but the now-owl-infested breakfast tables). Mary joined them, heading back to Slytherin to locate her wayward friend – they had agreed to practice Snape's latest Sneaking Spell (a footfall-concealing charm) in their free before DADA. She probably would not have thought too much of the conversation (even first-year Slytherins could be opportunistic, after all), save for the fact that she overheard another conversation as she approached the third-year girls' junction.
"So you'll make sure she's there?" Daphne's voice floated out of the bathroom.
"We've been there the last two times, haven't we?" Lilian yawned in response.
Mary began to have an unpleasant suspicion, which was only confirmed by Daphne's next words. "Good. I've got Prewett, Greengrass, and Avery recruiting among the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws. All the little girls want to meet the famous Mary Potter."
"Yeah, yeah, as long as you keep following through on your end, we'll be there."
"I can't believe you!" The topic of their conversation wrenched open the half-propped door and shouted at her so-called best friend before she could stop herself. "You're using me like some kind of – of publicity stunt?"
The two blondes stared, stupefied by the sudden intrusion, one wearing nothing but a towel, the other halfway through carefully applying glamor and hair-straightening charms.
"Excuse me?" Daphne asked, raising an eyebrow.
"I just heard Prewett talking to some Hufflepuff, trading favors to maybe have a chance to meet me – so how does it work?" she scoffed. "You," she pointed at Daphne, "get more people showing up to your little parties, and whatever favors and shit they offer just to get in, and exclusivity and whatever, and you," she pointed at Lilian, "it's your job to get me there, at the right place at the right time – but what's in it for you?"
Lilian didn't answer, her mouth hanging open in horrified, half-awake shock.
"WELL?!" she screeched, her voice rivalling Prewett's in the echoing confines of the tiled room.
"I – I just…"
"You. Just. What. Lilian?! You just sold me out… for what? Popularity? Your own invite? What?!"
The normally bold and cheerful Slytherin muttered something incomprehensible under her breath, staring at her feet.
"What was that?" Mary asked sharply, in her most sarcastic tone. "I didn't quite catch it," she glared.
"I said I did it for your own good, okay?" Lilian almost snapped back. "How else are you going to meet the right people and start having a presence in society?"
"You what? Bullocks, Lilian Moon! That is the biggest load of dragon dung I've ever heard! And you know what, even if it wasn't, I don't need or want you fucking manipulating me for my own good!"
"I just –"
"No! Fuck you! I don't want to hear it!" she turned on her heel and stormed out, as abruptly as she had arrived, ignoring Lilian's voice behind her, calling for her to come back.
Moaning Myrtle's Loo
For the first time she could ever remember, Mary Potter willingly skipped a class. Two, in fact, as she elected to hole up in Moaning Myrtle's loo and cry her eyes out. Entrance to the Chamber of Secrets and whiny ghost aside, she was much less likely to be disturbed there than anywhere else. Even in her bedroom, Lilian could have stood outside and talked at her.
And she really, really didn't want to hear her excuses.
She would much rather brood in privacy (ghost notwithstanding) over the fact that her best friend in the entire world had decided that she was too – what, incompetent, or something? – to make her own choices, and tricked her into doing something she hated, with people she didn't care about, because she thought it was for Mary's own good. If that was even really why she did it, and not just what she thought would make Mary least angry with her.
What gave her the right? It was one thing when Snape did it. He was a grown-up and a teacher and a spy, and she should have known better than to trust him. But Lilian was her friend. And hadn't they just spent three months learning not to make other people's choices for them? Fucking hell!
Thoughts of Lilian and her blatant, inexcusable betrayal led to thoughts of Snape poisoning her, and then of Sirius Black, whom she could at least be angry at without any sort of intervening 'she didn't do it to be mean' or 'it was only to teach me a lesson' type thoughts. She was halfway through constructing a chain of adjectives that she thought might adequately describe her mangy, parent-betraying, pestilential, powers-bedamned excuse for a godfather when the last person she expected to hear knocked lightly on the door to the stall where she was hiding.
"Lizzie?"
Mary sniffled. "Maia?" Merlin, she sounded pathetic. Clearing her throat and trying again didn't really help, either.
Hermione unlocked the door with a quick alohomora and swept her into a hug. "You missed class. Lilian told me what happened. Are you okay?"
"Yes," she lied, brushing past the older girl to wash her face.
"Liar."
The Ravenclaw's wry tone earned her a wobbly smile. "So does this mean we're speaking again?"
Hermione sighed dramatically. "I guess so." Her tone became more serious as she continued: "I'm sorry I've been avoiding you. It just made me really mad to think that you'd rather hang out with those idiots, and then I didn't know how to bring it up and apologize without getting mad again, and then I got caught up in other things, and, well… I'm sorry. I know you don't really like Greengrass and Davis more than me, and no matter how much it sounds like it sometimes, you're not really falling for their anti-muggle, pureblood supremacy attitude. I haven't been angry about it for a while, I just… It worries me, sometimes, the way you act like you have to do things to fit in with them, the other Slytherins. You and Lili, both. And I didn't know what to do or say, so I just… didn't want to bring it up again."
Mary was shocked at Hermione's interpretation of their last conversation, stuck on the fact that she had somehow given the impression that she was falling prey to the pureblood supremacists' ideology just because she hadn't been able to get out of Daphne's stupid tea parties. Daphne wasn't even a pureblood supremacist! She was probably more traditionalist than progressive, along with most of Slytherin House, but she wasn't Malfoy, for crying out loud. Or maybe Hermione was reading too much into the fact that Mary hadn't wanted to be involved with the MSA? But she had told her why on that account! Did her first friend truly think so little of her?
"Maia, I don't think purebloods are any better than anyone else," she sniffled. "I just… they're my housemates. It's harder not to spend time with them than you think, especially in public – first rule, you know?"
"I know that. Isn't that what I'm saying?" Hermione rolled her eyes, then added, "Slytherin solidarity is highly overrated."
Mary shrugged noncommittally, unwilling to get into an argument again so soon after the last one (apparently) ended, especially since she had gotten an actual apology, this time, rather than several weeks of frosty silence followed by a gradual, unresolved thaw, which was the usual pattern for their disagreements. "It was more that I didn't want to give Daphne the cut in public – she's not that bad, really, and I like Blaise and Theo – but it may be too late for that, anyway."
"Tell me about it?" the older girl suggested, scourgifying a section of floor so they could sit without worrying about Myrtle's toilet germs.
