Chapter Seven: The moon's shadow and pull

I particularly enjoy writing Professor McGonagall- all heads of house, actually- I find the relationships between the four of them and between the students, including cross-house, really interesting. I've so enjoyed writing this whole story, though! Thank you for reading it.

He was in a filthy mood again, by the time he made it to Professor McGonagall's office. He wanted to say so many things- that Jenks was irritating but he had just needled him at the very worst moment, that Sirius and Peter were fed up with him as they'd be managing Moony solo, that he felt rubbish and that everything seemed to be going wrong all at once. But he was almost sixteen, and he'd also showed her a few too many times that he was very rarely the victim in any wrongdoing.

And Jenks. As annoying as he was, he flew well. Anyway, all the younger Gryffindors liked him. He'd throw the kid a few words of praise after the next practice, that'd be alright.

His head of house opened the door to him, frostily. 'Come in, Potter. There's a cage of mice on the table for a class tomorrow, they'll need feeding and their cage cleaning. Without magic. After that, you can use the time to complete any of your own homework.'

He was slightly surprised. Seemed she'd let him off quite lightly.

Saying that, the mice appeared to be in rather a bad mood as well, and as he moved them from their cage to an empty glass tank in order to shift their dirty bedding, he ended up with a few nasty bites. He'd never seen the appeal of mice. Peter had found one in the charms corridor in their first year, and insisted on keeping it in an old cauldron inside his trunk. James had had enough of the smell, and one afternoon when Peter was kept back for another poor essay, he'd snatched the container and inhabitant and let the mouse loose in the grass down by the lake. Sirius had been delighted to see James slyly returning the empty cauldron, and Remus hadn't told them off too much. Peter just assumed poor old Godric had been gobbled up by a cat who'd got into the dormitory.

As the third mouse got him, just where his quick met his nail, James wondered if it was one of Godric's ancestors. Perhaps he should have chucked Peter's pet directly into the lake.

Professor McGonagall silently raised her eyebrow, and muttered something. The skin slowly closed on his hand. He looked up.

'Thanks, Professor.'

It didn't take too long to clean out the cage. James' mum quite liked cleaning, even though his dad always said the elves and charms were there to take that off her load. He remembered sitting on the stairs and chattering away to her when he was little, as she poked a long feather duster between the slats of the banister and rubbed the strange smelling polish into the wood. He missed her, all over again. He had to bite his lip as he added fresh sawdust. Why did he keep feeling like crying?

Once the last mouse was safely behind the bars, and he'd tipped in full two bowls of Millicent Marshwallows' Marvellous Mouse Mixture, he looked up, expectantly. Professor McGonagall nodded, and flicked her wand. The cage settled itself back on a cabinet, and James opened his bag, rummaging around for his potions textbook. An essay about the importance of cutting work, with a heavy focus on the difference between slicing and dicing, crushing and juicing. All the better to show how dim he was.

His mind kept flickering to what was going on in the Shrieking Shack. They were right in the middle of the longest nights of the year. He was on the other side of the school, far away from them. What if it wasn't enough, without him? Fair enough, he'd been later than Sirius to master the animagus transformation, but he was bigger and stronger than the other two.

He kept scratching out words on the parchment, and ended up having to rewrite a whole page. His fingertips were quite grey with ink by the time he heard a repeated call of 'Mr Potter? Mr Potter!' and looked up to meet Professor McGonagall's eyes.

'It's half-past nine, Mr Potter. I'd suggest you have an early night.'

Her eyes were fixed on him, but they weren't furious like they had been before. What was that expression? Did she feel sorry for him?

James nodded, numbly, and started to gather his things. The ink bottle slid off the desk and landed on the floor. He stiffened, then relaxed when he realised he'd put the cap on properly. Was she still watching him? The thought unnerved him, and he wobbled as he stood up, bashing his head on the desk. Tears stung his eyes, but it didn't really hurt.

She was asking about his head, she'd got out of her chair to look at it, very carefully parting her fingers through his endless dark hair to check for bleeding. It was fine, he knew that. Embarassed, he turned back, hoping to be out as soon as possible.

