It was the evening before yet another one of those full moons and very cold out. James and Sirius had marked some bubblegum with tracking runes and mixed them with the juice of half a lemon. If they were caught sniffing the Great Willow again they'd get out of all the upcoming exams.
Good thing they had their Trickster Tin Cans.
They were fairly confident McGonagall wasn't going to be out on an inopportune late night stroll in this area. Because she had a talk to get ready for.
The willow swayed its glowing branches. It was so beautiful. Yet so feisty.
"Like a mistress, yarr!" said James.
"We must be quick this time," said Sirius.
"Best of one, then. 1, 2, 3!"
James got rock, Sirius got scissors. That was him being the designated keeping-watcher. James chucked a juiced out half of a lemon at the tree and went in. Because he wanted to go all the way, he decided he had to pour the lemon juice somewhere at the end.
How's it going?, came Sirius's voice in the tin can.
James squeezed the very last drops from the binding pouch.
"It's done. I just hope we don't end up tracking the meal."
If we also track the meal then we'll just rule out the meal.
"Fair point. I'm coming out now. Is the coast safe?"
There was a pause. Followed by heavy breathing.
"Professor Slughorn? I think you got the wrong number."
Then wet slurpy sounds. Then a silly voice.
Mmm! I smell meat in my hidey hooole!
"That must be the meat from my guns you're smelling!"
Your what?
"My guns. It means biceps. Sometime I'll show you what a bicep looks like, and maybe how to get one."
You said you learn by doing.
That was enough stalling. The talk was compulsory and points would be taken for shirking it.
The Great Hall hadn't been this packed since sorting night.
McGonagall was clicking through the magic slides. The ceiling, which reflected the real sky, made a real impression because of the big moon. But it was of course not a full moon, just a wagging gypsy, the moon's fatty phase, or something. But still. Who could tell?
James and Sirius sat in the back.
"Is she still showing slides?" James kept his eyes firmly on a quidditch magazine he had smuggled in his pants.
"For some reason this lecture really makes me want to start smoking."
"Werewolves? On a stake?"
They giggled. McGonagall's raised voice cut through it.
"That could be a picture of you up there," her firm voice echoed.
She walked down the hall slowly, eyes sweeping here and there, sometimes fixing on somebody until that somebody bent their head in horrific contemplation.
"Or your mother. Or your father. You wouldn't want that to happen to your brother, would you? Or your sister?"
James didn't know if McGonagall had attention for everyone tonight or if it was a special honour to receive it. If the latter was the case Sirius could count himself lucky. McGonagall reached entrance side, fixed her eyes on him until he looked down, then returned at the same slow pace to the dais.
Sirius leaned closer to James and whispered:
"Did she just threaten me?"
"What? Noo,"
Or perhaps she had?
"The best way," said McGonagall loudly, "to be safe from werewolves is to not seek them out."
And those were the final words of the ministry required talk. Hardly surprising it had been a huge disappointment and a waste of time. It had lacked practical advice and promoted inaction.
"Her advice was even worse than yours!" said James when they were walking to the dorm.
"She said she was going to teach us all about werewolf safety," said Sirius. "Instead she devotes an entire twenty minutes to make us feel sympathy for them! Unbelievable!"
"Oh you feel sympathy now, do you?"
"I don't."
"Then what are you even talking about?"
" 'You wouldn't want it to happen to your brother!' 'You wouldn't want your brother to be afraid of you!' "
"Well… Would you?"
"No but what's that got to do with anything?"
"It could have been you. It very nearly was you. It was an eyebrow and some of your hair from being you."
Sirius snorted.
"But it wasn't. Do you know why?"
"Because of my active lifestyle. I saved you." James kissed his "gun". His other "gun" as well.
"Wrong. It's because I don't eat carbs."
"What? You don't eat carbs?"
"I mean, like, not a lot of carbs anyway."
"What are you watching carbs for like some teenage girl!"
"My cousin Bella says that carbs attract werewolves because they give your meat a distinct carby smell that they like. This is common knowledge so really, people who are attacked only have themselves to blame. Bella says so. Smoking nicotine is very healthy for the same reason, like, it makes sense if you think about it. It is also important to buy new clothes often. Never wear an item of clothing for more than six months. After six months the clothes need to be burned because they may have been marked."
"Won't it just go away in the wash?"
"Like do you even hear yourself sometimes? Anybody who says it will go away in the wash is a hippie and a communist and possibly also a werewolf so beware of anybody who says that. Don't ever give clothes to second hands. But instead of saying that, McGonagall wants us to feel bad for not being freaks."
James felt horrified.
"All my clothes have gone to second hands!"
"Oh. Well as long as you don't buy them there."
James pulled at his sweater.
"This was bought at a second hand shop!"
His mum did sometimes shop at second hands when she tried to care about the ozone layer.
"Hm. Well don't say I didn't warn you. Unless you burn that immediately, you only have yourself to blame should something happen to you."
"Hey that is pretty insensitive, to vaguely suggest that those who shop at second hands deserve to be attacked!"
"Are you so sensitive now? You haven't suddenly gone were-blind, have you?"
"I have not gone were-blind. I just think that, probably in most cases, those who are attacked don't deserve it."
"Ohh twenty minutes of slides and suddenly you have caught were-blindness…"
"I have not caught were-blindness! Stop saying that!"
"This is what happens when they are humanised like this! Don't you see that it's all part of Operation Shaving Cream?"
"What's Operation Shaving Cream?"
"McGonagall has caught were-blindness. Now she's an agent of the Underground Werewolf Radicals. She is spreading their propaganda so we will feel sorry for them, let them near us and then, BAM! Suddenly we're all werewolves."
"I have never heard of the Underground Werewolf Radicals."
"Then you better start reading The Winguardian."
They entered their common room and spent the hours before bedtime finishing their homework. Every now and then they looked at the tracker because, who knew, maybe the shifter was there making preparations or something. But he wasn't.
They looked one last time before going to bed. There was still nobody there.
"Nothing yet," said James.
They just sat looking quietly at the crude drawing over the hidey hole.
"So you haven't gone were-blind then?" Sirius asked.
"I haven't gone were-blind!"
"Then you still want to help me find and kill him?"
"Absolutely not! However, I want you to cheer on me while I find and kill him. But we haven't even said how we are going to do that. And… Listen I haven't gone were-blind I honestly haven't. But… should we really...kill him? Isn't it wrong to kill anyone?"
He expected Sirius to remind him of all the heinous crimes the shifter had committed for 500 years and appeal to his left-wing sensibilities by pointing out his elite status in society and then call him were-blind again.
But he didn't do any of that.
"I want him dead and gone before my brother gets here. He loves Warlock Gnomes and wants to play detective all the time. And I just won't be able to look after him, not when I have to look after you."
"Keeping you safe and whole, it's all in a day's work. Who are you, then? Doctor Wombat or Warcroft?"
"Morsmarties like duh."
They went to bed, switched off their lights and said good night. Tomorrow night there was going to be something on their tracker, if it worked.
And sure enough, when they looked at the tracker the next evening, somebody was in the hidey hole. And when they checked again at midnight there was still only one person in there.
They felt shaky and weirdly excited. Things just kept getting realer.
They named the dot: Werewolf.