Mary sighed, leaning against Hermione's side, and wondering when she had gotten so much taller. "It's just… I hate being used. Manipulated. I hate this whole girl who lived thing, and Lilian knows that…" once she started talking, she found it was hard to stop, not entirely like writing her thoughts out for Snape's last detention. And, miracle of miracles, Hermione didn't interrupt, just making the occasional vaguely understanding noise and letting her prattle.
Eventually she ran out of things to say, even about that fucking Judas Sirius Black, her mouth dry from going on and on, and slightly headachy from crying. "What about you?" she asked croakily. "I feel like I haven't seen you in forever."
Hermione laughed. It wasn't a happy sound. "Oh, you know, reading, homework, studying for the O-Levels… at this rate, I think I should be able to take them by summer."
"This summer?" Mary sat up, shocked. "But didn't you say you'd been held back to Year 7 again?"
The Ravenclaw snorted. "Yes, but I was arguing to join Year 9 before I got my Hogwarts letter. And Year 11 is half review, anyway. It's not so much, really."
"Yeah, right. How much have you been using that thing?" the younger girl asked, nodding at the place where the time turner lay beneath her friend's robes.
She flushed slightly as she said, "Um… as much as possible?"
"So how old are you, then?"
"Fourteen and… almost seven months," Hermione answered promptly. "Give or take a few days."
Mary was only thirteen and four months, but Hermione had always been one of the oldest students in their year, while Mary was one of the youngest. It took a minute for her to work out how old she ought to have been. "Four extra months?" she hissed at the Ravenclaw, who nodded, slightly abashed. Mary laughed. "Well, I guess that explains where you found the time to get four years ahead in your muggle studies."
"I'm not that far ahead yet," she shoved the Slytherin playfully. "I just said I will be, in another seven or nineteen months."
The (ever increasingly) younger girl couldn't help but snort at the absurdity of that statement, though she also couldn't help but wonder what the bloody hell Hermione had been 'caught up in' if she had had so much extra time on hand, and still hadn't gotten over their latest spat until she heard that Mary and Lilian had had a falling out. Before she had a chance to ask, though, the Ravenclaw changed the subject: "I'll be sixteen by then, anyway, so really, right on target to take the exams."
It was rather sobering to think that by the time Mary's fourteenth birthday rolled around, Hermione would already have been sixteen for half a summer. They sat quietly for a long moment while they – or she, at least – pondered that fact, and wondered what it would mean for their friendship. Would they start growing apart? Maybe they already had, if Hermione could so-easily not speak to her for what Mary now realized was nearly two months on her side of things.
"Hey," the time-traveler said suddenly.
"Yeah?" Mary answered hesitantly, fearing that the older girl had somehow sensed her sudden anxiety.
Thankfully, it seemed that if Hermione's thoughts had been following the same path, she was of a mind to prevent any further drifting apart. "Do you want to spend the hols at my parents' house this year? Make a proper muggle Christmas of it? It'd give us a bit of time to catch up."
Mary didn't even have to think about it. "Yes. Absolutely." Hermione grinned, and the Slytherin felt awful adding, "but I don't know if I can. I'd have to ask the Professor, and you know she's not even keen on me going out to the pitch anymore."
The bushy-haired bookworm just rolled her eyes. "Sirius Black has managed to break into the school at least once already. You're really much safer in a random muggle house, without a single dementor or psychotic murderer in sight. I'm sure there's arithmancy to prove it."
Both girls laughed aloud at that. "Right. If she makes a fuss, I'll sic you and Professor Vector on her."
"Don't be silly," Hermione grinned, pulling herself up by a sink and giving Mary a hand, too. "Professor Vector wouldn't need any help at all. She'd just logic Professor McGonagall to death. Lunch?"
"Sure. I'll sit with you, if you don't mind. Not sure I want to see the others yet."
"Well, you'll have to sit with my younger self, just don't tell me too much of what we talked about? I can't be seen twice, so I'm going to grab a snack in the kitchens."
Mary hovered indecisively, sincerely tempted to join this version of Hermione and skive off on the Great Hall, before deciding that she couldn't cave to that sort of weakness. Besides, she should apologize to Remus and Professor Flitwick for missing their classes. At least if she had to miss classes to have a sulk, she thought ruefully, it was with professors who would be inclined to give her a pass. "All right, I'll see you… later?"
"Later, earlier, whatever. I know what you mean," Hermione shrugged, and pulled the Invisibility Cloak out of her pocket. "Thank you again for letting me use this," she added, her voice coming out of nowhere. "It's been a lifesaver, honestly."
Mary rolled her eyes, and refrained from reminding the Ravenclaw that she wanted it back as soon as she mastered some other effective form of invisibility. "No problem."
But there was no answer: her invisible friend had already gone.
Saturday, 4 December 1993
Hogwarts Library
After the uncomfortable revelation of Lilian's betrayal of their friendship, the remainder of Mary's week passed quickly. They were speaking again, albeit reluctantly on Mary's part, because Flint had threatened them with Gauntlet Drills if they didn't get over their 'angsty fucking teenage girl selves.' (Apparently there was no place on a Quidditch team for personal enmity, any more than there was for politics.) She still hadn't let Lilian try to explain herself, though, playing Hermione's usual part of avoiding the other girl whenever possible. Lilian seemed to have gotten the hint that Mary didn't want to talk to her, and was giving her some space.
The conclusion of detentions meant that Mary's standing first-Saturday-of-the-month meeting with Professor McGonagall, normally scheduled for ten in the morning, was free to go as long as necessary, without Mary having to make some excuse to leave. This turned out to be a good thing, because Hermione had written to her parents about Christmas, and Emma had written to the Professor directly, which meant the meeting started with a very long, very serious discussion about Mary's safety, and an argument about the relative merits of staying in the mostly-deserted school versus going the Grangers'.
Mary thought she had won early on, when the Professor conceded that perhaps it was safer for her to holiday elsewhere, but then she had suggested the Urquharts', which Mary didn't really have a good reason to reject. In the end, though, puppy-dog eyes worthy of Blaise and the argument that she had never had a proper muggle Christmas, and wanted to experience that side of her heritage carried the day.
As far as arguments went, it was a rather pleasant one – far nicer than when they had fought over whether Mary could go to Hogsmeade. They ordered sandwiches from the kitchens halfway through, and then talked about Mary's parents and the Marauders afterward. The Slytherin was still trying to figure out exactly why Remus and Snape apparently hated each other. This had been an ongoing concern, especially since hearing that they had gotten into some sort of a fight while she was in hospital, but whenever she attempted to ask the Professor or Remus directly, they changed the subject, and she hardly dared ask Snape. This had only resulted in her attempting to be more subtle, poking around the edges of their relationship, asking, for example, about the Marauders, Lily, and Snape as kids.
