The Prisoner and The Professor

[MissGryffindor]

Chapter 16 - Searching for Sirius, Moony’s POV

Remus sat stock still for a few moments as he took in what Nick had said; Sirius was here. At Hogwarts. In the Castle.

His blood remained as cold as it had when Nick had passed on Dumbledore’s message as he walked mutely down the corridor, and in the direction of the staff room, where all of the Professors had been asked to assemble. He walked on automatic pilot, trying to ignore the pain at what Sirius had obviously attempted to do again, and the fact that he had chosen today to do so. ‘I should have known’, Remus thought sadly, as he aimlessly slipped in to a chair next to Charity Burbage, who taught Muggle Studies. ‘I should have known he would do something today.’ Locked tightly into this reverie, Remus, thankfully, did not notice the looks of resentment he was being treated to by some of the other members of staff, essentially by Snape, who was glaring at him openly, his large nostrils flaring.

A few minutes later, however, Remus’s attention was caught, as Dumbledore entered the room, followed closely by Minerva McGonagall, whose lips and cheeks, Remus noted, were as ghostly white as those of Sir Nick.

“You all know why you are here, so I shall make this as brief as possible”, Dumbledore informed them gravely. Remus could tell instantly by looking at the Headmaster just how concerned he was.

“Sirius Black has, somehow, managed to enter the Castle tonight, and attempted to gain access to Gryffindor Tower, in the hope of reaching young Mr Potter. Luckily, the Fat Lady did not allow him to pass. She was, sadly, attacked quite viciously by Black, who may still lurk somewhere in the Castle - he cannot have gone far. So, I propose we split into pairs and search the Castle, in the hope of finding him. I have gathered all of the students in the Great Hall, and Mr Weasley and Miss Clearwater will watch over them there.”

Remus sat there listlessly as Dumbledore split the staff into pairs, and he found himself detailed to search the third and fourth floors with Professor Burbage. Passing Snape to head out on his patrol, Remus could not, this time, fail to notice the hatred etched upon the man’s face, nor fail to hear his utterance that if Remus was involved in any way in Black’s breach of security, he would pay for it.

It was at this utterance and look that Remus broke out of his reverie, and the anger that he had felt before the Feast came back to him, from below the surface, as he contemplated Sirius’s attempt to finish what he had started twelve years before, by ending the life of his Godson.

“We should tackle the fourth floor first”, Charity proposed. “It is nearer, and there are much more places to hide there.” Remus nodded in agreement, tightening the grip he had on his wand, to the point where his knuckles turned a pale white. For the first time, Remus began to contemplate harshly the possibility of ending Sirius before the Dementors could. Twelve years ago, he had thought Azkaban, where he would be forced to live every day with only tortuous memories for company, would have been enough for Sirius. But then, he had escaped, and suddenly it wasn’t enough. And after tonight, Remus wanted Sirius ended. The way James and Lily had been.

“It is unpardonable”, Remus informed Charity shakily. “He is just a child. Harry is only thirteen years old. It is just…….why must he go after those that cannot defend themselves - the Fat Lady does not have a wand; Harry does not know how to defend himself. It is just sheer dumb luck that Harry was not in the Tower.”

“You forget, Remus, that I was only a couple of years ahead of you at Hogwarts, I know how close you all were. It must be horrendous for you to have to relive everything. To have Black bring back all those memories on today of all days. All those years ago, I would never have thought………..”

“Nor I”, Remus replied sadly.

They wandered around the fourth floor, checking behind all of the tapestries and false walls he could remember from his schooldays, surprising Charity with his intricate knowledge of the Castle and its hiding places.

“In another life, I did - at one point or another - hide from Mr Filch and his cat (then Mrs Elton) in each and every one of these crevices”, Remus explained at Charity’s look of incredulity at the number of places he thought Black could be hiding, as they hurried down the steps towards the Great Hall, it being their turn to check on the students.

“Everything alright, Miss Clearwater?” Remus asked as they entered the Great Hall. The Head Girl nodded, moving her lit wand to show a room full of mostly sleeping students, with only a few whispers coming from different areas, whispers which they could see were being reduced in numbers by Percy Weasley wandering around, threatening loss of points and detentions.

“They’ve all pretty much quietened down now”, she added. “Any luck in finding him yet?” she enquired nervously. Charity shook her head, and muttered to Remus that they should continue their search.

“Very well, Miss Clearwater”, said Charity. “You both seem to have everything under control here. One of the other teachers will be back in a while to check again. Any trouble in the meantime, just send a message with on of the ghosts - not Peeves - and we will be here as soon as possible.”

“Yes, Professor”, Penelope replied, closing the door behind Remus and Charity as they left. While Penelope was, presumably, updating Percy Weasley on the Professors’ visit, Remus and Charity headed for the third floor, searching old, abandoned classrooms that seemed not to have been used for years, that held nought but dust, and memories for Remus, who must have been in every part of the Castle at least three or four times during his seven years as a student.

The found as little on the third floor as they had on the fourth, and it was half past two in the morning by Remus’s watch when they returned, yawning, to the staff room, where the bulk of the teachers had re-assembled, along with Mr Filch, Madam Pince and Madam Pomfrey, and a few of the ghosts.

“We have found the Fat Lady, but not Black”, Dumbledore informed them all, when everyone had returned a few moments later. “She was hiding in a map of Argyllshire on the second floor. She was upset and hysterical, but we managed to uncover the finer points of the evening’s events. Evidently, she refused to let Mr Black passed as he did not have the necessary password. He became violent, and so she fled. She stated as well, that he claimed to be after someone - a male person - whom her portrait hid. Sirius Black appears to want to kill that person. Though he did not mention him by name, I think we can all assume that he was referring to young Mr Potter.” Remus gulped heavily. A Dementor’s kiss was a horrendous thing to contemplate. Yet, he was starting to think that it may not be enough when it came to Sirius Black.

“Was there no trace of Black at all, Albus?” Remus heard Professor Sinistra ask.

“None, my dear Professor”, Dumbledore replied gravely. “It is almost as if he was never here. I shall go down to the Great Hall now, and check upon the students. By my watch it is almost 3am. You should all return to your quarters and get some sleep. I shall speak to you all in the morning. For now, I must inform the Head Boy and Girl that our search has failed to yield any results.” Perhaps noticing as Remus did the look of loathing and accusation that Snape was directing at him, Dumbledore added a request for the Potions Master to join him, and, robes swishing, the two of them exited the room, moving out of sight.

“Dumbledore is right”, Minerva stated sternly as a buzz of chatter erupted throughout the room with the Headmaster’s departure. “We should all retire for the night, and discuss this ghastly business further in the morning.” One by one, the teachers followed her advice, and trudged out of the room, in the direction of their quarters. Filch went, muttering something about finding Mrs Norris, and Madams Pomfrey and Pince headed out, whispering about Black’s future intentions.

“Night, Remus”, said Charity as she passed him on her way out. He nodded silently, feeling like the events of the past few hours were so unbelievable that they could not actually have happened. In the end, he too left the staff room, walking down the corridor with Minerva.

“He shall have to be told now - at least some of it”, said Remus heavily. “It is a hell of a thing to lay at the door of a thirteen year old boy, even one such as Harry, but still. It will have to be done.”

“I know”, said Minerva, lines of worry etched into her face, showing her age as much as Remus remembered Dumbledore once having done. “I will talk to Dumbledore of it in the morning”.

“I had hoped”, she added. “That we would have caught Black before the need arose, but sadly that is not to be. You are right, Remus, he should not be told the whole - merely that Black is after him. He does not know, I believe, that Black and James ever knew each other, never mind that they were such close friends.”

“Good”, said Remus harshly. “The less he knows about how close they were - almost like twins, Lily once said - the better it will be for him. The less it will hurt if he finds out more. He should not have to be told of the extent of Sirius’s betrayal.”

“You can’t help it either, can you?” Minerva said, smiling at him sadly. “You cannot help, as I cannot, liking young Potter. For everything he does, every little bit of mischief, and rule-breaking, I have little heart to punish him. It is not favouritism, merely seeing those that are gone in him, and what he does reminding you of them.”

“Precisely”, said Remus hoarsely. “And here, I shall leave you, Minerva. My quarters are just along this corridor here.”

“Goodnight, Remus”, she said softly.

Remus walked the last few metres to his quarters, entered silently, and then wandered instantly over to his bed, before the emotions of the night caught up with him, and he found himself crying as much as he had when he had been told of James and Lily’s deaths. Great wracking sobs coursed through him, as they were, at that moment, coursing through Sirius Black in the Forbidden Forest, as Remus contemplated again his loss, and the betrayal that had led to it. One that had been compounded that night by Sirius’s attack on the Fat Lady and his intended attack upon Harry.

How he hated, despised, loathed this day. Hallowe’en. All Hallows Eve. It was Nearly Headless Nick’s Deathday, and it was the date of the death of a fantasy fulfilled for Remus after his bite - love and friendship. In a burst of anger and grief, Remus ran over to the windows of his room, and flung them open.

“Why, Sirius?!” he yelled out into the abyss of the night. “Why did you do it?! Why did you have to betray them? Betray all of us? What did we do to you that turned you into a murderer? What did we ever do to you but give you love and friendship and acceptance?!”

He could not go on any further from there, and slammed the windows shut, remembering the bottle of firewhiskey that was lying in his sock drawer.

Tears streaming down his cheeks still, Remus downed glass after glass of the stinging liquid, recalling the devastation of the telling….


Remus woke on the morning following the Full Moon, agonised from the transformation of the night before. He looked around him, at the four walls of the hut that he had discovered in the forest in the Cotswolds, far from any human habitation, that he had taken to using on those months that Dumbledore had not insisted on him spending that night in one of the Werewolf camps that were growing in number under Greyback’s instruction. He tried to stretch, and found that he could not move. Sighing heavily, and bitterly, at his lack of control over his own mind and body, Remus fell back into a slumber that lasted in an unknown amount of time.

Waking again, hours later, Remus found not only that he was able to move, but that he was shivering. Moving slowly, subtly, he dragged himself over to the battered chair, where he had laid his clothes and a blanket the night before. Wrapping the blanket around him, Remus took his wand in his hand, and began to utter the most basic of healing spells - he had spent his years learning them, knowing that one day he would have to do this for himself, no parents, Marauders or Madam Pomfrey to help him.

As always, Remus could not remember the night before, something that he had always, to a certain extent, been glad of. It meant that he could not remember the animal inside of him. The Monster. It had been over a couple of years now since the Marauders had calmed him at this time - Werewolf camp assignments and the war in general taking this small comfort away from him. He thought of them now, a twinge of sadness filling him, as he wished they could go back to how things were at Hogwarts, the familiarity of it all - James chasing Lily; Sirius laughing and teasing everyone; Peter stood loyally beside them, ready to do anything they asked of him.

It was such a different picture he conjured now. James and Lily were together, yes, but in hiding, and he had not seen them in a month. Peter had been forced out of his job, and into a semi-hiding state by his association with them, and with the Order. And Sirius……….Remus did not know what to think about Sirius. He was pretty sure that it was he that had been betraying James and Lily and Dumbledore and the Order to Voldemort. Everything that had happened to Regulus and the pressure Bella and the rest of them had always put on him and the sheer fact of being a Black must have finally got to him, Remus mused. He knew that Dumbledore supposed the traitor to be someone extremely close to James and Lily, and it wasn’t him, and Peter didn’t know anything but loyalty to his friends, which left Sirius - who, being a pure-blood could easily be forgiven if he renounced his old ways to Voldemort. Besides, Sirius was the only one of them that had a record when it came to betraying them all.

Where did it all go wrong? Where did it all fall apart? When did it all fall apart?

After dressing himself, and eating some chocolate, which usually helped to sustain him until he could get his hands on stronger remedies, Remus found himself strong enough to apparate, and left the hut behind, heading for an alleyway round the corner from the London flat he had inhabited since James had bought it, and forced him to live in it. It was the first of November, and Remus could see that the muggles in his neighbourhood were already getting ready for that firework party they held every year. Remus, though interested in the muggle history behind the tradition, had never gone to see any of the local bonfires, even as a small child living in the country.

He let himself into his small flat, took some pain relieving potions that he had bought on his last trip to Diagon Alley, and then retreated to his bedroom for some much needed sleep, silently reminding himself that he had a meeting with Dumbledore planned for that evening, to discuss where he would be going the next week - the Headmaster had yet to decide if the camp at Wick, or that near Gloucester would take priority when Remus had last spoken to him a couple of days previously.

Remus did not bother changing into his pyjamas, simply pulled the covers over him, and descended into a long, necessary dreamless sleep. This was the one thing that Madam Pomfrey had always prescribed for getting over his transformation, and one thing that he had always been grateful of.

It was late in the afternoon - four seventeen according to the clock that sat on his bedside table - when Remus woke, stretching his arms, glad to have some comfortable movement back in them. He changed into the least frayed set of robes he could find (his meeting with Dumbledore in mind) and wandered into the kitchen, deciding that a good cup of tea would be as good a medicine as the potions he had taken prior to his sleep. The kettle was just whistling when Remus was startled by a peck on the window, and he looked up to see a beautiful tawny owl trying to get in, a letter clasped in it beak. Smiling at the thought of contact with the outside world, Remus opened the window, relieved the owl of her letter, and fed her with some nuts. He was on the cusp of opening the letter itself, which he noted was written in Emeline’s almost illegible scrawl, when there was a knock on the door. Suddenly, Remus began to feel tense.

“Who is it?” he asked, grabbing his wand tightly in his hand as he moved towards the door.

“It is I, Dumbledore”, replied a kindly voice. “Your Headmaster while you were at school, who persuaded Severus Snape to keep your secret, who turned a blind eye when you helped decorate the Slytherin, Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff common rooms in Gryffindor colours in your third year.”

Remus peeked through the small hole in the door, which was not visible from the other side, and saw Dumbledore. Positive it was definitely Dumbledore and not an imposter using Polyjuice, Remus let down the security locks on the door, and allowed his visitor to enter.

“How are you, Remus?” Dumbledore enquired as he took a seat, and nodded to assent his acceptance of the offer of a cup of tea. “Did you manage last night?”

“It was alright”, Remus replied, still feeling a little stiff. “No worse that usual.” He was a tad perplexed by Dumbledore’s appearance here. They had a meeting scheduled for that very evening - what could have happened to change these plans, and bring the Headmaster here now? Looking closer as he handed Dumbledore his tea, Remus saw a kind of sorrow or sadness in his eyes. They did not twinkle as they usually did, even in these harsh times, and the old man seemed to have aged decades in the couple of days since Remus had seen him last. Remus took one look at the half opened envelope that contained Emeline’s letter, and then moved his gaze back to Dumbledore. Something was wrong. Very, very wrong.

“What’s happened?” Remus asked, shakily. Wanting to know, yet not wanting to know. Whom had it been this time?

“I want to know”, he added. “I need to know”.

“Remus”, Dumbledore began. “You have surmised, I see, that I am not here on a social visit. I do bring sad tidings with me. The worst.” Remus gulped, ran towards the cupboard where he always kept a supply of fire whiskey, grabbed a bottle and a couple of glasses out, and returned to where Dumbledore sat on the ancient, threadbare sofa.

“In a way”, Dumbledore continued. “I am grateful that I am the one to tell you, that you might have someone here with you when you are told. That you are not alone.” Oh Merlin, oh no. No. No.

Remus could feel warm tears fall down his cheeks as Dumbledore told him of James and Lily’s murders, Sirius’s betrayal, and the latest blow that had come in only the past couple of hours - Peter’s death was added to that of James and Lily. He was stunned, and shocked and felt at once empty.

“Is it possible to be astonished and, at the same time, not surprised?” Remus asked Dumbledore, brushing the fallen tears from his cheeks. “For months now, I have thought it was him, yet I thought - hoped - that I must be wrong. Still he has done it before. I have not forgotten, Albus, that his impetuous nature once led him to betray me. I suppose that, however much I suspected it, a part of me always felt somehow that he would never be able to bring himself to betray James. I was wrong. Catastrophically wrong. How long do you think? How long has he been Voldemort’s agent?!”

“A year at least, perhaps more. We may never know”, Dumbledore advised him. “As we speak, he is being dispatched to Azkaban. It is intended that he should spend the rest of his life there.” Remus nodded mutely, and only half-listened as Dumbledore subsequently explained in further detail that Voldemort appeared to have vanished, the circumstances surrounding James, Lily and Peter’s murders, and Harry’s survival.

“I am meeting Hagrid at his aunt and uncle’s this evening”, Dumbledore informed Remus. “Harry shall go and live with them - they do, I believe, have a small son close in age to Harry. Only a month older.” Remus nodded, but his insides twisted at the thought of James and Lily’ son going off to live with muggles. He supposed that his parent’s Werewolf friend would not be a welcome visitor. For his part, a visit was not something his emotional state would be up to anytime soon.

“Their will shall be read at Hogwarts in a few days time, when things have settled down, and there will also be a memorial service in Godric’s Hollow”, Dumbledore added, pouring out two large firewhiskies, handing the larger of the two to Remus, who downed it instantly, before great, wracking sobs overtook him, his shoulders shaking as it began to hit him, through the numbness that he was all alone. The sole surviving Marauder - for Sirius had given up the right to be thus the moment he had stepped towards betraying the rest of them. And in Sirius’s actions, he had left Remus - and Harry - with nothing.

“It is the telling that kills”, Dumbledore told him wearily. “Had I left you in ignorance of it forever, they wouldn’t really be dead. At least not to you. But it is better this way. However much it hurts, knowledge and acceptance is better than ignorance, in whatever form it shows itself.”

Dumbledore left a few minutes later, heading off for a quick meeting at the Ministry, he said, before going to Little Whinging to meet Hagrid, to drop Harry off at his aunt and uncle’s.

That night, as all across the country wizarding folk were toasting to Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived, Remus Lupin was drowning his sorrows in the remainder of his bottle of Firewhiskey, grieving for the loss of three friends, betrayed by a fourth, realising that he was now very much alone. In the space of twenty-four hours, he had lost everything.

As Remus Lupin fell asleep that night, he had but three companions: tears, firewhiskey and renewed grief.




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[MissGryffindor]

Chapter 17 - Dealing with Dementors, Moony's POV

In the days that followed, Remus fought his memories and his conscience in so far as Sirius Black was concerned. Visions of Sirius with James, with Lily, with Harry, with him and Peter, all came swimming back to him faster than they had since he had heard of Sirius’s escape. He was also faced with a gnawing guilt that he might know something VERY relevant to how Sirius had got into the school, and to how he had possibly escaped. As well as fighting with his inner wolf in the days before the Moon, Remus also fought with the guilt that he felt over his silence regarding the fact that Sirius was an unregistered Animagus. He told himself over and over again that Sirius had been in Azkaban for nigh on twelve years, and most likely had lost most of his standard magical talent, never mind the ability to turn into an animal at will. Besides, neither he nor anyone else he had spoken to had seen a large, black, grim-like dog around the grounds.

On the Tuesday after the attack on the Fat Lady, Remus found himself summonsed into a meeting with Dumbledore and Minerva McGonagall. During lunch hour, while the students were eating their midday meal in the Great Hall, Remus walked apprehensively up to the gargoyle on the second floor that hid the entrance to the Headmaster’s Office. Part of him wanted to absolve himself of the guilt that consumed him, and confess to Dumbledore that Sirius may have used a talent he developed illegally in his teenage years in order to get to escape Azkaban and get to Harry - a talent he had developed because of Remus himself. The rest of him wanted to keep the secret within him - he had grown used to keeping everything inside, and he had lost so many people, that he could not bear to see the look of condemnation, of disappointment, of sheer knowing, on Dumbledore’s face should he ever tell him.

“Liquorice Wands”, Remus said solemnly to the large, stone phoenix that faced him. The gargoyle opened, and Remus ascended the staircase that led to Dumbledore’s office, and knocked heavily on the large griffin knocker.

“Enter, please”, came a pleasant voice from within. Dumbledore’s voice.

Remus walked in, and surveyed the scene in front of him. Dumbledore was stood behind his desk, a grave look on his face, and Minerva McGonagall was stood to the side of the table. Remus felt as little as if he were about to be intimidated into something.

“Albus, Minerva”, he said, trying his hardest to be calm. It was still hard for him to call them by their first names.

“Remus”, said Dumbledore gravely. “Minerva and I have been discussing the situation regarding our young Mr Potter.”

“I presumed you would, after Saturday’s events”, Remus replied. He supposed they had brought him here to quiz him on Sirius.

“Both Minerva and I have spoken individually to each and every member of staff on the subject, and have asked that, as a precaution, Mr Potter is attended by a member of staff as often as possible when out with the security of Gryffindor Tower.”

“Sir?” Remus was surprised. He was not here to be admonished for once being a close friend of a fugitive?

“It is not just that which we want to discuss with you, Remus”, Minerva added; a pained look on her face.

“Oh.”

“Rather a delicate subject………………”, she glanced askance at Dumbledore.

“Remus”, Dumbledore began soberly. ”Both Minerva and I have decided that it is time for Harry to be told some of the reason why Black would have attempted to force his way into Gryffindor Tower. Minerva will inform him merely that Black plans to attack him. If asked, we need simply reply that Black was Voldemort’s top Lieutenant, and believes that attacking Harry will help to bring about the return of his Master.”

“So, you would tell him nothing of Sirius’s friendship with James, nor that Sirius is - was - is - his Godfather?” Remus knew that this kind of knowledge would upset Harry - hell, it upset him - and although he believed in knowledge over ignorance, Remus knew that, in some cases, ignorance was better, cleaner, more innocent.

“No”, Dumbledore replied. “It would be monstrous to expose him to that sort of information, and knowing Harry as I have come to, he would use it only as an excuse for vengeance. I do not want him risking his life in order to recapture Black.”

“Nor I”, said Remus softly. He had become fond of the young Potter over the past couple of months, and the protective feeling he had held for the boy after his birth had returned. Harry was a good kid, and he deserved better than a Godfather that had betrayed his parents and was now trying to kill him.

“Precisely. Now, as for keeping watch over Potter, all I ask is that you keep an eye on him in the corridors, make sure that he is never left alone. Minerva, what about Quidditch practice? He would be so exposed out on that pitch.”

“I……..I would have to ask him to refrain from it after dark. He would be so exposed.” Remus saw she was disappointed. He knew from his own days at Hogwarts and James’s fond rants about her, that Minerva McGonagall was extremely involved in progressing the Gryffindor Quidditch team. She had even subtly re-arranged James’s detentions around Quidditch matches, when they had been for minor offences.

After a few more light exchanges about how his classes were going, Remus left Dumbledore’s office, relieved that he had not been asked to the meeting for the reason he had presumed, and yet simultaneously he felt sick at himself for being so relieved when Harry’s life was in danger, and Sirius was going so far as to attack an innocent portrait to get to him.

Remus did not have much chance to think of the attack on the Fat Lady the weekend afterwards. While the school was gearing up for the first Quidditch match of the season, which took place on the Saturday after Hallowe’en, Remus was preparing for another, less welcome event, which would take place the same day. Or night. The full moon. The Wolfsbane that Snape had been bringing him daily made it easier, but he was still unable to spend the Friday teaching his classes. He had tried to get up to go to breakfast, but had met Dumbledore on the way down, and been sent straight back to bed. Ten minutes later, a sweet House Elf appeared in his room with tea, chocolate (Remus’s weakness) and a breakfast of toast, bacon, egg and sausage.

The transformation was as painful as any he had endured before, even with the Wolfsbane. It seemed that this month, his inner wolf was not amused. As Harry Potter lay in the Hospital Wing, disconsolate after the loss of his broom, contemplating the effect that the Dementors had upon him over the rest of the school, his favourite Defence teacher was lying in his Quarters in pain. Unable to harm himself, yet in as much agony as if he had. In the morning he would realise that the inner wolf was preying upon his guilt over the situation with Sirius. As Moony, however, he could neither understand nor deal with that.

Not long after he had woken on Sunday, and a kindly House-Elf (Dobby, Remus thought his name was - the one that Harry had freed from the Malfoys) had brought him a light breakfast of tea and toast, and he had taken his ‘medicinal’ Firewhiskey, Remus found himself playing host. There was a calm, yet forceful knock at the door, which made Remus slightly uncomfortable. Who would call upon him at this hour? A House-Elf would simply appear in his room (in any case they had already brought his breakfast) and no member of staff would surely come near him after last night? After all, many of them were still a tad scared of him, especially on and around the full moon.

“Come in”, said Remus hoarsely. He was lying on top of his bed now, and did not have the strength to move, and go to open the door. He was surprised, yet not surprised, to see Dumbledore enter, and close the door lightly behind him.

“How are you today, Remus?” he asked kindly. His eyes twinkled blue with the same concern that they always had when asking about his condition, yet Remus saw something else behind them. Something he had rarely seen in Dumbledore’s eyes. Pure anger. Had the Headmaster discovered what Remus know of Sirius’ Animagus form? Or worse, had he made a further attempt to attack Harry.

“I am fine as always, Albus. What’s wrong? What happened? What did I miss? I……..”, his blood ran cold. “I didn’t get out even with the Wolfsbane and hurt anyone did I?” He knew it was ludicrous, but still………………….

“Don’t worry, Remus, you did nothing”, Dumbledore replied. “As long as you take your potion, you will never harm anyone here. There was, however, an……incident…….shall we say, at the Quidditch match yesterday. Some dementors got into the grounds and approached the stadium.” Remus saw Dumbledore’s eyes flash a much darker blue, a shade that they had not been since the dark days of Voldemort. Sirius had been like that as well, his grey eyes turning silver when he was angry, arguing with Regulus or Severus.

“I have told Cornelius time and time again that the Ministry should NOT ally itself with such creatures! While they are here for the protection of the students, they have now as good as attacked one! The very student that they are here to protect!”

“They attacked Harry?!” an incredulous Remus then groaned as he moved suddenly, jerkily, a thousand questions running through his head at a thousand miles an hour.

“They came close to the stadium, perhaps enticed by the sheer crowds and excitement enclosed there. I am not sure - I do not pretend to understand dementors - but that would be my guess. Harry was unlucky. The snitch veered too close to the dementors, and he was the one caught in their path. He fell over fifty feet, and spent last night in the hospital wing.”

“Is he alright? Is he badly injured?”

“He shall be fine. His broomstick, however, shall not.” In spite of everything Remus managed a small, sad smile.

“If it were James, he would be more upset about the harm done to the broom than he would about his own injuries”, he said softly.

“I rather think you may be right”, Dumbledore replied sombrely.

Dumbledore stayed for a little while after that, and he and Remus spoke further about their attempts to protect Harry, and about lighter topics, such as the result of the Gryffindor vs. Hufflepuff Quidditch match. They also discussed the fact that there had not been any sightings of Sirius since the events of Hallowe’en. Dumbledore and Remus were, however, of like mind on this subject: though he had not been seen, Black would still be close by. The question was where? And for Remus, another was added. In what form?

All in all, Remus was glad to be back amongst the hustle and bustle of the school the following day. Although he was still in pain, he had put up with worse before, and was desperately in need of a distraction, something that he had not had the luxury of before coming to Hogwarts on September 1st. He breezed through Monday morning, the only tough point a lesson on Dementors with the Sixth years, which he found tough given the events of last Saturday. Monday afternoon brought another, very different challenge. The Third year Gryffindors. Harry. After falling fifty feet from a broomstick, Remus would not have been surprised if Harry had spent Monday in the hospital wing, but he had seen him that morning at breakfast, looking a little forlorn.

Remus found his thoughts about Harry and the weekend taken away from him, however, when the class demanded to know why Snape had jumped ahead in their coursework, and had the audacity to set them homework on a Quidditch weekend. He almost blanched when he found out the topic Snape had set. Werewolves. He wanted one of them to figure out what his symptoms meant, and why he was always ill at the full moon. Damn you, Severus. This was vengeance, he knew, for the boggart, but that had been harmless, schoolboy fun (despite the fact he and Severus were both now teachers) but this……if the wrong person put Snape’s hunts together, it would end in Remus losing his job. Which was, he supposed, ultimately what Snape was aiming for.

Once the class on Hinkypunks had ended, Remus, after much internal argument, asked Harry to remain behind. He looked like he needed someone to talk to. Someone that he thought was removed from the situation.

Remus was anything but removed from the situation with the Dementors and Sirius and Harry. But he did not know of the past.

After mumbling about the destroyed Nimbus, and the time that Davey Gudgeon had stupidly taken up Bertram Aubrey’s dare to try and get close to the Willow, unsure where he wanted this conversation to go, he heard Harry bring up the topic of the Dementors.

“Yes, I did. I don’t think any of us have seen Professor Dumbledore that angry. They have been growing restless for some time….furious at his refusal to let them inside the grounds…..I suppose they were the reason you fell?”

“Yes”, he replied simply. Remus was just about to remind Harry that dementors were not as easily kept at bay as the Hufflepuff Chasers or Beaters, when Harry continued.

“Why? Why do they affect me like that? Am I just -?” No. He did not. How could Harry think that the Dementors went after him because HE was weak. That could never be the case.

“It has nothing to do with weakness”, he told Harry sharply. He did not want the boy blaming himself. He should never be allowed to do that. It was all Sirius’s fault…..Sirius’s fault they were here, Sirius’s fault that Harry had so many bad memories for them to feed off. He tried to explain this to Harry; tied to explain that dementors were not feeding off him, but off his horrendous memories. It was then, when he was about to tell Harry to concentrate on happy things around them, that everything he was about to say was shot out of his mind with a dozen, simple words coming from Harry.

“When they get near me - I can hear Voldemort murdering my mum.” He sounded like he was choking back tears. Remus wanted nothing more than to go over and hug Harry like the nephew he should have been, but held himself back. Harry knew nothing of the Marauders, nor the Uncle Moony that had visited him as a baby, and would think it strange, his teacher randomly hugging him. Besides, he had gotten good at hiding his true feelings. He’d only had years of practice.

“Why did they have to come to the match?” Harry broke the silence that, to Remus, was starting to become painful. He had lost all track of though.

“They’re getting hungry”, Remus informed him, trying to keep the hatred he held for the dementors out of his voice. “Dumbledore won’t let them into the school, so their supply of human prey has dried up…..I don’t think they could resist the large crowd around the Quidditch Pitch. All that excitement……emotions running high…….it was their idea of a feast.” He too knew how it was to be attracted to prey. Or at least, part of him did.

“Azkaban must be terrible”, Harry muttered, almost incomprehensibly.

“The fortress is set on a tiny island, way out to sea, but they don’t need walls and water to keep the prisoners in, not when they’re all trapped inside their own heads, incapable of a single cheerful thought. Most of them go mad within weeks.” Of course there are some - like Bella, and Sirius too, he supposed - that go in mad. Actually, he should count all Death Eaters in that.

“But Sirius Black escaped from them. He got away…………”

Remus jumped involuntarily at the sound of Harry saying Sirius’s name. He had not heard Harry utter his Godfather’s name in over twelve years. Okay, the infant Harry had referred to him as ‘Unca Pafoo’ rather than Padfoot or Sirius, but still. To hear Harry utter the name of the man that had betrayed his parents, that was responsible for a great deal of the misery in his life, was almost too much for Remus to bear, and it shook him to hear Harry say two simple words. Sirius. Black.

“Yes”, he said, regaining his composure. “Black must have found a way to fight them. I wouldn’t have believed it possible…….Dementors are supposed to drain a wizard of his powers if he is left with them too long…………….”

‘Perhaps Sirius used the fact that he could turn into a dog to his advantage’, a taunting voice said inside Remus’s head. A sing-song voice that’s tone reminded him of Sirius when he was trying to talk Remus into breaking school rules. No. No. No. He used tricks that Voldemort taught him. That must be it. If Voldemort were ever captured, he would escape Azkaban within a few hours, Remus was sure.

“You made that Dementor on the train back off.” Remus was almost embarrassed at the praise.

“There are - certain defences once can use. But there was only one Dementor on the train. The more there are, the more difficult it becomes to resist.”

“What defences? Can you teach me?” He was like James when he was trying to latch onto an idea for a prank when all Remus had done was suggest that something might look quite funny, or like Lily studying a new concept of magic in class.

“I don’t pretend to be an expert at fighting Dementors, Harry - quite the contrary……..” He was no Dumbledore or Minerva, or Filius.

“But if the Dementors come to another Quidditch match, I need to be able to fight them -”

Remus looked at Harry, he had such a determined look on his face; a look he had seen such a similar face wear before, and that sent him crumbling. How could he refuse James and Lily’s son coming to him, and asking him for help? In truth, how could he, as a teacher, refuse to help anyone who wanted to learn?

“Well…..all right. I’ll try and help. But it’ll have to wait until next term, I’m afraid. I have a lot to do before the holidays. I chose a very inconvenient time to fall ill.” And hopefully by then, Remus thought, as he returned to his quarters (not having another class that day) Sirius will have been caught, and there will no longer be any Dementors for him to teach Harry to defend himself against.

Sighing heavily, Remus laid his briefcase down on the desk in his room. All had many thoughts swirling round in his head, but at that moment, only twelve words stood out. “When they get near me - I can hear Voldemort murdering my mum.” He closed his eyes and pictured Lily’s pretty, smiling, happy face. As much as he wanted to help Harry, he did not want to contemplate the flood gates it might open. Wanted to avoid a moment of weakness whereby he told Harry what an amazing person Lily was, and ended by asking him how she died. No, he would not make it worse for Harry, and he wanted to hear no more about the circumstances surrounding James and Lily’s deaths. He had endured the past dozen years avoiding thinking about it. Cutting himself off from it. Besides, Albus and Minerva’s fears of Harry going after Sirius be damned. If Remus had to endure too much more of hearing what Harry was reminded off by the presence of Dementors, then HE would make it his personal business to hunt Sirius down and end him.

He was seething with anger, and yet, the next thing he did was burst into tears. The exhaustion and agony he still felt from the full moon, in addition to the emotional exhaustion of today, overcame him, as he thought of Lily’s last moments. If Harry had heard them, then perhaps James had died first. He did not want to think of either of them dying, though. Damn Sirius.

“Damn you, Sirius! Damn you to hell”

When had it all started to go wrong?

It was a beautiful day in late summer, the type of day that has just a hint of the autumn to come, and the breeze is just that little bit colder, and the sun that little bit lower in the sky. Remus Lupin apparated in woods outside Godric’s Hollow, and began to walk slowly, stiffly to the sweet little cottage when James, Lily and baby Harry lived, still in a little pain from the full moon the night before last. Lily had invited all of the Marauders over for Sunday lunch, and they had not all been together since the day of Harry’s birth seven weeks or so previously, which left Remus keen to see everyone again.

He knocked softly on the door of James and Lily’s cottage, two hard knocks followed by a soft one - a Marauder knock distinctive from others - and could hear the faint sounds of a baby crying from inside. Harry obviously had a good set of lungs on him. Ah well, thought Remus as he waited for someone to come to answer the door, he is James’s son.

Five minutes later, Remus was comfortably ensconced on the sofa next to a small heater and Sirius, sipping a hot Butterbeer, and feeling a lot better.

“How was the full?” Sirius asked him tentatively. Remus shrugged.

“Same as always, Pads”, he replied. Sirius had been there with him before. They all had. They all knew what was involved. “You look tired, Wormtail”, he added, trying to change the subject as he turned to his friend sitting opposite.

“Work. Its getting busier and no one knows who at the Ministry will turn to You Know Who next.”

“Call him Voldemort”, said Sirius sharply. “The more of us that actually call him by his name, the fewer of us will be scared of him.”

“Or you could call him Mouldy Voldy or something like that”, James pitched in light-heartedly. Remus smiled at him. All of the danger that he and his family were in, and James could still make jokes about the madman after them.

“James! Come here and take Harry from me!” they heard Lily yell from the kitchen. “Your son needs changed, and I’m in the middle of trying to make dinner.” Sirius and Peter snickered as James left the room to collect Harry, and go to change him. Remus had to admit, it was amusing to think of the James they had been at school with, and played pranks with, and gone on kitchen raids with until the end of Seventh year, less than thirty months before, changing a nappy.

He came back in a few minutes later, sticking his tongue out at a still-snickering Sirius, and then placing his son in his Godfather’s arms. He subsequently folded his own, and grinned at Sirius.

“Not so amusing is it now, eh Padfoot?” Sirius looked down at the seven week old baby in front of him, as if he had finally been given something that he did not know what to do with. Then, to Remus’s surprise, Sirius started to rock the baby and sing to him. Granted, he was singing some rather…..controversial……lyrics from the last album that James’s favourite band, The Manticores, had released, but still. Perhaps Sirius Black, one of the Wizarding world’s most confirmed bachelors, was actually good with children.

“Pads, when in Merlin’s name did you get good with babies?” Peter asked him, screwing up his face as Harry released some wind.

“Andie’s girl is pretty cool - I stayed there a couple of times after I left home”, he replied. “You’re pretty cool too, Harry”, he told the infant.

