"He. Did. WHAT?" James Potter shrieked.
It was an uncomfortably warm spring night, the sun set almost complete, and Peter Pettigrew- 'Wormtail' both to those who liked him and those who didn't- stood almost shaking before his friend. He had just undertaken the extraordinarily difficult task of telling Prongs, the Alpha and the Omega of the Maraduers, as James was known, that Sirius had just sent Snape down to the Womping Willow, possibly to his certain death.
James stared out of the window of Gryffindor Tower, overlooking the Quidditch Pitch, and, ignoring the hustle and bustle of everyone else in the Common Room finishing up with homework and assignments, bolted and ran as fast as his legs would carry him.
Snivellus was bound to be almost there by now, he thought alarmingly, I need to hurry. Drat, Padfoot!
He skated past a suit of armor so fast that he caused it to spin around and almost fall over. He bumped smack into Professor Flitwick and did not stay to apologize. He nearly slid on the tracks of mud that had been dragged in by the hordes of students earlier in the day. Faster.
Finally James had made it to the Entrance Hall, flying past the House hourglasses so fast the colors blurred. He grasped the handle of the heavy front door, pulled it back and-
The bright, glowing orb of the full moon hung large and looming in the sky. As James blew past, it seemed to burn into his soul, white-hot condemnation and anger and blame that this once he could not dissipate…
Why did Snape have to be so nosy? Why couldn't slimy Severus mind his own business, and stay out of theirs? But, of course, he knew it wasn't that simple, not this time.
Sirius, why?
At long last, after what seemed like an eternity, James reached the Willow, and by prodding a stick into what, he knew, was the exact same spot where Snape had done the same, causing the tree's flailing, wrecking branches to still. He raced though the door, down the passageway, and into the tunnel-
He had almost cried out when a horrible, nightmarish sight met his eyes.
It had been too late. He had been too late.
Snape's body- for it was, they all feared, no more than that now- had been mangled and twisted in a way unnatural for any human, blood on his lips and his cheeks and his chest, blood everywhere and spilling, pooling like out of some Muggle horror film. The werewolf had shattered his right cheekbone, leaving the space hollow and jagged and brittle with bone. If not for the sudden presence of a magnificent stag, his eyes most probably would have been gouged out. Madam Pomfrey did not give him more than a few hours to live; after cleaning him and repairing what she could, she still had not even managed to force any pain reliever down his throat, to at least make the going easier. All she could do now was to cover him up with a white sheet and summon the Headmaster. Dumbledore had arrived swiftly, in a state of complete wrath in which few aside from Grindelwald had seen him, saying nothing but his light blue eyes piercing James Potter in a way he had never been pierced before.
"Leave us," he commanded sharply. Potter was not stupid enough to disobey.
"PADFOOT!" It was late when James finally made it back to the dormitory, past midnight and Albus Dumbledore still burning in the back of his mind. Sirius was sat on his flaming red bedspread, grinning cheekily and his brown hair flopping about far more gracefully than James'.
"How COULD you?" The boy with the glasses screamed once again. Sirius's expression faded, as if a light inside him had flickered.
"How could you? You told Moony's secret! You told that stupid Snake about Remus's furry little problem and he went after him! Snivellus went after him, Sirius, you dunderhead, and whatever those idiots decide to do with Moony it's YOUR FAULT."
His friend jumped off of the bed as if he had just received an electric shock.
"My fault? Nothing's happed to Moony, James, it's Snivvy who was supposed to get hurt-"
"Well Snape did get hurt! He's the Hospital Wing now, and you know what? He'll probably keel over by morning! And who do you think'll take the rap for it, huh? The nosy git? You? No, you asshat! Remus! Remus. Is. A. Werewolf. Do you'll think they'll let him live if he's bloody killed somebody? Do you think he'll get to stay here?"
Padfoot merely snorted. "Dumble's won't make Moony leave, he's sacrificed too much to get him here! Come on, Prongs, if you'd gone to all that trouble for a bloke, you think you'd just throw him out like-"
But he was stopped short by a fierce slap cutting across his cheek. Potter's eyes were flashing.
"You didn't see him," was all he said smally. It was all he could do to manage to get into bed and pull the hangings around him so that he didn't have to look at the friend who had betrayed Remus.
Remus woke up, as he normally did this time of month, in the safe, secure whiteness of the Hospital Wing, the curtains pulled tight around him to steel him away from prying eyes and pain coursing through every inch of his body. The drastic reconfiguration of his bones that occurred every transformation was beyond soreness; it was slowly weakening and deteriorating his entire skeleton, of that he was positive. What else could explain it?
He sat up, as he usually did, and tried to stretch. Maybe pull back the curtains, call for Madam Pomfrey…
But before Remus could do any of this, a very distinctive scent hint his unusually sensitive nose.
Blood.
Something had happened last night, something horrible. But what was it? Where were James, Siri, and Peter? What was this insipid odor of impending death?
Remus squirmed, the wolf in him protesting with every fiber of his being at such a stench, yet drawn, inexorably, the smell at once wretched and beautiful, filling him was such disgust and longing as only a man who has been wolf could understand- It was overpowering, overwhelming all that he knew, and before he could do so much as shout for the helpful matron who had always shown him such kindness, everything went black.