Unfortunately, she learned nothing pertinent. She did learn that her father shared her fondness for treacle tart, and that her mother and Snape had kissed under a mistletoe in their third year, which the Professor found particularly amusing. Mary couldn't imagine kissing anyone, herself, nor imagine anyone kissing Professor Snape, especially the girl he'd once described as the closest he'd ever had to a sister. It was actually difficult to imagine Professor Snape as a kid in general. She wondered, fleetingly, if she was old enough yet that he would tell her about his and Lily's relationship. She suspected there was far more to the story than Professor McGonagall knew.
After the Professor declared that she had to begin working on her grading, Mary retired to the library to join Blaise and Theo. Professor Snape had taken to giving them written assignments for their Slytherin Emergency Resources, Protocols, and Conduct Class every other week or so (along with the obligatory practice for their Sneaking Spells). So far they had researched the best way to deal with Acromantulae, Dragons, Manticores, Vampires, and Trolls. (Basilisks were, apparently, too rare a threat to make the list.) They discussed each creature and associated evacuation plans when applicable in the following week's lesson. This week's assignment was on how to recognize and respond to Werewolves.
The three Slytherins had begun their research with every intent to start writing that paper early, but had quickly gotten distracted brainstorming ways to use different simple spells for Dueling Club – an assignment Mary had entirely forgotten about. Blaise's idea was to do the exact opposite of Mary, using Banishing Charms instead of Summoning. Theo, on the other hand, had been flipping through Charms texts for ages – so long that Mary had actually resorted to reading the werewolf books to stave off boredom.
"Have you two seen this list?" she asked, appalled. Blaise hmm'd, not looking up from his own book. "'Signs of an untransformed werewolf include: difficult to conceal and impossible to heal scars, from self-inflicted injuries when confined during full moon; illness and/or agitation in the days immediately before and after the full moon; aversion to silver in all forms; noted preferences for raw or undercooked meat; brutish temperament, with tendencies toward short-temperedness and irrationality; incapable of genuine human affection…' They're only wolves one night a month!"
Blaise laughed. "Sometimes I forget you're muggle-raised. First off, they can transform up to two days on either side of the full moon – three if they're really powerful – and secondly, they're always werewolves, regardless of the number of legs. Not humans. Not wolves. Werewolves. Totally different."
"Surely you don't believe that they're all pedophiles and cannibals, and – what was it – 'ruled only by instinct to propagate their Curse'?"
"Is it really cannibalism if they're not humans?" Theo asked. "What do you think of incarcarious? If you put the right intention behind it, it gives you limited control over the ropes."
"Takes too long to say," Blaise said. "And no, it's not, but 'cannibal' sounds better than 'homovore,' which is what this book uses." He wrinkled his nose at the pages and tossed it away. "And now I can't stop wondering if we could convince the House Elves to make Steak Tartare."
"Ew. No. Just… no. You do not go from cannibalism to 'we should have raw meat for dinner.'"
"Weak stomach, Potter? Pity. It can be absolutely delicious if done well."
"Steak Tartare or cannibalism?" Theo snarked.
"Well, we did have an awful lot of pork the summer after Husband Number Four disappeared… or at least Mother said it was pork…"
Mary could not for the life of her decide whether he was serious. Probably not, but he said it with such a straight face that she couldn't be sure, the same as when he said he had seen three of his previous step-fathers die.
Theo, apparently, had no qualms about playing along, if he was. "Shall I ask my father to send your mother the grimoire with the muggle recipes? I'm sure there was one where you were supposed to consume the White Goat after the sacrifice was blessed…"
"Sure. Black magic makes everything taste sweeter."
Theo's cool façade cracked first, and soon both boys were laughing hysterically.
"Oh, knock it off, you two!"
"Come off it, Mary!"
"Yeah, we're just having a go – Powers, the look on your face…"
"Don't worry, my mother's not a cannibal," Blaise smirked.
Theo's smile faded a little, though, as he admitted, "I think we actually do have a book like that, but it hasn't been used for centuries – not since they made muggle-hunting illegal."
"Wait – muggle hunting was legal? Like actually hunting and killing people?"
Theo shrugged. "Yeah. It was one of the first things that went after the Statute of Secrecy was put in place, muggle hunting in general, and all spells or rituals that required human sacrifice were outlawed in… the late 1700s, I think. But there's still new vampires being made every few years."
"Seriously?"
"Yep," Blaise nodded. "There's a movement on the continent for 'ethical vampirism' – using condemned murderers or hospice patients for the Change Ritual."
"Bet that's going as well as the last Black proposal to bring back Muggle Hunting," the paler boy scoffed.
"Pretty much."
"Wait – what?"
"Back in the sixties, this old bat called Araminta Black tried to bring back Muggle Hunting. Completely mad. There was no chance, obviously. That family's been a bit cracked for ages," Theo explained.
"Glad it's not just my godfather, I guess."
"Oh, no, definitely not," Blaise smirked. "My mum was friends with Bella Black in school. Apparently Sirius Black was actually one of the sane ones. Well, relatively. I heard," he said, his voice dropping to a whisper, "that the Blacks used muggle sacrifices for Yule right up until the house fell with the Dark Lord."
"You're having me on again," Mary accused.
"Nope. It's true. Just because it's illegal wouldn't have stopped the likes of Bella Black from killing whomever she liked."
Mary shivered, and then Theo said, "C'mon, Blaise. Enough stories. What about ventus?"
"The Breeze Charm?"
"It's simple, very quick to cast, and can affect both whoever I'm dueling and the environment."
"Well, yeah, in a real fight… but we're going to be on plain, boring dueling platforms."
"What about Aeolus or Kano Kyklona?" Mary asked, shaking off her unease to peer over Theo's shoulder at the more advanced wind charms.
"Aeolus has a much higher power input, and I don't even want to try mastering the Cyclone Maker in the next… two hours."
"Three if we skip dinner," Blaise pointed out, but at Theo's unimpressed look, he added: "Fine, I take your point. But Mary's right. Aeolus would be better, especially since you're not going to have anything to work with as far as the environment goes. It'll take more power to push your opponent around."
"All right. Aeolus it is. Now – werewolves?"