“What am I saying?” he added. “You are the Godson of Sirius Black. Of course you’re cool!” Lily snorted from the doorway.

“Sirius, he takes after his parents not his Godfather”, she informed him, adding to the group as a whole that dinner was ready.

Trudging through to the dining room, Sirius was heard to mutter something about a Godfather being important, and his being a tremendous influence on Harry in the future.

Remus found himself grinning throughout their meal. In spite of the fact that they were in the midst of a terrible war, getting up on a Monday, unsure if they would be alive to go to bed at the end of the week, and in spite of the fact that his best friends appeared to be in more danger than most, Remus felt happy - happier than he had since the day Harry had been born. He grinned at Sirius pouting at Harry - pointedly ignoring Lily’s giggle comments that he was only a few weeks old, and didn’t know anything beyond sleeping and eating - and saying that his Godson knew who he was already, and was incredibly well-behaved for him.

“That was amazing, Lils”, Remus told her gratefully as the pretty young mother slipped onto the sofa next to him after clearing the table half an hour later. “Not as good as the Hogwarts elves….but still good.” Lily swatted at his arm playfully.

“What do you think they are talking to him about?” Lily asked Remus, gazing over at the sofa opposite, where James, Sirius and Peter were whispering to baby Harry.

“They’re giving him advice on how to be Gryffindor Quidditch Captain, and how to prank Filch”, Remus told her. “And Peter is telling him about how to get from the school into Honeydukes.”

“But, he’s seven weeks old, he can’t understand a word they’re saying. Besides, he’s asleep.”

“Lily, consider who is talking to him.”

“Suppose.”

“How are you?” He scrutinised her green eyes, which seemed less……there was something they were missing. She shrugged.

“Remus, he is after us, and nothing can change that. What happens, happens. We just have to take everything a day at a time. Besides, if you look over there, I think you’ll see that we definitely have something to fight for. Unlike them.” Remus gazed over again at the sight of James, Sirius and Peter giving advice to the sleeping baby in Sirius’s arms.

Lily was right. They did at least have something to fight for. Each other.

Remus thought back to that day now. Had Sirius been working for Voldemort then? Had he started out on the path that would lead to him betraying his so-called best friends and Godson?

He got his supply of Firewhiskey out of the cupboard beside his bed, poured himself out a small glass, and downed it in one gulp, the salt of his tears intermingling with the strong alcohol in places.

“Damn you, Sirius. Damn you to hell!”


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[MissGryffindor]

Chapter 18 - Padfoot’s Pain, Padfoot’s POV

Remus was not the only one that found the week following Hallowe’en agonising emotionally. While the Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor was consumed with guilt for not stopping Sirius, and not telling Dumbledore that Sirius was an Animagus, the man causing his guilt was licking his wounds in the Forbidden Forest, cursing his inability to capture Peter on the one day that it would really have mattered to everyone involved. Not that it didn’t matter at all other times, Sirius mused, but if he could have righted all those wrongs on the anniversary of the day that it had all come to a head, it would have meant so much to him, feeling that he had made some his mess and mistake up to James.

For the best part of the week that followed, Sirius fell back into the depressed, melancholic state he had been immersed in for all of those years he had spent in Azkaban. His dreams once again became nightmares, as he was faced with the same images over and over again. The day he had suggested to James and Lily that they use Peter as Secret-Keeper, the day that they had performed the Fidelius Charm; the fateful Hallowe’en when he had gone to Godric’s Hollow, and held James and Lily’s limp forms in the wreckage of their cottage; the day that he had stared Peter down in that muggle street and come close to killing his former friend. James and Regulus and his mother appeared in these dreams jeering him. James rounded on him for not protecting his Godson as he had sworn to do, for letting Peter get the better of him twelve years ago, and on Hallowe’en. Regulus mocked his Gryffindor loyalty and trust and friendship, which had only got him as far as a cell in Azkaban, and said he was no better than the rest of them. His mother’s image was, in some ways, the worst. She derided him for being out-played by a Gryffindor, of all people, and told him that what he had done, the events he had played such a central role in, and that had, ultimately, essentially sacrificed the lives of James and Lily, made him such a real, true, Black.

Even the weather seemed to reflect Sirius’s mood, as it rained heavily, constantly, wetting his fur, and forcing him to shelter under trees rather than out in the middle of the Clearing itself. The skies were a deep, dark grey - often going as far as to turn black. In the middle of the night, as he fought these nightmares, these horrendous visions that reflected every nuance of his past that he detested, or felt guilty about, thunder storms raged around him, and while the bright, orange streaks of lightening did not disturb him, the sharp, pounding sounds of thunder striking woke him once or twice, and - he felt - darkened his nightmares at others.

For the five days that followed, Sirius padded morosely around the clearing in the Forest as Padfoot, knowing that even if it were possible he would not transform into his human self at the moment. This was how he had dealt with everything in Azkaban, and this was how he was dealing with it now. He recalled the stressful days of the early Order, when he had just left school, and he and James had shook off the uncertainty with a run through whichever set of woods they apparated to as Padfoot and Prongs - a relaxation tool they utilised in alternation with riding the skies on his beloved motorbike.

Ginger came every day, but he could not prise Padfoot out of his funk. Sirius felt as full of guilt and regret at being bested by Rat Boy as he had in the early days at Azkaban. He ignored the fact that the Fat Lady had prevented him from getting into Gryffindor Tower - he felt a tad guilty about the way he had behaved to the Fat Lady as well. The entirety of his focused hate was for Peter, and for Peter alone.

He had also starting having nightmares about Azkaban itself; previously, he had only ever had nightmares about the actions that had led to his imprisonment. Maybe the Dementors round the place were starting to get to him or something - given that he actually had very little direct contact with them this was unlikely but not impossible - or maybe it was just something else that he felt he had caused, that now haunted his dreams. He didn’t know. All he knew was that he kept having flashbacks to those terrible first few days inside there. The day he was taken to Azkaban, and those that followed, when James and Lily’s deaths and Peter’s escape were too fresh, too raw in his mind, for anything to make sense.

An emotionally numb Sirius Black took his first steps into the fortress that was Azkaban Prison, unaware at first of the his surroundings, as the Aurors he was magically bound to roughly pulled him along. The place felt so macabre and empty and depressing and hopeless and demoralised and soul-less. All but the last of which, Sirius felt at that moment. Yet, a small part of Sirius wished that the last were true also. If he were soul-less, then at least he wouldn’t feel everything he was at the moment, everything he had since that moment thirty-six hours previously when he had wept those huge, wracking tears as he had clung onto James and Lily’s limp bodies in the wreck at Godric’s Hollow. All that comforted him was the fact that he was well aware of what he had done, the apocalyptic error in judgement he had made when he had suggested to James and Lily that they make Peter their Secret-Keeper. The error that meant he deserved to fell all of that pain.

Sirius was dragged out of his reverie by a further tug on the magical binds he and the Aurors had, as they began to move him towards a tall, manacled black door. They had been mostly silent towards him - clearly they thought the obvious: it was his information that had led to James and Lily’s deaths. He supposed his maniacal laughter at his arrest had essentially confirmed their suspicions. But this was not the truth.

Yet, in the past twenty-four hours, or however long it had been since they had arrested him as he failed James and Lily a second time when Peter escaped, Sirius had made no move to defend himself, and he thought about this now. The truth was, however anyone dressed it up, Sirius felt as guilty about what he had done as if he had passed the information regarding James and Lily’s whereabouts on to Voldemort himself. The decision to make Peter Secret-keeper had come from a suggestion HE had made, and he blamed himself for what it had led to. Although it was, in fact, Peter that had told Voldemort where James and Lily were hiding, Sirius felt that it was down to him that they were now dead, and it was that feeling of being cloaked in guilt that stopped him from telling the Aurors that there was an escaped Death Eater on the loose that they didn’t know about.

“Move it, Black”, one of the Aurors told him harshly. Sirius did not move his eyes, which were fixed straight ahead, but began to move one foot in front of the other. Etching silently closer to the cell he expected to spend the rest of his life in. At least he’d had a chance to say goodbye to them. At least he’d had a chance to say goodbye to Harry. He’d have to entrust his Godson’s future to Dumbledore now, and to Lily’s family.

There were half a dozen of them accompanying him, including Mad-Eye Moody, a close friend of Dumbledore‘s who was practically second-in-command of the Order of the Phoenix, and Preston Ssummersby, who had been a Ravenclaw Sixth Year when Sirius had started at Hogwarts, and who had been slightly obnoxious about the Black heir being sorted into Gryffindor, and never really taken to any of the Marauders.

As they entered Azkaban proper, Sirius noticed the Dementors for the first time. His new captors. He humphed loudly as he realised they had BEEN there all along, ever since he had arrived, and he had not noticed. He looked at the Aurors now, and could see that a couple of them were shivering slightly, the coldness and doom of the place getting to them a little, perhaps. But the feelings of despair and misery and pain that they inspired already had a tough grip in him, and so had been unable to affect him as such.

Sirius followed Mad-Eye, Summersby, and the other Aurors up a couple of flights of stairs, and through a couple of doors in the direction of his new abode. He passed countless cells, with jeering inmates, all keen to get a glimpse of their new neighbour. He heard sneers coming from the cells of Evan Rosier and Icarus Mulciber, friends of Snivellus that had always despised him for being a Gryffindor, both of them calling out now for him in a show of support that he had finally decided to serve the Dark Lord. Sirius snarled back at them, but did not retort. In a way he had, inadvertently, done what they had accused him of.

“Get in, Black”, Mad-Eye told him shortly as they finally reached a cell with the number 37 on the door. It was a thick, black door with a small barred window for Sirius to look through, though what he might want to see, Sirius was not sure. And he found that he didn’t care too much either.

“You know, there was always a part of me that was never too sure about you at Hogwarts, Black”, said Summersby, emphasising Sirius’s surname. “You might have been sorted into Gryffindor, and attacked the Slytherins at every opportunity, but at the end of the day, you showed yourself to be just what everyone always knew you were underneath it all. A Black. A pure-blood supremacist”, he snarled. Sirius did not reply, he simply gazed at him, snorting underneath his breath as Mad-Eye told Summersby that enough was enough.

When they left a few minutes later, shutting Sirius in to his new home, essentially imprisoning him in his own mind, he looked around the cell. It was small, dark and featured only a small bed and toilet. Azkaban residents, apparently did not need any more. From what Sirius knew before, the desolation and despair was the only entertainment that an Azkaban resident required. He curled up on his bed, and listened to the sounds coming from around him. Shouts. Shrieks. Yells. Cries. Sobs. Everyone in pain. Agony. Misery. Depressed. Desolate. Mad. This was now his home.

He tried to sleep, but did so fitfully. Everyone coming to him, and speaking. His deriding mother, a disappointed James and Lily and Dumbledore. A vision of what he imagined Harry to be in the future asking him what he had done. Remus telling him off for his impetuosity and characteristic recklessness. And then Peter and Voldemort and Bella. All laughing at him as he had at the Aurors when they had picked him up. He woke up in a cold sweat, as he would on countless occasions between that day and the day he escaped to track down Peter.

He needed to be able to block it all out for a while, before he could even attempt to deal with it. He didn’t think he ever really would be able to do that - or, at least, he didn’t think he would ever be able to accept it. He may at some point be able to piece everything together and comprehend what had happened in the past couple of days, and what it meant, but he didn’t think he would ever be able to accept that James and Lily were gone, and move on from it. Whatever Summersby had said about him being a Black, James and Lily had been his real family. His twin and his sister, and he had loved them unconditionally, and with blind trust and loyalty and adored their son, his Godson, and he would have jumped in front of an Avada Kedavra for all three of them - the same way he had once loved Remus (before he had wrongly suspected him) and, stupidly, Peter, whom he now despised. He had lost them all, now. All gone from him. One by choice, and four by his own stupidity.

Not wanting to deal with it now, not able to do it now, Sirius did the only thing he ever could, the only thing he ever knew could block all of the pain out. He concentrated hard, and turned into Padfoot, curled up on the cold, damp bed. As silent tears crept down his canine face, Sirius as Padfoot fell into what would be as close to a dreamless sleep as he would ever accomplish in Azkaban.

It took until almost a week after Hallowe’en for Sirius to come out of his funk. In the years to come, he would never quite know just what did it. If it was Ginger’s report that Rat Boy had cloistered himself ever further in Gryffindor Tower. If it was a change in the weather. If it was Hagrid’s comforting voice nearby, speaking to a unicorn that had injured itself. If it was a recollection that the first Quidditch game of the season was approaching, and that his Godson was sure to be the star of the show. If it was something entirely unrelated to all of these things. All he knew, was that on Friday morning, Padfoot awoke with a renewed sense of fight.

When Ginger arrived on Friday morning, Padfoot had already been awake for a couple of hours, and had been to the nearby stream to get some fish for breakfast, having feasted beforehand on the food that he had been left over the past few days by Ginger. And, in return, Padfoot had got some extra fish for Ginger. For the first time in over a decade, Padfoot knew that he had a new friend. Actually, he mused as he exercised a little, for the moment, Ginger was his ONLY friend.

Padfoot caught up on the latest information on Rat Boy - he was getting more paranoid by the day, apparently a combination of Sirius himself being on the loose, and his becoming aware that Ginger knew that he was not a real animal, just as Ginger had surmised the same with Padfoot. Padfoot snarled toughly at this news, and felt some satisfaction in this. He was getting to the rat. And the rat seemed to be stupid enough to stay in the Castle, which meant that he was isolating himself in a confined space. Playing into Sirius’s hands. One day - one day soon, he would make a fatal mistake, and Sirius would be there to get him.

Ginger and Padfoot played a little, feasted on the fish from the stream, and then Ginger departed for the Castle, Padfoot following him back a little to the edge of the Forest, where he caught sight of Hagrid talking to the bushy-haired girl that Harry usually talked to in Care of Magical Creatures, and whom he assumed to be one of his close friends. As Ginger snuck past them, and up towards the main doors, Padfoot edged as close to Hagrid and the girl as he dared, trying to listen in a little to what they were saying. Initially, most of the chatter seemed to be about school. Did this girl think about anything but her classes, he began to wonder. Then……..

“How is Buckbeak doing, Hagrid?” the girl asked pensively as she stroked the beak of the Hippogriff Hagrid had tethered in the midst of his pumpkin patch.

“Not bad, ‘Ermione”, Hagrid replied sadly. “He just misses flyin’ see. Hippogriffs aren’t meant ter be tied up like tha’.”

“I know”, she said softly, patting Hagrid on the arm. “I’m sure everything will all get sorted out soon. Anyone can see that he really doesn’t mean anyone any harm.”

“Thanks, ‘Ermione. How is Harry doin’? Is he ready fer the Quidditch match tomorrow?”

“I think so. He practices enough. Honestly, if he and Ron paid half as much attention to their schoolwork as they did to Quidditch…………..” Padfoot snorted quietly and fondly at this. This girl was just like Lily and Remus merged together. A Prefect in the making.

Padfoot started to move away at this point, comforted by the little information that he had been able to glean from the conversation: the first Quidditch game of the season was the very next day, and Harry would be playing for Gryffindor. It would be a risk - a momentous risk, but he knew he had to go. He had to go and see his Godson. Whatever the cost - this was his reckless side thinking again - he was going to that damn Quidditch game.

He headed back to his Clearing, and spent the rest of the day moping around a little, though to nowhere near the extent he had the previous few days. If he was honest with himself, there was not much else to do, other than mope, think about the past, think about Harry - and Remus - and continue his hatred of Peter and his guilt over everything. He could not read (not that he ever had taken that up much) or talk to anyone other than Ginger, who was not always around. He could not sit by a fire and eat a hot meal, nor could he take a warm bath. He could, and did, exercise a little, running through the parts of the Forest that he knew he would not encounter Cenataurs; something he had learned over the years at full moons.

Full moon. It was one that night. He could always tell from Second Year that one was approaching from how the moon rounded out, and became brighter and brighter.Not that he wanted it to ever become that way. A rounder, brighter moon was not so good for Remus. That night, he slept as badly as he had the preceding week, haunted by the memories of the time that he sent Snape through the Willow and into the Shack, haunting him again on full moon, as it had the first few months after it had happened.

The following day, the weather was more horrendous than it had been all week, and Sirius half-thought as he padded along to the stadium that the Professors would call off the match. He settled himself in a part of the stadium that he knew no-one would ever be standing; the back row, high up on the benches where nobody had ever sat during his time at Hogwarts, and he assumed nobody sat still.

He was wrong, however, in allowing it to cross his mind that the match might be cancelled; at mid-morning - or what Sirius assumed was mid-morning - the stadium began to fill up. From the canary yellow bedecking the stands to his left, it appeared to be Hufflepuff rather than Slytherin they were playing. As far as Sirius was aware, due to the animosity between Gryffindor and Slytherin when he had been at school, the Professors had moved the ultimate grudge match to the first of the season, so that it would not decide the Cup. Perhaps it had been changed back again at some point. He was not really in a position to know these things.

The game was, as far as Sirius was concerned, absolutely horrendous from the start. He knew from watching Gryffindor practice that Harry played Seeker, rather than Beater as he ultimately had, or James’s position of Chaser. And this was not a game for a Seeker - especially not one as skinny and light as a Potter. He could handle it, though, Sirius was sure of it. His Godson was a Potter, and a tough one at that, from what he had seen. He could handle anything. After all, look what he had been forced to deal with in his young life. Hmm.

The storm was just getting more and more horrendous, and Sirius was reminded of the match he and James had gone to with Mr Potter the summer between Fifth and Sixth Year, when the match had started at 11am on the Saturday, and finished at 3am on the Sunday. A sixteen hour match in the freezing cold and rain. Mr Potter had been forced to use several rain deflection, warming and waking charms to ensure that the three of them survived the match. He was pretty confident that Dumbledore would not allow the game to go on for that long.

He had lost count of the score - but was pretty sure that the two teams had scored a couple of times each - when it happened. Everything had started swirling around: clouds of white and grey and black were all merging together, and all of the Chasers were crashing into one another, and as much as Sirius had tried to track Harry’s progress as much as -if not more so - that of Gryffindor as a whole, he had somehow lost sight of his Godson momentarily.

Suddenly, the eyes of Padfoot and Harry seemed to link up a little - though Sirius felt he may be imagining it. Then, the Dementors appeared. Sirius heard the yelling of the students, and gazed up at the monstrosities bearing down on him and all of the other spectators. He had avoided them for months after having to co-habit with them for years, and wanted to stay away from them as much as possible. He knew what they could do to someone with the horrendous memories Harry could have if he remembered anything about James and Lily’s deaths, and he wanted to do all he could to avoid them himself. From a selfish point of view, he was pretty sure that he was up for a Dementors Kiss if he were captured. And Sirius expected that kind of kiss would not be as good as the last he had received, from the soft, supple lips of Elania Mordaunt.

Then Harry was falling, and Sirius was panting and barking rapidly, not caring who heard him, or realised he was there. His Godson was in troubles, falling off his broom and getting closer and closer to the ground, and there was nothing that Sirius could do to help him. Nothing. He was completely powerless and impotent without a wand. Dumbledore was here, though. He would do something……..right?

As Padfoot held his canine breath in as far as possible, he watched as Dumbledore essentially halted Harry’s fall, cushioning the blow to the ground, and Sirius was forced to watch as his Godson’s broomstick flew off into the wilderness into the Willow of all places, and Harry himself hit the ground softly, blatantly unconscious. He had to watch, unable to help, as his Godson was levitated onto a stretcher in the direction of the Castle, and then most likely up to the Hospital Wing.

The stadium was almost silent and noisy at the same time. Each and every student was whispering to the person next to them, as Dumbledore and a stretchered, and visibly unconscious Harry led a procession up to the Castle, his heart-broken Godfather left behind, wishing that he could follow. Wishing that he could go up to the Hospital Wing and sleep as Padfoot on the bed next to Harry’s. A big, cuddly dog could be so comforting for him right now. But……he knew he could not. He could be caught. This was so much more dangerous, and would be so much more reckless, than what he did on Hallowe’en, and he knew that he had to hold back, had to trust Harry’s care to Dumbledore and Madam Pomfrey. This was a time to channel his inner Remus, and hold back. However much he wanted to run in the other direction.



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Chapter 19 - Panic and Presents, Padfoot’s POV

A very restrained Padfoot held back, standing still in the Quidditch stands as Dumbledore levitated Harry’s motionless form towards the Castle, and, he assumed, the care of the school matron, wondering fleetingly if it were still Madam Pomfrey, who had cared for Remus after all those full moons. Dumbledore had banished the Dementors with his patronus before removing Harry to the Infirmary, and so Padfoot did not have to deal with their presence as the pain and worry he felt for Harry’s health ran through his mind. He was, and always had been, very protective of his Godson, and did not want any harm to come to him, especially not now, not when he was so close to getting to know him again, and before he could let Harry know the truth about his parents‘ deaths.

Padfoot hid on the floor, indistinguishable from the seat in front as he waited for the stadium to empty, hearing the familiar dulcet tones of Professors McGonagall and Flitwick magnified as they encouraged the remaining students to return to the Castle, out of the rain, and head for the warmth of their common rooms. He did not know how long it took for them all to leave, but when the only sounds reaching Padfoot’s ears were the throbbing beat of his own pounding heart, and the howl of the gusty, gale-force wind and rain, he rose again to take in the empty stadium surrounding him, and began the slow, long walk back to the clearing in the Forbidden Forest, wishing that he was stood at the end of his Godson’s bed instead. He would have to wait until Ginger came with news, or risk a quick trip to Hagrid’s Cabin later on in the hope that he might overhear something to suggest how Harry was getting on. Deep down, Sirius knew that he had to believe that Harry would be alright - after all, he was in the care of Dumbledore, was he not?

Padfoot paced the clearing for hours, getting more and more drenched by the second, as the rain drove into his thick, black fur. Where in the name of Merlin was Ginger? Did he not think it important that he, as Harry’s Godfather, should know what was happening up at the Castle? What condition his Godson was in? The sky was growing darker, and darker, and he could hear rumbles of thunder in the distance, but still Ginger did not come. Padfoot did not even stop his pacing for dinner - the first time since he had escaped that he had not been able to work up an appetite for even the smallest morsels of rubbish that he was forced to scavenge and hunt for.

It was after dusk that Ginger finally arrived with news from the Infirmary. He reported that the Gryffindors had found out Harry was essentially fine. He would have to remain in the Infirmary for a couple of nights, but there did not appear to be any long term damage. Sirius heaved a sigh of relief. He had been so worried, and it gladdened his heart that Harry was alright. James had been in countless Quidditch accidents that the Marauders had all laughed about afterwards - even ones where he had been knocked unconscious by Bludgers, and although the Marauders had always waited impatiently in the Infirmary for him to wake up, there had never been - even for Sirius who considered James his brother - the anxious pacing and pure fear of that afternoon, when Harry had been in the same predicament. But that was different. That was James, not Harry. Harry was……the closest thing he would ever have to a child, and he had always sought to protect him as a parent would as much as James and Lily had in the short time his parents had with their son.

In fact, Ginger communicated to him, not only was Harry alright, but the main worry appeared to be the state of his broomstick. Sirius sighed with relief a second time once he heard that. Hmm. Being worried about his broomstick more than the bump he had received to the head was so, so James. And Sirius now felt a knot in his gut that had nothing to do with Harry and everything to do with James. The fact that James could not be here to worry about his injured son, or tease Harry for falling so far.

The state of Harry’s broomstick - which was according to Ginger, beyond a state of repair, brought to Sirius’s mind the small, red and gold toy broomstick that he had bought Harry for his very first birthday. It had seemed such a small gift - in size - at the time; a small broom for such a small child. But he and James had, from the moment Lily had announced her pregnancy, planned for James’s first child - first son - to be a Gryffindor Quidditch hero. And Gryffindor Quidditch heroes had to start practicing young. He had wanted to be there in person to see the look on Harry’s face, to see those green eyes of his light up like a shining emerald gem as he unwrapped the gift. But the war, and the Order and Dumbledore’s request to shadow a few suspected Death Eaters had, sadly, taken precedence. And even with things the way they were, with the world going to hell, Sirius had still thought there would be other birthdays that he could go to - other birthdays where he could see Harry open his presents. But there had not. There had not even been any Christmases other than Harry’s first, which he had spent with his Godson. No. He had never seen his Godson open a birthday present, nor blow out the candles atop a gleaming iced sponge cake. Even his Christmas presents that first year had been mostly opened with the assistance of his parents, and Harry was not entirely aware of what had been going on.

And that was it. Harry needed a new broomstick. Even if his current one could be repaired, he would still LIKE a new one. That was it - he would buy Harry a new broom for Christmas. It was less than a couple of months away, and he could order it, if there were an advert in the Daily Prophet, which he could easily purloin from Hagrid’s Cabin…..

His Godson was such an amazing flyer he would be at home on what Sirius would buy his - the best broom in the world for the best Godson in the world. To make up for having the worst Godfather. He and James had always planned for his first child to be a boy, an to be a Gryffindor Quidditch hero. Even before Lily had lost her sense and agreed to date James, they had planned for it to be this way.

It was a beautiful, hot summer’s day in the rural hamlet where the Potter family had lived for centuries, and where Sirius had lived for the past year, until he had found a London flat, courtesy of Uncle Alphard’s inheritance. It was as hot and muggy as Sirius could remember, and only some cooling charms could keep him going every day. The flowers and plants the muggles were attempting to grow were wilting away, and the grass had turned from a vibrant green to a straw-like yellowy-orange colour. At times like this, Sirius thanked Merlin that he could do magic, and did not have to deal with the heat like muggles did. Though, with so many muggle girls having to sunbathe in swimwear rather than shorts and t-shirts, Sirius Black was not exactly complaining.

On one such muggy, close day, in the midst of July, Sirius and James wandered through the village in search of lunch at a muggle pub. Inspired by the thought of eating outside, surrounded by other patrons instead of simply themselves and Mr and Mrs Potter out on the lawn, and the idea of having a few muggle beers at lunchtime (where was the harm in that?!) they had exchanged a few galleons into muggle currency at Gringotts the previous day, and set off as the village church clock was chiming one o’clock, dressed in their summer muggle best - which was quite respectable for two pure-blood wizards.

The two boys - by now quite thirsty, and hungry in spite of the fact that they had both eaten breakfast later than they would have done at Hogwarts. They walked past the largest Inn in the village - which they had never entered since the first weekend of the holidays, when they had gone in, and discovered that one of the Chef’s most celebrated dishes was Venison Pie. No Marauder ever ate deer meat. Ever. The two boys instead headed for a smaller, more homely Inn, about a hundred metres further up the road - The Apple Cart - which was run by a sweet old lady who reminded James and Sirius of Mrs Potter.

They ordered lunch at the bar, and went to sit outside at one of the many wooden picnic-bench type tables that sat in the garden area surrounding the Inn each summer. The two boys counted themselves lucky, as not long after they had arrived, the tables started to fill up more, and there was a marked increase in the hustle and bustle of the place. James remarked upon this, but Sirius simply muttered in reply that a couple of Confundings and they would have been able to get their desired seats with no issue at all.

“Look at that girl over there”, said Sirius suddenly, pointing at a pretty brunette, with chocolate-y brown eyes, and a smile that Sirius had only ever seen in a muggle magazine. “She’d do for a bit of summer fun, wouldn’t she, Prongs? See, she’s got a friend with her too - hey they look a bit alike too.” Her ‘friend’ was almost her clone, though the difference in their demeanour suggested they were not, in fact, sisters - cousins, perhaps?

“Not really interested, Pads”, James shrugged.

“Well, that’s because the only girl YOU ever think about is Little Miss Evans”, said Sirius, rolling his eyes. He had never understood why James only wanted one type of sweet when a Marauder could have the entire store at their own convenience - in between practical jokes on the Slytherins, of course.

“Pads, I’m in love with her”, said James, in a serene voice, which belied the pained look on his face. Sirius looked at his friend sceptically.

“Prongs, I know she’s probably the prettiest and definitely the smartest and feistiest witch we know, and I know that you’ve been after the girl for as long as either one of us can remember, but still……..you’re in love with her?! When has Evans ever indicated to you that she considers you to be more than a friend, never mind anything else? You’re in love with her? How can you even know that when the girl refuses to go out with you?!”

“Because”.

“Because what? Because you’re James Potter and insane and think you’re right all the time?! You can’t be. I, Sirius Black, am right all the time - ”

“And are therefore insane”.

“Oh, be serious!”

“I thought you were?” quipped James.

“How do you know, though, Prongs? James? How do you know about her?”

“Its….little things. I love the way she scrunches up her nose when she’s concentrating, and the way she sneezes. I love the way that she stands up for everyone and anyone, no matter who they are. I love……I love the way she walks, and the sound she makes when she laughs. I love the little things, Pads. And while we might not have the most amicable discussions ever in the history of the universe, when I’m talking to Lily it feels like we’re the only two people in the world. Because she makes me smile whenever she walks into a room. And because, Sirius, when I picture myself in ten years time I can only see her, my kids, and their favourite Uncles, Padfoot, Moony and Wormtail.”

If there was one word in that speech which Sirius knew meant that James was telling the truth, it was simply ’Lily’. He only ever called her that when he was being, well, serious.

“Wow”.

“I know”.

“Are you sure that’s favourite Uncles and not favourite Uncle?”

“I’m sure. But you’d always be their favourite.”

“Of course”. Sirius’s arrogance hid how touched he actually was by that.

“Well, we had better get started planning the lives of these kids you are going to have with Evans, then. I say your firstborn has to play Quidditch. Only natural the first kid should take after his dad.”

“HIS dad? You think we would have a son first? Not a girl?”

“I guess. Unless you want a girl?”

“Pads, it isn’t like we get a choice, like we are choosing what colour robes we want for Christmas, you kinda take what you’re given. This is such a weird conversation”, said James as he flung his arms up in the air, gesturing wildly.

“Evans barely talks to you, has never agreed to go out on a date - or anything even resembling a date - with you, and we are planning your future kids, yet the fact that I think your first child will be a son is ridiculous?!” James really had to get over this Evans obsession sometime before the end of their last year. It had been going on far too long already. Yet he was accusing Sirius of being ridiculous? Siriusly?!

“It doesn’t really matter, whether it is a boy or a girl, it will be a Quidditch superstar!” As James proclaimed this, Sirius noticed a girl - presumably about their own age - hovering beside the table, a plate of fish and chips in one hand, and a lasagne in the other. Lunch had finally arrived.

“Here we go, then”, said the girl, as James indicated the lasagne as his own. She placed the dishes in front of them.

“You boys want any sauce or vinegar with that, then?” she asked. Both boys shook their head, ready to tuck in.

“Well, enjoy your meal then - and congratulations on the baby.” The two boys stared at each other for a second as the girl turned to walk away, and then started roaring with laughter, Sirius barking as loud as Padfoot did at the thought of the girl mistaking Prongs for a would-be father.

And yet, only three years later, Harry had been born, and a year later he, Sirius, Harry’s Godfather, had bought him his first broom. And now, too many years later, Sirius had seen Harry play for Gryffindor in a real Quidditch match.

“He was a boy, and our dreams for him came true, Prongs”, Sirius thought to himself, a silent tear falling from his eye, down his canine face. “I only wish you and Evans had been here to see it…………”

And that memory decided it for Sirius, though he pretty much was a goner before that. For all the presents he had wanted to give Harry and couldn’t, he would give him one that could go part of the way to making up for it. A new broomstick - the last present he had given Harry and the next. The only question was how. Obviously convicted murderers on the run from Azkaban could not simply walk into the nearest branch of Quality Quidditch supplies, enquire what the best broom in the world was at the moment, and order one for his Godson. That would be stupidity on a grander scale that even Sirius Black had ever achieved. No, he would have to stick with the plan to order it through the Daily Prophet. Now, all he had to do was get one from Hagrid’s Cabin……..

The next day, however, divine intervention came in the form of Ginger, to whom Padfoot had confided his plan for Harry’s Christmas present, once the kneazle-cat had informed him that though still in the Infirmary, Harry was doing well, and had his friends with him. Ginger advised Sirius that he could get a hold of a Daily Prophet and bring it to him. Padfoot barked happily, and wagged his tail wildly at the suggestion. This would generate much less suspicion than something going missing from Hagrid’s Cabin, where there were always students and animals milling about.

An hour later, Padfoot was painstakingly filling out an owl order for a Firebolt, which a bright orange advert proclaimed to be the ’Broom of the Year’ - apparently the Irish International team had already placed an order. Padfoot woofed in contempt at that. Obviously a lot had changed in Quidditch since he had been sent to Azkaban; twelve years ago the Irish International team couldn’t have organised a chocolate-tasting event in the middle of Honeydukes, never mind been contenders for the World Cup! What had happened to France and Spain?! Where were Thierry Michelaraut and Delphine Karratoud? Or Pauletta Los Borlot and Gabriel Destada?

Hmm. Gringotts vault 712 - there was still enough gold in there for all the Firebolts Harry could ever want, Merlin knows Sirius hadn’t touched a knut in the past decade or more, Azkaban not exactly charging for room service. Ginger had agreed to take the order to the Owl Post Office, so Sirius did not have to worry about being seen in Hogsmeade as Padfoot - something he devoutly wanted to avoid with Remus teaching at the school. The kind of luck Sirius was having in his quest to get at Rat Boy, he would run into Remus in the village, and his old friend would recognise him immediately.

As happy as he was to be giving Harry a present he would enjoy and love so much, it broke a small part of the little left of Sirius’s broken heart that he could not be there to see Harry open it; to see his little face light up, and his emerald green eyes shine like his mother’s had. Sirius could not be there, and Harry could not know that it was Sirius who had sent him the gift. He was still unsure about how much Dumbledore and Hagrid and Remus had told Harry about him. Did he think of Sirius as Sirius Black, escaped mass murderer, or Sirius Black, escaped mass murderer who was “after him”, or - worst of all - did he think of Sirius as Sirius Black, the man who had betrayed his parents to Voldemort and thereby caused their deaths. One thing was for sure, Harry did not think of Sirius as he had twelve and more years ago. As ‘Unca Pafoo’ - caring Godfather. As part of his family.

As such, Sirius did not fill in a name on any section of the owl order other than Harry‘s, and simply sent off Ginger with his Gringotts vault number. One day, Harry would know who sent the gift. One day, when Rat Boy was punished, and he was vindicated. One day, when this nightmare that had lasted over a third of his life, was at an end.

When Padfoot laid down his head to sleep that evening, he found it hard to sleep at first, so many emotions were flying through him. He was relieved that Harry was better - the panic of that was over, and knowing Harry was on the mend prevented him from the stupidity an definite re-capture of charging up to the Infirmary and demanding to know how his Godson was - and excited at the thought of the present he had ordered for Harry’s Christmas. And yet…..this was soured somewhat by the knowledge that he could not see Harry open said present, nor let him know whom ha sent it - at least not for now. Though maybe when Christmas came things would be different. Probably not, yet there was the one thing that had kept Sirius going thus far - hope. He had to stop with these distractions, though. Yes, he was watching over Harry, and trying to bring happiness to his Godson, but there was one, ultimate act that would trump even a Firebolt. The real reason he had come here. Rat Boy. Vengeance.


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[MissGryffindor]

Chapter 20 - Dullness and Depression in December, Moony’s POV.

In the weeks that followed his post-class discussion with Harry about the Dementors‘ presence at the Gryffindor Quidditch match, Remus forced himself to concentrate on his work, as he caught up with marking, composing tests, setting lesson plans, and acquiring rare and fascinating creatures for his students to study. He devoted each and every conscious moment to his students and their progress; to catching up NEWT and OWL students who would be taking important exams this year; to those who had only been in the school a few months, yet loved the subject he taught. In essence, Remus spent his conscious moments in the weeks that followed thinking about anything and everything that was not associated with Sirius Black.

His unconscious moments, however, were quite different. So much so, that he dreaded the end of the day, and that time when, exhausted after his determined concentration throughout the day, he would change into his pyjamas, lay his head on his pillow, and fall into a deep sleep. A deep sleep haunted by memories of Sirius and James and Lily and Peter, and everything that had happened in the war. As November turned into December, though, and the countdown to Christmas started, Remus knew that this could not continue indefinitely, and began to prepare stores of a potion that induced a dreamless sleep. While he could never claim to be as adept at the art of potion making as Severus was, and Lily had been, Remus had still passed his Potions NEWT with an Exceeds Expectations, and had, sadly, too much practice in concocting this particular mixture.

As December progressed, and Christmas Day edged closer and closer, Remus felt a pang of envy inside that everyone else in the Castle was looking so excitedly towards Christmas Day. The day when they would think of, and spend time with, those closest to them. Friends. Family. Boyfriends. Girlfriends. Those they loved and cherished. Those they would do anything to protect, and who would do anything to protect them. And what did Remus have to look forward to? He pondered morosely the fact that the moon was at its fullest on the night of Boxing Day……..which meant Remus would spend Christmas Day in bed, the beginnings of agony overcoming him as he prepared for yet another transformation. With nobody there to comfort him, as he presumed anyone else in the Castle would have, should they have the misfortune to fall ill in the midst of the festive season.