'Mr Potter?'

James reluctantly looked up at her.

'Is everything quite alright?'

Concern, that was the word. She didn't need to be concerned. He was fine.

'Fine, Professor.' He dragged his foot across the flagged floor, feeling the sole of his shoe slightly catch against an uneven stone.

'If you ever need to talk… I know you've got some very good friends, Mr Potter, but I'm always here to listen,' her voice sounded so unlike the usual stern tone of his head of house that he caught himself looking up again. James swallowed, and nodded.

'Thanks.'

He went straight to bed, although the thought of slipping out and taking to the grounds as Prongs was tantalising. He pictured his hooves gliding across the snow, his antlers brushing the frosted branches. Breath cold and spicy from night air. But if he was caught… he didn't think he could take another dressing down from anyone, whether Filch or even bloody Jenks, without ending up disgracing himself with tears. And he was tired. He didn't think he'd faint again- although that was now, worryingly, only a "think", but he wouldn't chance it.

Sirius and Peter came in some time in the early hours. He heard Sirius comment about 'all right for some' and clenched his fists under the quilt. Yeah. Nice to know he had very good friends, wasn't it?

At least that meant he was up early. The other two were fast asleep as James dressed hastily, and set off. He'd go and see Remus first thing, explain and make things right. And as for his plan of avoiding Madam Pomfrey, if it was first thing in the morning, she'd be far too busy making sure Remus was intact and healing to even remember if he was James or Sirius or the-other-one.

By the looks of things, it hadn't been the worst transformation. A few scratches, and he'd popped a knee out during the shift. Remus was even half-awake, which was unusual. Madam Pomfrey had him shakily sipping on a steaming cup of something. Lilac, by the looks of it. Which potion was that? Oh, well. Who'd expect him to know?

'James.' Remus smiled brightly, sitting up to greet him.

'I'm sorry,' James blurted out, 'Detention with McGonagall. You know I would have if I could, don't you?'

'What's that, dear?' Madam Pomfrey called, bustling across towards Remus' bed. 'Potter? Is there are problem?'

'No. I was… I was up early. Just wanted to see how Moo-how Remus was doing?'

The nurse eyed him slightly warily, but didn't immediately tell him to get out. 'You should be out by this evening. Chance for a rest. There we go, dear, that knee should be fixed there for twenty minutes, then I'll pop it back in once the pain potion has had a chance to get right into it.' She patted Remus' shoulder. 'Breakfast. Give me a few.'

James sat uncomfortably on the edge of the bed, feeling guilty. 'Sorry, Moony. I wasn't having a great day- probably still better than yours, mind- I just ended up snapping at Jenks.'

'I didn't know you had a problem with him?'

'I didn't- I don't. Oh, I don't know. He just caught me at the wrong moment. He's not bad at all.'

'A rival?'

'Nah.' James said, slowly. Jenks wasn't, really, they played very different styles despite having the same role. 'Just… I don't know. Guess I'm just not used to him, yet. I mean, I never liked Mulgrew, but I've always got on well with other chasers.'

He talked about quidditch a bit more. It made him feel better, although part of him told him it was selfish to bang on about it in front of Remus, who probably couldn't have cared less.

By the time Pomfrey brought a tray of food through to Remus, James was feeling more like himself than he had for a few days. He fished in his bag for his notes from yesterday's lessons, warning Remus that the potions' ones especially were likely to be useless, and then bade his friend goodbye.

Still nearly an hour before lessons. He didn't fancy breakfast, although he rather desperately wanted to see if the owls had anything for him. Octavia was in the owlery, he'd sent her there yesterday after his mum had sent that stupid book. It was still weighing him down, right at the bottom of his satchel. He'd go and see Octavia. If he timed it right, he could pass the door and grab a handful of bacon for her as a peace offering- she found him being in a bad mood an insult to her, no matter the circumstance- and have a chat. He didn't feel hungry himself, somehow.