Mary looked back at her book. "Seriously – cannibals and pedophiles? Do they really expect people to believe that? I mean, even if they do hunt people, pedophiles?"
Blaise groaned, and let his head drop to the table, mumbling complaints. "It's because they target children to change. All the Creature Literature in this country is like that – twisted and prejudiced and basically propaganda for the Light. And weirdly sexual. Centaurs are rapists, Incubi and Succubi are going to seduce you into a life of wanton sin, Werewolves are pedophiles, Vampires will fuck your mind so well you beg them to bleed you dry – and no one questions it because everyone knows it's true."
"Yes, Blaise," Theo said drily. "Tell us again how Italy is a little Utopia of Creature Equality."
The Italian snorted. "It's no France or America, but at least it's better than here. And that's saying a lot," he added, "seeing as how Rome's still Catholic central!"
"So sad for you that mummy insisted on her alma mater," Mary managed, nearly as drily as Theo.
"Oh, shut up, or I'll send you La Noirceur Sauvage for Yule."
"The wild… blackness?"
"Darkness," Theo corrected her. "It's a brick, but probably better reading than any of that rubbish. In English there's Hairy Snout, Human Heart, but that's about it."
"Nah," the darker boy objected. "Too sappy. I liked Out of the Wyld better."
"But we don't live in Canada!"
"So what? Werewolves are werewolves. Just because we had that nutter Greyback… seriously, half the problems werewolves have in this country can be traced back to him."
"Who?" Mary asked, at the same time Theo said, "Like you'd know."
"I've met the Alpha of the Superior-Pukaskwa Pack," Blaise said defensively. "Bobby Shank – bit intense, but a nice enough bloke."
Theo just shook his head, while Mary looked on in confusion. "You have got to start inviting me along on your vacations," the shorter boy said enviously.
"You've had a standing invitation since we were six, you prat. It's not my fault your father won't let you come."
Theo scowled, and Mary decided to try to get the subject back on track. "So… werewolves?"
"Well, the first thing is that there are two kinds of werewolves," Blaise began to lecture. "There's the ones who fight the curse, like in Hairy Snout, Human Heart and the ones that embrace the curse. Most of the werewolves in Magical Britain are the first kind. The laws here don't really have a lot of accommodation for the ones that embrace it.
"Werewolves that fight the curse tend to be more scarred and ill before and after the Moon, because they lock themselves up and hurt themselves during it, and the curse gets stronger with the moon, so it's harder to fight it at that time of the month. If you ask me, being short-tempered is because they always have to fight the curse, like having a headache or something all the time. They talk about the Curse or the Wolf like a demon in the back of their mind. Let's see… what else… They tend to really like chocolate, because it cuts back on the mental effects of Dark Magic, and weakens the Curse. Oh, and they sometimes take Wolfsbane, which is a potion that helps them keep their rational minds even in wolf-form – normally 'the Wolf' takes over, then, if they don't have it – trying to pass on the Curse to any uninfected human with no thought to their own safety or anything.
"Werewolves that accept the curse aren't as scarred, because they usually live on reservations, where they can run with a Pack on the Moon. They get more agitated as it gets closer, and stronger as the curse reinforces their natural strength. Fighters are strongest near new moon, because that's when the curse is weakest. I wouldn't call even the Pack wolves 'brutish,' but there is a sort of animal intensity about them – it's definitely noticeable, when you walk in a room. They're the ones that 'aren't capable of true human emotion' or 'little more than animals' – kind of halfway between a wizard and a wolf, regardless of their form. They tend to think in simpler terms, and don't do magic, or write about themselves like the Fighters do. All the books about them are written by outsiders. Oh! And they're the ones who target children, specifically, for the Change.
"Most of the Pack wolves feel sorry for the Fighters, because the Fighters haven't caught onto the fact that it's much easier to just give in, and live their lives in harmony with the Curse. Most Fighters, at least from what I've read, consider Pack wolves weak, and giving in to be giving up on their humanity. The longer a Fighter holds out before giving in to the Curse, the lower their chances of adjusting well to the new lifestyle. Both have weaknesses to silver, obviously, are allergic to the genus Aconitum, and are repelled by the same wards. Aside from silver or aconite-poisoning, they can be killed by decapitation, fire, drowning, light battle magic, and neutral or dark curses stronger than the werewolf curse and their innate magic combined." The boy paused for a moment, as though mentally reviewing his speech, then added, "Or another werewolf, I guess, if there's a dominance fight, but I think that's rare."
Mary was still stuck on the description of werewolves that fight the curse, because scarred and ill around the full moon reminded her uncomfortably of Remus – as did the fondness for chocolate. He had even missed class earlier that week, according to Hermione. Snape had had to cover for him, leading the girls to speculate that he had a Time Turner of his own, since he had also been in Potions class that day. And hadn't Snape brought Remus a potion on the day of the first Hogsmeade trip, making cryptic remarks about how Remus' illness wasn't life-threatening to him? Could Remus Lupin be a werewolf? Would he have told her if he was? She hoped so, but rather doubted it, if the book in front of her was typical of the Magical British attitude toward Werewolves.
Dragging her mind back to the conversation at hand, she asked, "How do you know all that?"
It was Theo who answered, grinning. "When Blaise was about seven, he really wanted to be a werewolf when he grew up."
Blaise punched him in the arm, hard, making the smaller boy blot the notes he had been taking on the mini-lecture with a yelp. "Shut up! It's still better than Draco! He wanted to be a dragon until he was ten," he explained to Mary, before turning back to Theo. "At least werewolf is a realistic back-up plan!"
"Back up plan to what?" Mary asked, legitimately confused. "Inheriting all your mum's money and marrying Greengrass?"
"Yeah, well, you know, if that gets boring…" Blaise shrugged with supreme nonchalance. This set off another round of good-natured ribbing, which carried the three Slytherins through until dinner, and then Dueling Club.
Despite the fact that the club meeting was both ridiculous and enjoyable, Mary couldn't shake her suspicions about Remus, which made it rather less fun than it could have been. She didn't want to ask him outright – accusing someone of being a werewolf without proof sounded like a great way to ruin a friendship. She would, she decided, have to see what else she could find out about the Wolfsbane Potion, and check whether he really had been ill over every full moon since the beginning of term.
Wednesday, 8 December 1993
Slytherin Commons
It had taken Mary less than a day to convince herself that Remus was, in fact, a werewolf. She had checked the dates of the full moon. One of them had been on the last day of August, and she distinctly recalled Remus looking awful and being exhausted on the train, and for their first class together. She didn't remember September specifically, but October had been the day of the Hogsmeade trip, and he was clearly ill around the November full moon. She had even looked back through the letters he had sent her since her first year: none of them had been sent on or immediately before or after a full moon.