Remus had not looked forward to Christmas in years. Christmas was for those in the world that had someone - or more than one someone - to spend the day with. And whom did he have? James, Lily and Peter were all gone. So was Sirius, in a sense. He had been an only child - his parents, he had always assumed, had decided against having a second, or a third, or a fourth child, after he had been bitten. It would have been too difficult to deal with, bringing up a baby in the environment Greyback had forced the creation of. And Remus’s parents had died not long after the end of the war, at an age that Remus believed to be well before their time. There was something else to feel guilty about. His parents. Had he not been bitten, they would have led very different, much happier lives. Lives that the stress of having a Werewolf for a son would not have cut short. Whatever the Death Certificate the Healers signed stated, Remus knew his parents had died of broken hearts and exhaustion, as their attempts to find a cure for his lycanthropy proved to be fruitless. He had never allowed himself to get close to anyone else, knowing that he could never really be sure if they would accept him once they knew, or if they would pretend, looking at him differently, for a while, before disappearing into the abyss.

At home, in years gone by, Remus had been able to pretend that Christmas was simply another day, one where nothing special happened, and he sat curled up on the ancient, battered couch in his London flat, reading a thick, battered novel he had borrowed from the local muggle library.

At Hogwarts, Remus could not keep up this pretence. And the number of people around him, so full of excitement, only served to remind him how alone he was. What was that muggle saying how being in a crowd, surrounded by people, was often the loneliest place to be?

Remus turned down an invitation from Albus, Minerva and Filius to join them in Hogsmeade towards the end of term, the students being granted a visit the village the day before the holidays began, giving them a chance to stock up on sugar and Christmas presents before returning to their families for the break. The reasons for the teachers visiting the village on the same day as the students (something Remus had not seen since the wartime days of his latter years at Hogwarts) were threefold: firstly, on a practical note, they had Christmas shopping to complete as much as the students did. Secondly, they were there as extra security, should Sirius Black decide to make his presence felt. Thirdly, they wished to pay their traditional festive visit to Rosmerta’s establishment, where Remus suspected they ordered some Mulled Mead (Rosie’s speciality) for the staff party that was planned for the evening of the day the Hogwarts Express left, and the bulk of the students departed for home.

Remus, on the other hand, had no presents to buy, having quietly ordered books for Albus and Minerva, and a bottle of Ogden’s finest for Hagrid as small gestures, had avoided The Three Broomsticks and the memories it held as far as was possible, and should Sirius turn up in Hogsmeade, Remus knew he would be torn between satisfying varying outcomes: turning Sirius over to Dumbledore; turning Sirius over to the Dementors; beating Sirius black and blue - the muggle way - for what he had done in betraying them all. Aside from all of this, Remus had marking to complete, from end of term tests that he had given his OWL and NEWT level students that week, hoping to gauge how much they had caught up after the laughable “education” they had received in the subject from Guilderoy Lockhart the previous year.

On the day of the Hogsmeade visit, Remus chose not to go to the Great Hall for dinner, and instead returned to his quarters, where he ate some beef and mustard sandwiches he had procured from a kindly house elf named Kinney. He felt too tired for the sugar-induced hyperactivity of the students that a Hogsmeade visit at Christmas inevitably provoked, and the knowledge that the Minister for Magic, Cornelius Fudge, was dining with Dumbledore irked Remus more than he would admit, even to himself. He was unsure whether or not the Minister knew he was a Werewolf (though all the staff did) and in any case, ever since he had become aware of what being a Werewolf meant, and how bigoted people could be, he had shied away from those in authority, and despised the Ministry, which fought for countless laws that limited his chances of being able to engage in even the most basic form of employment.

He ended up retiring to bed earlier than usual, and with the help of his potion, fell into a dreamless sleep that persisted until late the next morning, after the Hogwarts Express had left. Stretching out in his bed, Remus yawned widely, and contemplated what to do with the rest of his day, trying to remember who else remained in the Castle. As far as he could recall, there were only half a dozen students, including Harry and his friends, and few teachers. Dumbledore always stayed, of course, as did Minerva - Severus, he recalled was staying also (as he had mostly done when a student) - as were Pomona and Filius (those four comprising the Heads of House). However, Sybill Trelawney, the Divination teacher that spooked Remus to the extreme, would also be remaining in the Castle, and he wished to avoid her presence, if at all possible. He would, he had to admit, miss the company of Professor Burbage, the Muggle Studies teacher, with whom he had enjoyed fascinating mealtime discussions about muggle literature. Hagrid and Filch, who stayed in the Castle permanently, would also be remaining as a matter of course. All in all, a mixed bag. Though more company than he was used to at this time of year.

In the end, Remus rose, ate an early lunch in the kitchens, insisting to each and every House Elf that approached him that the seven cups of tea he had drunk, and the two plates of chicken and vegetable soup he had eaten - with thick, warm crusty bread - was more than enough, both in terms of sustenance, and to warm him up. Wanting to be alone, Remus took a long walk, avoiding both the village and the Shack, not wanting reminders of the past, and instead walked up one of the hillsides around Hogsmeade, and sat, gazing down at the village, and at the view of the Castle, everything coated in a dusting of white snow, magical lights in abundance, wishing he could be part of it all, and that he could feel something. Anything, other than pain.

He returned to Hogwarts in the late afternoon, though it was as dark as night, given that the next day was to be the shortest of the year. Upon glancing at his watch - and thus realising that dinner would not be for another hour or so, Remus took a detour round the edge of the Forbidden Forest, heading in the direction of Hagrid’s Cabin, in the mood for a mug of thick, steaming, hot chocolate, and armed with the hope that the approach of dinner may be enough to stave off the offer of Stoat sandwiches, or thick, tooth-breaking rock cakes.

Remus rapped softly on the door of Hagrid’s cabin, rubbing his hands together: the warming charm he had performed on them when he had set out immediately following his early lunch was starting to wear off a little, and it was perishing cold outside for him, especially so close to the moon. Straight after knocking, Remus could hear a commotion going on inside, a grunt from Hagrid to indicate he was on his way to the door, and a bark from Fang to indicate that he was excited at the prospect of a visitor.

“Remus!” Hagrid exclaimed as he opened the door, and the aforenamed Professor found himself being manhandled into a large hug by the half-giant. “Its good ter see yeh! Come on in, yeh lookin’ forward ter Christmas, then? Sit down, I’ll make us some Hot Chocolate - be just like Honeydukes, yeh wait an’ see!”

“Its great to see you too, Hagrid”, Remus replied, realising he should have thought this through a bit further. Unlike when he was around Dumbledore or Minerva McGonagall, Remus would now have to fake enthusiasm for the festive season. “And I would never say no to a Hot Chocolate!” He sat down on a rug lain bench, of sorts, removing his gloves and jacket, the entire cabin being warmed by a fire in the middle of the room they were in.

“How have you been Hagrid, I haven’t had a chance to catch up with you for a while”, said Remus, a hint of guilt in his voice. He had always been fond of Hagrid as a student, and in the Order - a fondness which he had rediscovered as habit when he had returned to Hogwarts as a teacher.

“Not too bad, ter be honest, Remus”, he sighed, before bursting into tears.

“Hagrid!” Remus was shocked. “Whatever’s the matter? Has something happened?” Panic ran through him. “Is it Harry, or Dumbledore, or someone else…………?”

“Nah, Harry and Dumbledore are fine, not ter worry. No, its…….its Buckbeak”.

“Buckbeak?” Who - or what - in Merlin’s name was Buckbeak?! Ah yes, Remus recalled a moment later. Buckbeak was the Hippogriff that had scratched (and Remus used that word lightly, believing - after various discussions with his colleagues and from what he had seen with his own eyes - that the “victim” had exaggerated the injury to a dramatic extent) Draco Malfoy.

“What’s happened to Buckbeak, Hagrid?” Remus asked concernedly.

“I got a letter from the Ministry after what happened to Malfoy”, Hagrid said sadly, handing a tear-stained sheaf of parchment to Remus, who scanned it, and saw that there was to be a hearing in four months time. After which, Remus assumed, they would execute the poor creature, if Lucius Malfoy had anything to do with it.

“I’m sure everything will be fine”, Remus lied soothingly.

“Ah well, Harry and Ron and Hermione were all here fer tea this morning’ an’ they said they was gonna work on it fer me. They told me not ter fret, but - but - how can yer explain to an animal that its gotta be tie up, its not in their nature, is it?”

“No”, said Remus softly, thinking vaguely of the wolf within himself. “Its not. It is good that Harry, Ron and Hermione are looking into it for you. Knowing Hermione, she’ll have them in the library from dawn until dusk researching obscure cases of Hippogriff baiting from the 16th Century or so! If nothing else, it should at least keep the three of them out of trouble”.

“There’s that at least, I suppose. Anyway”, said Hagrid grinning lopsidedly, then he blew his nose bravely before handing Remus a steaming mug of Hot Chocolate. “Any plans fer the holidays, Remus, or are you stayin’ in the Castle?”

Remus stayed at Hagrid’s catching up, and discussing plans for the holidays - as well as listening to Hagrid’s stories about Christmases at home, before he came to Hogwarts - until it was time to return to the Castle for dinner. As he walked up the path with Hagrid, who was now somewhat approaching his old self again, Remus felt oddly rejuvenated, in spite of everything. Somehow, Hagrid had made him see that all else aside, Remus would not be alone for Christmas this year, and spend it in agony he may do, but he would not spend it alone.

Lily Evans rolled her eyes for the tenth time that evening, as she was once again miraculously caught under the Mistletoe with James Potter. She turned round after kissing him, and glanced across the deserted Gryffindor Common Room at Remus, shaking her head knowingly. Remus shrugged his shoulders in innocence, and nodded towards James and Sirius, indicating the two not-so-innocent parties.

“James, I’m your girlfriend now”, she told him teasingly. “You don’t have to pull stunts like that just to get me to kiss you”.

“Well, what do I have to do, then?” he responded in a similar tone of voice.

“Ask”, said Lily reasonably. And then - with a wicked glint in her eyes - “Or, you could always just do this”, and with that, Lily grabbed the front of James’s reindeer jumper that Mrs Potter had given him for Christmas the previous year, and laid her lips upon his.

Sirius whooped, and then made his way over to where Remus sat, in a comfy armchair beside the roaring fire, Peter sitting opposite him in similar comfort.

“Those two are mental”, said Sirius, his loud barking laugh echoing through the empty room as he shook his head at Lily and James.

It was almost midnight on Christmas Eve, and the four Marauders and Lily were waiting expectantly for the chime that would usher in the day they had been looking forward to all month. With it being their final year, and Lily insisting that she and James stay in school over the holidays - as Head Boy and Girl - and James persuading his friends that they should spend their final Christmas at Hogwarts together, a party atmosphere persisted in Gryffindor Tower, though the half a dozen younger House members had retired to their dormitories at least an hour or so ago.

“Its odd to think that this time next year, we won’t be Hogwarts students anymore”, said Remus a tad wistfully, when James and Lily had unglued their lips and joined their three friends by the fireside.

“You’re weird, Moony. I can’t wait to get out of school!” Peter exclaimed. “No more detention, or rules, or homework…………..” He gazed into space starry-eyed at the thought of being able to do what he wanted.

“But Wormtail, you don’t do your homework”, said Sirius. “You copy Moony’s.”

“Hence the detentions”, James muttered under his breath, smiling at his friends.

“You copy Moony‘s too!” Peter responded defensively to Sirius.

“Not all the time. Sometimes I actually - shock horror - do my own! Not that anyone should ever find that out. Would ruin my reputation if word got out, that would”, Sirius winked at Lily, the redhead shaking her head in response.

Their debate was cut short, however, by the chiming of bells that informed them that it was now midnight. They were passing the threshold into Christmas Day.

“Hey, its Christmas!” James exclaimed, and immediately grabbed Lily in essentially the same manner as she had just grabbed him, while the other three boys high-fived their way past midnight, Remus in particular feeling glad to have stayed at school. He knew his parents had been disappointed, though they had done their best to hide it in their last letter, telling him that they would miss seeing him open their presents as well as saying they knew he was old enough to make his own decisions about where to spend Christmas.

In spite of not getting to bed as they had stayed up talking until almost three (Sirius having miraculously made a bottle of Ogden’ finest appear, along with five glasses) all five of them were up and awake and alert early on Christmas morning, wishing their fellow Gryffindor a Merry Christmas before heading down to breakfast in the Great Hall, which was so opulently decorated that Remus wondered why they bothered with so few students remaining at school for the holidays. As that thought crossed his mind, Remus glanced over at the Slytherin table, where Severus Snape was sitting, glowering at Sirius and Peter, who, it now transpired, had hexed him in the corridor the previous day.

“Sirius, can’t you just leave it?” Remus asked, knowing what the response would be, and thus listening more to what James and Lily, who were just in front of his, were saying than the nonsense Sirius was uttering.

“………see he’s staying for Christmas as well this year, then”.

“He always does”, Lily responded quietly. Remus noted her head started to droop slightly.

“Its still hard for you, isn’t it?” James asked, drawing her closer to him as she nodded in response.

“He’s made his choice, though”, she said sadly. “He’s had more than one chance to get away from that scum he calls friends, and he hasn’t taken it. What is it Dumbledore says……about our choices being what show us for what we are? He’s chosen them. Now he’s just going to have to live with the consequences. But, if he changes his mind, I’ll be the first to welcome him back”. James kissed her forehead lightly, and led her into a seat about halfway down the table, shaking his head at Peter, who was just about to hex Snape again, but lowered his wand at James’s prompting. If nothing else, Peter always did whatever James had told him to. It annoyed Remus from time to time, the idea that if James asked him to jump, Peter would ask how high, but he supposed it was just lack of confidence. Something that was balanced by the fact that Sirius had the self-confidence of five people, never mind one.

“Here’s to Christmas”, said James, raising his glass of pumpkin juice solemnly, and gesturing for the four surrounding him to follow suit. “May we all know another festive day as happy as this one.”

“Geez Prongs, you make it sound like you’re opening some kind of museum or something”, teased Sirius. “Now, who votes for a Christmas Party tonight?! I say we………………………”

The Christmas James wished for never happened. By the following festive season, James and Lily may have been married, but all five of them were fighting for their lives, desperate to defeat Voldemort. The year after, Lily was mysteriously ill (though it turned out to be the throes of pregnancy) and she and James had a quiet Christmas, mourning the loss of her mother to Cancer, while Sirius was in the midst of a destructive phase, born out of the death of his brother Regulus, a Death Eater. Remus, without his friends to steady him, and feeling the full-force of anti-Werewolf bigotry after a spate of attacks by Greyback, had only a quiet Peter for company. Then, the last year they were all alive, James and Lily were in hiding, and the suspicions that would tear them apart had already began to fester. After that, Remus had nothing.

Looking back, Remus thought what a simple thing it was: to want to have a ‘Happy Christmas’. He had wished people one all the time in the past few weeks, here at Hogwarts, and they had wished him one in return, little knowing that he had not experienced such a thing since his own schooldays, since that bittersweet festive cheer of his final year at school.

Christmas Day was spent under covers, shivering, with only Wolfsbane and a few pain-relief potions from Poppy to keep him going. Boxing Day was full moon. It was not until the day after Boxing Day, when he was recovering from his transformation, that he had a visit from Dumbledore and Minerva, bringing with them a Firebolt. Harry’s Christmas present. One that was suspected to have been given, they said in worried tones, by Sirius Black………………………



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Chapter 21 - Bedlam and Broomsticks, Moony’s POV

Remus groaned lightly as he tried to stretch, every millimetre of movement causing him to wince in pain after the previous night’s transformation. It took a while before he was able to drink the tea that a kindly House Elf had brought to his quarters, and even longer before he was able to contemplate actually leaving his bed. After lunch, which was nothing more than a small portion of Steak and Kidney Pudding, Remus finally felt able to pull on his dressing gown, and move towards his bookcase, in search of some large, ancient tome that could absorb his attention for the remainder of the day. He was just about to settle down with a delightful copy of Plato that his parents had given him for his birthday in his fifth year, when he heard a knock on the door. Surprised at the sound, given that so few people had access to this part of the Castle, and that those who did knew about what he had undergone the previous night, Remus nevertheless laid down his book, which he had yet to even open, and replied for the knocker to come in.

As the door edged open, Remus saw that it was both Albus - who had some form of cane or nother with him - and Minerva that had been waiting outside. Given the nervous looks on their face, he wondered just how bad he looked after his transformation, but a glance in the mirror off to the side told him that he looked no worse - nor, sadly, any better - than he normally did.

“How are you feeling, Remus?” Dumbledore asked with concern. “Did you have a bad time of it last night?”

“No worse than usual, Albus, and the Wolfsbane does help immensely”, Remus replied honestly. Dumbledore nodded, as Minerva approached him, and started wrapping a blanket around him. It was at this point that Remus, desperate for distraction from Minerva’s molly-coddling, took a closer look at the cane - or the thing he had presumed was a cane - that Dumbledore had brought with him.

“What’s that stick you have with you?” Remus asked. Dumbledore laughed slightly in response, until silenced by a look of concern from Minerva.

“It is not a stick, Remus”, said Dumbledore soberly. “I wish that it were. No, this is a Firebolt”.

“A Firebolt?” Remus repeated stupidly. Was it just that it was the day after his transformation, or was there something that Remus was not quite grasping here. Why was Dumbledore bringing a Firebolt - the most expensive broom available at the present time - into his quarters? Surely he wasn’t expected to fly the thing?

“Albus, I’m sorry”, Remus added apologetically. “Maybe it’s with the transformation being last night, but I really don’t understand ------ “

“Its not for you, Remus, Potter was given it for Christmas”, Minerva told him, stress evident in her tone of voice.

“Harry got this?” Remus asked, surprised. “But Lily’s sister hated magic, why would she buy him a Firebolt for Christmas?” He couldn’t think of anyone else Harry knew that could afford it - save Dumbledore, and he wouldn’t go around giving presents of this magnitude to students. Even Minerva’s obsession with regaining the Quidditch Championship did not stretch to providing her star Seeker with the best broom around.

“The present was not from Mrs Dursley”, Dumbledore responded gravely. Something did not add up here. Why were they bringing Harry’s Christmas present to Remus?

“It did not have a name attached to it”, Minerva added. “We think - we think Black may have sent it to Harry. Cursed, of course”.

“Of course”, muttered Remus icily. “How did you find out about it? Did he take it down to dinner with him?” He recalled an occasion when James had been given the latest broom for his birthday, and done just that.

“No”, said Minerva. “Miss Granger was the first to suspect, and informed me of it. Filius has already had a quick look over it, and he cannot detect any obvious hexes or charms placed on it. He will of course start to strip it down tomorrow to have a proper look. Knowing Black, it will either be something so obvious, he will have the arrogance to presume we shall overlook it, or he will choose something so obscure that only a madman would contemplate it”.

“Hm”, said Remus, not really taking in what was being said around him. Then something clicked in his mind, awoken from the depths of the past.

“Harry’s first birthday”, Remus whispered, remembering, feeling as if a knife were cutting right through him.

“What?” Dumbledore asked sharply.

“Harry’s first birthday”, Remus repeated. “I wasn’t there - I was…..away……on a mission for The Order. I think Sirius was too, actually. In any case, the pair of them - James and Sirius - had talked about nothing else ever since Harry was born. Before he was born, even. They were going to turn him into a massive Quidditch star. World Famous. And Sirius thought it his duty, as Harry’s Godfather, to buy him his first broom. It was only a toy one. I saw it once when I went to visit them. One of the last times I went to visit them. He was flying around on it, knocking over everything in sight, scaring the poor cat, smashing anything in his way. He loved that broomstick. It was only a toy one, but it was still the best model.” With his emotions heightened after the moon, Remus did not have the strength, was not able, to elaborate further, already choking back the tears that threatened to come.

“Remus”, said Dumbledore gravely. “I came here to ask you if there were any slight chance that Black could have sent this. Now, I am sure of it. The vindictiveness of the symbolism, his desire to kill Harry - buying him his first broomstick, and now, what he hopes will be his last”.

Remus examined the broom himself, but failed to find any dark properties, other than the colour, limply passing it back to Minerva for further investigation by Filius. His visitors left not long after, but it was a long time before Remus was calm again. He was disgusted at Sirius’s vile attitude to his Godson, and to his Godson’s life. Disgusted at the lack of respect and care he had shown. Not that he should have expected anything else from him. From a Black.

The remainder of the holidays were chaotic for Remus. He did not want to fall behind, as he knew he had earlier on in the year, because he was out of commission for a couple of days a month. He also needed a distraction from the new, and rather disturbing, move by Sirius to get at Harry. So, he planned rigorously, and prepared work for weeks upon weeks in advance. And, though he worked out of his office, he often ran into Hermione at the library, pouring through volumes of testimony on Hippogriffs in their attempt to aid Hagrid. She was not, Hermione admitted to him the Friday before term recommenced, making much headway, but she still lived in hope of finding something to save Buckbeak. ‘For Hagrid’s sake, if not for the creature’s own‘, Hermione had informed him softly.

The first day of term was just as bad for Remus, who had to deal with the consequences of the tests he had set at the end of the previous term to test how far his OWL and NEWT level classes had caught up to the level they should have attained this distance from their exams.

“We are now into the final stretch”, Remus smiled at the Fifth Year Gryffindor students he taught in the last class of the morning. “Just over four-and-a-half months from now, you will begin your OWL examinations. And there’s no need to look so scared”, he added, glancing towards Emma Bright, who looked as if he had just told her that, in a few months time, she would be forced to jump head-first off the Astronomy Tower.

“Think of your OWLs as a rite of passage. Like your first day at Hogwarts, or your first trip into Hogsmeade, something that everyone has to go through”.

“And so, for the next few months, we will hone the skills that you have developed throughout the past five years, and ensure that each and every one of you is properly prepared for your examination. Now, I have marked the tests I set you at the end of last term, which gave me a good insight into where we are, and how far we have to go. Miss Johnson and Mr Towler, if you could return these tests to their owners, and then we can get started”.

Towards the end of the class, Remus started them working on defensive spells, and told the students that from then on, they could expect classes to have a combination of written and practical elements - “just like the final exam”. It had started off working fine, with Shield and Disarming Charms flying around in a well-organised and orderly manner. However, this was the Fifth Year Gryffindor class……………which included the Weasley twins…………..

Remus was not quite sure how the fracas had started; he had been working on stunning spells with Emilia Murray and Laetitia Slaya, and then the next thing he knew, Albie Philpott’s head was twice its size, and he was sprouting ears that were more purple and green than he had been used to; Angelina Johnson’s hair now reached the floor; Kenneth Towler appeared to have developed a talent for Irish Jig Dancing; in essence, each member of the class - the Weasley twins and the two students Remus had been facing aside - were now sporting new, rather un-dashing looks.

“What? We were defending ourselves…………..” Fred stated.

“We should always surprise our opponent”, added George.

“Duelling is about winning”, continued Fred. “And I think we’ve just won”.

“Yes, boys, you have just won”, said Remus, trying not to grin at the sheer ingenuity of the two boys, and at the sight of some of his students. It was almost like being transported back into a class of the past. Third year Potions had, in particular, been game for a prank or two………

The four male Gryffindor students entered the dungeon room in two pairs, Remus and Peter falling into line between James and Sirius, the aromas filling Remus’s senses as they did every time he entered the room, and he paused as always, allowing them to fill him, closing his eyes for a split-second, which also allowed him to block out the fact that they had this class with the Slytherins. The boys then headed for their traditional table, at the back of the room, out of sight as far as was possible from their teacher, Professor Slughorn.

As the rest of the class entered, Remus could sense James and Sirius just off to his right, making sure that the last minute preparations were going as they should be. He was still unsure himself, not wanting to disrupt the learning of the other students, and he had already been in detention twice this month, only ten days in. Okay, both of those times had involved pranks that Remus himself had devised, but still, he knew his parents would be disappointed if he kept getting himself into trouble, and their approval meant everything to him. They had not abandoned him, and for that, Remus wanted to make them proud, to use the opportunity he had been given at Hogwarts.

“Just try not to get all of us in detention again, Sirius”, Remus pleaded with his friend. “it’s the full in just over a week, and I can’t fall behind again. Do it the way I told you to, and we won’t get caught”.

“But getting caught is the fun part”, Sirius responded, a mischievous glint lighting up his eyes. “Getting caught means we get all the credit. Getting caught gives you a rush, it makes you feel special, it……….”

“Is a sure-fire way to be the people that everyone blames for everything?” Remus supplied.

“It’ll all be fine, Remus”, James assured him. But then, the assurances of James Potter were not always the most comforting in the world. His last assertion that everything would be “fine” had been in the last Quidditch match against Ravenclaw a little over a fortnight previously, when James had ended up in the hospital wing after being hit on the head with a Bludger after an over-enthusiastic hit by one of their Beaters, Solomon Monkshort, who had been on the receiving end of a bewitchment spell James had cast as part of pre-game pranks, that had led Solomon to spend the three days before the match following around one of his fellow fifth years, Sally Jenkins, rather than concentrating on Quidditch.

“Well, let’s just get it over and done with”, Remus muttered, silently planning all-night attempts to catch up with his homework following the detentions he knew were imminent.

“All in good time, Remus, all in good time”, Sirius grinned.

“We’re all doomed“, Remus muttered, as Peter, sitting on the other side if him, started to ask when everything was going to get underway.

Professor Slughorn entered the class last, which Remus suspected was more about his making an entrance than anything else, and placed a large pile of parchment on his desk at the front of the room, before turning around to greet his class.

It started off as a normal class, with Professor Slughorn explaining a little about - and asking questions on - the Beautification Potion they were making that day, and had been asked to read a little about in preparation. A potion, Slughorn reminded them, that he would not advise them to brew when they were older, as it could have severe side-effects, such as giddiness as over-confidence to the point of stupidity. At this point, he could hear Lily Evans’ audible mutter to her neighbour, Mary, that James obviously overdosed on it several times a week.

They worked in pairs for this potion, and Remus was partnered with Peter, while James and Sirius worked together. Remus was competent at Potions; he was not an expert, and he could never in a million years have devised any of his own, but he could follow the precise instructions without too many issues. Peter, on the other hand, constantly questioned whether or not what he was doing was right, and so often got the timing wrong, which meant that Remus had to be careful when working with him.

“Oh no, Sirius, you forgot the Chicken Feet”, said James in a tone of false disappointment and frustration. “Hurry up - go back to store cupboard and get them now. Honestly Sirius, I can’t count on you to do anything right.” James shook his head sadly, as Remus could see Peter, a mere foot and a half away from him, shaking with suppressed laughter. They were sooooooo doomed.

Remus’s line of sight included the door to the store cupboard off to the side of the class, and he could see Sirius exit the room, look nonchalantly around him, and head back to the table the boys shared. He could also see the thumbs up James gave Sirius when he returned, and they had obviously got what they were looking for.

Slowly, and calmly, while the rest of the class were engrossed in trying to perfect their potion, as Professor Slughorn was now making his rounds to speak to everyone about how they were getting on, James and Sirius started to levitate the Glumbumble parts that Sirius had collected from the store cupboard in addition to the Chicken Feet, into the cauldrons being worked at by every single Slytherin student. According to the reading that Remus had done, and tried to encourage his friends to do, Glumbumble parts should never be used in conjunction with the horned toads that were used in the potion they were making.

What Remus had imparted educationally, James And Sirius had turned into a prank, and discovered just what would happen if the two were to mix, and decided that, though Snivellus couldn’t really be uglier, it would be good for him if they levelled the playing field a little, and removed the goodness (if there was any) in the appearance of the remaining Slytherin third years. And, luckily for them, the addition of this ingredient made the potion slightly explosive, so they did not need to wait for Slughorn to look for a test subject.

“Remus!!” Peter shouted loudly, trying to attract everyone’s attention while Sirius and James got as far as dropping the Glumbumble parts into the offending cauldrons. “We missed out the most important step! Now everything is ruined!”

“Don’t worry, Peter”, said Remus placidly. “I have just added the salamander eyes, everything will be fine.”

And just as Remus uttered that last word, half of the cauldrons in the class exploded slightly, causing every Slytherin to be splashed in the face by their unfinished potion, which dramatically altered their appearance, adding in horns and warts, and greasing the skin and hair. The Slytherin girls, Bessie Baddock among them, screamed loudly, bewailing the loss of their good looks, as Slughorn tried to take control. James and Sirius, on the other hand, could not control their laughter, and were making it patently obvious that they’d had at least some involvement in the joke.

Slughorn working out what had happened occurred so quickly that Remus did not quite know what was going on. One minute Professor Slughorn was struggling to understand what was going on. The next -

“Black! Potter! Pettigrew! Lupin! Detention tonight, and the next two, and I don’t care if it interferes with Gryffindor Quidditch practice Mr Potter! All the better for my Slytherin team.”

“If only they’d done what they were told”, Remus muttered. “If only they’d done it less ostentatiously……”

They were sooooooo doomed. Doomed to detention.

“Yes, boys, you have just won”, said Remus. “You have won the priceless prize of detention with me this evening and next. Now, I think you two boys might be able to assist me in reversing some of these spells. We don’t want to overload Madam Pomfrey in the midst of cold and flu season, now, do we?”

Between the three of them, Remus and the twins had reversed the spells by the end of the class, and it came as no surprise to his students, Remus could tell, when he assigned them copious amounts of homework for the next class. This was OWL year: no time for slacking off. He wouldn’t punish the twins too harshly. Just enough that they did not re-offend so badly. Perhaps the creatures he had procured for classes needed to be organised, or his classroom tidied without the assistance of magic?

On leaving the classroom and heading to lunch, Remus met Minerva McGonagall, who presided over a classroom almost directly above Remus’s. She appeared to be a little harangued, and Remus resisted the temptation and curiosity he felt to ask her whom she had just come from teaching.

“Professor McGonagall”, Remus greeted her formally: in front of the students - and there were a lot of them about presently - no teacher addressed another using their Christian name.

“Ah, Professor Lupin”, she responded, beginning to smile. “How are you finding the first day back?”

“Not too bad”, he replied. “I have just been teaching the Gryffindor OWL class. There was an…incident…..and the Messers. Weasley will be joining me in detention this evening and next. And yourself?”

“I have the pleasure of that class after lunch”, she grimaced. “But it has not been too hectic as yet. That will come after the Easter Holidays. Do you have a moment to spare at all? I would like to speak with you briefly regarding the issue Professor Dumbledore and myself had brought to our attention and yours during the holidays?” Remus nodded, and followed Minerva into the empty classroom she indicated. Had they now some proof that Sirius had sent Harry that broomstick (though Remus was certain of it, and did not feel proof as such to be necessary) - or had they uncovered which hex had been cast on it?

“Has Filius been able to determine the hex used on the Firebolt?” Remus asked, as soon as they were out of earshot of the students.

“No, not as yet”, Minerva responded sadly. “He is now investigating the possibility of it being a Hurling Hex, and I wondered if that was something that Black had tried before?”

“Not that I am aware of”, Remus told her. “But, to be frank Minerva, there was quite obviously a tremendous, intense part of his life of which I demonstrably knew nothing, during which it could have been something he contemplated, or indeed used. Was there not an attack on the Montrose Magpies muggle-born Chaser during the war? Charity Blenkinsopp, I think her name was. I remember Sirius taking a bit of a shine to her when he went to an international match with James when they were about eighteen, maybe nineteen. Does that help at all?”

“It can’t hurt”, said Minerva. “We have been through all of the obvious hexes, as well and found nothing. Yet, it does not make sense for Potter to have received such a gift. He has no magical relations still living, his Godfather is desperate to kill him, and certainly no member of staff sent the gift. I really cannot fathom exactly what is going on here. On top of it all, I have just had a rather abrupt discussion with Mr Wood, who sees nothing in the situation aside from a Firebolt on the Gryffindor Quidditch side, and would rather compromise Potter’s safety than have him on a second-rate broomstick come their next game. I gave him short shrift, I can tell you. Just because the Puddlemere United and Pride of Portree scouts have been to see him this year is no reason to treat Quidditch as the most important thing in the universe!”

Remus hid the small grin he formed at this, which he found a tad ironic, given that Minerva McGonagall was the strongest supporter the team had, and she had often re-arranged James’s detentions around the times they had matches.

“In any case, we had better make our way to lunch, Remus”, she continued. “Merlin knows when this Black business will be sorted, but I hope for everyone’s sake - particularly Potter’s - that it is soon, and that we can recapture Black without Potter finding out everything. It is a miracle that Fudge has been able to lean on the Prophet not to report the whole story for so long.”

“I hope so too”, said Remus quietly, starting to move towards the door. No matter where he went, he could not escape Sirius, and what he had done, and what he was still doing.



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[MissGryffindor]

Chapter 22 - Christmas Past, Padfoot's POV

The remainder of November passed quickly for Padfoot, and minor schemes that he and Ginger concocted came to nothing. On a more practical note, the weather was beginning to get worse and worse, and - even more worrying - colder and colder. It was not too bad until December came in full swing, bringing along with it the first snow that Padfoot had seen in over a decade. At first, when he woke up one morning to find that his fur was whiter than he could remember it having been when he had finally fallen into a deep, nightmare-ridden slumber, Padfoot had been excited to see the snow, not having felt the soft texture since late January of the year James and Lily had died, and he had been sent to Azkaban. Soon, however, he started to realise that he did not have a wand with which he could transfigure something into shelter, or cast a Heating Charm, and starting a fire with the spare twigs he could gather would only attract unwanted attention.

Luckily, of course, he had Ginger. The kneazle-cat explained that he had snuck the blanket he brought with him out of the laundry, and Padfoot wrapped it tightly around himself. He could, however, deal with this type of cold easier than he could that of Azkaban. Ginger brought only the blanket, and information that Rat Boy was getting more and more riled, but his access was becoming more limited, as Rat Boy stuck close to his owner. This did not bode well for their plans to get closer to extinguishing the source of a great deal of his problems.

He had to get back into Gryffindor Tower, but how? And when? If Rat Boy was with his owner round the clock, it stood to reason that it would have to be at a time when his owner could not defend the little piece of vermin. When Rat Boy was defenceless. At night, perhaps? He’d have to go about it carefully, though, after what happened last time. He couldn’t risk a repeat of what happened with the fat lady, and in any case, the had to make it to the Gryffindor dormitory and out of the Castle before anyone realised what was going on. Not the easiest task in the world. Whatever he did, he could not take the same risks as he had last time. On Hallowe’en, only his in-depth knowledge of the Castle, and sheer dumb luck had prevented his being caught. He would not be so lucky a second time, and while his knowledge of the secret passages rivalled that of Dumbledore, Remus’s knowledge was equal to his.

He had to hide later on that day, and move further into an uninhabited part of the forest, when he spotted Hagrid approaching the Clearing he had made his home, so that he could chop down a tree, Padfoot presumed, for the Entrance Hall. He recalled himself from his days at Hogwarts, how magnificent it had looked; even more so in his final year, the Christmas the four boys and Lily had spent at Hogwarts together, their last Christmas before going out into the wide, war-torn world. Perhaps, with it being the last Hogwarts Christmas he had experienced, that in itself was the reason for it looking so stunning. He didn’t know. A lot of things were just a blur to him now.

Padfoot wondered if Harry spent Christmas at Hogwarts, or if he returned home, or went to stay with one of his friends. There was so much about his Godson that he did not know, and even this close to Harry, the more he came to know about him, the more he realised he did not. From one simple answer sprouted a dozen further questions.

His answer to that particular question came in the days approaching Christmas, when Padfoot saw Harry and his friends visiting Hagrid. He had just moved away from his Clearing to meet Ginger on the edge of the Forbidden Forest, when he had caught sight of Harry and his two friends, the red-headed boy he presumed was a Weasley, and the bushy-haired girl, Hermione, Padfoot thought he had heard Hagrid call her before. This Christmas, at least, Harry was spending at Hogwarts, AND with his friends.

On the day itself, Padfoot was woken up early, by the sound of birds squawking nearby, clearly having some sort of disagreement. He looked around him, at the blanket snow that had enveloped his Clearing, and, he presumed, Hogwarts grounds as a whole. The steam that he had caught fish in during the course of the autumn would still be frozen over, and thus unable to furnish him with a breakfast; he would have to rely on whatever birds he could catch, in the instance that Ginger did not bring him anything.

The puss turned up late into the morning, with kippers and exciting news for Padfoot. Ginger had come very close to Rat Boy for the first time in weeks, and excitedly passed on the information that the vermin was becoming visibly thinner and nerve-wracked. Padfoot did not have the pity to waste on him, and responded that Ginger should stick as close to the dormitory as possible. With the holidays underway, and no classes on, there may be more chances to get into the room to get to Rat Boy. It was yet another near miss, and these near misses were getting Padfoot nowhere, but they were at least something, and gave him some measure of hope. A hope that he was moving towards something, and that he would one day catch his prey.