She had looked up the Wolfsbane potion with Hermione's help. (Why the older girl had an apparently unlimited pass to the Restricted Section, she decided it was best not to ask.) The potion was supposed to be administered for the entire week of the full moon (three days before and after). That lined up with the date of the Hogsmeade trip, and the description in the book matched what she recalled of the potion itself (served in a goblet with steam coming off it, and sugar made it useless).
Finally, when she had admitted her suspicions to her curious friend, the Ravenclaw had immediately said that made sense, because his boggart took the shape of the full moon. Mary had forgotten this, in the excitement that was her own boggart taking the shape of a dementor, but as far as she was concerned, it made it final.
Remus was a werewolf.
After that, the only question was whether to tell him she knew about it.
Hermione had, somewhat uncharacteristically, urged caution. She was certain that there had to be some way to verify his status before bringing it up. After all, who knew what other kinds of diseases there might be in the magical world that were tied to the phases of the moon? It hadn't taken much searching at all for her to find a reference to a Werewolf Registry, kept by the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. As the information was supposed to be considered a matter of public record, all they had to do was write, requesting a list of werewolves in Magical Britain, and they should soon know officially, one way or the other.
They had sent the owl on Monday, in hopes that it would return before the end of the term.
Unfortunately, it now seemed that Mary was going to have to confront the probable-werewolf sooner rather than later, because Pansy Parkinson, in all her infinite wisdom, had managed to put together the same clues whilst writing her werewolf essay during their Wednesday morning free. Instead of just keeping her bloody mouth shut, she had announced it to the entire study group in the Slytherin House Library, and then run to Prefect Farley, who had called a house meeting for that very evening.
Mary, Blaise, and Theo returned to the already-overfull common room exactly on time, and claimed the sofa occupied by Mary's Minions. The boys and Nora relocated to the back and arms with much grumbling, but no hesitation, as Astoria Greengrass bounced over to sit on Blaise.
Sean was consulting a piece of parchment, tapping it irritably with his wand. "Has anyone seen Lestrange and Turner?" he called out, his voice magically magnified. "Or the Youngs? Or Firsties Flint, Burke and Bletchley?"
The Youngs appeared in the doorway of the common room at that moment, the younger casting a tempus charm. "Sorry, Moon," he called, not sounding sorry at all.
"What about the kids?"
"Detention," Daphne's little sister yelled. "With McGonagall!"
Sean nodded. "Lestrange and Turner?"
"Probably snogging up on the seventh floor," someone suggested from the direction of the seventh-year girls' usual corner, which raised laughs throughout the room.
The seventh-year prefect glared at nothing in particular. "Well, we're not waiting for them," he announced. "Prefects, cover the doors. No one leaves until Farley and I give the word." Nervous giggles and worried whispers rose in response to the normally-easygoing wizard's pronouncement. The reason became clear, however, as he continued: "Professor Lupin is a werewolf."
It was as though somebody turned up the volume, from one to eleven. What seemed like half the house leapt to their feet. Mary heard denials for reasons ranging from 'he can't be – he's too nice,' to 'even Dumbledore wouldn't give us a werewolf as the Defense professor!' and objections like 'We can't be taught by a half-breed!' There were shouts of 'how do you know?' and 'prove it!' from the more skeptical, and panicked inquiries as to the phase of the moon from others. Several made desperate demands to be allowed to contact their parents (including Draco, whose 'my father' been otherwise rare of late). Prefect Tiffald stunned Melinda Lestrange as she made a break for the girls' dorms. The prefects and NEWT students, who had obviously discussed the issue at some point earlier in the day, waited more-or-less calmly for the initial panic and excitement to abate.
Finally the noise level subsided to the point that Sean's sonorous could be heard again. "Testing… testing… Will you all shut up? ...Okay. Good. Thank you. As I said, Professor Lupin is a werewolf. Professor Snape is aware of this fact."
Another overwhelming wall of sound erupted, this one primarily concerned with 'Where is he?' and 'Why didn't he tell us?!'
It subsided much more quickly than the previous, with the assistance of a magnified Quidditch-pitch bellow of "SILENCE!" from Flint. Mary, seated only a few feet away, rather than a hundred or so above him in open air, winced.
"Quite," Sean bit out, in what was either an intentional or unintentional impression of the Head Boy. "Thank you, Marcus. If you could all refrain from speaking until I ask for questions…? Otherwise I do imagine we'll be here all bloody night… Right, then. Professor Lupin is a werewolf."
"Got that!" some smart-arse interrupted.
"Stuff it, Rowle, or I'll start taking points!" the prefect snapped. "Just for that, one more time: Professor Lupin is a werewolf."
"What?!" a girl shrieked, coming through the main entrance. Turner, Mary recalled from the train, along with Adrian, who said, "You've got to be joking!"
"Do I look like I'm fucking joking, Lestrange? Detention, for the both of you, for being late to a mandatory house meeting."
Their objections were drowned by everyone else, who wanted to hear more about Professor Lupin being a werewolf, and what, exactly, Professor Snape knew about it.
"Are we done yet?" the prefect asked scathingly after yet another minute. "Now keep your mouths shut, or I'll hex the lot of you, understood?" He glared around at them, uncharacteristically stern, as they nodded. "Very well, then. As I've said, Professor Snape is aware of the Lupin situation. The 'evidence' is as follows: the heavy scarring on his hands and face is consistent with a werewolf kept confined on the full moon, and you will recall that he tends to be ill and lethargic during the gibbous phases, as well as apparently absent from the school on the evening of the full moon. Last month's full moon was on the twenty-eighth, the day before Professor Snape covered Lupin's classes, consistent with reports of captive werewolves injuring themselves during the full moon. We know Professor Snape knows because one of the third years noticed the symptoms and brought them to our attention, after which point Prefect Farley and myself met with him regarding the issue of safety precautions." He held up a hand against the rising tide of mutters.
"We've got to get rid of him!" someone yelled from near the entrance to the boys' dorms. "It's not safe!"