Ginger brought concrete happy news to Padfoot, though. The broomstick he had order as Harry’s Christmas present had been received with huge excitement, and it was said excitement that Ginger had taken advantage of in his attempt to get at Rat Boy. At least he had been pleased with it, Padfoot mused. Even if he could not yet know the identity of his benefactor. A broomstick would always be the classic present to give a Potter.

That evening, though, Padfoot found himself caught up once more in his memories; his ghosts of Christmas Past. His mind swarmed with images, of Christmases spent at home; at Hogwarts; at the Potters’; at James and Lily’s; in Azkaban. Christmas wasn’t really something that was celebrated in the last of these. In fact, Padfoot had not been able to tell one day from the next in there, losing track constantly of when it was.

One memory seemed to keep repeating itself though, one particular ghost. The Christmas of his eleventh year…..

Sirius stepped off the Hogwarts Express with an unfamiliar sense of trepidation coursing through his veins. Before he had gone to Hogwarts, he may have been, in his parents’ eyes, a bit of a rebel. What eleven year old boy didn’t play small pranks on his younger brother?! What eleven year old boy didn’t put the odd frog in his elder cousin’s handbag?! These were elements of rebellion that Walburga and Orion Black were willing to tolerate - to a certain extent. Sirius would be punished, but he would never be concerned about what his parents might say to him.

Those were acceptable hallmarks of rebellion. Breaking a centuries old tradition and being sorted into Gryffindor - the enemy House of Slytherin - rather than the House of his ancestors, was another thing. He was so screwed.

It was his first Christmas holidays since starting at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and for the first time, Sirius was unsure what would happen at Christmas. His parents - his mother, primarily - had not been amused at the Black heir being sorted into any house other than Slytherin. They could possibly have tolerated Ravenclaw - after all, this was the house that prized intelligence and intellect above all else, and would at least be vaguely respectable amongst the pure-blood set the Black family socialised in. Gryffindor was the very antithesis of what they had hoped for their eldest son. Walburga Black had responded to Sirius’s letter stating he was now a Gryffindor with a Howler.

“How dare you besmirch the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black in this manner!! You are the heir to the name and House of Black, not a common blood traitor! How dare you befoul our reputation by joining a house patronised by mudbloods! Your ancestors would turn in their graves if they knew what you had done, and what kind of example do you think you are setting to your brother?!

“It’ll be alright, mate, I’m sure of it”, James told him, nodding profusely. Sirius shrugged, acting as if he cared less than he did, though Peter and Remus were both nodding in agreement with what James had said.

“You will owl me, won’t you?” Peter asked the other three, who nodded in agreement. “Good. I’m just not looking forward to having to spend two whole weeks with just girls.” He would be spending the holidays with his mother, grandmother and elder sister.

“Better run, my parents will be getting worried”, said Remus.

“Yeah, hope your mother’s starting to feel better”, James responded.

“Me too“, Remus replied as he left them.

A minute or so later, only Sirius remained of the four friends. He didn’t want to look for them, was silently wishing that he had asked to remain at Hogwarts for the holidays.

“Don’t worry, Sirius, it’ll be alright”, came a voice from behind him. He turned round to see his cousin Andromeda, who was in her final year at Hogwarts, standing behind him. He nodded slightly. She was the only one who knew how it really was.

“You know how mental they went when I got sorted into Gryffindor, Andie”, he said. “It isn’t that I give a damn what they think about me and my friends. I’m happy where I am. Happier than I ever was under their roof.” This last had only just damned upon him as he said it.

“I just don’t want to have to deal with them, and their stupid beliefs”, he told her. “Ever since I was little, they tried to drill it into me that muggle-borns and blood traitors are scum, and that no one that isn’t are pure blood is not worth my time. But……they are. James is my best mate, and a good guy, but mother and father won’t have anything to do with his family because they treat muggle-borns like people. I just…..I don’t believe anything they do any more, Andie.”

“You’re…not the first Black to think so”, she said, as Sirius looked at her questioningly. “Think about all those blasted off the family tree“, she said quickly. “Why do you think that was done? Because they did not believe the same things your parents and mine do.”

“Don’t worry, Sirius. Life at home isn’t forever. And you’ll spend most of the next six-and-a-half years at Hogwarts. You won’t rally be around them. It’ll be alright, I promise.”

Shrugging off Andie’s attempt at a hug, Sirius swaggered over to where his Uncle Alphard stood. Uncle Alphard?

“Hey, kid, you’re mother’s busy - she and your father are having dinner with the Minister and his wife tonight, and she wanted to get ready, so she asked me to come and pick you up. Enjoy your first term at Hogwarts?”

On the way back to Grimmauld Place (they walked to the Leak Cauldron and then travelled on by Floo Powder after a Butterbeer each) Sirius told his uncle everything about his first few months at Hogwarts, and all the mischief he had already created with his new friends. He knew it wouldn’t bother his uncle that two of his three friends were half-bloods and the third from a family of blood-traitors. He started to tense up when it came closer to flooing home, though; Sirius dreaded seeing his mother.

“Ah, you have returned”, she said sternly, when Sirius presented himself in the living room, where his parents were having a quiet drink - or in his mother’s case, probably three - before going to the Minister’s house. Sirius stood up straight, and remained silent (with difficulty) while Walburga looked him up and down, sneering at him.

“Your father and I are dining at the Minister’s house this evening. We shall be back late this evening. Regulus already has his orders for the evening. Alphard shall remain for dinner with you, and you shall retire to bed before 10pm. There will be no continuation of whatever bad habits you have picked up at Hogwarts, is that understood.” Sirius nodded, internally rolling his eyes at his mother. He had manager to get away with not following her orders to the letter for years now. Well - some of the time. It usually depended on whether or not Kreacher, her loyal elf, was nosing around.

The first few days of the holidays followed this pattern. Sirius spent most of the time engaged in his own activities, his parents choosing to see him even less than they had before he’d started at Hogwarts. Regulus, from what he understood, had been ordered not to spend too much time in his company (presumably in case he caught Gryffindor-itis from Sirius) and Kreacher enforced this zealously. And so, when Christmas Day came, Sirius couldn’t help but wonder if James and the rest of them were suffering as badly (their letters had only stated what they wanted/were getting for Christmas, their plans for the day, and in Remus‘s case, the fact that he had already completed his holiday homework). He thought probably not. James and Remus were both the only child in their respective families, and the Potters in particular were as suffocating of James as the Blacks were distant with Sirius. Peter’s mother, Grandmother and sister treated him, the only male in the house, with a sort of spoilt respect, looking up to his leadership, yet babying him at the same time.

On the day itself, his parents were hosting a family get-together at Grimmauld Place. Sirius’s Uncle Alphard was invited, as was the rest of his mother’s side of the Black family (his parents being second cousins). Alphard would, Sirius knew, be fashionably late, so until his arrival the only welcome and sane company Sirius would have, would be Andie. She had come with her parents and elder sisters, Bellatrix (who had left Hogwarts) and Narcissa (an OWL-level student, along with Bellatrix’s fiance Rudolphus Lestrange, whose loud guffaws at each and every small joke his future father-in-law Cygnus made quickly got on Sirius’s nerves.

By two in the afternoon - half an hour after the guests had started to arrive - Sirius found himself bored rigid. His mother had promised that she would “see to it” that he was harshly punished if the day did not proceed to her liking. As well, Rudolphus Lestrange had been detailed by Walburga to “tell Regulus all about the ancient family our dear Bella will be marrying into.” Andie was usually game for some fun, but she was not stupid enough to create trouble amongst her parents at such an important family event, and so was sat with Narcissa, listening to her younger sister twittering on about the new dress robes she had received for Christmas, and planned to wear at the New Year celebrations.

“I did try to make Dumbledore see sense, but what sense can you get from a man that lets mudbloods into a school of Magical Learning”, he overheard his mother saying to her sister-in-law Druella. “Honestly, I don’t know what I am going to do with that boy, placing such strain on the family name like that. He is not going unpunished, though, and I am doing everything in my power to keep Regulus away from him. I do not want him to pollute Regulus’s mind before starts at Hogwarts himself. Perhaps we should have sent the boys to Durmstrang, they have such a sensible take on the Dark Arts there. They at least recognise that it is essential for pure-bloods like ourselves to learn them, and no Mudbloods pollute the air at that school. But Orion wanted them to follow in his footsteps at Hogwarts. Humph! What a waste of time that was with Sirius. All our hopes now must rest with Regulus. Andromeda finishes at Hogwarts in the summer. Have you thought of a match for her yet?”

He wasn’t going to hang around listening to the pure-blooded rejects Druella wanted to marry Andie off to. Brainless buffoons that they were distantly related to in some way or other, he supposed. As for his mother’s opinions on him, Sirius knew a little of what she thought already, but did not really care. He was starting to form his own family at Hogwarts. Sort of. James, Remus and Peter did not have brothers, and Sirius guessed he wouldn’t be allowed one for the next few years, and they had all started to fill that gap for one another. Sirius and James were the ‘older, leading astray’ type; Remus the steadying influence, who made sure they did their homework, yet also came up with great ideas for causing creative mayhem without being caught; Peter the younger, admiring one.

By four that afternoon, they were sitting down to dinner, Sirius having been placed between Bellatrix’s fiance Rudolphus and his cousin Narcissa; the first trying to sign him up to a new political movement for pure-blood rights, and the second gossiping about the latest happenings in the Slytherin Common Room - “well, its not like you’d know, is it Sirius?” she said smugly.

“Yeah, and I don’t want to know”, he responded harshly, bored rigid with what was supposed to be a day of fun. “I don’t want to know, because I don’t care. I don’t give a damn what happens in Slytherin, because I am GLAD that I have nothing to do with those brainless trolls in your House! I LIKE being a Gryffindor, and the only interest I have in what you are telling me is using it to get into the Slytherin Common Room to decorate it in Gryffindor colours the next time we’re going to annihilate you at Quidditch!”

He was sick of this. Sick of their rules and beliefs. If the time since he’d returned from Hogwarts had taught him anything, it was that he really was different from them. He no longer believed what they did, and he was not ashamed of being a Gryffindor. He was proud of it.

“Sirius Black” Walburga hissed from the end of the table, which was not far away. “That is enough. You will now go to your room, and you shall not receive any more supper. Nor - as you shall remain there until this time tomorrow - will you receive breakfast or lunch. IF you have been deemed to have behaved yourself, you may eat tomorrow evening. I am most displeased with you, and this will NOT be the end of your punishment.”

“Whatever”, said Sirius as he got up from the table.

“Walburga, its Christmas”, said Alphard, who was sitting beside her, diagonally opposite Sirius. “Surely you can let the kid off with it just this once.”

“No, Alphard, I will not stand to be disrespected in my house. Sirius knows the rules, and he shall abide by them. Or face the consequences.”

Sirius walked out of the kitchen, catching Andie’s despairing glance as he went. He didn’t need any of them, and save two - Andie and Uncle Alphard - didn’t want them. He huffed up the stairs and slammed the door behind him, hearing a click as it was magically locked by his mother. ‘Excellent, he thought, no chance of sneaking out for food after everyone’s gone to bed‘.

He was able to open the window, though, he found, as James’s owl Merlin tapped his beak on the frozen glass. Sirius let the owl in, and read James’s letter of Christmas greetings, and his hopes that Sirius was having as much fun as he was. The letter ended thus:

Merry Christmas,

James

‘Yeah, Merry Christmas’, Sirius thought to himself. ‘Merry bloody Christmas’.

The only Christmases between then and this one that Sirius could recall enjoying were those in his latter years at Hogwarts, when he either stayed at school or went to the Potters, and the first couple of Christmases after Hogwarts, which he had spent with James and Lily, and Harry’s first. That was when things had first started to fall apart between him and Reg, too. They were never as close as they had been before Sirius had gone to Hogwarts and got sorted into Gryffindor.

And his thoughts turned more to Reg than Harry now. He felt as responsible for what had happened to Reg, his brother by blood, as he did what had happened to James, his brother by choice. He had always known that Reg was weaker than him, keener to simply adhere to the exacting demands of their mother, and live the easy life. Or at least, it had been easy at the start. He could have taken Reg with him. Or tried, at the very least, rather than just stormed out alone. He had never even given Reg the option. He wouldn’t have taken it, though. Regulus Black upheld his ancient and noble name. And paid for it.

Merry bloody Christmas.

The remainder of what Padfoot could tell to be the Christmas holidays showed no progression in Ginger’s attempts to get at Rat Boy. His access had started to freeze up again, Padfoot surmised grimly. It was looking more and more like Padfoot himself was going to have to enter the fray, and Gryffindor Tower, yet again. He knew that he could not risk anyone seeing him. Nor could he risk Harry finding out, for he was still ignorant as to just how much Harry was aware of the background of the Marauders. Perhaps Remus or Dumbledore had mentioned something? Merlin knows Lily’s muggle sister wouldn’t have.

Some hard thinking and planning would have to go into any future attempts to get into Gryffindor Tower, and he would have to have a full-proof plan. He needed categorical proof before he could go to Dumbledore - or to Remus. Somehow he knew that merely presenting Rat Boy to Remus would speak volumes, and raise questions that Remus would find it difficult to ignore Padfoot’s answers to. Patience was what it would take most of all, though. Patience was paramount, as this had to be done at just the right moment. And patience was something that Padfoot had never had in abundance.


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[MissGryffindor]

Chapter 23 - Brothers In Arms, Padfoot’s POV

Channelling the restrained Remus, who had always been, in some senses, the very antithesis of the impetuous and reckless self, Padfoot held back again and again in the days and weeks that followed the Christmas holidays, pulling himself back from storming up to Hogwarts itself and demanding a conference with Harry Potter, Dumbledore and the fake rat currently in hiding in Gryffindor Tower. Instead of returning to his old, impatient self, he returned to the activities that had distracted him previously: he snuck to the edge of the Forbidden Forest to watch Harry’s Care of Magical Creatures classes, and spent time at the Quidditch pitch, watching the matches.

He could tell when a match was approaching, as there was more and more noise emanating from the pitch, and he could see the seekers flying higher and higher with more regularity in training at their practice sessions. While Padfoot - with an understandable bias - did prefer to watch and support Gryffindor, being without Quidditch for so many years made the other matches he saw, like that between Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff not long after the holidays ended, more enjoyable than they would have been years ago.

Towards the end of January, the cold eased off a little, and the snow melted, leaving a very relieved Padfoot behind, along with mounds of colour. Whereas everything had been covered with a blanket whiteness, bushes became green again, and flowers bloomed in their traditional blues, and yellows, and pinks and violets. Lily had always loved this time of year, he recalled sadly, wistfully thinking back to the year Harry was born, and her senses so heightened. He remembered vividly the three of them, he and Lily and James, going to an Order meeting at Hogwarts, walking up towards the school, and Lily recounting to them how much she loved to see the snow melt away, and how for her the flowers starting to come back into colour again had symbolised the promise of a new start, and a new hope for the new year.

It was little things like that he was slowly having to get used to. Little things in the everyday course of life that reminded him of something James and/or Lily had said or done, or thought or felt. It was something that he had not been able to do in Azkaban, tortured each and every day by the same bad memories, and feelings of guilt and shame and anger and hatred. It was only after he had escaped that he had been able to remember the good. To remember the happiness he had felt around them, and Harry. And Remus.

One Thursday afternoon, he awoke from a well-timed nap to find Ginger sitting just a few feet away from him, meowing and purring softly. Barking gently, Padfoot enquired the reason for the visit, and was pleased with the response that he received, as well as the Daily Prophet that the kneazle-cat nudged towards him. Ginger had come very close to getting in to the room where Harry - and therefore Rat Boy - slept in Gryffindor Tower. Only the untimely arrival of one of the other inhabitants of the dormitory had prevented him from getting in, after the door had been left slightly ajar.

After a moment of deep concentration, something he had only been able to achieve when engaging in mischievous behaviour his first time round at Hogwarts, Padfoot saw a way in.

He instructed Ginger to keep a close watch on the dormitory where Harry - and Rat Boy - resided. If his owner, who was protecting him from Ginger, had slipped up once, he could slip up again. It didn’t even have to be him, Padfoot thought wildly. Any of the four or five boys staying in the dormitory could come back to collect a forgotten book, or piece of homework between classes, an neglect to close the door fully in their rush to get to their next class.

This was it; this was how Ginger was going to get into the dormitory to get Rat Boy, and bring him to Padfoot, who would ensure that he would finally be able to enact the crime for which he had spent years in Azkaban.

The sooner it was all over and done with the better.

He had never really contemplated what he would do next. Technically during the last war, Barty Crouch had given the Aurors permission to use Unforgivables to apprehend suspected Death Eaters. Would that edict still be on the statutes, or would it have been repealed when the war had ended? And if it were still legally possible, would the law extend from Aurors to freedom fighters like Sirius Black, and other members of The Order of the Phoenix. He could not remember them killing rather than capturing before.

If he were allowed to go free, and live the rest of his life in peace, he would ask Harry to come and live with him. Assuming the boy wanted to, of course. After all, he had no idea what Harry thought of his absent Godfather. Did Harry even know he existed as anything other than an escaped convict? And if the truth did prevail, there was no concrete, definitive proof that Harry would want to come and live with him. He had never been able to stand Lily’s sister Petunia, and her husband, though Harry may not feel the same way, and from the little memories he had of anything pertaining to Petunia, Padfoot briefly recalled that she had a son not too much older than Harry. The two could be good friends, and Harry might not want to leave the security he had been brought up in.

Whatever happened after, Harry - and Remus - was all the family he had left.

Looking at the newspaper that Ginger had left, Padfoot was shocked to see that it was almost the end of January. It was Lily’s birthday in January. He could vividly remember the beautiful, simple necklace that James had asked Sirius to pick up for her birthday in Diagon Alley nine months before their murder. People in hiding, he had been told, were not able to wander around jewellery shops. She would have been thirty four years old on the thirtieth day of the month.

Had she lived.

Had he not been so stupid, so reckless, so intent on being right, in forcing his plan through.

Lily wasn’t the only one, either. One of the reasons that he had never found it difficult to remember Lily’s birthday was that it was only two days after Reg’s.

Reg.

He knew he would not see his brother again in this life, though perhaps in the next. No, Reg was dead, and in a place where he could not help him. But then, Reg had made the decision to go there a long time ago.

What he would say to Reg if he were here now, he did not know. He had been haunted by his brother’s taunting voice in his dreams - no, his nightmares - for years now. Taunting him about his lack of family. His lack of friends. His sheer Gryffindor-ness. Getting his own back for all those years when big brother Sirius teased him about the Slytherin Quidditch performance, and the fact that the Gryffindor seeker - a muggle-born girl - always played so well.

Reg might haunt his nightmares, but it was years since they had seen and spoken to one another. Too long. He recalled the last time he had seen Regulus alive; his last day at Hogwarts.

Their final breakfast as Hogwarts students sadly over, the group of friends had separated for a time, each having tasks to complete before they left the hallowed halls of Hogwarts for the very last time as students. Given the meeting they had attended with Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall (or ‘Minnie’ as Sirius had always called her outside of her company) Sirius was sure they would return at some point, but this was the last day they would spend time here as students before they departed into the wider world.

James and Lily had gone to see Dumbledore; probably something to do with their last day as Head Boy and Girl, Sirius mused, while Remus and Peter were trying to track down one or two of Peter’s things that had gone astray, and then going for a last walk around the grounds. All five of them intended to visit Hagrid before leaving, and planned to meet in an hour’s time to do so.

This left Sirius free to do something he had delayed time and time again, and was going to make an effort to do because of today. Because today was the last time he would likely see most of the students that would be returning after the summer. Hell, it was probably the last time he’d see most of those that weren’t.

Standing behind a statue just outside the Great Hall, Sirius saw his prey passing, and threw a quick jinx at him, so that the victim was separated from his friends. As the boy looked around confused, Sirius came out of his hiding place and apprehensively approached his younger brother.

“Hello, Regulus.”

Regulus spun round, a cold look in his eyes as he took in his elder brother, and Sirius could literally feel the chilled atmosphere between them. Regulus stood back a little, as if he did not want Sirius coming as close to him as he could help, his left hand on his hip, trying to tell Sirius through his stance that whatever he wanted to say, he had better say it quick. Sirius knew this stance. Just like he knew Reg.

Or at least, how he used to know Reg.

“Don’t worry, I’m not about to embarrass you in front of those scum you refer to as your mates”, Sirius informed him shortly. “If you want, we can go somewhere else and talk. And I’m not going to curse you either, before you start saying it.” Regulus nodded, and indicated a disused classroom a short way down a corridor on their right hand side.

“What do you want?” Regulus asked once they had entered the musty room, and closed the door behind them.

“To talk to you”, Sirius responded.

“You are talking. And boring. And annoying”, Regulus informed him.

“It doesn’t have to be like this, Reg”, Sirius told him. “You can get out of there. You can stay with me over the summer, and in the holidays from now on until you leave here. You don’t have to go back to that….that….that place.”

“And what place would that be, Sirius? Home?” Regulus said scornfully. “At least I have a home. A real one, not a pretend one like you, some little hovel you bought with the pittance Uncle Alphard was mad enough to leave you. I have a home, with real parents who want me to succeed.”

“It isn’t success when its about killing people, Reg”, Sirius replied hotly. “That is what Death Eaters do, did you know that? That’s what Bella and her scumbag of a husband, and Aunt Druella’s big brother Evan, and Lucius, and the rest of them do. They kill people. And they torture them. Even children. You read the papers as much as I do. You know that children have been going missing along with their parents. Do you like the thought of that, Reg? Do you like the thought of being the monster that ends the life of an innocent child, someone that does not even have a wand to defend themselves?”

“Don’t be so ridiculous, Sirius. Our family are not killers. Unless you count Aunt Elladora, but since she only kills House Elves, I don’t think you really can. At least, the law doesn’t. All I shall be working for when I leave here is a return to the time when we reigned supreme over muggles, and rightly so. I shall be working to ensure that only pure-bloods like us, and not that Evans scum you hang around with, can come here. They should not learn our ways, and they should be beholden to us.”

Part of him wanted to beat Regulus to a pulp as he said those words, but he knew he could not. It was what Reg wanted. It would mean theat they wouldn’t actually have to talk about this. And being his reckless, impetuous self would mean that he wouldn’t get to finish that which he knew he had to say.

“I’m sorry, Reg”, said Sirius quietly. “I’m sorry that I didn’t get you out of there when I left. I’m sorry that I didn’t take you with me. You’re turning into them, and you’re spouting their hatred, and you don’t even recognise how wrong it is because they’ve taught you that its right, and all you’ve ever wanted to do is be the dutiful son. The son I refused to be. I’m sorry, Reg, that you’ve made the wrong choice.”

Reg had only been fourteen when Sirius had run away, in the midst of his cousin Narcissa’s wedding, had been, in many ways, too young for Sirius to take him away too. Though, if he were truly honest with himself, he had not thought to take Regulus with him at the time. He had been too pre-occupied with getting away himself.

“I have made my choice, Sirius”, Regulus said quietly. “And I choose my family, which could so easily be OUR family again if you would set aside this rebellion and come home. I have chosen to serve The Dark Lord, and I will make mother and father proud as I do so. There is nothing more to say. You will not convince me that I am wrong, for I follow The Dark Lord, and he is always right.”

“He isn’t, but he’s obviously got you brainwashed enough to believe it”, Sirius spat back at him.

“I am leaving now, I have to get to breakfast while there is still some food left, you know I cannot abide that rubbish we get on the train.”

“You’re just going to walk out on me like that, are you, before I’ve finished? You’re still my brother, Reg, and - “

“I think you will find, Sirius, that it is you who walked out on me first. You have chosen your way, I have chosen mine, and you are no longer my brother, Sirius. You haven’t been for a very long time.”

And with that, Regulus turned and left the room, leaving Sirius speechless for the first time in a long time. He stayed where he was for a while, recalling that drivel Dumbledore was always spouting about choices showing who a person really was, and thinking of Lily’s distance from Snape, who had chosen the same path as Regulus. In years to come, it would be Regulus’s last words, which would turn out to be the last words that Regulus ever spoke to him, that haunted Sirius - ‘You are no longer my brother, Sirius. You haven’t been for a very long time’.

When he eventually left the room, which he had only just noticed smelt rather funny, Sirius soon bumped into James and Lily, who had come straight from their meeting with Dumbledore. Instantly, Sirius knew, they could tell something was wrong. He cursed that they knew him so well, and that he could not hide anything from them.

“I had a word with Reg………..”, and he recounted the conversation to them.

“No wands?” Lily said, a look of surprise on her face, at one point. Sirius nodded. Another time, he would have cursed Regulus over and over again. What pained him, though, were those last words, words he now repeated aloud, instead of having them be mutterings in his head, or weapons thrown at him by Reg.

“You are no longer my brother, Sirius. You haven’t been for a very long time.”

“I know you tried, Padfoot, and that’s what matters”, James told him. “If Regulus is even half as stubborn as you are, he won’t see his mistake until its too late.”

“That’s what worries me”, Sirius whispered. He knew that The Death Eaters were not a social club that Regulus could simply decide he wanted to leave. It was a lifetime commitment.

“And don’t listen to what he said about not being brothers, Sirius”, James said seriously. “You’re my brother, and you have been for a very long time. And Remus’, and Peter’s.”

“And you’re mine too, now”, Lily added, pulling Sirius towards her in a hug, something he was not used to, but felt right at that moment in time.

“Now”, she added briskly. “I think we were going to go and see Hagrid.”

He would be over thirty now, had he still been alive, Sirius thought. Married, perhaps - some pure-blooded girl of a good family, who would have helped him carry on the Black name, and looked after him.

Whether he liked it or not, some of the things Regulus had said to him over the years had been true. His Gryffindor trust in others, and reckless attitude had led to the loss of those he loved the most, in one way or another. And the Regulus that taunted him openly in his nightmares was completely correct. It was all his fault.

Padfoot did wonder from time to time the what ifs of Regulus’ situation. What would have happened had he not died. Would he have become a resident in Azkaban along with his brother, or would he have escaped imprisonment like Lucius obviously had?

As January turned into February, and Padfoot began to wonder if things would ever work out for him, and his endless plans to avenge James and Lily’s deaths by getting at Rat Boy, he fought pain, anguish, and extensive nightmares as he passed through what would have been Regulus’ and then Lily’s birthdays. Ginger came down each and every evening after dark, when Padfoot was going through his process of trying to avoid sleep until he was dead tired, hoping that the deeper the sleep he fell into, the less disturbed it would be.

There had been a couple of further close calls in getting into the dormitory. On the first Monday in February, Ginger had got as far as the door, when one of the boys that lived there had passed him in the last few metres, and closed the door so that he could not get in.

Then, finally, they had a breakthrough.

The second Friday in February was almost as cold as it had been in December, and Padfoot had to resort to bringing the old blanket Ginger had procured for him out of the bushes again, to ensure that he kept warm, his thick, black fur not being enough to stave off the chill. Ginger was late that evening, after coming down each and every other for the previous two and a half weeks, which worried Padfoot. So much so, that the animagus left his clearing and headed towards the very edge of the Forbidden Forest, close to where Hagrid lived.

He waited on the edge of the forest, not wanting to move any closer to Hogwarts Castle than he had to in case Hagrid, or Dumbledore, or Remus, were patrolling the grounds in search of him. The prolonged presence of Dementors made it clear that they thought he was in the vicinity, or likely to be. More than an hour after he first arrived there, Ginger finally appeared, to Padfoot’s immense relief.

But Padfoot took a moment’s pause before he asked what Ginger had brought him. There, not more than twenty feet away from him, was Harry, clearly returning from Quidditch practice as he had the Firebolt Padfoot recognised from the Prophet picture at his side, his friend, the Weasley boy, was also with him. Fearful of being spotted, he padded backwards, just in time as he saw a flash of light coming from one of their wands.

“Get out of it!” the Weasley boy exclaimed, shouting at Ginger, as they both escaped from the two boys. They moved quickly towards the clearing, making sure that they had not been followed. Knowing James as well as he had done, Padfoot could not risk Harry being so like him that he would follow them.

When they made it back to the clearing, Ginger showed Padfoot what he had procured, and in an instant, all was forgiven for the delay in appearing this evening. Ginger had struck gold.

Padfoot listened excitedly at Ginger’s story of the password list to Gryffindor Tower that he had stolen from a bedside table in the Gryffindor dormitory he had finally been able to gain access to; one of the boys had forgotten a few things, and must have rushed back between classes that were on opposite ends of the school to one another, and been to short of time to ensure that the door had closed properly behind him. He also listened to Ginger’s tale of Rat Boy faking his own death (blood had been found on his sheets) - which he assumed was only to force him and Ginger off the scent.

‘You know I’m still here, trying to get at you, don’t you, you little piece of vermin?’ Padfoot thought viciously.

And with that, a plan formed in his mind. Friday night Quidditch practice could only mean one thing; there was a Gryffindor match the following day. And so, Padfoot made his plans for Saturday with Ginger. He would go to the match, and see Harry play during the day, and then at night, Ginger would come and fetch him once the inevitable post-match party was over, and everyone had retired to bed. Remembering his own days as a student, Padfoot knew these parties went on late, and that with Butterbeer - and often Firewhiskey - being readily available, and the energy they had to use up in cheering, and celebrating, they all fell into a fast, deep sleep.

And, while these students were all asleep, Padfoot could use the passwords to gain access to Gryffindor Tower. After all, the Fat Lady had only refused him entry before on the grounds that he had not known the password, and Ginger had informed him that she had been replaced by a prize idiot.

Barking gleefully, Padfoot contemplated the fact that in little more than twenty-four hours time, he could be so close to that little piece of vermin that he may literally be able to smell him.


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[MissGryffindor]

Chapter 24 - Painful Lessons, Moony’s POV

On the first Thursday of term, Remus made his way to the History of Magic classroom, a feeling of mild trepidation coursing through him. He knew that he had to do this to help Harry, as he would to help any student. Yet, at the same time, he dreaded it. He dreaded having to stand there, and potentially listen to Harry utter those words that had haunted him for the past two months.

“When they get near me - I can hear Voldemort murdering my mum.”

He had hoped, when he had first agreed to teach Harry to ward off the Dementors two months previously, that by the time came round for their lessons to actually commence, Sirius would have been captured, and the need for the classes would have disappeared with him. Sadly, this was not to be the case.

Wishing himself anywhere but there, knowing that it was cowardly of him (just why had he been sorted into Gryffindor, Remus wondered) Remus entered the History of Magic classroom, a false look of neutrality and professionalism on his face just after the appointed time, having had to run back to his quarters to retrieve some chocolate, an essential tool in battling Dementors.

“So…….” He didn’t quite know where to start.

“The spell I am going to try and teach you is highly advanced magic, Harry - well beyond Ordinary Wizarding Level. It is called the Patronus Charm.”

“How does it work?” Harry asked him. Remus took a short breath in before he spoke; poor Harry seemed so nervous.

“Well, when it works correctly, it conjures up a Patronus, which is a kind of Anti-Dementor - a guardian which acts as a shield between you and the Dementor. The Patronus is a kind of positive force, a projection of the very things that the Dementors feed upon - hope, happiness, the desire to survive - but it cannot feel despair, as real humans can, so the Dementors can’t hurt it. But I must warn you, Harry, that the Charm might be too advanced for you. Many qualified wizards have difficulty with it.” After James, Lily and Peter had been murdered, after all Sirius had done, Remus had been unable to perform a Patronus for months; he had not been able to think any happy enough thoughts.

“What does a Patronus look like?” Harry asked him.

“Each one is unique to the wizard that conjures it.”

“And how do you conjure it?” He was starting to feel better now, like this was simply a tutoring session rather than the normal class he stood in front of.

“With an incantation, which will work only if you are concentrating, with all your might, on a single, very happy memory.” He watched as Harry screwed his face up in concentration, clearly trying hard to think of something just right.

“Right”, Harry said after a few minutes.

“The incantation is this -” Remus cleared his throat. He hoped he would be able to produce one if Harry asked for a demonstration. “Expecto Patronum.”

“Expecto Patronum, Expecto Patronum.” He could hear Harry muttering to himself under his breath.

“Concentrating hard on your happy memory?” Remus asked. He so wanted Harry to get it right.

“Oh - yeah - “said Harry, still mumbling away to himself. “Expecto Patrono - no, patronum - sorry - Expecto Patronum, Expecto Patronum - “

Remus watched, as a small silvery whisp appeared from the tip of Harry’s wand, and he got excited at the thought of having been able to get close to achieving something.

“Ready to try it on a Dementor?” Remus asked tentatively.

“Yes”, Harry told him, his determination evident from the way he held his wand, and the steely tone of his voice.

After a minute or two, giving Harry time to prepare himself, Remus lifted the lid of the case that held the Boggart, and hoped that everything would work out fine.

Remus watched hopefully, full of silent encouragement as the Boggart turned into a Dementor, and Harry made his move.

“Expecto Patronum! Expecto Patronum! Expecto - “

But Harry started to fade now, and Remus watched in alarm, as he started to grow pale, and Remus could see fear and agony in his eyes before he fainted. Remus rushed ahead, towards Harry, sending the Boggart back into its packing case on his way. Feeling guilty that Harry had fainted in his own attempts to teach the boy such advanced magic, Remus tried to bring him back to consciousness, repeating his name over and over again, and succeeding a minute or so into his efforts.

“Harry!”

“Sorry”, he muttered, a hint of embarrassment in his voice as he sat up. Remus emitted a huge, silent sigh of relief as he saw Harry did not seem to badly off. He was glad he had remembered before he had reached the classroom to go back and get some of his stash of Honeydukes chocolate, and Chocolate Frogs.

“Here”, he said as he handed Harry some chocolate. “Eat this before we try again. I didn’t expect you to do it first time. In fact, I would have been astounded if you had”, Remus attempted to reassure him.

“Its getting worse”, Harry told him quietly. “I could hear her louder that time - and him - Voldemort -”

Remus took a silent gulp as he heard Harry speak. This was what he had been dreading; Harry hearing Lily just before her death. He tried hard yet again not to picture Lily holding Harry, trying to keep Voldemort at bay, yet knowing at the same time that she was virtually powerless to do so.

“Harry, if you don’t want to continue, I will more than understand - “ He didn’t want to keep putting Harry through this; didn’t want to keep putting himself through this.

“I do!” Harry exclaimed, a look of defiance crossing his face that reminded Remus vividly of James. “I’ve got to! What if the Dementors turn up at our match against Ravenclaw? I can’t afford to fall off again. If we lose this game we’ve lost the Quidditch Cup!” Yes, pure James.

“All right then”, Remus agreed reluctantly. What was it about these blasted Potters that could so easily convince him they were right against his better judgement?! “You might want to select another memory”, he suggested. “A happy memory, I mean, to concentrate on……that one doesn’t seem to have been strong enough.”

Harry screwed up his face in concentration again, and appeared to be deep in thought as Remus made his way back over to the box where the Boggart had been returned whilst Harry was unconscious.

“Ready?” he asked Harry, after giving him a few moments to think of a different memory.

“Ready”, Harry replied. Eager to get it over and done with, and not give Harry any time to think of all the things that could go wrong, Remus lifted the top off the chest.

“Go!” The Boggart quickly showed itself, and headed straight in Harry’s direction. Even though he knew it was a Boggart, and therefore not real, seeing the thing always sent a small chill coursing through Remus, as he was reminded of everything about his world that had gone wrong.

“Expecto Patronum!” Harry yelled at it. “Expecto Patronum, Expecto Pat - “ But instead of silver whisps emitting from his wand, Harry fell backwards, again, back into the abyss.

Remus did exactly as before, returning the Boggart to the chest while he ran towards Harry, hoping that this wasn’t having too adverse an effect on him. Of course it wasn’t having a good one, but still, damage limitation must apply.

“Harry! Harry! Wake up…..Harry! Harry….wake up”, Remus said as he poke his wand in Harry’s face, trying quickly to bring him back to consciousness. He seemed to stir, but it took him a minute or so to speak, to mumble words that Remus did not want to hear.

“I heard my dad. That’s the first time I’ve ever heard him - he tried to take on Voldemort himself, to give my mum time to run for it……” Remus swallowed his breath. He had heard James. And it cut Remus to the core that the only live memory Harry seemed to have of James, was of his death. Choking back tears Remus knew could not fall until he was alone, he spoke to Harry.

“You heard James?” he asked, trying to hold everything in.

“Yeah. Why - you didn’t know my dad, did you?”

“I - “ There was no point in lying to Harry, Remus knew. He would find out everything eventually, and besides, Harry deserved to know at least part of the truth.

“I did as a matter of fact. We were friends at Hogwarts. Listen, Harry - perhaps we should leave it here for tonight. This charm is ridiculously advanced…..I shouldn’t have suggested putting you through this……” I shouldn’t have suggested putting myself through this.

“No”, said Harry stubbornly. You are too like your parents, Remus thought.

“I’ll have one more go! I’m not thinking of happy enough things, that’s what it is…..hang on……”

One more go, and that’s it, Remus thought to himself as he watched Harry try to come up with the best possible memory. It hurt Remus that he had to think so hard; he worried what live at Privet Drive must be like. One more go, and I am not putting either of us through any more pain this evening.

“Ready? Concentrating hard? All right - go!” Remus watched again as the Boggart-Dementor rose out of the chest, heading in Harry’s direction. Harry screamed the incantation a couple of times, and then Remus, expecting this to be it, started to move forwards to get the Boggart himself, when a bright, silvery light started to leave Harry’s wand, separating him and the Dementor. He had done it! He had actually damn well done it! Okay, he had not produced a corporeal patronus, but for a thirteen year old boy……….

“Riddikulus!” Remus shouted, running forwards, and watching as the Boggart turned into his own worst fear - the moon - as he strove to finish it off for Harry, once he had seen the boy had had enough. He ensured the Boggart was back in the chest for their next lesson. Obviously he had been right in supposing this would give them the best idea possible of how to deal with an actual Dementor.

“Excellent!” Remus enthused as he walked over to where Harry had taken a seat, removing a bar of Honeydukes best chocolate and handing it to Harry. He did not want Madam Pomfrey on his back first thing the following morning.

“Excellent, Harry! That was definitely a start!”

“Can we have another go? Just one more go?” No way, Remus thought, no way am I putting you through ay more of that tonight!!

“Not now”, said Remus, using what James and the others had always referred to as his “prefect-tone”. He pushed his chocolate towards Harry.

“You’ve had enough for one night. Here, eat the lot, or Madam Pomfrey will be after my blood. Same time next week?” He knew the Gryffindor team never had Quidditch practice on a Thursday, for some odd reason, and it made sense to have a regular time for this extra class.

“Ok”, Harry replied. Then, he seemed to pause for a few moments, as Remus was packing everything away. After his pause, he asked a question Remus had hoped he would never, EVER have to answer to Harry.

“Professor Lupin? If you knew my dad, you must’ve known Sirius Black as well.” Remus spun round from the packing case, his blood running cold as a further question sped through his mind - just how much did Harry know?

“What gives you that idea?” he asked, his tone of voice harsher than he knew it should be for hearing that name.

“Nothing - I mean, I just knew they were friends at Hogwarts, too…..” Remus breathed a silent sigh of relief. Harry did not know that Sirius was his Godfather, nor of the true circumstances surrounding James and Lily’s betrayal and death.

“Yes, I knew him”, said Remus, revolted by the thought. “Or I thought I did. You’d better get off, Harry, its getting late.” He wanted to be left alone for a while. After which, he was going straight to Dumbledore.

Images of Sirius swarmed round his head as Harry thanked him, and then left, chocolate in hand, in the direction of Gryffindor Tower. Remus sank into the nearest ancient, wooden seat, and started to breath heavily, full of anxiety. That had been the most painful class he had ever taught, and he only hoped that it was not going to get any harder. He hoped that the worst was over, as tears started to fall down his cheeks at the thought of Harry hearing James’ last movements, and knowing - as Remus himself would always have expected to have been the case - his last actions were to try and protect Lily and Harry, those he loved the most.

Memories….of the way we were…….Remus’ head swum with hundreds of thousands of them now. The Order. Holidays. Detentions. Quidditch. A wedding. A birth. Hogsmeade weekends. Full Moons. Classes……..

Remus pinched the top of his nose, trying to rid himself of a pounding headache that had begun to take hold of him first thing that morning. It was now the last class before lunchtime, Defence Against the Dark Arts, and his pain had not decreased. He would go to the Hospital Wing after this class; it was only three days after the Full Moon, and Remus did not want to miss out on any more school work, particularly as they were so close to their first end-of-year examinations.

He sat beside Peter, with James and Sirius in the row behind them. Of the four boys, Remus knew he would be the only one to take notes. A few minutes later, when the four of them were discussing their end of year prank (in the planning for two weeks already as it had to be one to remember) their Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Stelios, entered the room, briefcase in hand, his long black robes billowing behind him.

“Good morning, class”, he said as he laid the briefcase upon the desk.

“Good morning, Professor”. the class responded in unity.

“Now, I trust you have all done the required reading for today”, Professor Stelios continued. “Last class we concluded our work on vampires, and, as promised, today we shall begin to study werewolves.” Remus’ ears pricked up at this; his friends had forgotten to tell him about this homework. Or rather, he had forgotten to ask if there was any for this class.

“Logically, we shall begin with how a person becomes a werewolf……..”

Remus listened intently throughout the class, waiting for the attacks of prejudice that he knew would come. As his felt his head begin to throb harder and harder, Remus felt a certain relief that he had not known in advance, becoming more and more aware that it would only have led to him worrying about it constantly.

As the Professor told them all about what a werewolf bite felt like, and how to tell a werewolf from a normal wolf, Remus looked around him, at Peter and James and Sirius, hoping fervently that they were unable to guess what he was from what the teacher was saying.

For once, he despised his favourite class, the most painful one he had ever had to sit through. It was perhaps a blessing for Remus that he did not realise now that this would not be the first time the topic was undertaken for study by a Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher at Hogwarts.

“Please, Professor”, one of the girls asked Professor Stelios midway through his attempts to teach them how to treat werewolf bites. “Why would we help a werewolf? Surely they are too dangerous for us to go near them? They might try to bite us.”

“Rubbish!” Remus heard James respond hotly. “A werewolf is only dangerous at the full moon, and imagine if that was your brother or sister or friend. Wouldn’t you want to help them?!”

“James raises a fair point”, said Professor Stelios. “While many werewolves do indeed live horrific lives - those currently conspiring with He Who Must Not Be Named for example - and set out to harm people, there are equally those who simply want to survive.” Remus was grateful for this. He knew how prejudiced the wizarding world was towards people like him, and to hear his teacher say such a thing touched him more than he could say.

“You needn’t worry too much though”, the Professor added grimly. “Anti-werewolf legislation recently passed by the Ministry makes you much safer than has been the case previously.” And there was the catch. However much people tried to pretend they were not prejudiced, there was still that little bit inside of them that was.

Later on, as the class chatted to each other about the ferocity of werewolf attacks whilst the teacher distributed revision notes on previous topics to them all, Remus felt his mind drift to his own experiences with lycanthropy.

He felt the wolf that had bitten him biting down on his shoulder.

He saw the look in his parents’ eyes when he woke up the next morning, covered in bandages.

He remembered his first transformation at the age of six.

He remembered the time he had been so torn up by the wolf, that he had been unconscious for three days after the full, and had almost died.

When the class finished, Remus got up from his desk quickly, desperately seeking fresh air, needing to fill his lungs with it more than anything, his head still pounding like there were a herd of Centaurs running amok inside it. He murmured something about going to see Madam Pomfrey to his friends, and headed for the nearest exit to the grounds, inhaling fresh air as quickly and as deeply as he could, unable to tolerate the claustrophobia he felt a moment longer……….

After a while of sitting alone, pondering Harry’s memories and questions, Remus stood up, moved the chest to the far corner of the room in case it was used for any meetings in the intervening week, and started for Dumbledore’s office. He wiped the remaining teardrops away from his cheeks as he left the room, not wanting to betray his emotions to the Headmaster as much was as feasible. He didn’t know how worthwhile it was though; somehow, Dumbledore always seemed to know.

He reached the entrance to Dumbledore’s office, and quickly glanced at his watch to ensure he would still be there, before giving the password.

“Toffee Bon Bons.” Remus ascended the staircase, and knocked heavily on the griffin shaped knocker on the door.

“Enter”, came Dumbledore’s voice from within. As Remus entered, he was glad to see that Minerva McGonagall was there also. What Harry had said would affect her as well.

“Ah, Remus”, Dumbledore greeted him warmly. “How can I be of service to you this evening?”

“I have just had my first tutorial with Harry, Headmaster”, Remus told him. He had informed Dumbledore before this evening that the lesson would be taking place.

“And how did it go?” Minerva asked. Dumbledore had obviously filled her in. After all, she was Harry’s Head of House.

“Not too badly, all things considered”, Remus told them. “He didn’t produce a corporeal patronus, but then I did not expect him to, not on his first few tries. He is only thirteen, after all, and many adult wizards have issues with the charm.”

“True, true”, Dumbledore agreed. “But Remus, I sense there is something else you wish to add to this. Something that you did not feel could wait until morning.”

“Yes, there is”, Remus replied heavily. “Firstly…..I…….Harry told me that when the Dementors get close, he can hear Lily pleading with Voldemort. And tonight - for the first time - he heard James as well.”

“Oh Remus”, Minerva sniffled. He had always suspected her of being fonder of James than she appeared to be in public.

“You said firstly”, Dumbledore added perceptively, his eyes seeming to pierce Remus’ amber orbs. “What else transpired from your lesson with young Mr Potter?”

“When he said he had heard his father, he must have caught something, some tone of friendship in the way I said James’ name, I don’t know. In any case, I replied that we had been friends at school. I thought little of it at the time, but after we had finished our lesson, he asked a question I did not want to have to respond to. He…..Harry asked me if I had known Sirius as well.”

“He asked you if you had known Black?” Dumbledore asked, clearly sensing danger.

“Yes”, Remus replied. And when I asked why, he said that he knew that James and Sirius had been friends here at Hogwarts as well. He didn’t mention anything else. I don’t think he is yet aware of the true extent of James and Sirius’ friendship. I don’t think he knows yet that Sirius is - was - is his Godfather.”

“It may only be a matter of time”, said Dumbledore sadly. “Before he discovers this. I have ensured, through Cornelius, that things of this nature are not printed in The Daily Prophet, and the staff knows not to gossip of it. All we can assume is that he has overheard one of the students passing comment.”

“Anyway, I just thought you should know, in case he starts asking more questions. I should head to bed - I have a full morning ahead of me tomorrow”, Remus informed them.

“Let me know if Harry asks you ay further questions, Remus, and Minerva, keep a close watch on him, please?” Both nodded, and Remus took his leave, exhausted as he returned down the staircase to the corridor, and thence back to his quarters.

It had been a long, tiring, tough and painful day, and Remus was simply glad it was all over as he slipped into bed just under ten minutes after leaving Dumbledore’s office. He took a potion for dreamless sleep as well, something he had not done for a while now. However, he needed his wits about him to teach the next day, could not afford a night of restless sleep, broken by images and memories of the past, and those words. Those words that Harry had spoken, that he simply could not remove from his mind.

“When they get near me - I can hear Voldemort murdering my mum.”

Lily was the best person Remus had ever known, and the person in the world that least deserved something terrible to happen to her.

“I heard my dad. That’s the first time I’ve ever heard him - he tried to take on Voldemort himself, to give my mum time to run for it……”

James had loved her so much. Remus had always known James would give up anything for her. Even his life.

“If you knew my dad, you must’ve known Sirius Black as well.”

But had he really ever known the person that had caused all of this?



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[MissGryffindor]

Chapter 25 - Sirius Strikes Again, Moony’s POV

A few weeks later, and Remus had fallen into a pattern of sorts with his Dementor lessons. Harry would have a few tries - he was consistently achieving a sort of indistinct silvery light, that would at least protect him against one Dementor for as long as it would take someone to back him up - and then they would sit in almost-silence, eating copious amounts of chocolate.

“You’re expecting too much of yourself. For a thirteen year old wizard, even an indistinct Patronus is a huge achievement. You aren’t passing out any more, are you?” Remus was fervently glad of this; Harry passing out in their first couple of lessons had led to revelations of what he had heard when the Dementors got too close to him - namely, the last moments of his parents’ lives.

“I thought a Patronus would - charge the Dementors down or something. Make them disappear - “

“The true Patronus does do that”, Remus interrupted, trying to ensure that Harry did not get too downhearted about what he perceived as being his lack of progress.

“But you‘ve achieved a great deal in a very short space of time. If the Dementors put in an appearance at your next Quidditch match, you will be able to keep them at bay long enough to get back to the ground.“

“You said it’s harder if there are loads of them”, Harry persisted.

“I have complete confidence in you”, Remus told him, grinning. “Here - you’ve earned a drink. Something from the Three Broomsticks, you won’t have tried it before.” Remus removed the two bottles of Butterbeer he had bought from Madam Rosmerta on a quick trip to Hogsmeade (which had ostensibly been for the purchase of more ink, and a couple of books) the previous Saturday.

“Butterbeer!” Harry exclaimed, looking at it like it was a lifelong favourite. “Yeah, I like that stuff.”

Remus raised an eyebrow. Where on earth had Harry, who had been brought up by muggles, and who had never been permitted to go on a trip to Hogsmeade, tasted Butterbeer? He doubted the Weasleys, whom Remus knew Harry to have stayed with a few times, to have doled it out to him like sweets, for it was not cheap.

“Oh - Ron and Hermione brought me some back from Hogsmeade”, Harry informed him quickly. Remus was not convinced, though. James had exactly the same look in his face when he was trying to cover something up.

“I see”, said Remus, as a thought struck him. Perhaps the twins had something to do with it?

“Well - let’s drink to a Gryffindor victory against Ravenclaw!” he said, trying to change the subject, not wanting to think about Harry’s potential misdemeanours.

“Not that I’m supposed to take sides as a teacher”, he added hastily. He could not be as partisan as he had at school.

As they drank their bottles of Butterbeer in silence, Remus contemplated the current situation. He had completely lost the initial reserve and nervousness he had felt in giving Harry these lessons, and now looked forward to them each week. It gave him a feeling of satisfaction that he was doing something to help James and Lily’s son, and that he was doing something to actively oppose Sirius, whose fault it was that the Dementors were at Hogwarts in the first place. As far as doing something to help James and Lily’s son was concerned, Remus had come to like Harry, and want to support him for himself as they had come to know each other better in the preceding weeks and months. It was almost as if they were - well, not friends, quite - but as if Remus was a mentor of sorts, more than a teacher.

“What’s under a Dementor’s hood?” Harry asked a while later, breaking the silence. Remus stared at his near-empty bottle in contemplation, looking at it for a moment as if it held within it the correct answer to give Harry, then, giving it up as a bad job, he lowered it, and turned to face Harry, deciding upon giving him as much of the truth as he could.

“Hmmm…..well, the only people who really know are in no condition to tell us. You see, the Dementor only lowers its hood to use its last and worst weapon.”

“What’s that?”

“They call it the Dementor’s Kiss”, said Remus, as the thought of Sirius receiving one flitted through his mind. “Its what Dementors do to those they want to destroy utterly. I suppose there must be some kind of mouth under there, because they clamp their jaws upon the mouth of the victim and - and suck out his soul.” He immediately started to feel a little guilty about going into even that much detail when Harry spat out a little of his Butterbeer, but Remus reasoned that he had only given Harry information he could get from a book - or presumably, Hermione Granger.

“What - they kill - ?”

“Oh, no”, replied Remus, realising that Harry had misunderstood what he had said. “Much worse than that. You can exist without your soul, you know, as long as your brain and heart are still working. But you’ll have no sense of self anymore, no memory, no….anything. There’s no chance at all of recovery. You’ll just - exist. As an empty shell. And your soul is gone forever…lost.” Forcing some more Butterbeer down as a sort of Dutch courage of sorts, Remus continued, unsure himself of why he did so.

“It’s the fate that awaits Sirius Black. It was in the Daily Prophet this morning. The Ministry have given the Dementors permission to perform it if they find him.”

“He deserves it”, said Harry after a moment.

“You think so? Remus asked, a false sense of lightness in his tone of voice. “Do you really think anyone deserves that?” Personally he wanted Sirius to have his soul in tact - only then could he hope that, one day, Sirius may feel something approaching guilt for what he had done to James and Lily and Harry and Peter.

“Yes”, said Harry defiantly, his face heating up with anger. “For…for some things…..”

After that, Harry was silent as he finished his Butterbeer, and then, once he had thanked Remus, left, presumably, in the direction of Gryffinor Tower, leaving a thoughtful Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher behind him.

What did Harry know? Remus was well aware from their first Dementor lesson that Harry knew James and Sirius had been friends at Hogwarts, but he had assumed that was it. From Harry’s prophetic words……”for some things”…..came musings and worries of just what else he knew. Well aware that this could still prove to be nothing, and Harry - who had been brought up by and amongst muggles - could just have been referring to Sirius’ murder of 13 people, he instantly resolved to bring this to Dumbledore and Minerva’s attention immediately following the staff meeting he had to attend in five minutes time. He had better make a move.

Remus worried about what Harry knew all the way to the meeting, and all the way through Dumbledore’s initial speech and Filius’s request for assistance in decorating the school for Valentine’s Day, an annual tradition. It was not until Minerva advised the Heads of House that their career meetings with the seventh and fifth year students would have to start being arranged soon, that he began to pay attention. All in all, he was glad when Dumbledore ended the meeting with what had now become the traditional update on the search for Sirius Black.

“Cornelius has advised that the Aurors have no new leads on Black, and they still believe him to be in the area surrounding Hogsmeade, though they have yet to determine exactly where. Given that he has yet to be found, it is possible that someone - a former Death Eater in hiding, perhaps - is concealing him.”

“Humph”, muttered Snape. Remus pinched his nose at this noise and sighed heavily. He knew that Snape suspected him of being the one hiding Sirius.

“As for the forthcoming Quidditch match, I have been assured that the Dementors shall not interfere as they did in the first match of the season. Minerva, I also understand that you and Filius have concluded that the broomstick young Mr Potter received for Christmas is perfectly safe?”

“Yes, Headmaster”, Filius squeaked. “In fact, Minerva, you may give it back to Potter this evening. That boy has a very generous friend somewhere.”

“Indeed, Filius”, she responded, taking the broom from him carefully. Remus even smiled a little at the look on her face as she held the firebolt, which was in stark contrast to the dark look on Snape‘s - Gryffindor had yet to play Slytherin this season, Remus recalled.

“Well, I think that is all for this evening, we shall meet again in a fortnight’s time”, Dumbledore concluded. “Ah, Remus, might I have a word…..” the Headmaster added, approaching the seat upon which Remus always sat at these meetings.

“Of course, Headmaster”, he replied instantly. Dumbledore had always had a knack for recognising when something was wrong.

“Minerva, might I also intrude on your time?” he asked. The Transfiguration Mistress nodded, crossing the room with Harry’s firebolt in a tight grip.

“Remus, something is bothering you”, said Dumbledore when the room had been otherwise vacated. “And given from whence you came to this meeting, I believe it has something to do with young Mr Potter.”

“It is”, began Remus heavily. “I know I promised to keep you updated on any…..mention….of Sirius that Harry might make, and this evening…….” Remus paused for a moment before continuing.

“Harry asked what lies beneath the hood of a Dementor, and we were talking generally after the Dementor’s Kiss. I asked if he thought it a punishment that should ever be levied, and he replied “for some things”. It was more his tone of voice than anything else, and I know that this is not much, and I might be making a mountain out of signs hidden by Hinkypunks, but - “

“But when you add it to comments that Potter has made in the past, it makes it seem possible that Potter may know more about Sirius Black than we would wish”, Dumbledore finished.

“Oh, Albus, Remus”, Minerva sighed sadly. “For that boy to have to know that - it - it is not something I should wish for Potter. But, perhaps this may take his mind off things, I shall return it to him forthwith.” When Minerva left, Remus sighed again. He seemed to be doing a lot of that, these days.

“Do you think Harry knows, Remus?” Dumbledore asked piercingly.

“I don’t know. Its just the way he said those words. It was like he was thinking of a specific crime. But, Harry has been brought up amongst muggles, and one of his best friends is muggle-born. If he was thinking of Sirius, he may just have been thinking of what he did to Peter, and to those poor muggles. Until he asks one of us directly, we shall not know for sure.” And for Merlin’s sake, let him not ask me, Remus intoned.

Remus did not have much time to contemplate this over the next few days, though. As Minerva had pointed out at the staff meeting, the career talks held between the fifth and seventh year students and their Heads of House were approaching, and Remus had therefore to write progress reports and recommendations for all students in both years. This on top of all of the marking, and lesson plans he had to complete, which for the aforementioned two year groups was quite extensive as he helped them to prepare for their exams.

He put Sirius to the back of his mind as much as he could. He had, at the very least, not shown himself since he had scared the life out of everyone, Remus included, on Hallowe’en, but Remus was unsure if this was something to be grateful for. It could mean that Sirius had given up - this was unlikely. It could mean that he was waiting for something specific - the next holidays, perhaps, or some date that meant something to him. This scenario worried Remus, as James’s birthday (well, the date that had been James’s birthday) was in March. Or was he just waiting for the first reckless opportunity that came along? After all, one thing that Sirius Black had always been was reckless…..

Remus sat, nervously, next to Lily, Peter sitting on the sofa opposite, as they awaited the return of James and Sirius. The two men had headed off on a reconnaissance mission; purportedly for Dumbledore, though Remus was suspicious about their former Headmaster’ involvement, believing that the two of them had gone off without being asked to.

“It’ll be alright”, said Peter nervously, rubbing his hands together over and over again.

“It’ll be alright”, Lily repeated. But Remus could tell that she did not believe it. He worried about her. It was only a week or so ago that she had told them that she was pregnant. Remus did not want her to have to go through this alone. Never mind the threat of Death Eaters, Remus was going to hex - and possibly murder - Sirius when he and James got back. He knew Sirius’s recklessness was at the heart of this.

“They said it’d be after eleven, but you know James’s sense of time”, she added, glancing at the clock. It was 10:59.

The three of them sat in silence, one of them periodically saying something vaguely calming, for the next two and a half hours, and it was not until Lily’s pretty clock - a wedding present from some ancient aunt of her’s - struck one-thirty, and Peter had worn out a piece of carpet, that James and Sirius finally entered the house.

“Who are you!” Remus yelled wildly, wanting to make sure that they were who they said they were, forcing his wand into Sirius’s throat. “Tell me what your animagus form is!”

“A dog, I’m a big black dog, and what the hell is going on?!” Sirius exclaimed, looking at him like he’d lost it.

“Where have you been?!” Remus demanded.

“We told you before we left, Moony, we went to check out a Death Eater hideout for Dumbledore”, Sirius told him.

“Sirius, Dumbledore didn’t ask you to do anything, did he?!” Remus said heavily when Lily and Peter had become distracted by a large gash across James’s left cheek.

“I know you, Padfoot. You got some information, some tip off, and the two of you just went racing off right to it, didn’t you?”

“We might have had a tip off”, Sirius responded evasively. “What does it matter, though? We got good intelligence for Dumbledore and The Order, and we took out a couple of Death Eaters, they won’t be able to walk for a good week or so!” Remus pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed heavily. He loved James and Sirius like brothers, but the latter of the two was so impetuous, and reckless that it would seriously hurt someone one day. Perhaps even worse than the time it had hurt Remus. The time he had told Snape the secrets of the Willow.

“It matters, Padfoot, because you do NOT just have yourself to consider! James has a wife, a pregnant wife, and I know Lily is in The Order, but that does not take away from the fact that she would like her husband to be alive come the day she has their child! You need to THINK, Padfoot. You need to stop being so damn reckless. You’ll end up getting someone killed one day, if you carry on the way you are.”

“It was worth it, Moony”, said Sirius harshly. “And I DO realise about Lily and the baby, thank you very much. I do realise, and that baby means the world to me, and I will protect him. And James will be there when he is born - or she, I know - whatever it takes. I know what you think of me, Moony. Merlin knows Dumbledore probably thinks the same. But I would never let anything happen to James, Lily or that baby. And whatever happens to me, that baby is going to have Prongs there. He is my brother, and I would stand in front of anything for him”, Sirius breathed rapidly, trying to force his point across to Remus.

He had always been like this; acted first and then thought about it later. So stupid. So wasteful. It was a shock to Remus that nothing had happened to James and Lily because of Sirius sooner.

He loved and missed them so much. If only they hadn’t trusted Sirius. Reckless, impetuous, rash, hot-heated Sirius………..

That Saturday, Remus, concerned that the Dementors may return to the Quidditch field, in spite of Dumbledore’s assurances, made his way down to the match after breakfast, ready to see his first live Quidditch match in over fifteen years. In fact, he had only been to one match since leaving Hogwarts. James and Sirius had dragged he, Peter and Lily along to a Magpies match a few months after they had left Hogwarts, and were in need of some light relief from the war surrounding them.

The match itself went very well for Gryffindor, but Remus seemed to spend the match reminiscing about all the times he had come down to this very pitch to watch James play. Certainly Harry flew as well as - perhaps even a tad better than - his father. After all, James had been flying around on a Silver Arrow almost his entire pre-Hogwarts life, while Harry -

Harry had only ever had his favourite toy broomstick.

Bloody Sirius…

He was brought out of his reminisces, though, when there was a commotion, and Remus started to panic - one of the Dementors must be trying their luck again. Heading down onto the pitch, he saw a big, black-cloaked thing, which had a large silvery shape hurtling towards it. Gulping as he stopped a few feet away from where the black figure was, Remus noticed two things at once. Firstly, his heart came close to stopping as he realised that the Patronus-of-sorts Harry had produced, that silvery ray of light, was so like a stag, it was almost as if Harry had known what and who James had been. Then, he saw the black hooded creature, and heaved a huge sigh of relief when he realised that it was not a Dementor. What in Merlin’s name was it?!

Out of an oversized black cloak, which by the size of it looked like it may have belonged to Hagrid, came the muffled voice - and then head - of Draco Malfoy.

“What the hell was that?! Who was stunning us?!” he demanded of whomever was in there with him. Remus snorted. Only someone like Malfoy could do such a thing as he had, attempt to scare the living daylights out of Harry, and then complain when the intended victim fought back.

Seeing Minerva McGonagall coming towards them - thundering, more like - as the commentator yelled for all to hear that Harry had caught the snitch, Remus decided to leave the Slytherins be, and head towards where Harry was landing. In spite of the fact that it had not been a real Dementor, or even a boggart-Dementor, he was so proud of Harry. He’d had one hell of a fright though. His mother had always taught him that you never knew how much something meant to you until you lost it, and it had not been until he’d thought that something had happened to Harry, that Remus was able to see how close, almost friends, they had become. He have to hide that in front of Harry, though, and concentrated on the sight of Malfoy trying to get free of the over-sized cloak.

“That was quite some Patronus”, he told Harry, fighting back a laugh, and trying to avoid hyperventilating at the same time. This prank was like something James would have come up with to distract the Slytherins. And which Remus would have vetoed.

“The Dementors didn’t affect me at all! I didn’t feel a thing!” Harry sounded so exhilarated and excited and proud of himself.

“That would be because they - er - weren’t Dementors”, Remus told him. “Come and see - “ Remus led Harry over to the edge of the pitch, to where Malfoy and his co-monsters were in a pile.

“You gave Mr Malfoy quite a fright”, said Remus, feeling that the young Slytherin deserved what he got. Obviously Minerva McGonagall, who took the Gryffindor Quidditch team very seriously, agreed with him. When Remus and Harry appeared on the scene, she was reading them the all-familiar riot act. Even he, James, Peter and - and Sirius had never been stupid enough to antagonise her on a match-day.

“An unworthy trick! A low and cowardly attempt to sabotage the Gryffindor Seeker! Detention for all of you, and fifty points from Slytherin! I shall be speaking to Professor Dumbledore about this, make no mistake!” She was yelling louder than Remus had heard her yell for years.

“Ah, here he comes now!” she added, and Remus turned to see the Headmaster walking towards them looking less than impressed.

“Come on, Harry!” Fred - or was it George, Remus still had difficulty in telling the two apart - shouted as he made his way over. “Party! Gryffindor Common Room, now!”

Harry turned and left with the rest of the team, as Dumbledore stood over a flailing Malfoy and Co, his lips becoming as thin as Minerva’s could at the worst of times.

“Why did you do this?” Dumbledore asked them simply. Remus could hear the disappointment in his voice. Unlike Minerva, Albus rarely shouted. He was the quietly disappointed type.

“I should have thought that was obvious, Headmaster”, said Minerva tartly. “They wanted to distract Potter from his game.”

“I am sure that Professor McGonagall has already punished you adequately, so I shall not add to your woes. But I must make each of you see that the Dementors are not a laughing matter, nor are the reasons behind their presence here. You would not see them as a joke, or as a form of entertainment if it were you that was mistaken by them for Sirius Black”, he told them solemnly.

“And now, you shall return to your common room, and I expect you to remain there for the duration of the day. Perhaps completing your homework will at least encourage you to think. I, on the other hand, shall retire to my office, and both Professor Snape and myself shall write to your parents.”

Grumbling, Malfoy and his cronies headed back to the school, mutinous that they had been punished so harshly. Remus, on the other hand, felt that they had got what they deserved - or as close to it as they were going to get.

“Stupid boys”, Minerva muttered. “Honestly. What did they think would come of it but detention?!”

“Come now, Minerva, you shall not find reason in the actions of teenaged boys”, responded Albus, as he himself began to head back to the school, leaving only Remus and Minerva down at the pitch, as all the students had already returned to the warmth.

Hours later, Remus woke up from his disturbed sleep to find Sir Nicholas in front of him, shouting loudly, as if he were on a headless-hockey pitch. Knowing instantly that something was wrong - after all, why else would he be roused by a ghost in the middle of the night - Remus’ blood begin to chill as Sir Nicholas recounted to him the events of the evening thus far. Events that all related back to the fact that Sirius had struck again.


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[MissGryffindor]

Chapter 26 - Gryffindor Tower

The next morning, Padfoot woke up in the best mood he’d been in for months. It was not yet Spring, and the day was still breezy, but the promise of Spring and sunshine and warmth was in the air, he could feel it. He just had to grasp it with both paws. Or two of his four, at any rate. He kept going over the plan repeatedly in his head. He would go to the Gryffindor match to watch Harry play - and hopefully win - and then return here, to wait for Ginger. Ginger had been detailed to spend the evening in the Gryffindor Common Room, where there would undoubtedly be a post-match party. When the party had been ended (most likely by McGonagall rather than voluntarily by the students) Ginger was to come down to the Forest, and collect Padfoot. Thank Merlin he had been too despondent after his first attempt to get into the Tower to dispose of the knife he had stolen from Hagrid’s Hut. It still lay under a dusting of leaves and twigs off to the side of the clearing that Padfoot had made his home.

He breakfasted on a few fish from the stream nearby, and on some bread that Ginger had brought down along with the all-important passwords the night before, counting down the minutes until Quidditch would start as best he could. His watch had stopped in the explosion that had let Rat Boy escape. A lot of things had stopped then.

He made his way quietly, just after the match had started, to a part of the Quidditch stand that had not been frequented during his own time at Hogwarts, and which he had been pleased to find was still quite desolate in Harry’s time here. High up on the bleachers, Padfoot was out of sight of the students, who would have been disturbed to see a black dog so resembling the grim. Or, even worse, hoped to adopt him as a pet.

Padfoot hoped profusely that Harry would not encounter a Dementor as he had the last time he had watched his Godson play. He had felt so guilty after that match - after all, it was down to him that the foul creatures were here in the first place. Trying not to worry, Padfoot allowed himself to become absorbed in the match, and in the commentary, which proved one thing. Every other student was clearly as jealous as hell of the firebolt he had given Harry as a Christmas present.

The match was very intense - for someone that had barely seen a match in over a decade, and Padfoot woofed in support of Gryffindor as loudly as he dared to. Around half an hour into the match, he heard the boy commentating say that Gryffindor were leading eighty - zero. It was just like the Gryffindor heyday of his and James’s time in the team.

He could see the small girl playing Seeker for Ravenclaw had decided to mark Harry rather than look for the snitch herself. Padfoot snorted at this. Obviously his Godson had superior skill in addition to a superior broom. James had always hated those sort of tactics, and had always forbidden the Gryffindor Seeker of their time, a pretty muggle-born girl named Susie Grayson, from following them, saying that a good Seeker did not need to imitate - they led.

As Harry came close to snatching the snitch after a couple of false chances, Padfoot noticed everyone’s attention being drawn to a black, hooded thing on the pitch. His heart caught in his throat at the thought of the Dementors coming near his Godson again. His throat constricted further, though, as he saw Harry attempt a Patronus - a Patronus at the age of thirteen?! - which flew in its sweet, silvery outline in the direction of the black hooded creature.

Padfoot was unsure as to the order of the events that followed. In what seemed like a matter of seconds, Harry had caught the snitch, giving Gryffindor an immense victory over their rivals, and the black, hooded thing - which actually seemed not to be a Dementor anymore - had been knocked over. Padfoot, however, could not remember later the order in which he had seen these things. He was too busy concentrating on the silvery thing that had knocked over the hooded creature. Yes, he was high up in the heavens, in the back row of the Quidditch stands. Yes his eyesight wasn’t as good as it had been years ago. Yes, he wasn’t as mentally agile as he had once been, after all those years in Azkaban. Yes, it could have been wishful thinking. But Padfoot thought he had seen something so like the vague outline of a deer, that it could almost have been something Prongs-like. But his eyes were deceiving him. Harry knew nothing about his father’s Marauder history - unless Remus had told him? But Padfoot guessed that Remus, like him, found that part of the past too hard to think of. After all, Remus would still be in the mindset of someone that had lost ALL his friends. He was still unaware of the truth.

A while later, sure that Harry was alright, and that there had not been a Dementor on the pitch (Minerva McGonagall’s screams had verified it was a student prank) Padfoot headed back to his clearing to spend the remainder of the day pacing the small, wild section of the Hogwarts grounds that had become his home, awaiting the arrival of Ginger to announce that the Gryffindor students had gone to bed, and the Tower was free for him to sneak into.

He had snuck into the Tower countless times as a student, after illicit trips to the kitchens, and to Hogsmeade with James, and Remus - and that thing - and sometimes on his own. Although he was no longer a student, Padfoot did not feel that this entrance into Gryffindor Tower, nor the attempted one on Hallowe’en was breaking and entering as such. He was not an intruder. Hogwarts had been his home for seven years. Until he had stayed with the Potters, it was the closest thing he had experienced to a stable, loving, family environment.

As night fell, Padfoot became more and more agitated, and nervous, his paces turning into short runs, until he had to force himself to slow down. In spite of being out of Azkaban for seven months or so now, he was still not at full health, and tired easily. He had not forgotten the strain his push to get to Hogwarts had placed on his frail body. The same thoughts ran over and over in his mind: this had to work and he had to right the wrongs he had done to James, however misguided and full of good intentions they had been.

If only he hadn’t been so stupid, then none of them would be in this mess. James and Lily would be alive. Harry would have his parents around him. Remus would be surrounded by those that loved him, instead of in the isolated bubble Padfoot knew he would have enveloped himself in. Why had he not realised how well he knew his friend? If he hadn’t been so stupid, he would not have spent more than a decade in Azkaban, and would know his Godson properly. If only he had opened his eyes, and seen what was in front of him…………

“We shall convene next Tuesday at Elphias’s home; if any events between now and then enforce an earlier discussion, I shall be in touch”, Dumbledore concluded. “And now, Minerva and I must return to Hogwarts. It is only a few weeks until the dreaded OWLs and NEWTs take place, and poor Madam Pomfrey is already overloaded with nervous charges.”

“You heading to Prongs and Lily’s now, Padfoot?” Peter asked, turning to face Sirius as they walked out of the meeting.

“Yes, I am. And for Merlin’s sake, keep your voice down Wormtail!” Sirius responded exasperatedly. “Dumbledore would do his nut if he realised just how much I tell them, and how often I risk going to see them! You know there‘s a spy in The Order, everyone does - do you want them to know how close our contact with Prongs an Lily is?! Besides, we could all be followed by any Death Eater at any time. Even me. I don‘t want to give them any suspicions or head starts in where I‘m going.” They were good friends, but every so often, Peter would say or do something stupid or senseless, and Sirius would start to wonder why this was the case.

“Sorry, Padfoot”, Peter muttered, lowering his head slightly. “Where do you reckon Remus is tonight? I haven’t seen him in a couple of weeks.”

“Dunno. I haven’t seen him in a while either, actually. Didn’t Dumbledore say something at the beginning about him being off undercover somewhere?” Now that Peter mentioned it, Sirius recalled that it had been almost two months since he’d seen his friend. How quickly time passed when he was so occupied by the war.

“Wonder what it is he does”, Peter muse. “He doesn’t tell me anything. Does he say anything to you?”

“Nope. But then, Moony has always been able to keep a secret better than the rest of us. Only the three of us - well, and Lily and Snivellus - knew about his furry little problem at Hogwarts. Dumbledore must have told him not to say anything, I guess.”

“I just think its weird how he’s able to do that so well”, said Peter. “Wish I had the talent to keep my mouth shut. I hate having to lie to my friends at work all the time, every time I ask them about their home and their families. They’re good people, especially my boss, but I have to keep my distance from them in case they are Death Eaters. And I always think I am really, obviously doing more than just making conversation when I ask them about themselves. I need to improve my acting skills, I think.”