"Sit down, Burke!" Farley snapped back, her clear voice carrying to every corner of the commons. "And shut up, before your stupidity infects the entire room! There are safety measures already in place, according to Professor Snape. Professor Lupin offers, and I quote 'no more danger than the average Defense professor.' The next full moon is not until the twenty-eighth of December. If you're worried, go home for the hols. There is no need to act rashly." She sent a look at Sean, as though offering to let him take over again, but he nodded for her to continue. She took a deep breath before she did so. "We, and I'm speaking for the prefects and all the senior students, here, have decided that no immediate action will be taken on this matter!"
The uproar that greeted this statement was nearly as total as the initial shock of 'Professor Lupin is a werewolf.' Farley weathered the storm impassively. When it finally died down, she clarified, "You will not contact your parents. You will not speak to the other underclassmen. You will not treat Professor Lupin with any less respect than he deserves," (another outburst, to the effect that werewolves deserved no respect whatsoever) "because, BECAUSE werewolf or not, Remus Lupin is the best Defense professor we have had since Dalworth in '88, and we, all of the seniors, have agreed that the value of what he has to teach us currently outweighs the danger he may or may not represent."
(Another outburst, to the effect that the seventh-years were selfishly endangering everyone over their NEWT scores, along with a few fifth-years commenting that they'd actually quite like to pass their OWLs, too.)
"It's not about the NEWTs, you morons!" Aeronwyn Carpenter spoke up, climbing onto the arm of a sofa, so she could be seen across the room. The morons slowly fell silent as the well-respected witch ranted at them. "Professor Lupin has taught us more than our last three Defense Professors combined. He's taught us the signs of demonic possession, which could have helped us spot the so-called Heir last year, or whatever was wrong with Quirrell the year before! He's taught us how to check ourselves for obliviation, and how to repel a thrice-cursed dementor – which, in case you've all forgotten, helped us hold them off at the Quidditch match just over a month ago. He's taught us how to sustain a paling that can hold off a whole colony of acromantulae, like the one in the Forbidden Forest, and how to take down a sphinx with two spells. Not once has he refused to discuss something that we should have learned years ago, whenever we've asked. And so far as the other seniors and I are concerned, that outweighs any danger he might present, especially since he seems to be avoiding the bloody castle when he transforms!"
She sat down again, and the muttering took a turn for the more contemplative, with only the occasional shout along the lines of, 'But he's a werewolf!' and 'He should be put down like a rabid animal!' That was the point at which Mary began to truly consider whether she ought to warn Remus that her house was aware of his affliction. The elder Young brother gave the younger students several minutes to dwell on their own lessons with Lupin before he stepped forward to stand beside Sean and Farley.
"I don't like werewolves," Young admitted, his low voice carrying a hint of fear. He spoke frankly. "My family has a bad history with them. You say werewolf, and I, like many of you, think of that inhuman creature that calls itself Greyback: a pedophile and a kidnapper and a child-murderer – and the thought of that kind of – of beast lurking in the halls of Hogwarts makes my blood run cold. But even I can see that Remus Lupin is not Fenrir Greyback. Lupin's a victim of Greyback, the same as my Aunt Maggie and my baby cousins. It's been three months. If Lupin was a beast like the creature that turned him, we'd know it by now."
This, of course, led to a new round of shouting – this time liberally salted with the words 'blood traitor,' directed at Young for his rationality in the face of his bloody family history, and even more people claiming relations who had been killed (or turned) by werewolves in the War. The Youngs, along with most of their friends, defended their relatively moderate stance, backed by the other seniors and prefects, and the underclassmen like Mary who found that they cared more about keeping (and protecting) Professor Lupin than getting rid of Lupin the Werewolf. There was a strong minority of students like Blaise and Theo, whose families were politically in favor of Dark Creature rights, which was almost as large as those who were morally opposed to werewolves' existence. They had just started to divide themselves into distinct factions, much as they had over the question of whether Salazar Slytherin was a pureblood, when Farley set off a blast like a canon with her wand.
"We will… WE WILL," she announced as everyone settled into a tense silence, "be making further inquiries over the last few weeks of term! If we find any evidence that suggests Lupin specifically is a danger, or that the protections in place are not adequate to defend us on the full moon, then and ONLY then will we move to have him removed from the school."
"Snape confirmed he's a werewolf! That's proof enough!" a vaguely familiar fourth-year called out.
Both Sean and Farley, still standing united in the small cleared space near the entryway, glared at him, but it was Sean who answered. "Professor Snape informed us that there are adequate protections in place, and advised us only to be aware of the potential threat."
Farley took over at that point again. "Professor Snape is obviously less than concerned over the threat Lupin actually poses – if he was truly worried for our safety, he would have communicated that concern to us by some manner before the first full moon of the term, rather than waiting for us to bring it to him after the last full moon of the term. We are informing you now because we are aware that if one underclassman has noticed the pattern of Lupin's illnesses, others are likely not far behind. There will be no panic in Slytherin House! You are better than that!" Farley paused for a few cat-calls and claps. "Consider this a promise: we, the prefects and senior students will keep you informed, and thus protected, to the best of our ability, just as we have done since your first day in this house." More clapping, and a few sarcastic, unamused laughs greeted this proclamation. "We will not, however, act hastily, like Gryffindors, or fearfully like Hufflepuffs. We will not debate endlessly the theoretical dangers of any werewolf, and the importance of policy and the morality of werewolf discrimination as the Ravenclaws would doubtless do." Several of the more vocal Snakes looked slightly abashed at this, including Theo. "We will assess the danger that this particular werewolf, in this particular situation poses, and act accordingly, AFTER all due consideration!" The prefect's words drew forth more cheers, and a bit of genuine applause.
After a moment, Sean cleared his throat. "To review: Professor Lupin is a werewolf. Professor Snape is aware of the situation. We will continue to investigate Professor Lupin's status and the precautions that have been taken to ensure our safety, and keep you all advised as to the danger he poses. You will not breathe a word of this outside of Slytherin." Far fewer people objected this time than had when Farley had first announced this, but he repeated it anyway. "You will not breathe a word of this, because we all require Professor Lupin's services as a Defense instructor – it might be years before we get another decent one – and he currently poses no more danger to us than the average Defense professor – which is considerably less than some!"
"Maccabee!" someone called from the seventh-year girls' corner. The name was somewhat familiar – Flitwick, Mary recalled, had mentioned him (more angrily than she had ever heard him, which was why it had stuck in her memory) – but she had no idea what he'd done.
Somewhat nearer, Morgana added, "Lockhart, too!"