“Just because they’re good people around you doesn’t mean they aren’t Death Eaters in their spare time, Wormtail”, said Sirius contemptuously. Honestly, did Wormtail have any sense at all?! “Look at dear Lucius, pillar of the community. I’d bet my bike and Prongsie’s vintage Silver Arrow that he’s one of them. You just trust people too easily.”

“I guess.”

“Anyway, I better go”, said Sirius as he left Peter, passing the boundaries of the wards on the Bones’ property that prevented apparition and dis-apparition. “I don’t want to be too late, they might start to worry about their lost mutt! Besides, I want to get there before Harry goes to bed.”

And with that, Sirius dis-apparated in the direction of Godric’s Hollow, apparating in a small woodland area on the edge of the town, not far from the cottage that Dumbledore had procured for the Potters. As he walked to the house, Sirius contemplated what Peter had said. He was right, in that Remus had been acting a little odd the past few months, ever since he had found out it had been Greyback that had bitten him. He did spend less time with them than he used to - even allowing for the amount of time that he was away on missions for Dumbledore. After all, Sirius spent a great deal of time moving around on missions as well. And he managed to keep up with everyone.

One thing that Wormy had said did ring true, though. Remus the best of all four of them at keeping secrets; the best of all of them at hiding a piece of himself away from the rest of the world, even those he was close to.

Pushing these thoughts aside, Sirius pushed forward, heading to the cottage. After he and James had gone through their pre-arranged security questions, Sirius went inside, thrilled to see that his small Godson had yet to be put to bed for the night.

“Great, I thought I might not get to see him”, said Sirius, his eyes lighting up a little. “I could have cursed Dumbledore, the length of time he spent rambling. But he and Minnie had to go and rescue Madam Pomfrey from the Ravenclaws freaking out about their exams.”

“The mass panic is obviously starting earlier than usual this year, then”, said Lily, watching as Sirius lifted Harry, and started bouncing his Godson on his knee, muttering nonsense to him.

“How was the meeting, Padfoot?” James asked intently. Sirius knew how much he hated being shut up like he was. It wasn’t right; someone so skilled, so able, who wanted to fight essentially living like a prisoner in their own home. Or, rather, the closest thing they had to their own home.

“Not too bad. Dorcas thinks she’s being followed by Mulciber, Dolohov and Travers; she said it took a hell of a lot of false trails to get rid of them to come to the meeting. We think they’re planning something big at the moment. Something to do with the muggles. it’s a bit of a mess at the moment, actually. Urgh! I just wish - if they gave me ten minutes with Bella and the rest of my worthless families, we could cut a good whack off Voldemort’s numbers!”

“Sirius, no!” Lily exclaimed. “We have to stay calm, and you can’t do anything stupid like that! I know Crouch has given the Aurors permission to kill rather than capture alive if necessary, but that does not mean that we should descend to their level.”

“She’s right, Sirius”, James added seriously. “You can’t do anything stupid. What would Harry do without his favourite Godfather?”

“Prongs, I’m his only Godfather.”

“All the more reason to avoid doing anything stupid.”

“Prongs, have you seen Moony recently?” Sirius enquired tentatively. He was unsure about burdening James about this. However, if something really was wrong with Remus, he needed to put them on their guard.

“He was here for dinner a couple of weeks ago, wasn’t he Lils?” James asked his wife, who nodded in reply. “You probably see him more than we do, at meetings and everything.”

“To be honest, he doesn’t really talk to me and Wormy at Order meetings”, said Sirius slowly. “I dunno, its just something Wormy said. I think he’s worried about him. He thinks he’s been too quiet recently, and he doesn’t hang out with any of us that much anymore.”

“Wormy worries that the sun won’t come up in the morning”, said Lily, smiling softly, sadly.

“I guess”, said Sirius, pushing his thoughts back a bit in his mind, though not wholly out of sight. He started a long discussion on the end of season Quidditch matches, which went on long into the night - long after Harry had been put to bed.

It was not until the night he turned up at Godric’s Hollow to find James and Lily dead and his Godson a scarred orphan that Sirius had clicked just who had put into his head the idea of Remus being the one that was the spy. Little questions that seemed like concern at the time were actually breadcrumbs leading Sirius to a place of false truth.

Turned out the little piece of vermin had been a better actor than they’d thought.

A better actor than he had portrayed himself as being.

And Sirius had fallen for it hook, line and sinker.

Growling as dusk became dark, and he was forced to wait until what felt like long into the night, Padfoot cursed his impetuous nature, and vowed that when all this was over, he would try and be as close to the sensible Godfather he knew he should be. James knew his nature when he ha asked him to be Harry’s Godfather, but Padfoot had always got the impression that James had thought responsibility might have a positive effect on him. He didn’t know for sure, though. James was no longer around to ask.

Finally, when it had seemed like the Quidditch match of that morning had taken place an eternity ago, Ginger arrived, purring, in the clearing. The Gryffindors had retired to bed. Eagerly, nervously, methodically, Padfoot retrieved both the knife he had forgotten to return to Hagrid’s Hut, and the copy of the Gryffindor passwords that Ginger had stolen for him, and started up towards the school, Ginger at his side.

Padfoot was calmer than he had been at Hallowe’en, and was determined that there would be no repeats of the violence that had marked his last attempt to get into Gryffindor Tower. He had to be careful, and could not afford to make any mistakes. After his failed attempt three and a half months previously, Dumbledore would be watchful, lest there were any further endeavours.

He snuck into the Castle as Padfoot, hoping that it would be easier to fool any patrolling Prefects, who would simply assume that a pet had gone astray, or that Hagrid had adopted yet another animal as his own. Besides, with Ginger at his side, no one would stop to think that he was an animagus. Except Remus. Luckily, though, Padfoot’s innate sense of smell guided him here, and he knew that he would sense his old friend’s presence, should they come close to encountering one another.

Padfoot and Ginger slowly headed for Gryffindor Tower, taking all the secret passageways that Padfoot could remember on the way, in the hope that this would mean they encountered fewer people. They had a close call with a drunken, dawdling Professor on the fifth floor, but no one else disturbed them on their way to the Tower. Even the portraits were sleeping soundly that evening. Perhaps the three and a half months since the vicious attack on one of their number by the infamous Sirius Black had lulled them into a false sense of security, and they believed that they could sleep soundly under the impression that he would not again attempt to enter the Castle. Finally, in a secret passageway along the corridor from the entrance to Gryffindor Tower, Padfoot became Sirius once more.

One of the effects of spending so long in animal form, was that when he transformed back into his human self, it took a few minutes to get used to the change in dimension, in habit. He had to stop himself barking, and speak in a human voice. It was too risky to transform back into his human self in the clearing, so he had spent every moment since his last attempt to enter the Tower as pad foot.

After a few minutes of reacclimatising to his human self, Sirius took a deep breath, checked his knife and the parchment with the passwords, and headed for the exit of the passageway. Ginger checked first, to make sure that there were no wayward Gryffindors returning to their dormitories, following late night trysts, and then Sirius exited the passageway properly, urging Ginger to stay behind. If all of this came to nothing, he wanted to retain his ally. Thus, no one could know they were working together.

Taking a deep breath that hid the nervousness he felt under his sheer determination, Sirius moved towards the portrait that hid the entrance to Gryffindor Tower. Ginger had warned him that it was not The Fat Lady, but a buffoon of a wannabe-soldier that hid the entrance at present, The Fat Lady having refuse to resume her post after Sirius had slashed her; something he felt a great degree of guilt for.

“Good evening”, said Sirius pleasantly, though there was a touch of hoarseness in his voice from lack of practice in speaking.

“Do you have a quest for me?” The soldier asked excitedly. Perhaps he did not recognise his visitor?

“Not as such”, said Sirius, trying his best to recall the affability that had been ingrained in him since birth, and in his early childhood. “I would like entrance to the Tower, and have here the password you require.”

“Okay…..”, said the soldier, though he seemed unsure. Perhaps the metal armour he wore restrained him?

“I have the password here”, said Sirius, sensing that after last time patience and politeness would go a long way to getting him into the Tower. “In fact, I have all of those for the next week…..” And thus, he began rhyming off the list of passwords on the piece of parchment that Ginger had given him, feeling a small stab of pity for the student it had been taken from. Minnie was going to have a field day with this, whether Sirius succeeded in his intentions or not.

“You have passed the test, good Sir”, bowed the soldier when Sirius had finished reading out the list. “You may enter.” hardly able to believe his luck, and clutching the knife he carried tightly inside the tatty, worn and torn Azkaban robes he still wore, Sirius stepped into Gryffindor Tower for the first time in approximately fifteen years. Perhaps longer.

It was precisely as he remembered it; the same portraits hung on the walls, as he imagined they would continue to do so in the centuries to come, and the chairs - though placed differently (perhaps due to the party that would have taken place?) looked just the same, though as if they had been helped by a few refurbishment charms. Looking around the room, and over at the staircase to the dormitories, Sirius could almost see himself and James and Remus - and Rat Boy - in their own years here. Chatting and playing chess by the fire, James covertly sneaking a glazed look at Lily every few minutes. Their first view of the common room. This small space held so many memories for him, but he had to push them immediately to the back of his mind. He had more important business here tonight.

While the kid in him wanted to see if the prohibition on boys entering the girls’ dormitories still held, Sirius did not risk it, focusing his mind solely on the reason he had risked everything to come here tonight. Peter Pettigrew.

He climbed slowly, quietly, patiently, un-Siriusly up the staircase to the dormitory in which Harry, and therefore his friend and Rat Boy, slept. It was with a pang of annoyed dismay that he realised Harry did not sleep in the same dormitory he and the rest of the Marauders had inhabited for the seven years they had spent at Hogwarts. Perhaps it was for the best. There was probably still Merlin knows what in that room……

Sirius listened momentarily at the door of Harry’s dormitory before he entered, lest the inhabitants of the room were still awake, engaged in excited discussion of his Godson’s fabulous performance during the Quidditch match. The only sound emanating from the room, however, was that of one - or more likely, two - of the boys snoring away softly. As such, he entered, trying hard to see in the dark, glad that they had chosen to leave the curtains open, and so allow Sirius to use the little light the moon afforded him. He hated the thought of using the thing that plagued Remus so to his advantage, but it had to be done.

Although he got his bearings quite quickly, and was able to identify the bed that belonged to the boy that owned Peter, Sirius was distracted by the sight of his Godson sleeping so innocently. He looked so like James lying there like this that it almost brought a tear to Sirius’s eye as a rush of painful memories ran through him. No, he was here to help Harry. To protect him. And protecting him meant concentrating on his objective.

Rat Boy. The person who had caused all of them so much pain.

Anger started to build up in Sirius now, as he looked - and smelt - about the room for evidence of Rat Boy. Then he recalled what Ginger had said. He never seemed to venture far from his unwitting protector. Later on, Sirius could not recall just how it happened, yet all of a sudden his knife was slashing through the hangings around the bed of Rat Boy’s owner. He had to get in there. He had to get to Rat Boy.

It would all have worked out. Maybe. If the boy hadn’t woken up.

All of a sudden, their eyes locked momentarily. He had been seen.

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGH HHHHHHH! NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” The boy shouted.

In a great panic, with no Rat Boy to justify his story, knowing that nothing he would have to say would stand up to Dumbledore - or, more importantly, to Harry and Remus, Sirius panicked.

He slammed the door just as noises were starting to come from the remaining four beds in the room, including - Sirius presumed - Harry’s. He needed proof before he took the truth to his Godson, and proof he did not have as long as he did not have that little piece of vermin. Sirius ran down the stairs, feelings of guilt and regret and disappointment coursing through him, knowing he had to get away from Gryffindor Tower as quickly as possible.

He passed quickly through the portrait, heading for the cover of the secret passageway to change back into Padfoot, barking to Ginger that everything had gone wrong, though he presumed that would have been obvious from the fact that he ran back alone. Together, the two of them ran out of the castle before the alarm could be raised, heading in the direction of the clearing that was destined to remain Padfoot’s home.

One, singular thought ran through his mind as he fled for his life.

He had failed James and Lily and Harry and Remus.

He had failed them all.

Again.



Feedback??????
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[MissGryffindor]

Chapter 27 - Destination Nowhere

Padfoot’s run, which had started in Gryffindor Tower in his human form as Sirius, did not end until he reached the safety of his clearing, all the while hoping that neither Dumbledore nor the Dementors came within the vicinity as a consequence of his actions, looking for the intruder. He was sure that it would not be long before the alarm was raised, and the staff was made aware of what had happened. If only he’d had a wand, he could have silenced the boy. If only.

Quietly, when they had returned to the clearing, Padfoot explained to Ginger in more detail, the events of the evening, not daring to go to sleep. It was going to be a long night, but if he could get through it, he might just be able to survive and retain his freedom. One things was for sure, though, he barked at Ginger. If he was lucky, he may still be able to get into the Castle, but he doubted he would be able to repeat tonight’s feat, and gain entrance to Gryffindor Tower. Ginger may have informed him that Rat Boy had faked his death, but Padfoot knew that he would remain in the environs of the Castle. He would want to know what was going on, and in any case, the safest place from the mass-murdering Sirius, was close to Albus Dumbledore.

Padfoot knew that his enemy was still in the Castle, but he was unsure where. There were enough nooks and crannies in a dormitory for him to remain there, in a known environment - after all, Ginger had not been able to get close enough to the dormitory to completely rule it out, and Sirius had by no means been able to make a thorough study of the room that evening. He’d have to be more careful in the future, and until everything had calmed down, he could not risk any further attempts at gaining entrance to the Castle, and access to likely hiding places.

Mid-way through the night, desperate to know what was taking place in the search for him and sick of pacing up and down constantly, Padfoot asked Ginger to go back to the Castle, and bring him back an update on the search. No one would suspect a cat, and even if Remus did suspect he was in hiding in animagus form, his old friend, ex-friend, whatever Remus was now, would not contemplate Padfoot being the partner-in-crime of a cat. It had taken Padfoot a long time to get Ginger to trust him for the simple reason that real animals were instantly able to identify their own - and imposters, such as animagi. Thus, Ginger was safe from scrutiny.

However safe he presume Ginger to be from scrutiny, though, Padfoot could not help but worry, a time later, at how long it was taking for his cohort to return. He was getting more and more fidgety; it had been folly to enter Gryffindor Tower without more planning than he had undertaken. That had been what Remus had always been so good at; he and James had been the ones that came up with the obscure and brilliant ideas for causing mayhem (though Remus could be creative when he wanted to be, and tended to be clever with it) and Peter their faithful lookout. He had watched their backs, and planned their escape if a teacher had come along. The thought of his watching their backs was a joke now. Some job he’d done of keeping them out of trouble.

Everything was all going so wrong. He was set in a pattern of taking a step forward, and then having to move back two almost immediately after. Every progression he made was hit by problems, and complications, and bad luck. After their first Divination lesson (a class he and James had only taken as a joke, and because the young French woman teaching the subject, Mademoiselle de Polignac was uncommonly pretty) he had overheard Lily telling one of her friends about muggle fortune-telling, and tarot cards, and the concept of karma - the idea that what you put out into the world, be it good or bad, came back at you. If this theory were true, then Padfoot had picked up some very bad karma along the way.

After what seemed like an eternity, Ginger returned. The school was in uproar, though the Dementors had, thankfully, not been summonsed. A thorough search of the building was underway, and all were as wide awake as Padfoot was. The assumption was, according to Ginger, that security on the building would once again be tightened, in an effort to prevent him from making a third foray into the Castle. Padfoot breathed a deep sigh of relief as he recommenced his pacing, having desisted while Ginger was communicating to him what was going on. They did not know where he was, yet. They did not know tonight. It was still too risky to go to sleep, though he could be a little less fearful of exposure.

It was not until long after the sun had risen, that Padfoot dared to fall asleep, requesting first that Ginger - who had remained with him faithfully throughout - came back that evening with further news on any new security measures or restrictions in place. Only then, after exacting that promise and watching the only friend he had in the world walk away, did Padfoot succumb to the exhaustion that had been plaguing him for hours, feeling as much of a failure as he had every day for the past thirteen years.

The next couple of weeks were torturous for Padfoot. Ginger had brought back bad news, stating that throughout the Castle, the portraits, the suits of armour, the ghosts - and even the front doors - were being taught to recognise a picture of his human self. Yes, he still had the option of entering the Castle in animal form open to him, but extensive roving in that guise would only bring suspicion down upon him anyway. He had no further leads in where in the Castle Rat Boy might be hiding, for Ginger was now almost certain that he had left the sanctuary of Gryffindor Tower in the hope that his adversaries would not be able to find him elsewhere. Perhaps he was moving around. Ginger could not cover the entirety of the Castle without arousing suspicion himself, and so the pair were back to square one.

One step forward, two steps back.

He was going nowhere.

Fast.

As such, Padfoot had fallen back into the “fits of the sullens” (as James had dubbed it) that he had been prone to every so often at Hogwarts. He spent days mooching around his clearing, moodily contemplating the past, and his own stupidity, and Peter’s duplicity, instead of devising constructive ways of achieving his aim. Like all martyrs, the bulk of his time was spent blaming himself. At school, the worst of these moody interludes had taken place after he had sent Snape into the Shack, when he had been consumed with guilt (not a feeling he had previously had much use for) - not for what he had done to Snape, but for the rupture it had caused in his and Remus’s friendship.

When he had been at Hogwarts, it had oddly tended to be Remus rather than James that brought Sirius out of his funks. None of them had ever been able to distinguish just why that was. Perhaps James was too close to him. Perhaps Remus had that closeness, yet that slight air of distance when compared to James. Perhaps it had been because Remus was more practical. It was not until a cool night at the end of February, though, that Padfoot thought he might have solved the mystery, as he looked up, through the shadow of the trees, to see a full and bright moon staring back at him.

Perhaps it had been because deep down, he knew that whatever was bothering him, Remus had bigger fish to fry.

Perhaps it had been because, whatever was bothering Sirius, he knew deep down that of all of them, only Remus knew true pain.


It had been a similar sort of chilly, clear night in early Spring, a few months before they had sat their OWL exams, that they had first managed to do it properly. After months of research (the only time in their tenure at Hogwarts that they had voluntarily and enthusiastically entered Madam Pince’s realm, leaving the librarian highly suspicious about what they were up to; the poor woman had probably been convinced they were intent on total mayhem) followed by what felt like years of failed attempts, they were finally able to do it. They were finally able to transform.

They were unsure how they had managed to do it, but they had kept the entire process a secret from Remus, fearing his prefect-esque interference, telling them that it was useless, or that it was too dangerous. Or that he was too dangerous. When Sirius had first mentioned the idea, Remus had rejected it instantly, sending Sirius to bed. Hence, the secrecy.

It had taken a lot of hard work. Yes, Sirius and James were both top of their year in Transfiguration (despite hardly ever turning their homework in on time and never studying for tests that McGonagall set them, or their end of year exams) and they helped Peter as much as possible, but becoming an Animagus was not something that could be done easily - there were only seven thus far this century, after all.

McGonagall had told them herself, one Transfiguration lesson that it had taken her five years to achieve the process. And she wasn’t exactly dim.

Now, in their fifth year at Hogwarts, at the age of….approaching sixteen….they had finally managed to emulate their Professor. The three boys were able to transform into animals at will. They transformed in their dormitory, assured that Remus’s Prefect rounds would distract him for long enough, having taken the decision that on the next full moon, they would fulfil their purpose for this mammoth task. They would accompany Remus to the Shack.

“I still can’t believe I’m just a rat”, said Peter sadly, once they had become their human selves once more. “I thought I’d be something cooler. Anything but a rat.”

“Don’t worry about it, Peter”, James reassured him. “How many times have I told you? It will look suspicious if one of us immobilises the Willow in human form - but in animal form, you can get to the knot in a way we can’t. In fact, your form helps with the entire operation.”

“You sure?” Peter seemed a little uncertain.

“Positive”, James replied.

“Could be worse”, said Sirius. “Its not like you’re a duck, or anything like that. Or a goat - otherwise you might be kidnapped by that weirdo that runs the Hogs Head. Always stinks of goats every time I go in there.”

“So, we’re agreed, then?” said James excitedly. “Full moon tomorrow night, we go and meet Remus in the Shack.”

“Agreed”, said Sirius and Peter respectively. It was decided. The next evening would be their first full moon as Werewolf-sitters.

The following night, not long after Remus had left to head to the Shack, his three friends stood in their dormitory, a half bottle of firewhiskey for company, Sirius contemplating excitedly the adventure of the evening, a little contemptuous of the worry lines etched across Peter’s forehead.

“To Remus”, said James, as they all swallowed a shot, and Sirius felt the familiar burn run down his throat. He had no fear about the night ahead, only a sense of excitement.

“Its time”, said Sirius. “We can’t put this off any more, otherwise he’ll already have transformed before we get down there, and it’ll ruin the surprise!”

The trio set off quietly, down the stairs to the common room, James’s invisibility cloak firmly entrenched in its’ owner’s pocket. Luckily enough, with Spring still to get fully underway, moon rise was before curfew, and so they could leave Gryffindor Tower without worrying about the approbation of any over-zealous Prefect looking to give them detention.

After a few minutes, they reached the Willow, and Peter transformed, in order that he would be able to freeze the tree. Once that was completed, all three of them snuck through the entrance, which was precisely as Remus had described to them, whenever they had been able to get him to talk about his visits here. They proceeded down a long, root-ridden passageway, before coming to the trap door that they knew would lead them into the house.

The Shack was old, and had obviously been abandoned for decades. Although they had known for three years now that the noises that came from this building were those of Remus in wolf form, and not ghosts - as was the rumour throughout the Castle and the village of Hogsmeade - Sirius couldn’t help but feel that this building had a haunted feel about it, as if Sir Nicholas or the Baron were just around the corner.

It was with more excitement than trepidation that Sirius walked ahead of the other two towards the stairs, and slowly ascended, trying to be quiet to max out on the surprise that they were going to give to Remus. Eventually, when they reached the outside of the room that they knew he transformed in, James silently nodded to him and Peter, and the three of them transformed, James’s cloak having been left in the passageway to the Willow for safe-keeping.

Suddenly, where three teenaged boys had once stood, there was three very different animals instead: a stag, its antlers prominent, and deadly looking; a large, shaggy black dog that resembled The Grim, and a small, greyish rat.

Deciding for everyone else that he should go first, Sirius pushed the door open, and stepped into the room - which he could see had previously been a bedroom - looking at Remus, crouched over in the corner. He knew that it was not time for Remus to transform, but he could see that the worst of the pre-transformation pains had started, and it looked like Remus was having cramps, or spasms, of some sort. Slowly, Sirius approached him, and then gently pushed his doggy head into Remus’s chest, woofing slightly, and wagging his tail.

“Hey, doggy, where have you come from?” Remus asked the dog affectionately. Sirius simply wagged his tail, delighted that he was so convincing; if he could fool someone as intelligent as Remus, he could fool virtually anyone - well, perhaps not Dumbledore.

“Woof!” Sirius barked as a further response.

“As much as I should like you to stay, you had better go soon”, said Remus sadly, scratching behind the dog’s ears.

Sirius took a step back from Remus, deciding that this was it; this was the time to reveal themselves, and he barked again, a little louder, to indicate to James and Peter that they should enter the room too, as he transformed back into Sirius.

“Sirius!” Remus spluttered a moment later, when Sirius had fully regained his human form.

“What in Merlin’s name are you doing here?!”

“I’ve…..come to keep you company”, Sirius responded. “After all, you said yourself that Werewolves are only dangerous to humans - not animals.”

“This is insane”, said Remus, clutching his stomach tightly. Clearly the transformation itself was approaching rapidly. “Does James know anything about this idiotic idea of yours, hmm?!”

At that moment, however, a beautiful stag, and a small, greyish rat entered the room, an Remus looked at them as if he had never seen anything of the like in his life.

“I must be hallucinating”, he muttered. “This is not happening.”

“I think you’ll find it is, Remus”, said James, transforming back into his human self.

“Oh, Merlin. Is that rat Peter, then?” Remus asked. The reply he got was Peter turning back into his human form, and joining James and Sirius in standing opposite Remus, who was obviously still in agony.

“Do you realise just how dangerous this is?!” Remus exclaimed. “What if I hurt you?”

“Like I said before, you told us that a Werewolf is only dangerous to humans, not to animals, and that it what the books say as well”, said Sirius stubbornly.

“But I couldn’t take it if anything happened to any of you because of me. This is not a curse I would wish on my worse enemy, Sirius”, Remus responded in anguish.

“Whatever, Remus - we’re staying”, said Sirius defiantly. And their friend had no further opportunity to object, as before his eyes, he started to become the wolf, his bones and muscles and tendons stretching out, Remus clearly trying his best not to scream, for their benefit and comfort, as they hurriedly transformed back into the animals they had entered the room as.

They spent the remainder of the night in the Shack itself; their jaunts into the grounds, and the countryside that enveloped the village would come later. They just wanted to make sure they could do it first. They just wanted to make sure that they made a difference, and that they would be able to control the wolf.

The next day, Remus’s guilt and anguish at their presence the previous night told when they went to visit him in the Infirmary at lunchtime, their eyes drooping from the lack of sleep they’d had the night before. Sirius had talked down all of Remus’s fears, arguing that they were doing him good, and that they would continue to do so in the months and years to come.

“Thank you”, said Remus quietly, just as they were leaving. “My parents are stuck with me, but you chose to do something to try and help, however dangerous it is, and I just……thank you for the thought. Thank you for all of it - everything.”

When they left him to the solitude of his post-lunch nap, Peter ran on ahead, having forgotten in his fatigue to bring an essay with him (it was sitting atop the cabinet beside his bed in Gryffindor Tower) leaving James and Sirius to discuss the previous night’s event alone.

“I never knew”, said James, a tinge of sadness in his voice. “Obviously I read the books, and I saw his injuries, but I never knew how much pain and agony and anguish he went through every month. He might look like he’s going to fall over when it gets close to the full, but Moony is the strongest of all of us.”

“I know”, said Sirius. “Why didn’t he tell us it was like that?!” He couldn’t quite believe it himself, but Sirius was working himself up into a mood over the fact that Remus had been….economical with the truth, if nothing else, when telling his friends about the agony he went through each month. Economical with the truth - he had told them bare-faced lies.

Sirius could see Remus, though, retaliating to any telling off they gave him about not telling them how much agony he went through.

“What was I supposed to do, Sirius? Tell you how much it hurts? Tell you how much it feels like I’m going to die every time it happens? Tell you that until you’ve experienced this, you’ve never come close to feeling true pain? That compared to this it makes you in your ‘fits of the sullens‘, or anyone that heads in the direction of Madam Pomfrey for a pepper-up potion for a few sniffles, or a light cough look like a blithering hypochondriac?!”

He’d be right, as well, Sirius thought.

“Shows we’ll be good for him, though”, said Sirius. “Can’t wait for next time!” His thought process not quite reaching the realisation that Remus was not exactly in the same frame of mind.

Looking back, maybe that was the moment when they all started to grow up. When they realise from first-hand experience, or eye-witness account, whatever anyone wanted to label it, just what Remus endured every month.

And that was also when a simple schoolboy friendship had turned into something more; a band of brothers. There were certain things in life that when, shared with others, created an eternal bond between them. This was such a thing, and looking back on it nigh on two decades in the future, Sirius realised that he had naively thought at that moment in time that they would all be friends forever, taking their kids (or James and Evans’s at any rate) to the Hogwarts Express in the years to come, and hiding from their wives in The Three Broomsticks.

He did not foresee the suspicion and betrayal that lay in their future.

No one had.

No one could have.

Right?

Padfoot made an annoyed sound, as close to ‘humph’ as a dog could make, as he realised that even though he was not here, or even his friend anymore, Remus still had the ability to make him realise how stupid and selfish he was being, and that there was someone close to him suffering more than he was.

Maybe it was the thought of Remus in agony, or the inexorable guilt that he felt for how he had been recently, and how much he had forgotten Remus’s pain, but Padfoot remained awake for the rest of the night, thinking of his old friend, and ALL the full moon adventures that the Marauders had enjoyed together, roaming the grounds and the countryside.

Having someone else to think about brought Padfoot out of his funk like it always had, and from thenceforth, he spent his time trying to think of new ways to achieve his goal, and working with Ginger to think about how they might get Padfoot into the Castle to have a look around and try to identify a current or previous hiding place of Rat Boy’s, knowing that if they could find even one place that he had stayed in his attempts to avoid his old friend, then they might be able to trace his scent to his current location.

Although on the day that he had tried to enter Gryffindor Tower, and attended Harry’s most recent Quidditch match, Padfoot had felt that Spring was in the air, this had not come to fruition and it had remained cold. About a third of the way through March, however, Padfoot woke one day to intense brightness, and more heat than he had been used to the early period of his stay in the Forest. Maybe things were looking up after all…..

The day was going well, with his belief that Spring may be in the air, until he unfurled the copy of the Prophet that Ginger had brought him, and Padfoot realised that March 10th had come. Remus’s birthday. It was made worse by the thought that followed it as another occasion had - it was only 17 days until James would have been 34. An age that he would have once thought ancient, but that Sirius would do anything to have seen him celebrate.

One step forward and two steps backwards.

He was still going nowhere.

And fast.



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Part 28 - Lost and Found


As Nick quietly removed himself from the room - most likely to rouse some of the other teachers - Remus hurriedly jumped out of bed, threw on a dressing gown and pair of aged, brown slippers in addition to his pyjamas, then began to head for the staff room, where Nick had informed him he was required to assemble. As he ran along the corridor, breathing heavily, Remus could not quite believe that Sirius had been so stupid as to attempt to gain entrance to Gryffindor Tower, and to Harry, once more. He was getting more bold and brazen - more like the Sirius of old, that recklessly launched head-first into enterprises with no thought of the consequences.

Filius, Charity and Severus were in the staff room when Remus arrived, though Minerva turned up a few moments later, amid Filius’s attempts to explain exactly what had happened. Remus was shaking slightly at the thought of Sirius returning to the castle as Filius spoke. How had he managed to get in without being caught? And there was that little voice at the back of his head again, goading Remus, saying that it was through his ability to turn into an animal that had been his saving grace.

“Black is back”, said Minerva plainly. “He tried and was able to get into Gryffindor Tower tonight - he even got into Potter’s dormitory. He must have mistaken Weasley’s bed for Potter’s in the dark, and tried to attack Weasley with a knife. Longbottom had noted down the passwords Sir Cadogan was planning to use this week, and left it lying around. Black got hold of it somehow, and was allowed to enter the Tower.”

“Humph”, said Severus. “An act of that magnitude of stupidity could only be committed by someone like Longbottom.”

“Severus, this is neither the time nor the place”, said Minerva protectively. “Now, I suspect Black is long gone from the castle, but we still need to search the building. Dumbledore is searching the first two floors, Severus if you take the dungeons, Charity can search the north tower, Remus if you take the sixth and seventh floors, and Filius the third and fourth. The remainder of the school is already being searched, though as I have said, I believe Black made his escape as quickly as he could.”

Ignoring the contemptuous glance he received from Severus, whom he presumed suspected him once more of helping Sirius get into the castle, Remus set out for the sixth and seventh floors to search for Sirius. He noted immediately that, as had been the case on Hallowe’en, all of the portraits were awake, when they would normally have been sound asleep at this time of night.

Walking down the corridors, checking every room, and holding his wand aloft constantly, Remus contemplated what would happen if he was the one to find Sirius. Like Minerva, he believed Sirius to have left the castle - he was not reckless enough to remain in the building. But there was a part of him that did not want to be the one that found Sirius. Not, as Severus would assume, because he was on Sirius’s side, but because he could not trust himself after all Sirius had done, to hand him over to the Dementors without exacting his own revenge first.

Given his ambivalence over Sirius’s capture, Remus heaved a sigh of relief of sorts when he returned to the staff room a few hours later, having seen neither hide nor hair of Sirius, but having quickly caught and sentenced to detention two seventh years - Hufflepuff Caro Ponsonby and Ravenclaw George Gordon - skulking in a disused classroom.

“Has he been caught?” Remus asked heavily as he entered the room, pinching the bridge of his nose, as he had become wont to do in recent months.

“Sadly no”, said Dumbledore, looking tired, and a tad older than Remus could remember. This business with Sirius and the presence of the Dementors was obviously taking its toll on the Headmaster.

“I can’t believe he was able to get that close to Potter!” Minerva exclaimed. She looked a bit shaken, and Remus suspected her of being just a tad guilty that the security of her own House had been penetrated as it had, even if it had been Neville’s list of passwords that had been the check mate in Sirius’s plan.

“There is a lot that is confusing about tonight’s events”, said Dumbledore gravely. “I am still unsure - terrible though the thought is - why he does not seemed to have sought to silence young My Weasley before moving on to Mr Potter. But perhaps Weasley screamed too quickly. Nevertheless, we shall tighten security further.”

A yawning Remus filed out of the room amongst the rest of the staff, as Dumbledore ordered them to return to their beds; there was work to be done the following day. Despite his tiredness, though, Remus could not help but notice the sneer on the contorted face of Severus Snape - there was one person, at least, who believed that Remus had assisted Sirius as much as Neville had inadvertently done.

But Remus didn’t have time to think about Severus’s ancient grudges and bitterness and hatred. He had more important things to consider - like helping Dumbledore and Minerva ensure that Sirius could not get as close to Harry as he had done tonight.

On the Saturday following Sirius’s break-in, Remus (in need of a distraction) took advantage of the fact that the castle was quiet - due to a Hogsmeade visit - to ensure that all of his marking was up-to-date, having found himself setting more and more of them as the term had progressed. He prioritised brutally, starting by dealing with the NEWT-level essays on Inferi, and the OWL-level ones on self-protection charms. By the middle of the afternoon, having stopped only for a short lunch of tea and toast, Remus was almost finished; indeed he was close to having completed the last batch of essays he had set his first years on incubi and succubae. He was just noting down Eliza Courtney’s 97% in his notebook, when he heard a snarling call coming from the fireplace.

“Lupin! I want a word!” Perplexed at precisely what Severus would want from him almost a fortnight away from the next full moon, Remus stood up, and headed for the fireplace, sighing heavily. He was not in the mood for Severus’s continued accusations that he was aiding and abetting Sirius.

“You called, Severus?” he asked, dusting the ashes from the fire off the old robes he had chosen to wear that morning, and noting that a bewildered, and slightly nervous looking Harry was also present. The look of anger on Snape’s face worried him - what exactly had happened here?

“I certainly did”, Snape responded, angrier than Remus had seen him in a long time. “I have just asked Potter to empty his pockets. He was carrying this.” And then Remus had to think fast when he saw an object, innocuous in appearance, that he had not seen in almost two decades. The Marauders Map. How in Merlin’s name had Harry gotten hold of it? He thought Filch would have destroyed it - they all had - lest James and Sirius tried to recapture it during one of their many midnight wanderings.

There were several words going through Remus’s mind at that moment; none of them were repeatable in Harry’s presence. Where had he got it from? Remus could remember the time they’d lost it as if it were yesterday……

It was a cold and windy Friday evening at the beginning of February in their seventh year. With James engaged in a mammoth Quidditch practice in preparation for their upcoming match against Ravenclaw the following week, and Sirius once again in detention for hexing and jinxing numerous Slytherins, Remus and Peter had been deputed to sneak into Hogsmeade in search of Honeydukes chocolate and to retrieve the bottle of firewhiskey that Rosmerta was holding for Sirius.

The two boys, shaking with cold as they returned up with secret passageway, had claimed their booty, and now had to tackle the hardest part of their trip - given that James had forgotten to tell the where his invisibility cloak had been stashed - getting back to their dormitory. Curfew was not for another half hour or so, but that did not stop Filch prowling the corridors, searching out even the smallest misdemeanours.

“We’ll be b-b-back beside the fire in a few minutes, Pete, don’t worry about it”, Remus reassured his friend, his own teeth chattering violently. It was only a few days since the full, and his body was still weak.

“G-g-good haul though Moony, eh?” said Peter in response, hurrying up slightly at the thought of the proximity of the warm fire in the Gryffindor common room. They exited the secret passageway, having quickly scanned the map to make sure there was no one on that floor, and saw Sirius’s name alone - detention must have been concluded.

“Hey Moony, Wormtail”, said Sirius, sauntering along the corridor towards them. “Get the goods, then?” The two boys nodded in reply, holding out the chocolate and alcohol, which Sirius gathered up neatly, replying to their enquiry as to how his detention had gone, that it had pretty much been the same as usual.

“Right, Prongs should be just about finished with Quidditch practice. All we need now is some Treacle Tart and Cauldron Cakes”, Sirius added.

“You mean yours and Prongs’ favourite cakes?” Remus asked wryly. “Let me guess - you want Wormy and I to collect them from the kitchens?”

“He has a way with the house-elves, and I passed McGonagall on the way up here - Minnie gets suspicious every time she sees me near the kitchens”, Sirius argued.

“Fine”, Wormtail agreed for the two of them, and the trio set off again, Remus and Peter in the direction of the kitchens, and Sirius upwards, towards the warmth of the fire. As the pair made their way downstairs, Remus shivered and Peter mumbled mutinously about the cold, and he and Remus having to go down, even though Sirius had been spot on for once with his reasoning.

Sirius had been right to warm them about Professor McGonagall - they passed her on the way down, though as they were also headed in the general direction of the library at the time, Remus was able to persuade her that he had forgotten to take out a book when he had been there earlier.

The two boys were less fortunate, however, on their return to the Tower. Peter had not been paying sufficient attention to the map - had been looking at the common room, muttering away about the fact that Sirius and James (presumably returned from Quidditch practice) had taken the two best seats beside the fire - and they were blind-sighted by Filch.

“Oho! And what do we have here?” said the caretaker gleefully, giving Peter the opportunity to disguise the map, but not to hide it. “Two Gryffindors out of bed just before curfew - and one of you a prefect as well, tsk tsk. And what do we have here, food from the kitchens, is it?”

“Well, uh, uhm”, Peter stuttered, looking to Remus for guidance. He was the better of the two at thinking of a quick, plausible story.

“Our apologies, Mr Filch”, said Remus smoothly. “With it being just a few short months until our NEWT exams, Peter and I were so engrossed in our Herbology homework that we lost track of the time, and missed dinner. As such, the house-elves were kind enough to furnish our meagre needs with a small snack.” Filch humphed at this - possibly at the thought of Peter, who had never been thin, having meagre dinner portions.

“Turn out your pockets!” Filch barked. But his attention had already been caught by the map, which he took first from Peter, ignoring the small Zonko products the boys had, and resisting from confiscating their cakes.

“What is this?” he asked them, indicating the map.

“Spare bit of parchment”, said Peter nonchalantly, though his eyes betrayed, to Remus at least, the importance of the object.

“Ah well, I think I shall take that”, said Filch. “Can never have too much of this, can you boys? And I’ll take these as well - some more to add to the banned list, I should think. Now, go on then, be off with you!” Remus and Peter did not need to be told twice; they moved to get as far away from Filch as possible before he started threatening detention on top of confiscation.

“Padfoot and Prongs are going to go mental at me!” Peter exclaimed miserably as they left Filch and turned a corner in the direction of Gryffindor Tower. “Especially after I got us caught putting dung bombs outside the Slytherin Common Room the other week!”

“Don’t worry, Wormtail, we shall say that I lost it“, said Remus in placating tones. He knew that James and Sirius wouldn’t say too much if this was the case; anything they said at all would be taken too much to heart by Peter - even the smallest admonitions.

Perhaps Peter had been right. Sirius had gotten a tad madder than the situation had warranted, and swiftly started downing his alcohol in a fit of nostalgia, while James had been annoyed, though mostly it had been the fact that the map was lost to the next generation of Marauders that had bothered him. All four boys presumed that Filch would have taken the first opportunity to destroy it.

“I’d been planning on passing it on to my first-born”, said James, as if the child’s birth was imminently expected.

“Why should your kid have got it above anyone else’s?” Sirius asked him, offering up the firewhiskey to his best friend.

“Because I am actually likely to have kids”, said James wisely. “Cool ones - don’t you think mine and Lily’s children would be extra special.”

“Oh, for Merlin’s sake, if you’re going to be in that sort of mood, Prongs, I’ll be keeping the rest of that bottle to myself to block out your dulcet tones”, grimaced Sirius jestingly.

“It was a cool invention, though”, said James, bringing the subject back to the map. “Let’s all drink to it, as a symbol of our genius.” And he poured a shot of firewhiskey for each of them, handing it out, and then raising his glass to make a toast, the other three imitating him.

“The Marauders’ Map!”

“Well?” said Snape, dragging Remus out of his reverie.

What in Merlin’s name was he supposed to say?! Snape knew as well as he did what their Marauder nicknames had been. How often had Sirius and James called one another Padfoot and Prongs while jinxing Snape? This was a joke - whatever he said, it would not be plausible, at least not to Snape. And if Severus took it further, what would Dumbledore say? He’d have to explain what it was, and admit how little respect he’d had for the rules. He hated that look of quiet disappointment Dumbledore would wear if he knew. A joke - could he try and pass it off as a Zonko product and plead ignorance? And such an object as this? What if Sirius knew it was intact?

If Sirius knew it was still in tact - Sirius knew how to use the map. He could use it against Harry. How could Harry be so blind and stupid to have a map like this lying around, after what had happened with Neville’s list of passwords? A map that told the user just where the person they wished to avoid - or the person they wished to seek - was located at any given time. What to Harry must have seemed to be a mischief aid was endangering him. And he was blind to it. But now was not the time for scolding Harry, or placing blame anywhere - first, he had to get them BOTH out of this room without Snape revealing too much.

“Well?” Snape repeated himself. “This parchment is plainly full of Dark Magic. This is supposed to be your area of expertise, Lupin. Where do you imagine Potter got such a thing?” He was goading Remus into admitting its history; his history. He gave Harry a small, half-glance, trying to plead with him not to interrupt, and lead to contradictions in what he was saying.

“Full of dark magic?” said Remus, a false tone of innocence in his voice. “Do you really think so, Severus? It looks to me as though it is merely a piece of parchment that insults anybody who tries to read it. Childish, but surely not dangerous? I imagine Harry got it from a joke-shop -”

“Indeed?” said Snape, almost growling as he grew angrier and angrier. “You think a joke-shop could supply him with such a thing? You don’t think it more likely that he got it directly from the manufacturers?”

He emphasised the last four words, as Remus worked hard to keep his face straight, and his voice even. Obviously Snape was unaware that Filch had confiscated the map, but did he really think it likely that James -who had died when Harry was a fifteen-month-old baby - had left it to him, when Harry had escaped from the ruins of his home with only the clothes he had on his back? Or Sirius, who had been in Azkaban for most of the time since then, or Peter who was dead? No, he could tell what Snape was getting at. He thought that Remus himself had given it to Harry. As if he would pass on such an object that only reminded him of times he wished he could forget.

“You mean from Mr Wormtail, or one of these people?” said Remus in reply, feeling it was safest to use Peter’s nickname. “Harry, do you know any of these men?” Men. They’d been boys when they’d created the map. Men was something that two of them had hardly been given the chance to become.

“No”, said Harry quickly.

“You see Severus, it looks like a Zonko product to me”, Remus told him, turning to look back at Severus, daring to look at the bitter visage, as they were interrupted by Weasley running into the room, looking as if he’d just completed a marathon.

“I - gave - Harry - that - stuff”, he managed to splutter. “Bought -it - in - Zonko’s - ages - ago.”

“Well!” said Remus, grateful for Ron’s timing, clapping his hands together with a small sense of relief, though they were not out of the woods yet. “That seems to clear that up! Severus, I’ll take this back, shall I?” He folded the map up tightly, and placed it inside his robes, then hurried Harry and Ron out of the room, muttering something about the vampire essay that was due at the end of the following week, before Snape could object to the removal of the map from his office. That had been a very close call. Maybe Harry didn’t realise just how close it had been, but none of the trio spoke until they had reached the Entrance Hall.

“Professor, I -” Harry began. But Remus didn’t want to get into a long discussion with Harry about the map. He didn’t want to lie to him, but at the same time, he knew he couldn’t tell him the truth.

“I don’t want to hear explanations”, said Remus, cutting Harry off, and quickly looking around to make sure that they could not be overheard. “I happen to know that this map was confiscated by Mr Filch many years ago. Yes, I know it’s a map”, he added, as Harry and Ron looked at him incredulously, probably in shock that their mild-mannered teacher knew of such things as jokes.

“I don’t want to know how it fell into your possession.” As always, he chose ignorance over complicity. “I am, however, particularly astounded that you didn’t hand it in. Particularly after what happened the last time a student left information about the castle lying around. And I can’t let you have it back, Harry.” Even though as the only child of a Marauder it is yours by rights.

“Why did Snape think I’d got it from the manufacturers?” Why did he have to ask questions that Remus wanted to avoid? Why did he have Lily’s inquisitive nature?

“Because…..”, said Remus, again wanting to avoid the full truth, but not wanting to actively lie. “Because these map-makers would have wanted to lure you out of school. They’d think it extremely entertaining.” He could see the look of mis-placed pride on James’s face at the thought of Harry going out of bounds under Snape’s watch. At how much the son was emulating the father.

“Do you know them?” Harry asked. He obviously thought the mysterious Marauders were innocent pranksters, like the Weasley twins. He didn’t know what one of them had been capable of.

“We’ve met”, said Remus, trying to divert Harry away from his admiration for the Marauders. He didn’t want Harry to build up his impression of them, and then find out that Sirius had been one of them.

“Don’t expect me to cover up for you again, Harry”, he told him. He was finished with being the one that hid the misdemeanours of others. “I cannot make you take Sirius Black seriously. But I would have thought that what you have heard when the Dementors draw near you would have had more of an effect on you. Your parents gave their lives to keep you alive, Harry. A poor way to repay them - gambling their sacrifice for a bag of magic tricks.”

And with that, feeling guilty at being so brutal at Harry, and reminding him of James and Lily’s deaths, Remus headed back to his office, wishing that he had simply been able to spend his day marking essays and ploughing ahead with lesson planning for the coming week. As much as he tried to get away from the past, it seemed to have a way of finding him.

About an hour after he had left Harry, Remus was sipping tea in his office, still feeling guilty about placing the burden of living up to James and Lily’s sacrifice on Harry’s shoulder, he received a very unwelcome visitor, keen to release anger he had been forced to hold in earlier.

Severus.

“I don’t know what you think you’re up to, Lupin, but I shall find out. Not doubt it is something to do with Black. Something to do with your attempt to help him into the castle!” his black eyes were gleaming with anger and hatred, and something else that Remus could not quite place.

“Severus, I am not going to repeat this argument with you”, Remus informed him flatly. “I know that you are well aware to what that piece of parchment related, but consider this - had I told Harry to whom it related - and I assure you he is in complete ignorance to the true identity of the characters that appeared on the parchment - I should have had to tell him everything that Dumbledore has been fighting to shield him from! Did you want that? Did you want to have to be there and see the agony in his face when he finds out that his Sirius Black is not only his Godfather, but was responsible for the betrayal of his parents that led to their deaths! It is painful for everyone associated with it - and we are grown-ups. What would it be like for a thirteen-year-old child?!”

“Don’t cover up for Potter, again, Lupin”, said Snape maliciously as he moved to exit the room, clearly not having a response to Remus’s verbal assault. “Next time I shall inform Dumbledore. Besides, such favouritism is not healthy.” Snape left the room as fast as he had entered it, his robes billowing about him as he went, leaving Remus full of pent-up anger and frustration.

He took the map out of the inside pocket of his robes, and ran his fingers along the edges. As he closed his eyes, he recalled its conception, its use, and its loss. Somehow it had been found again; somehow it had contrived to become a further haunting memory of the past. He contemplated opening it up right now, to see if he could see Sirius on it, but if Sirius were on the grounds - which Remus did not consider to be very likely, as it was fool-hardy to the extreme, even for Sirius - he would be hiding within the forest, off the edges and therefore out of reach of the boundaries of the map.

Remus recalled the map’s conception and completion in their fifth year, when by rights they should all have been spending their spare time studying for their OWLs. The four of them had been so close, then. It had even been before the Shack business. And more than once since then, they had been torn apart by betrayal. And both times it had been the same one of them that had been guilty.

Sirius.


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Chapter 29 - Birthdays in March, Moony’s POV

In the weeks that followed the incident with the map, Remus found his stress levels to be much increased from those of a month or so ago. A thousand different thoughts swarmed through his mind over and over again, torturing him, and he was often forced to resort to taking a potion that induced a dreamless sleep in order to get a proper rest as the effort it was taking to appear calm and unburdened took its toll on him. Severus was glaring at him more malevolently and whispering about him behind his back more than ever, the voice in the back of his head, reminding him that Sirius could be here in animal form was growing louder and more insistent, and he still felt guilt about how harsh he had been with Harry, using the James and Lily card to try and make him take the threat from Sirius seriously. As for the Marauders Map, he had hidden it in a secret compartment at the bottom of the desk in his quarters until such time as he felt he could, or had to, look at it again.

There were some distractions, though, which helped to keep Remus as focused and sane as he could be. The OWLs and NEWTs came closer each and every day (which meant more essays to be set and marked for the over-worked fifth and seventh years), and he had found himself visiting Hagrid a couple of times a week, as a source of mutual comfort, Hagrid liking to talk to someone about his now condemned Hippogriff, Buckbeak, and Remus needing to talk to someone about anything that did not involve his past. There was also the distraction that the agony of the Full afforded to him.

As he began to live a little more introverted than before, paying less attention to the world outside the limits of what he allowed himself to think about, it came as almost a shock to Remus to find, a little over a fortnight after the incident with the map, that it had turned from February to March. The frost had started to lessen, and when it did arrive was melting earlier and earlier in the day; flowers were starting to creep from the ground, and Remus found himself experiencing more and more of his favourite days. Spring had always been a favourite season of his, as everything seemed to come to life again after the gloom of winter, but Remus especially loved the days Hogwarts had in early March, when it was still cold, and a little frosty, though the high, bright sun, and clear blue sky gave promise of the summer to come.

While Spring remained a season close to Remus’s heart, it was ironic that March was not a month that he favoured. Or at least, it was not one that he had favoured in the past decade or so. A third of the way through the month he would become yet another year older, as if the increasingly grey strands he saw in the mirror were not evidence enough of his advancing age. And then, more painfully, James’s birthday, or rather what would have been James’s birthday, was a mere two and a half weeks later. He’d be thirty four at the end of March, had he been allowed to live that long, had Voldemort never existed - had Sirius never betrayed him - had James not been so loyal and so true, and so bloody trusting. Once again, the thought of what if, and if only ran through Remus.

March 10th was a beautiful Spring day, just the kind that Remus favoured, and though he had to grab his dressing gown as soon as he discarded his sheets and duvet, the closest thing he had managed to a true smile in a very long time formed upon his face, as he looked out the window to see a bright sun, and clear blue sky.

Of all the people that Remus had previously celebrated his birthday with, only one was living. His parents, James, Lily and Peter were all dead. Only Sirius was left, and Remus had no desire to celebrate anything with the person that meant three of those he had lost were no longer there to celebrate with him.

Thus, as he headed towards the bathroom, he was surprised to hear a pecking sound coming from his window. Turning round, he saw a beautiful tawny owl outside, carrying a small parcel. A mixture of confusion and worry running through his mind as he went to let the bird in, it fleetingly crossed Remus’s mind that Sirius might send a cursed or jinxed gift of some description.

“Hello, beautiful”, Remus murmured to the owl as he let her in, and relieved her of her burden. “What have you got for me today, then? Hmm?”

Confusion and worry grew to gratitude and a sense of guilt as he opened the parcel containing a book and socks from Dumbledore. He felt truly humbled that Dumbledore had taken the time and effort - given everything that was going on - to find out that it was Remus’s birthday, and to send him a small gift.

Guilt. He had not told Dumbledore about the map, and he had not told Dumbledore that Sirius had, at the age of fifteen, developed the ability to turn into an animal at will - something that could be helping him (should he still be capable of transforming) in his attempts to break into the Castle.

Pushing those thoughts to the back of his mind, Remus dressed, before heading down to the Great Hall for breakfast; it might be his birthday, but it was also a Tuesday, and Remus still had classes to teach. If teachers were allowed the day off on account of their birthday, then the students would be clamouring for the same privileges.

As he sat down for breakfast at the teacher’s table and added some tomatoes, and rashers of thick bacon to his plate, Remus was joined by Hagrid. Smiling, Remus moved his seat a little to the right, to allow Hagrid’s size the extra room it required.

“Morning, Hagrid”, said Remus pleasantly. “How are you today? How is Buckbeak bearing up?”

“Same as always, ter be honest”, said Hagrid, smiling sadly. “Happy Birthday, though, Professor. Dumbledore was telling’ me it was today.”

“Thank you, Hagrid”, said Remus gratefully.

“I got yer something and all - it isn’t much, Dumbledore only told me last night.” Although he was unsure they were entirely edible, Remus was incredibly touched by the bag of rock cakes that Hagrid handed over to him.

“Hagrid, you shouldn’t have”, said Remus softly. “I mean, you really needn’t have put yourself to any trouble on my behalf.” Hagrid shrugged, and sat down, piling onto his plate enough to feel Remus in an entire day.

The rest of the day went well for Remus, and he started to feel himself beginning to come out of the shell he had enveloped himself within of late. He made more effort at conversation with his colleagues than he had since Sirius’s last attempted attack on Harry, and the incident with the map. And his fourth year classes were making rapid progress in shield charms. All in all, it was a good day.

It was not the perfect birthday by any means, and Remus still felt his guilt around him as he thanked Dumbledore for his gift after dinner that evening. It was not the perfect birthday, but Remus did not think he would ever have that again.

As he opened his eyes to see the rising sun shining in the window beside his bed, the birthday boy realised that he had been woken prematurely by the owners of the three excited faces that were at the end of the bed. As he stretched out and sat up in bed, Remus mused that at least they had not resorted to the same tactics as Peter’s sixteenth birthday, and soaked him through. Perhaps it was a good thing that he was not as heavy a sleeper as Peter after all.

“Happy birthday, mate!” James exclaimed, clapping Remus on the back as he rubbed his eyes, hoping fervently that they had at least kept their promise to let him sleep until eight. It was a Saturday, after all.

“Cheers”, Remus mumbled in reply.

“We’ve got your presents here”, said Sirius excitedly, and Remus was surprised at how enthusiastic he was for the early hour. Sirius Black seldom rose before eight on a school day, never mind a weekend, and when he had turned seventeen, his early-bird friends had been rewarded with a torrent of verbal abuse that had made them all grateful that Sirius had chosen the night before to leave his wand in the pocket of the robes he had discarded at the end of his bed.

“Ah, I see Zonkos and Honeydukes have made a few galleons out of you three”, he smiled as he opened the proffered gifts. A combination of chocolate and mischief making heaven. He also appeared to have been given a book, and was shocked at his friends giving so…..intellectual…..a gift.

“Here, Merlin dropped this off for you earlier”, said James, handing Remus a couple of small, wrapped gifts that his parents’ owl had left. “We had a job getting them off him without being pecked to death; we only had to sacrifice a cut finger or too.”

“You are so melodramatic, Prongs”, said Sirius, rolling his eyes. “Well, open them Moony. They aren’t going to bite”, he added impatiently.

Carefully removing the paper that he knew his mother had meticulously wrapped his gifts in (the muggle way - she thought it more personal) and setting it to the side in a neat pile, Remus opened up a beautiful, antique wizarding watch, a traditional coming of age gift, and one that had once belonged to his great-grandfather, as well as a couple of muggle books that he had wanted for ages, but never been able to acquire.

“It’s a family heirloom”, said Remus as he strapped the watch around his wrist. “I have wanted it ever since I was little, but my mother always told me that I was too impatient, and I had to wait for today.”

“Let’s go down to breakfast”, Peter suggested. “I’m starving.”

“Wormtail, you’re always starving”, Sirius said patronisingly.

“Only because I had to skip dinner last night when you asked me to…..” But precisely what Peter had been asked to do that coincided with dinner, Remus was not to find out immediately, as James agreed that perhaps a spot of breakfast would be in order, and they’d wait for Remus in the common room while he got dressed.

“Two of us down, two to go”, said James happily as the three of them left the room, referring to the fact that Remus had now joined Sirius in the prestige of coming of age. James himself would reach turn seventeen later on that month, and Peter around six weeks later.

Precisely what Peter had been up to that had coincided with the previous night’s dinner became clear to Remus that evening, after he had returned from visiting Hagrid for a steaming mug of hot chocolate, and some rather dubious scones. He had been accompanied by Peter, who had been keen to see the new puppy that Hagrid had acquired; a small boarhound he had named Fang. Remus had actually intended to go to the library and study for an important Herbology test they had on Tuesday, but he had been expressly forbidden to study on his birthday, and so had gone to visit Hagrid instead.

“All I mean, Wormtail, was that if you want to avoid spending too much quality time with your family during the holidays you should be more tactful and smart about it, for example - “

“Surprise!” James and Sirius yelled loudly in welcome as Remus and Peter opened the door to their dormitory and began to step inside.

As much as he could see suspicious items strewn across the room - firewhiskey was banned from Hogwarts as was the brand of Mr Fillibuster fireworks that were propped up against the window beside James’s bed - Remus could not help but feel touched and genuinely happy by the effort that his friends had made for him. After growing up, knowing that his life had been blighted by the misfortune of a single bite, and encountering such extreme prejudices as Werewolves did, the smile that formed on Remus’s face could not have been broader. It was his birthday, he was coming of age at a school he had not always thought he would be able to attend, and he was surrounded by three of the best friends he could ever have hoped for.

In spite of the misfortune of his bite, Remus had been truly blessed.

“I wanted to have the party in the common room, but Prongs wouldn’t let me”, Sirius complained as he handed Remus a Butterbeer. He mouthed a silent thank you in James’s direction, as Sirius - joined by Peter - continued to complain that James had denied them all a larger party. At least one of them had realised that Remus did not much enjoy being the centre of attention.

“Padfoot, Wormtail - any party of any sort is welcome. But perhaps it is for the best that it is just the four of us. It means more drinks and food for the few of us there are”, said Remus. “How about some music?”

Remus was always to look back on that birthday as one of the few moments in his life where he could feel like he was just another, ordinary wizard. Things like his first day at Hogwarts, sitting his OWLs and NEWTs, and enjoying coming of age as he turned seventeen. These were all things that every young witch and wizard went through. They were the rites of passage in the wizarding world.

This birthday was just Remus enjoying a few drinks, and jokes, and fun with his friends. He did not have to think about the world beyond Hogwarts, and the prejudices he would endure there, and the burgeoning war beyond the Castle walls. He did not have to contemplate the full moon in just under a fortnight’s time

This birthday was all about what Remus had dreamed of being.

Normal.

Five years later, Remus Lupin yawned loudly as the bedside alarm rang loudly, to indicate that it was now eight-thirty, and time for him to rise. Looking out of the window beside his bed, he could see streaks of blue in amongst those of white, covering the London skyline. His faithful owl, Merlin, which he had inherited from his mother when she had died a few months ago, hooted loudly, indicating that he felt it was time for his breakfast.

“Alright, alright”, said Remus, smiling at the owl as he fed his some treats that he kept beside Merlin’s perch. He then turned his attention to the Daily Prophet that Merlin had delivered to him. Hmm. Perhaps he would read it over breakfast.

Remus left his bedroom, and walked through to the open-plan living area that comprised the remainder of his meagre and sparse accommodation. He started to boil the kettle for his traditional cup of morning tea, and routed through his cupboards to find the cereal he had bought at the muggle grocery store a few days before. Lily had introduced him to the delights of muggle breakfast cereals a few years before.

“And now you’ll never eat it again”, Remus muttered sadly as he added some milk. The boiling kettle provided a welcome distraction for Remus, and he poured out his tea, before taking his simple culinary efforts over to the small table where he spent a great deal of the day.

“Let’s see what’s in the Prophet today…………..”

The headlines proclaimed what had now become the norm for the front page - the Ministry was still going through their long process of grandstand trials for those accused of being Death Eaters, and tracking down those that had escaped. And pardoning those that had been “under the influence of the Imperius Curse”. Remus didn’t believe that half of those who claimed to be Imperiused had been so. People like Lucius Malfoy were simply using their cunning, affluence and influence to avoid a stint in Azkaban.

With him.

Sirius.

It was only when Remus looked at the top of the second page, that he saw the date, which appeared on every page of the paper.

March 10th.

His birthday.

How could he have forgotten such a thing? He mused that it was probably something to do with the fact that there was no longer anyone around to remind him that it had been approaching. James, Lily and Peter were all dead. Thanks to Sirius. And his parents were dead. The Healers at St Mungo’s might have put his father’s down to old age and exhaustion, and his mother’s down to the effects of Dragon Pox upon a weak constitution, but Remus knew in himself that his parents had simply been broken. Years of the stresses of having a Werewolf for a son, and trying to find a cure, going after every cowboy remedy had taken its toll. This left Remus by himself. With only his owl to help him celebrate his 22nd birthday.

In some ways, Remus could not believe that he was only twenty two. The loss of so many as well as the strain that his monthly transformations placed upon his body and mind, made Remus feel almost twice that. He felt a pang of pity and pain and anguish that James and Peter would never know what it was to turn twenty two as Lily had not. They would never know what it was to be “going downhill from that point in”, as Lily had jokingly referred to anyone over the age of twenty one in their final year of Hogwarts.

His three friends would be twenty one forever. They would never know what it was to turn twenty two or twenty five or even forty. They would never see a child off to Hogwarts from platform nine-and-three-quarters. They would never sit with a grand-child on their knee, and read Babbity Rabbit to them. Sirius had stolen that right from them when he had condemned them all to death. And when he had condemned them to death, he had condemned Remus to a half-life. Unable to live in the world because of his condition, yet somehow living in the shadows of it.

His seventeenth birthday, the day he had come of age, Remus had been thrown a surprise party, he had been given presents. He had been surrounded by his friends. He had come as close as he would for years to come, to feeling like a normal person. Only a wife and child would make him feel a greater part of the world.

Five years later, as he turned twenty-two, Remus spend the day without presents, without friends, and with only his owl and a simple Spaghetti Bolognese meal for company. One word characterised how he felt that day, a day that he should have celebrated.

Alone.

A little more than a fortnight after his own birthday, Remus realised with a jolt, on March 26th, that the following day would have been James’s. Unluckily for Remus, he recalled this two hours before he taught Harry’s class. He had been working with the first year Ravenclaws on disarming charms, and had finished by assigning them a project on the subject.

“Now, I feel a week should suffice to complete this project, and you may work in pairs if you wish. Though if you do, I expect equal time and effort from both parties, is that understood?” The students nodded in response, and then Abigail Ackerley raised her hand.

“Abigail?”

“So what date exactly is the project due then, Professor Lupin?” she asked.

“Well, let’s see, today is the…..”

“March 26th”, spoke up one of the boys.

“March 26th”, said Remus, realising with a jolt what this meant. “Are you sure?”

“Okay”, he continued, fighting to maintain his composure. “Well, if today is March 26th, then the project will be due a week today, which is April 2nd. Just before your Easter Holidays.”

When the class filed out a few moments later, Remus was grateful that it had been his last class of the morning, and he could spend some time alone. As much as his own birthday had once snuck up on him, and now with what would have been James’s birthday he experienced the same.

As he taught Harry’s class that afternoon - ironically on the subject of Werewolves of all things, something that James had a very fixed opinion on - Remus could not help but wish, though, that his timetable were different, and that it were any other class he was teaching at that moment. He supposed it could be worse - after all, it was not James’s birthday itself - no, what would have been James’s birthday - that he was teaching Harry on. It was the day before.

The day before.

The day of.

The day after.

Every day was as painful in contemplating his fallen, betrayed friends. The closest thing he had ever had to family beyond his parents. People that had chosen to accept him and his condition. They did not have to do what they had done for him. He had never asked it of them, and would never have done so. Ever.

This class would always, he thought, as he spoke of those afflicted with lycanthropy, be a difficult one to teach. He had to preach tolerance and acceptance, yet be careful that he warned them of the dangers. Teaching the Slytherins on this subject would not be easy, but he could see in the eyes of some of the Gryffindor a measure of liberalism on the issue.

Theoretical acceptance was one thing. Knowing the their teacher was affected, and being able to treat him the same was another.

Not everyone was accepting as James and Peter - and Sirius, a long time ago - had been.

As Harry stood up, and went to leave the classroom at the end of the lesson, he and Ron muttering away to one another about something, Remus held himself back from stopping Harry. Did he know what tomorrow was? Had anyone ever bothered to tell him that March 27th was James’s birthday? Remus supposed not, and somehow that hurt him more than James not being there to celebrate it. Because his own son could not celebrate his father’s life. He’d had that right stolen from him. By Sirius. His own Godfather.

It wasn’t Remus’s place to tell him what tomorrow was.

It wasn’t Remus’s place to lead Harry to the pain he suffered himself on that day.

March was supposed to be the first month of Spring, of new hope, full of promise of the brightness of summer to come. For ten years March had been celebrated as the month in which two of the Marauders became a year older (though not always wiser). For the past twelve, all that it had done was remind Remus of the closest thing to normalcy that he had once had, and was now lost to him.


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[MissGryffindor]

Chapter 30 - James

As much as Remus’s birthday had been sprung upon him, James’s birthday was one that Padfoot subsequently contemplated more and more as the day grew near. He thought about that muggle actor, James something or other, that Lily had gone on about once, comparing him to Sirius - she’d said that they were both reckless, impetuous and lived life to the full. And were both commonly seen on a motorbike. He’d died young, and Lily had talked about the ethos of those that sought to be him. Live fast. Die young. Forever beautiful. Well, Padfoot didn’t know about their own James being beautiful, but he certainly lived fast, having a wife and son by the time he was twenty-one. And he certainly died young. Padfoot knew that Azkaban had taken a toll on him, and he probably looked years older than he was, but James would be forever twenty-one.

March 27th, a day that Padfoot had once looked forward to with glee as a day when whatever misbehaviour they concocted was overlooked by Prefect Moony, and which in their latter years at Hogwarts and the early years following their departure, had ended in a massive blow-out party on the nearest weekend day. March 27th of this year, the thirteenth birthday that James had been unable to celebrate in this life, dawned bright and sunny, and the hint of Spring that Padfoot had felt a few weeks earlier was starting to be realised.

He stretched out, shaking off the blanket that Ginger had filched from the laundry for him, and barked lightly, clearing his throat. Today had become a day - like so many others throughout the year - that he had once so looked forward to, and now was just a harsher reminder than the others of all that he had once had, and was now lost to him.

Sure that it was a Friday - he was able to keep track of the days from Hagrid’s classes, which he often snuck to the edge of the Forest to watch - one of the days on which Harry had a Care of Magical Creatures class. He felt a tad guilty when he went to the edge of the Forest to do this. This was the closest he could get to his Godson for now, yet Harry did not even know he was there. He was still unsure if Harry even knew whom his Godfather was, or even that he had one - albeit an absent one.

Perhaps it was better that way, if Harry did not know. That way he could at least be spared the torment of thinking that his Godfather was responsible for the deaths of his parents. Padfoot’s assumption was that they had told him all or nothing of his friendship with James, and that he had been made Harry’s Godfather.

He would have done the same in return, had the unlikely happened, and he’d had a child of his own. That would never happen now. James, dead, could hardly have done a worse job that he had himself, at least thus far. Somehow, catching Rat Boy, and exposing him, getting rid of him, righting the wrong he had made when he’d suggested changing the secret-keeper, had become all bound up with righting another wrong - becoming a good Godfather to Harry as he avenged his parents’ deaths.

Skulking on the edge of the Forest, Padfoot started to think about Harry and James. The number of times he had seen James - Prongs, his partner-in-crime - playing with baby Harry, singing silly songs to lull him into a sleep, changing his nappy, feeding him, telling him what a brilliant Quidditch player he was going to become one day - Gryffindor Captain, and good enough to play for the national team. But he’d had years of that stolen from him by what Rat Boy had done. He hadn’t even been able to teach Harry to fly properly - nor had his Godfather. Brought up by muggles that Padfoot knew to be extremely wary of magic, he was well aware that it was probably Madam Hooch, and not his family, that had taught Harry to fly.

Harry had these things stolen from him as much as James had, Padfoot thought sadly. He had missed out in having his father and Godfather looking out for him, teaching him to fly, and riding on his Godfather’s motorbike. He had missed out on having his mother give him advice. He had missed out on celebrating everything to do with their lives. He celebrated each and every birthday without his parents and Godfather. He celebrated Christmases without his parents and Godfather. And what about their birthdays and anniversaries? Did he know about them?

Whether Harry knew whom his Godfather was or not, Padfoot could be confident in the knowledge that he did not know the date of his Godfather’s birthday. That was one thing. Not knowing things about his parents was another. Did he know these things? Of that, Padfoot knew he could not be sure until he had actually spoken to his Godson - for the first time in thirteen and a half years.

Did he know James and Lily’s birthdays? Did he know that if his Godfather had not been so stupid, and his father’s so-called friend had not betrayed him and Lily, then James would be thirty-four today? Did he know that? Did he know when their wedding anniversary was? Did he know how happy they looked the day they were married? Did he remember anything from when he knew them before they died?

Harry would never know his parents as Padfoot had. Even the monster that betrayed them knew them better than their own son would be allowed to.

Harry would never get to celebrate birthdays and Christmases and anniversaries with them.

He would never be able to celebrate his father’s birthday as the Marauders once had………

“Wozgoinon?!” came the groggy voice of James Potter, as his three friends stood, grinning wildly, beside his bed, unashamedly admiring the Dr Filibuster Birthday Specials they had just set off in the middle of the dormitory.

“Happy Birthday, Prongs!” Sirius exclaimed happily. “Time to get up and get your presents. Hurry up! We’ve got a Hogsmeade trip to make as well today. Have to celebrate your coming of age in style!”

“Padfoot, it is -” - James paused to look at his alarm clock - “Padfoot, for Merlin’s sake, its six thirty in the morning. Maybe for my birthday, you could have given me a lie in and the day off from classes?”

“Sadly, my power over Minnie does not stretch that far”, said Sirius woefully. “But…..we are heading into Hogsmeade after classes are over, so you do have something to look forward to.”

“Humph”, said James as he lifted his glasses slightly, and rubbed his eyes. “Well, go on then - what have you got me? Come on, come on, if you’re going to wake me up this early, I want presents!”

Sirius tutted about James’s “impatience” as he was handed, and tore the wrapping off, a series of presents. While his friends had banded together and given him Zonkos and Quidditch goodies, Mr and Mrs Potter seemed to really have come through for their only son. As well as the latest Silver Arrow model, which had only been released a few months previously and was still horrifically expensive, and tickets to the forthcoming Quidditch tournament that England were playing in that summer, they had also given James the traditional coming of age gift - a beautiful, ornate wizarding watch, which showed not the numbers and arrows of muggle watches, but the movement of the planets, and which James said was traditionally passed from father to son on their coming of age. It had evidently been in the family for five or six centuries, perhaps longer.

“Wonder how it hasn’t broken in all that time?” said Peter, referring to the watch.

“I dunno, maybe because it’s a wizarding watch, Wormy”, said Sirius raising his eyebrows. Merlin, could that boy be stupid sometimes.

After eating the bulk of the sweets that James had been sent by the family house-elf, the four boys decided to head down to breakfast, realising that it was almost eight o’clock, and if they wanted the best of the food, they had better get moving. Sirius, wanting to show off to everyone - in particular Snivellus, who did not seem to have birthdays, and Evans, who should be paying more attention to Prongs - had arranged for a firework display for their entrance to the Great Hall, and as the four boys walked in, more Dr Filibuster Birthday Specials burst into life, spraying colour throughout the hall, and ending up in a rainbow shaped banner advertising the fact that it was James’s 17th birthday.

As spontaneous applause broke out in the hall - mainly from the Gryffindor table - Sirius risked a look up at the teacher’s table. While Dumbledore looked mildly amused as usual (each of the Marauders suspected that he enjoyed their little pranks more than he let on) Professor McGonagall looked as if several blood vessels in her face and neck were about to explode.

Oh well. You win some, you lose some. And Sirius appeared to have won detention. Hoping for the best, the four boys tucked into their breakfast.

“Boys, what in Merlin’s name was that display about?” Professor McGonagall asked as she passed the four of them a few moments later.

“Its James’s birthday”, said Peter obviously. Sirius sighed. Minnie did not take kindly to playing dumb.

“That much, I saw for myself, Pettigrew”, Professor McGonagall replied tartly. “Black, I assume you were behind this? Potter looked too dazed to have had any part to play in it.”

“Professor, all I did was ensure that the whole school was able to wish James a Happy Birthday, and with the way things are just now, with Voldemort - or Voldy Moldy as I call him - so busy kidnapping and killing people, I figured that we could all do with a morale boost. And as our Quidditch Captain, I think the rest of Gryffindor House should be able to celebrate James’s birthday in style”, Sirius replied, flashing his most winning smile.

“Very well, Black”, said Professor McGonagall, recovering from the flinch that had been visible when Sirius had said Voldemort’s name. “But you shall still spend Saturday evening in detention with me.”

“Sadly, I have a prior engagement”, said Sirius. “I have detention with Professor Slughorn then.”

“Sunday evening it shall be, then”, she compromised. “I shall see you in class, boys. Do NOT be late.” Transfiguration was the sixth years’ first class of the day.

“Told you getting out of classes on your birthday was a snitch too far, Prongs”, said Sirius, stuffing a slice of bacon into his mouth. The boys continued to chat, eat, and plan their illicit evening excursion to Hogsmeade, until they were interrupted once more, by the arrival of several of their classmates, wanting to wish James many happy returns.