Farley ignored their outbursts. "Some of you have only half a year's experience here," she drawled, before the nervous titters at Sean's assessment of the Defense professors died out, and more objections could be raised. "Regardless of your youth, we expect you all to have the presence of mind not to draw attention to your awareness of the situation! Slytherins know the value of discretion, and neither gossip nor tattle nor share information without due consideration. Do you understand?"
A chorus of reluctant acknowledgment rose from the assembled students.
"Excellent," Sean glared at them, suddenly every bit as serious as he had been at the beginning of the meeting. "Then it should be clear to all of you that if your discretion fails you in this matter, if you just happen to owl your parents or mention in the Great Hall that you heard from a reliable source that there is a werewolf in the school or even whisper it in one of your classes or manage to be thoughtlessly 'overheard' in the library, we will find out which of you leaked it, and we will censure you as a House. Slytherins know the value of discretion, and if you prove that you do not, then you mark yourself out as un-Slytherin, and the First Rule will no longer apply to you." There were a few nervous glances around the commons at that threat. At a guess, Mary would have said that her most vehemently anti-werewolf housemates did not have the kind of numbers they needed to mutiny and reject the decree of the prefects and NEWT students. It looked like they knew it, too. "And we will let it be known outside the house that any loose-lipped Snake is no Snake at all."
The protests which followed that statement suggested Slytherin had just found a more immediate danger than a supposedly-non-dangerous werewolf professor more than two weeks away from a full moon. Everyone knew that the only reason the Gryffindors didn't hex any one of them into jelly was the fact that they always, always had each other's backs.
"The entire leadership of Slytherin House is united in this decision," Farley called out. Several of the sixth and seventh-years, including Flint, looked vaguely uncomfortable, so Mary mentally added reluctantly before united, but none of them denied it. "There will be no appeals. Professor Lupin's status as a werewolf is now officially a Slytherin House Secret. You will keep your mouths shut until such time as we allow you to speak, or you will face the consequences. You are dismissed."
Mary headed for bed immediately, resolved to talk to Remus as soon as possible. The threat of censure couldn't really apply if she was only discussing the secret with someone who already knew, could it? Especially since it was really Remus' secret in the first place. Even if it did, she decided, he deserved to know that the Slytherins knew about him, just in case one of them did out him to their parents or the Prophet. Sunday, she decided. She would visit him on Sunday.
Sunday, 12 December 1993
Remus Lupin's Office
Remus
Remus had been rather looking forward to tea with Mary. They had been meeting regularly every other week or so throughout the term, and he found it a welcome distraction from the daily grind of lesson planning and endless grading. He had not expected, at first to welcome the constant reminder of Lily and James (and Peter, and Black), but he had found sharing his memories of them with their daughter to be oddly cathartic.
He had most certainly not expected her to arrive half an hour early, and clearly nervous. She threw herself into an armchair, and waited until he moved to join her before she visibly steeled herself and asked, "Why didn't you tell me you're a werewolf?"
"You know?!" The words burst free of their own accord.
"All of Slytherin knows. Some people were reading ahead, and figured it out." He could smell the lie on her, even if her shifty eyes hadn't given her away, but he didn't particularly care how they had found out.
"Jesus," he muttered, collapsing into his chair and burying his head in his hands, heedless of his audience. It was worse than he thought. All of Slytherin? But OF COURSE the older students had figured it out – they weren't stupid, and many of them had relatives who were Turned in the War. It was only a matter of time until one of them owled their parents or the newspaper and then no amount of loophole-exploitation on the Headmaster's part would stop the Board from giving him the sack. I can't believe I believed Dumbledore when he said it would be fine… Might as well start packing now… resign before they can chuck me out... God, please tell me this is a nightmare!
A small, tentative hand on his shoulder interrupted his silent breakdown rant. "We're… we're not going to tell anyone. The prefects said there's measures in place, and you're not dangerous –"
Remus snorted, flinching away from her. "Of course I'm dangerous. I'm a werewolf."
"Well… yeah. But you fight the curse, right? So you're not really more dangerous for most of the month than most of the Defense professors. So we made it a House Secret. I just thought you should know."
"What?" Remus asked, preoccupied by his cushy professorial position imploding before his eyes.
"It's only like, a few nights a month, right? And there's wards and stuff on the school and the dorms. Snape told us about them. So why didn't you tell me?"
Remus was floored. It could have been James standing before him in their old dorm, thirteen years old, announcing that he, Peter and Black had discovered Remus' 'furry little problem,' and demanding an explanation for his silence.
.
Jamie was acting almost offended about Remus' trying to hide it. "Why didn't you tell us? We're your best mates! We know you! It's not a big deal!"
"Yeah, I wish I were a werewolf," Black added, leaping animatedly to his feet. "It'd be wicked. We could have, like, a, a pack, right? And do all kinds of wicked awesome wolf stuff together."
"Don't be dumb, Siri," Peter said, throwing a pillow at the ridiculous aristocrat. "I told you, you'll be like, a monkey, or something."
"A – a monkey?" Remus spluttered, completely lost, not to mention confused about what, exactly, Sirius Black thought being a werewolf entailed. It was not fun, or wicked awesome in any way. But they knew, and they were acting like it didn't matter, and everything was normal. He thought he might cry.
"Oh, yeah, Pete had a great idea – we're going to become animagi, and keep you company on the full moon. It'll be great – you wait and see!" Jamie grinned. "We, uh, might need you to look some things up, though. You know how the monkey is about book-learning."
"Oi! I resemble that remark!" Black had chucked a pillow at James, who went to mess up his hair, and they collapsed, wrestling and laughing, onto Pete's bed.
.
The topic of animagi had been brought up again a week later, and the First Marauders' Quest had begun in earnest. God, he'd thought they would be friends forever, back then.
'It's only like, a few nights a month,' took him back to his school days almost as hard.
.
"I don't see what the big deal is," Lily said, rolling her eyes at him as they revised for their OWLs in a quiet corner of the library. "Why everyone's so scared of werewolves, I mean. It's only like, a few nights a month. If you stay behind Dark Creature Wards after moonrise, you're perfectly safe… Did you know more people are killed every year by Red Caps than werewolves? It's true. Like more people are killed by cows than sharks..."
.
"You are so very much your parents' child," he muttered, shaking his head, and focusing on the dark-haired girl before him and the immediate problem she represented, rather than the past. "I didn't tell you because in this country, werewolves are considered subhuman Dark Creatures ruled by their base natures, who should be chucked out or even killed, and most definitely not allowed to teach children. I've become rather adept at neglecting to mention it."
"Like I would've known that? I was raised by muggles!" the girl argued stubbornly. "And it's not like you're some stranger – I know you're not a monster."
"Sometimes I am," he said quietly, the words he condemned himself with slipping free without thought. "Society says I am."
Mary snorted. "Yeah, you're a monster for being a werewolf like I'm a Dark Witch for being a Parselmouth. Society can go hang."
Definitely Lily's child, he thought. James would have reminded him that he was just as human as anyone. Lily was the one who would dare society to conform to her ideals.
"If only, Little Fawn, if only." He caught himself shaking his head unconsciously, and stopped.
The girl made a face at the nickname, as always, then, with the miraculous acceptance of a child, changed the subject. "I'm going to the Grangers' for Christmas this year. Do you have plans?"
"France," he answered shortly, somewhat thrown by the sudden change of subject. "I have friends there."
"Werewolf friends?" Remus groaned internally. Or not.
Mary
Remus seemed to be taking the revelation that basically everyone knew about his secret better than Mary had expected, but she decided to change the subject a little, just to be safe. Then she was immediately tempted to change it back.
"Yes, werewolf friends," the professor answered, with the faintest hint of amusement.
"Like a pack? Do all werewolves have packs? Or just the ones who accept the curse? Blaise wasn't really clear."
"Blaise… Zabini?"
"Yes? How many Blaises do you know?"
Remus muttered something under his breath that might have been 'of course Zabini would know…'
"So do you have a pack, then?" From what she had read, a wolf pack sounded like a family, and if Remus had a family somewhere in France, she definitely wanted to know all about them.
"No. My friends in France are like me – we do our best to resist the Curse. To truly build a pack-bond, we would have to embrace it."
"Oh." That was somewhat disappointing. "Why do you resist it?" She was curious how close Blaise's explanation had been to the truth.
"Because I value my humanity," Remus said with an uncomfortable shrug. "The Curse… it preys on your ability to think and reason, and magnifies the base aspects of your personality almost to the point of instinct. The Curse – the Wolf – it becomes like a separate… not person. An entity, living in the back of your mind, waiting and whispering and trying all the time to overwhelm you. The ones who embrace it, they tend to be happier, but it's a simpler existence. Their focus is on food, mates, and a warm place to curl up at night, even in human form. They don't write stories, or question how the world works, or do magic like we do. It's…" he trailed off, wistfulness and fear mingling in his tone. "To embrace the Curse is to give up on where you come from, and the person you used to be. And there's no going back."
Apparently the answer was 'pretty damn close.'
Mary nodded hesitantly. Having to give up magic was reason enough to resist, in her mind. She loved magic. But she could understand the appeal of leaving behind the person you once were. After all, hadn't she basically done that when she joined the magical world? And the last thing she wanted was to actually claim her relationship with her maternal grandfather. She couldn't imagine having something in her head trying to take her over, though. "It must be hard to resist something like that."
He shrugged. "I've had a lot of practice." After a moment he added, somewhat bitterly, "It wouldn't be a curse if it didn't try to corrupt you."
The Slytherin didn't know what to say to that, so she stayed silent until Remus spoke again.
"Your father helped. And Peter. And Black. They became animagi, kept me company on the full moon. Unregistered, of course, but they didn't have to be until they turned seventeen, and then we all had more important things to worry about, with the War. They're… they're the reason I never gave in. Most do, ten years after infection, at the outside. It was their acceptance of me, curse and all, that kept me fighting. I nearly lost it when I lost them, but now I think of it as a sort of… homage, I suppose, to James and Peter, at least, refusing it."
Mary knew she should let Remus talk out whatever he was thinking of, work through his moodiness, like Hermione had done for her after her blow-up at Lilian, but this new piece of information was too good to let pass by in a stream of werewolf angst. "My father was an animagus?"
Professor McGonagall had introduced the concept of wandless self-transfiguration early on in the term, as they started focusing on animate-to-animate spells. Achieving an animagus form was supposed to be really advanced, and really difficult to accomplish.
Thankfully, Remus seemed glad enough to change the subject. "He was. A stag, like his Patronus. 'Noble, virile, and proud,' as he liked to brag, the great prat. We called him Prongs because the first thing he managed to do was shift his hair into these weird little proto-antlers – more like horns, really. He got them stuck for a whole week before he figured out how to get rid of them."
The girl laughed aloud at the thought of her teenage father trying to act like there was nothing unusual about wandering around Hogwarts with horns for a whole week. She was somewhat surprised that the topic of the Marauders' nicknames had never come up before, but then, she had rather taken for granted that they would be silly little in-jokes. "What about the others? You were Moony, right?"
"I was," the Marauder nodded. "For, well, obvious reasons, but they told anyone who asked that it was because I accidentally mooned the Quidditch stadium during the Ravenclaw-Slytherin match our fifth year."
"How do you accidentally moon a Quidditch stadium?"
"You know, I still have no idea. I was pantsed… and someone arranged for my pasty arse to be projected in an illusion, twenty feet high, bending over the Slytherin section while I was trying to get my trousers back up. James and Black blamed Snivellus, and I'm inclined to believe them, because if it had been them, they definitely would have taken the credit…"
The Slytherin couldn't quite keep a straight face at this, and snorted in a most undignified manner just before she lost it completely. Curious as she was about the other Marauders' animagus forms, she recognized an opening when she saw it, so when she finally recovered from her giggle fit, she asked: "So this thing between you and Snape goes back a long time, then?"
"Oh, God yes," Remus rolled his eyes, helping himself to the newly-arrived tea tray. "First year – we turned his hair Gryffindor red, and your mum's Slytherin green, and I don't think he ever forgave us."
"Turning someone's hair colors isn't exactly the sort of thing you hold a grudge over for twenty years," the third-year pointed out, practically begging to be told what, exactly, had happened, to turn two of the most important adults in her life so strongly against each other.
The werewolf scowled, and blatantly avoided the subject, as per usual. "If you're going home with Hermione for Christmas, I take it that means you've made it up?"
The remainder of their time passed quickly, as Mary explained how she and Hermione had gotten past their latest spat – which of course led into an explanation of Lilian's betrayal and why they now weren't speaking. Remus let her rant on with a bit of a smirk that he wouldn't explain, and before she knew it, it was nearly six, and she was being ushered off to dinner. It wasn't until she was finishing her homework later that evening that she realized she never did ask what animals Remus' other friends had become.
[I definitely took that idea for the origin of James' Marauder nickname from somewhere, but I don't remember where. If anyone recognizes the fic it's from, please let me know!]