“Happy Birthday, James”, said Mary Macdonald, smiling. “I take it there’s no practice tonight, then?”

“Tomorrow night, though, for sure”, he replied. “Pass the word out. We need to be in shape for the final - I want to win the Cup by a good stretch.”

“Aye, aye, Captain”, Mary saluted laughingly as she nudged the person beside her. It was only then that Sirius started to pay attention to the person Mary was with - Lily Evans, the object of James’s affection. Or should that be obsession?

“Happy Birthday, Potter”, said Lily awkwardly, before reminding Mary that she had a book to return to the library before Transfiguration.

“She said Happy Birthday to me”, said James dreamily. Evans - she, she spoke to me, AND she was nice. Did you all see that? Pads, Wormy, Moony - did you all see that?!”

“I’m glad you sit next to him and not me”, Remus muttered to Sirius, as the latter realised that this was going to form most of their whispered class time discussion today. Hmm, perhaps concentrating on what the teacher said for one day wouldn’t be so bad after all……….

That evening, after spending the day listening to how none of the presents he had received came close in comparison to hearing Lily Evans wish him Happy Birthday, Sirius - along with Peter and Remus - dragged James and his invisibility cloak into Hogsmeade, intent on really enjoying his birthday. While Remus’s coming of age had been a sedate affair (much to Sirius’s chagrin) James’s would be close to the polar opposite of that.

“Padfoot, are you mental?!” said Remus as they walked in the direction of The Three Broomsticks. “I thought we were just going to go for a wander, or on some kind of Honeydukes raid! Do you realise what kind of trouble we’ll be in if we get caught like this! Letting off fireworks all over the place is one thing, but going out of bounds on a school night……..”

“You’ve done it before, Moony, we all have”, Sirius replied, while James and Peter talked tactics for the Quidditch Final. “I’ve already sounded Rosie out about it, last Hogsmeade visit. Last school-sanctioned one, anyway. When you have my charm, you can get whatever you want - in this case, a quiet corner of the pub, a large bottle of Ogden’s finest, and a guarantee not to tell Dumbledore or Minnie that we were here.”

“Well, on your head be it”, sighed Remus in resignation.

“To Prongs”, said Sirius a little while later, when they were all seated in a far corner of The Three Broomsticks, out of sight of the majority of the other patrons. He raised his glass further, and encouraged the others to follow suit.

“To Prongs!” they all repeated.

“Happy Birthday, mate”, said Sirius, clapping James on the back. “We’ll have a proper knees up in the common room on Friday night as well, let all the little kiddies that look up to you, and the Quidditch team have a bit of fun.”

“In that case, I better reschedule Quidditch training for Saturday”, said James. “Knowing your parties, Padfoot, I won’t be in any condition to fly until after lunchtime.”

“That is as it should be”, said Sirius, forcing a solemn look upon his face.

“Only Wormy left to turn seventeen now”, said James. “You nervous, Wormtail?” Peter half-shrugged, but he was clearly looking forward to not being the only one of them that was not of age.

Two hours later, the four of them staggered a little back to Hogwarts, having been able to persuade Rosmerta to furnish them with a second bottle of Ogden’s (the galleons for which Sirius ‘happened’ to have on his person) and were rather the worse for wear for it. Of the four of them, only Remus appeared to be relatively sober, and so was left to look after the other three, something that James and Peter would apologise for the next morning, and to which Sirius said ‘what are friends for?!’

“Pads, that was best birthday ever”, slurred James as they entered their dormitory a little after midnight. “I mean it - amazing. Oooh - bed!! Time for sleepies.”

“Night Prongs”, Sirius replied, grinning. He was glad that James had enjoyed himself so much - Sirius was never the type to actually say it, but James was like a brother to him. He had accepted Sirius without question when they were first years, even though the Blacks were evil as hell, and were deeply involved in the pure-blood movement that Voldemort led. He had put up with a lot from Sirius, including what he had done to Moony and Snape. He had saved Snape’s life, risking his own to protect Sirius - and Remus. And when Sirius had nowhere else to go, James had taken him in.

James would always be more than a best friends to him. He was a brother.

“Evans said Happy Birthday to me, Pads”, said James, as he lay flat out on his bed, rumpling the robes he wore.

“That she did, Prongs”, Sirius responded, humouring him.

“I love Lily”, James continued. “One day, I’m going to marry her, and we’re going to have lots of little mini-James and Lily people.”

“Night, Prongs”, and with that, Sirius turned over, and allowed James to continue muttering drunkenly about Lily Evans as he fell into a deep sleep, the kind that he would come to associate with a few too many nightcaps.

They thought they were invincible, then, and maybe they were a little.

But coming of age meant living in the real world. Being fallible, something Sirius never saw himself as being.

At least not then.

Padfoot did not see Ginger that day, and perhaps it was for the best. Today was one of those days that he needed to mourn alone. They had all thought they were invincible back then, but all Padfoot saw now was the fragility of human life. James - and Lily - had been taken away from him with the utterance of two simple, deadly words. Avada Kedavra. There was the part that his arrogance had played, but when Voldemort had been there - and Padfoot had tried to picture that moment so many times, but found it too painful - all it had taken was those two words.

Avada Kedavra.

If only you were here, Prongs, he thought, you could see that I’m trying to fix this mistake properly. Not like before. You could see how amazing my Godson is, and how much I’m trying to protect him. If you were here, you would know that life in Azkaban and any other punishment the Ministry could give me will NEVER match up to the guilt I feel myself, and the self-punishment of having to wake up every day and know the fatality of one little mistake.

My mistake.

He often wondered, like he did today, if he would have continued to think he was invincible, to think along the same lines as he always had, if that little mistake had never happened. That day had changed his life completely in more way than one. It had changed his circumstances, the world that surrounded him, and the way that he had thought about things. And it had killed a part of him forever.

The following day, Ginger did appear.

It was late on a Saturday afternoon, and the birds that had headed south for the winter only a few weeks after Padfoot had taken up residence in the Forbidden Forest were starting to return to their home. Padfoot had indulged himself on a couple of fishes and some water from the local stream, once again thanking Merlin that he had never decided to become a vegetarian, and was just returning to his home, of sorts, for an afternoon nap, when Ginger suddenly appeared, bringing bread from the kitchens, and information on his hunt for Rat Boy. Ever since the second break-in, when he had managed to penetrate the defences of Gryffindor Tower, and reached the dormitory where Harry and his friend, Rat Boy’s owner, slept soundly, Ginger had been on the look-out for the vermin that continued to elude them. A cat was the perfect cover when it came to looking for rate. It was in their nature. No one would bat an eyelid at a cat looking for a meal.

From what Ginger was trying to communicate to him, Padfoot understood that Rat Boy was not lurking in any of the towers in the school, and no trace of him had been left there. It was a big school, and Padfoot did not expect him to be found immediately; he had already proven adept at evading capture. Ginger had searched every turret, every nook and cranny, and had been unable to find any trace of any rat. But then, Padfoot had not expected him to be found in any tower, had he not been in Gryffindor’s. Peter Pettigrew was - known only to his close friends - scared of heights, and often suffered from vertigo when on long daytime flights, and the broom had to be directed thousands of miles above ground lest the muggles see what was going on.

He reassured Ginger, and told him not to worry - Rat Boy was still in the school or the grounds, Padfoot was sure of it. He needed to be close by to monitor the activity of the Dementors and see if his former friend had been recaptured. That was why he had attached himself to the Weasley family - to listen in for any information surrounding the return of Voldemort - and it was for information gathering that he remained now. He was still here, of that Padfoot was certain.

Ginger was confident as well - with the school holidays approaching, he informed Padfoot, there would be fewer eyes on him, and greater freedom to search the building without arousing the little suspicion that a cat would whilst out hunting. They were closing in on him.

Padfoot’s only friend stayed a little while longer, the two of them somehow enjoying one another’s company, something Padfoot would never before have thought he’d think of himself and a cat. Perhaps it was the length of time for which he had been starved of any kind of company, unless one included the wailing and screaming of the cells around him in Azkaban. Azkaban was behind him, though. It was of the past. Like James was - except he could think of James without bitterness.

He contemplated what James would think of the current situation - would he approve of Padfoot’s intention to avenge his death by murder? Probably not. James was so honest that way, so good. He had made it into Gryffindor by being the noble, chivalrous type. Like an old knight of the realm. Padfoot was quite sure that he had made it into Gryffindor through his desire to be different, his rebellious recklessness, and his dogged loyalty.

He couldn’t see James killing anyone. He was too good for that.

But Padfoot knew that a time would come when he would have the opportunity to right a wrong, and to commit the crime that he had been wrongly imprisoned for over a decade for.

Padfoot would kill Rat Boy. He wasn’t as good, as true as James.

James might not want to see Rat Boy killed, but it was going to happen, and Padfoot was going to do it for both of them. For his betrayal. For all the birthdays and Christmases that he had robbed James and Lily of. For the fact that they would be unable to see their son grow up, or have any more children. For the grandchildren that he had robbed them of. For the life he had robbed them of, and for the life with his parents he had robbed Harry of, Padfoot was going to take his.

For Lily, and for James.


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Chapter 31 - Home

In the few weeks that followed James’s birthday, Ginger came to see Padfoot almost every day, to report more and more areas of the castle that had been ruled out as hiding places for Rat Boy. Padfoot could feel them getting closer to him, though, in spite of the lack of evidential proof that he even remained in the grounds. That was pure instinct.

It was not long until the holidays seemed to be underway; Padfoot could no longer go a few times a week to the edge of the Forbidden Forest to catch a glimpse of his Godson in his lessons with Hagrid, and there was yet to be another Gryffindor match, and so he’d had no further opportunities to see his Godson fly. Presumably Gryffindor still competed in the final game of the season, which always took place after the current holidays. Soon, he would be able to watch his favourite sport once more.

Padfoot had some difficulty believing it was April, but birds were starting to hatch from their eggs, it was staying light later and later into the evening, flowers and trees blossomed throughout the grounds, and a little warmth was starting to return to the air. It was impossible for him to conceive that he had been free of Azkaban for approximately nine months now, a period that he would never have predicted he could remain free for.

But then, had he ever really thought he would get this far?

Had he ever really thought he would remain free this long?

Had he ever really thought that he could do all that he had done?

Maybe. The part of him that fought for James and Lily and Harry, and Remus had. The little of him that lived in the real world was slightly more sceptical.

Nine whole months. Yes, he had achieved something at least in remaining free for that long, and getting as close as he had to Rat Boy through sheer instinct and determination. But he had yet to achieve his ultimate goal, in exacting true vengeance. In proving to his Godson that he had a Godfather that would do anything for him.

Padfoot had always forbidden himself as much as possible the thought of what would happen after. If Peter were unmasked and he were allowed to go free, and live in the world again. He had lived one step at a time ever since he had fled Cell 37 in Azkaban Prison. Getting out of his cell; getting along the passageway and down the stairs; getting out of the prison walls; swimming back to dry land; making his way to Little Whinging and seeing Harry; getting to Hogwarts; finding somewhere to hide in the grounds; getting into the school.

But he had been unable to take the next step and catch Rat Boy.

He tried not to think about the step after that, and what would happen to him in the long days as he paced that part of the Forbidden Forest which he now laughingly referred to as his home. A he stared up at the dark abyss that was the dark, night sky every evening, daring to hope, to dream, that he did not die in the attempt to catch Rat Boy as he had always imagined he would.

James always said he was reckless. And he had paid the price of it.

James had been more than a friend to him. James had been a brother. He had even, once, provided him with a home. One that he reflected now, as he had done several times in the past, that he did not perhaps deserve given the events that followed. He had been reckless. He had led James and Lily and Harry into Danger by suggesting they take a risk that proved to be fatal.

All his fault.

And all this he had done to James, whose family had once given him shelter, and love, and kindness.

And a home………….

Sirius took one last look at himself in his new dress robes in the mirror before exiting his room, and moving downstairs. He had to make sure that he was presentable enough first time round - after a sleepless night spent tossing and turning, he did not have the energy to antagonise the Old Hag more than necessary. He walked down the ancient staircase, passing the elf-heads that Aunt Elladora had started a fashion for, and then went into the living room, where the rest of the family was waiting for him. His brother and father stood at the far end of the room on either side of the chair in which his mother sat. Both Orion and Regulus Black were wearing dress robes almost identical to those Sirius wore, while his mother’s attire, adorning her in green and silver, was clearly an homage to the House where she, and subsequently the bride and groom, had spent seven of her most formative years.

“You are late”, said Walburga harshly. “I was just about to send Kreacher for you. We had better leave immediately. But before we do, I want to make myself clear to you, Sirius. There will be NO trouble at this wedding, do you hear me? It will all go off without a hitch! Your cousin has been looking forward to this day for a very long time, and you will NOT ruin it for her, do you understand me?”

“Yes, mother”, said Sirius, dully. It was only the second day of his holidays, and he was already wishing he was back at Hogwarts. Even detention or a night in the library would be preferable to this.

“Misbehave today, Sirius, and there SHALL be consequences, do I make myself clear?”

“Crystally.”

The family, disillusioned, exited the house, onto the pavements and road of Grimmauld Place, and as they prepared to apparate, Sirius could not help but note sadly the look of fun and excitement on the faces of the muggle children, intent on spending the day playing in the sun, meeting up with friends, and not worrying about complying with the rigid etiquette of a pure-blood.

Moments later, the Blacks appeared on the outskirts of Malfoy Manor, an ancient building that Sirius always dreaded visiting. Aside from the animosity between himself and Lucius, it was always a place where he felt that he did not belong, and in which he had no friends or allies. At least at home, hideous as it was, he could often rely on visits from Uncle Alphard, his Godfather, to cheer him up during his interment at Grimmauld Place each holiday he returned there.

“I must go and see how Cygnus is getting on”, said Walburga, as they arrived. “Orion, go and mingle with the Malfoys. Regulus, find your cousins. Sirius - just stay out of trouble!”

“Whatever”, Sirius muttered to himself as the rest of the family followed Walburga’s orders. He could see his father speaking to Abraxas Malfoy and his unconventional younger brother Charles James Malfoy (Sirius was surprised to see him there). Regulus hovered on the edge of a group that included his cousin Bella’s repugnant husband Rudolphus and his brother Rabastan. Previously, he had found solace in his cousin Andie’s company. Andromeda, however, was not here. She had managed to escape the life they had both detested, eloping with a muggle-born. Sirius was forbidden from seeing them, though it did not prevent him from sending the odd letter and Christmas card from Gryffindor Tower.

Not wanting to be left alone amongst this crowd, Sirius sought out his Uncle Alphard, the only person at the wedding he actually wanted to speak to.

“Sirius, how are you, boy?” Alphard greeted him warmly with a rough handshake. “How has school been since I saw you last?!”

“Pretty much the same”, he shrugged. He did not mention the fact that he was now a fully-fledged Animagus, nor that he had spent more than a few full moons roaming the Forbidden Forest with a Werewolf.

“How about you? Mother said you were thinking about going travelling again?”

“It is always a possibility”, mused Alphard. “I was thinking about Italy this time, though. Have you ever thought about it? Used to be all the rage, you know, taking a year out to travel after finishing Hogwarts, a Grand Tour.”

“I dunno”, Sirius shrugged again. He had planned on other things after Hogwarts. Like fighting the Death Eaters. How, he had yet to work out.

Sirius stayed to speak to Alphard until they were all called into the marquee that had been set up in the back garden for the ceremony. Walking in with his uncle, Sirius could see that numerous magical enhancements had been included in the hire of the marquee. It was magically expanded to seat more than double the few hundred people that were there, and the lighting, the suspended candles similar to those in the Great Hall at Hogwarts, were hardly of non-magically extraction, and a glassy ice sculpture at the front (possibly inspired by that of the Ministry Atrium) showed two people, a bride and groom, entwined.

As part of Cissa’s family, the Blacks were able to sit near the front, and Sirius shook his head slightly as he saw his mother, head held high, gleefully and proudly passing the Minister for Magic, and sitting in front of him, in what she viewed as a more important seat. In all his left, Sirius had yet to meet a more abhorrent snob than Walburga Black.

Throughout the ceremony, which those around him watched with rapt eyes, as Cissa bound herself to Lucius, he could see his mother and Cissa’s wiping fake tears away from their eyes, and he hated the hypocrisy and the showiness of it all. The vast majority of these guests were here preaching love and happiness, and talking about how pleased they were that Cissa and Lucius had “made a good marriage”. The truth was, Sirius knew, a good proportion of these people were Death Eaters, who normally preached hatred and prejudice. And they congratulated the happy couple on their marriage not because they had found their soul mate, or the love of their life, but because they had made a pure-blood alliance between two pure-blooded families.

It all came down to blood and pedigree and breeding. Like they were all dogs, or some other form of animal.

During the meal, Sirius found himself situated at one of the family tables. Not that his family spent much time at it together in the run up to the meal. Regulus was still speaking to either the Lestranges or to one of his fellow Slytherins that Sirius vaguely recognised from Hogwarts, while his parents were courting the Ministry, using their niece’s wedding for politicking. Both Orion Black and Abraxas Malfoy had political ambitions for their sons, and that included having a Minister for Magic in the family.

Eventually, they were able to eat. They were just starting the main course, however, when Sirius heard a muffled voice from inside his dress robes, and he recalled adding his two-sided mirror to his outfit before leaving Grimmauld Place late that morning. Quickly dropping under the table for a moment to whisper through the mirror to James that it was as horrific as expected, and that he would try and catch him up more a little later on, Sirius knew that he was taking a massive risk. But where his friends were concerned, Sirius knew he would take any risk necessary.

“Sirius, what in Merlin’s name were you doing under the table?!” hissed Walburga as he emerged.

“I dropped my napkin”, said Sirius, relieved that he had thought of an alibi in time.

“That is what the elves are here for, boy”, she added, her face contorting. “He has too generous a spirit.” No one around the table believed that Walburga saw Sirius as generous, but they played along, and Sirius knew that he was in for it when he got home. Strike One.

There was a break before the next course, and Sirius instantly decided to use it to go and find a quiet corner to contact James again on the mirror. He could not wait for this day to be over, yet at the same time was dreading getting home after his mother’s comments. Walburga Black was deadly when she was harsh with him, and even deadlier when she feigned contentment with his behaviour.

In a far end of the garden, Sirius was stopped in his tracks, however, by his mother, Bella, and her husband. They had obviously followed him all the way out here.

“Sirius, what are you up to?” Bella asked with a false sweetness in her voice.

“Just going for a walk”, he replied nonchalantly. He felt in his pocket, though, and found his wand. He had not been stupid enough to leave it at home, given whom he knew would be attending the ceremony.

“We need to talk to you”, Bella added. “Your mother feels that the time has come for you to start doing something with your life, and making the family proud. All of your past…..misdeeds……your little rebellions, will be forgiven if you return to the fold, and join us in our quest.”

“Your quest”, Sirius snorted. “What quest would that be, Bella? To torture and kill innocent people who cannot defend themselves? To serve someone that becomes less and less human each time he is seen in public?”

He had known this day was coming. He’s just hoped he had longer to put up a fight. Perhaps they thought they could cajole him into it here through Walburga’s pressure to avoid making a scene.

Maybe they had just decided enough was enough.

There was no rhyme or reason to it. But then, there was no reason to what they fought for.

“Insolent little brat”, said Walburga viciously. “How dare you speak to your cousin like that! Now, I have to speak with the Minister’s wife. Bella, I trust you can convince him to restore the family name he has trod on his entire life?!”

“I can convince anyone of anything”, said Bella, smiling. “Yu would be welcome, Sirius, as any of our blood are. The past would be forgiven. The Dark Lord is truly the most generous….”

“There’s really no point”, said Sirius when his mother had walked away. “I am not going to join you or your movement or your precious Dark Lord ever. Is that understood? Unlike you, I think Andie was right. She saw the good in people, and she followed her heart and her conscience. Not that you would understand that, Bella. You don’t have either.” He turned to walk away from her when he felt a sting in his back. Moving his hand round, he could feel the warm blood that she had taken from him.

Ignoring the stinging pain in his back, Sirius furiously returned in the direction of the house and the marquee. This was enough.

He wasn’t going to pretend anymore.

“Well?” Walburga asked as he headed for her. “Has Bella persuaded you to join the pure-blood movement and restore the family name fighting for our rights?”

“No, mother”, said Sirius. “She has not. And you and she can hex and curse me into the next century, and I still will not join Bella’s precious pure-blood movement. It is full of torturers and murderers. The Prophet is not making things up about them. Muggles and muggle-borns are people too. A lot of them make good witches and wizards, and one of the smartest girls in my year comes from a muggle family. I don’t have the same prejudices as you and everyone else here does.”

“Insolent little brat!” Walburga exclaimed, repeating her earlier words.

“I’m leaving”, said Sirius. “I can’t stand the stench of hypocrisy any more!”

“Sirius Black, if you leave now, don’t even think about being part of this family again!”

“What family? I have none - well, none that you’ll acknowledge anyway!” Sirius fired back before running off in the direction of the house, leaving his mother standing in the garden, speechless.

“My only regret, mother, is that I did not do this sooner!”

Both of them had a fierce temper on them, and Sirius was surprised that wands had not been drawn between them. Walburga Black’s temper was the only personality trait that her eldest son had inherited from her. There was nothing else in her views and ways that Sirius saw in himself.

“Where is the floo in here?” Sirius demanded of one of the elves as he entered the house. “I need to return home immediately.”

“Through here, sir”, the elf squeaked in return, before showing Sirius to a cavernous kitchen, stuffed full of cooking elves, and the next couple of courses. Food Sirius had known ever since Bella had accosted him, that he would never eat.

“Grimmauld Place!” Sirius said clearly, standing in the fire place, and the spinning through the fire was so like the thoughts spinning round in his head at that moment. He had finally done something that had been coming for a very long time. He had long dreamt of escaping his family. He had never contemplated, though, what he could and would do next.

“Master Sirius, what is you doing back so early? Mistress will not be happy with you”, said Kreacher malevolently as Sirius passed him on the stairs, replying to the elf with a series of expletives.

Back in the room that he had left a few hours previously, Sirius hurriedly filled his school trunk with anything he could find to take away with him. His clothes, his books and school equipment, his muggle motorbike magazines, everything he could carry apart from his broomstick was thrown in, and had to be magically forced to do so. He knew he was under-age, but the magic could always be passed off as being performed by some other member of the household.

As he bent down to fish out his broomstick from under his bed, Sirius felt his back sting once more, and reaching round, felt that it was still bleeding. Bella had gotten him better than he had first realised.

Now, as he left the house, walking out of Grimmauld Place for the last time, Sirius knew that there was only one place he could really go. One place he must always have known that he would end up. One place where he wouldn’t be treated like an outcast, and a lunatic, and would be accepted for who he was.

James’s house.

Disillusioning himself, his trunk (which was tied to his broomstick) and his Silver Arrow, Sirius started to soar upwards into the sky, cursing the heaviness of his broomstick, and yet feeling grateful that the Potters did not live at the other end of the country. It took only an hour and a half broom ride to reach the edge of the property, during which time Sirius repeated over and over to himself that he had done the right thing. He knew he had over-reacted slightly to the gentle pressure placed upon him by Bella and her cronies, and his mother, to join the pure-blood movement. The political front for the Death Eaters.

It had been a long time coming, and in the end he might have jumped ship prematurely, letting his temper get the better of him.

But it was the right thing to do.

Wasn’t it?

Tentatively, Sirius walked up to James’s door, trying to force away last minute nerves. He should really have had the sense to contact James through their mirrors and warn him that he was coming. But Sirius Black did not often follow the conventions of good sense.

“Sirius!” Mrs Potter exclaimed as she opened the door to him. “James never told us you were coming! It is so good to see you!”

“He doesn’t know. I didn’t really given him any kind of warning”, said Sirius sheepishly. “I hope you don’t mind, Mrs P.”

“Sirius, you are welcome here at any time you wish to come”, she said sincerely. “Now, come inside, we shall have to get you unpacked before supper. Dear me, you are dressed very smartly today.” Sirius looked down and realised that in his fury, and amid the rush to leave, he had not changed out of his dress robes.

“Yeah, I….”, he started to say as James came to the door.

“Sirius, why is there blood on the back of these robes?” Mrs Potter asked as Sirius apologised to James for randomly turning up on his doorstep.

“Oh, Bella got me with something, some hex or other, because I refused to join her precious pure-blood movement”, said Sirius. “I’m not going back there. They’re scum, the lot of them. I am not joining the political front for the Death Eaters, and they can’t force me to. Ever. They might have succeeded in turning Reg into some kind of pure-blood obsessed puppet, but they’re not going to do it with me.”

“Did they actually thrown you out?” James asked concernedly.

“I walked”, said Sirius. “I was wondering, if it is alright, if I could crash here for a while?”

“Sirius, you should know by now that you don’t need to ask things like that here, you are welcome at any time, and for however long you wish to stay”, said Mrs Potter sternly. “I always wanted a bigger family than I had.”

“You didn’t seriously think we’d say no, did you mate?!” James exclaimed.

“Well, I am serious….” he began, and then winced as Mrs Potter muttered that she’d better have a look at his back.

It was a big turning point in his life. One of the days that made him grow up. Helped him turn into the person he became.

For the first time in his life, Sirius felt as if he belonged to a welcoming family home.

That day, as he had stood in the hallway being fussed over by Mrs Potter, who was muttering a series of healing spells, and waited for James to return from alerting the house elf that there was another mouth to feed, and bed to be made up, Sirius felt for the very first time that he was part of a real family home.

That he was wanted by a family.

One of them.

He’d had the other Marauders since his first day at Hogwarts, but that was a different type of family, a band of brothers. And Mrs Potter treated him like he had always imagined a mother should treat her son. From that day forward, she had treated Sirius as she had James, fussing over the holes in his muggle jeans, and worrying about his safety after he got his motorbike. Sending him loving letters, gently admonishing him when she got word of more and more detentions, and entreating him to complete his homework.

Losing her had felt like actually losing a mother. He didn’t even know for sure if his own was alive. She had been when he’d gone into Azkaban, but he had heard nothing of her since, and had no desire to do so. Walburga Black was a mere biological fact. Not a mother to him. She never had been.

Padfoot wondered what life without a mother had been like for Harry. While he had chosen to remove himself from his mother, Harry had not been given the choice. Not that he would have. Lily had always been such a loving mother for him. She had cared for him, sung him to sleep, played games with him every day, fought for him. She had died for him. Just like James had, and just like he would have, if everything had gone the way it had been meant to.

He knew that Lily’s sister was not fond of magic, but he was sure that she cared for Harry, if not as her own son, then as the nephew that was the only living memory of her only sister. Padfoot could also vaguely recall her having a small boy around Harry’s age. Did he miss his cousin when at school? What was his room like at home? Did he have Quidditch posters, and Gryffindor banners like James had done?

Padfoot would do anything to provide Harry with that home, that sense of belonging to a family. But would it ever be possible? Would he be able to be the parent to him that James’s parents had been to him? Home is where the heart is. He could remember that on some muggle thing on the wall that Lily’s mother had given to her and James.

He supposed this must be home, now. The Hogwarts grounds.

Home is where the heart is.

And all he had in his heart that was living, were Harry and Remus, to whom he would have to beg forgiveness (and begging was not usually a word that described Sirius Black’s actions) to be considered in theirs.

Maybe one day he could give Harry the home that James had given him.

Maybe.

If he first fulfilled his duty as a Godfather, and became worthy of his Godson.


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Chapter 32 - Holidays

In the days and weeks that followed, Remus dealt with the passing of James’s birthday with his usual tactic: burying himself in work and trying to distract himself to the point where he had no time to allow his mind to wander. It had worked for as long as he could remember, and it worked now. Mostly. Little things seeped through his guard as they had not before, catching him unawares. It happened most just after he had taught Harry’s class. All year he had silently criticised Severus for his prejudice towards Harry because he was so like James. And yet something similar had happened to him. It was hard for him not to think of the past when he saw James’s almost-double sitting right in front of him.

Work was an excellent distraction for Remus, though, and this was the perfect time of year for it. Some of the more zealous fifth and seventh years had already begun to study for their OWLs and NEWTs, and each day brought them all closer and closer to the end of year exams. Essays he was setting were getting longer and more complex, which necessitated longer hours spent preparing and marking them. And he was starting to plan his revision classes, and starting to decide which topics would appear in the end of year exams.

It was therefore with some surprise that Remus awoke one Friday in early April to find that it was the last day of term. It felt like yesterday that they had been celebrating Christmas, but so much had happened since then. Yet another January and March had passed, when Lily and James should have become a year older. Sirius had broken into the school again. And Harry - he had taught Harry how to produce a Patronus. He had let his guard down in front of Harry, and he had recovered from Harry an artefact that he had thought lost forever. The Marauders Map remained locked in the bottom drawer of the desk in his office. Remus had not yet been able to bring himself to look at it, and so it remained where he had hidden it the day he had confiscated it from Harry.

As he dressed and brushed his teeth, and gathered everything he needed, Remus let it all slip again, and thought about why that was. Why he had simply left the map where it was, and not looked at it. Yes, there was the fact that it brought back memories he did not wish to touch. Yes, it would mean explaining a lot more to Dumbledore than he wished to. Yes, it could possibly help catch Sirius. But……even with everything he felt…….was there a part of him, a small part buried deep within that did not WANT Sirius to be caught? That still thought of him as Padfoot, the lovable rogue who was reckless and loyal and whom he loved like a brother?

Not wishing that niggling doubt to fester, Remus forced himself to stand up (he had been too distracted to realise that he was sitting still and silent upon the edge of his bed) and walk towards the door, and thence downstairs to the Great Hall. To breakfast. He slipped into a seat next to Professor Vector, the Arithmancy teacher, who was reading the day’s Prophet.

“Anything interesting in today?” Remus asked once he had helped himself to toast and a few poached eggs, indicating the newspaper she was peering ever-closer to.

“Not much”, she replied, shrugging slightly. “Harpies won last night, they are still looking for Black, and the tickets for the Quidditch World Cup have gone on sale. Are you planning on going?”

“Probably not”, Remus responded, not adding that it was financially impossible. “I’m not really one for big crowds. Are you going?”

“My other half is Quidditch obsessed”, said Professor Vector. “We’ll be there for the whole shebang. How is your exam preparation going? Don’t let them away with anything after the holidays - pile on as much revision and homework as you can. Merlin knows they need it. Most of them wouldn’t get any work done otherwise. I suppose that’s where I’m lucky - they choose to take my subject, whereas you are lumbered with the lot of them.”

“I suppose that would make life a little easier”, Remus admitted. “But I have already started to plan. In fact, I’ve set up a few revision classes during the holidays for those that want or require it in fifth and seventh year. They haven’t had the most…..stable of runs with teachers the past few years, Dumbledore says, so I thought I’d give them an extra hand.”

“Haven’t had the most stable run of runs”, Professor Vector snorted. “The past two years, I am sure that all they have learnt is that adults don’t always have all the answers to everything, and they aren’t always going to be able to rely on them for protection.”

“They’re pretty valuable lessons, though”, said Remus. “They do have some value, though not, I suppose, in an examination.”

“Not so much”, said Professor Vector. “I better go - I have the seventh years first period, and the Ravenclaws are getting more and more nervous. Here, have a look at the paper yourself.”

Remus watched as Professor Vector weaved her way through the jubilant holiday-minded students before returning to his poached eggs and toast, and opening the Prophet. There was nothing much in it today. Aside from the articles they had discussed, the only other of note was on the passing of some new regulations on the charms that could be placed on muggle objects. All in all, not the most interesting edition of the Prophet that Remus had ever read, but it had served its purpose in distracting him whilst he ate.

As the last day of term always did, the day passed quickly, and before he knew it, Remus was standing in front of the third year Hufflepuffs in the last class before the holidays began.

“Now, we are about to come to the end of the lesson”, Remus began, once he had essentially given in and allowed them to pack up ten minutes early, as they were clearly not in the right frame of mind for learning. It was bad enough that he had set them two essays to write during their Easter Break.

“I know that you are all looking forward to your holidays - in spite of the evil homework that I have given you. However, I entreat you to use at least a portion of this time to study. We will be revising in class after the holidays, in preparation for the end of year exams, once we have completed the final study topics. That does not mean that you do not have to study outside class, and you will feel much more comfortable and confident going into your examination if you prepare properly. And that means starting your revision sooner rather than later. Now, so that we can end term on a high, let’s start the holidays a few minutes early - you all may go now. Enjoy your time away from me - and use it wisely!”

“Bye Professor! Thanks, Professor!” And with that, they were all gone. Leaving Remus one place he despised being. Alone.

The weekend that followed was a little odd, as Remus had a pile of marking with no Monday deadline. He did it anyway, and used the rest of his time to prepare for the revision classes he was holding for the fifth and seventh years. As well as classes for the written examinations, he had also arranged to use one of the larger, disused classrooms on the second floor for duelling practice, which would serve the revision classes for the practical examinations.

The Great Hall also held much depleted numbers for breakfast on Monday morning, as it seemed more students than usual had chosen to return home to their families for the holidays. Probably due in part to the fact that they weren’t surrounded by Dementors there. After breakfast, Remus made a quick retreat to his office, where he continued to work without interruption until long after lunch. It was not until his focus was broken by a loud clap of thunder a little before three in the afternoon that Remus looked up from his work, made himself a cup of tea and took some chocolate biscuits from the secret stash he had in his top drawer. All of his work was worth it, though, as by the end of the day Remus had a rough outline of the topics his classes would study in the last term of the year, and how much time he could spare to focus on revision for the examinations.

On Wednesday, a further distraction came with the commencement of the revision classes he had organised for his fifth and seventh year students. It was a voluntary class, and he was sure that many of the students would snub it, but there had been a great deal of interest from the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs in general, along with quite a few of the Gryffindors and some of the Slytherins. Remus had purposely not set the classes for too early in the morning, and deemed a two hour session starting at 10.30 sufficient.

A little after ten, Remus left his office, and started in the direction of the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom. His first group would be comprised of seventh year students preparing to sit their NEWT examination. He was just settling a few papers with general revision topic headings on them, when the first students started to appear, a little shy at first. First through the door were a trio of Ravenclaw girls, Jennifer Ackerley, Michelle Corner and Athena MacDonald, followed by their housemate Penelope Clearwater, the Head Girl, and her co-head Percy Weasley, who actually looked disappointed not to be first to a voluntary revision class. In the end a little under two thirds of the seventh years who would be sitting the Defence Against the Dark Arts NEWT turned up.

“I’m pleased to see so many of you here”, said Remus once they were all settled. “I know this is a bit different, coming to class during the holidays, but a revision session like this can be a good starting point to kick off your revision. I have prepared a list of revision topics that I thought we might cover the basics of today, and if there is anything you feel I have missed, or that you wish to cover in more detail, then please speak to me and we can arrange it for the next session on Friday.”

“Sorry, sir”, came a breathless voice from the door, and Remus looked up to see Oliver Wood entering the room. “I got held up at Quidditch practice.”

“That’s alright, Oliver, we hadn’t started properly yet”, smiled Remus. The final Quidditch game of the season was the first weekend after the holidays, and Gryffindor was in with a chance of winning if they could beat Slytherin. Wood was as bad as James sometimes when it came to Quidditch - and at others he was worse.

“James, NEWTs are less than two months away! How are you two ever going to pass them if you are constantly down at the Quidditch pitch?!” Remus asked incredulously. Though he knew he should have expected it. James might have grown up. A lot. But when it came to Quidditch he was as pig-headed as always. Most of the time.

“And the final Quidditch game of the season is less than two weeks away, Moony”, James retorted. “My last chance to win the trophy as Captain.”

“You’ve already won the trophy as Captain. You did it last year. And the year before”, Remus reminded him.

“But it wasn’t our final year either of those times”, Sirius butted in.

“I’ll come and study with you Remus”, came Lily’s voice from the bottom of the stairs. “You can help me with Transfiguration. We can go to that quiet part at the back of the library that has that musty book smell.”

“I’m going to watch Quidditch practice. Sorry, mate”, Peter piped up. Remus shrugged exasperatedly. Did none of them other than he and Lily live in the real world?! How were they supposed to do anything with their lives if they failed all of their exams? Okay, James was rich enough that he probably wouldn’t have to work, and Sirius had enough gold from his Uncle Alphard’s will that it wasn’t a big deal to him either, but they had to have some pride in themselves. Right?

It was strange. Of the four of them, Remus alone knew that perfect NEWTs would not get him even the most basic job. Sirius and James and Peter could fail a couple, or even just get an Acceptable and still get a good job. But who wanted to employ a Werewolf? Even if he got Oustandings across the board, he knew he was doomed. In a sense, he didn’t need to study. It was only pride and self-determination to prove a point and vindicate Dumbledore’s decision to give him an education that he had to go on.

“Come on, if we’re quick then we can get to the books we’re going to need before that weird Hufflepuff girl”, said Lily. “She takes almost all of the seventh year study books out, and piles them around her, and no one else ever gets to use them!”

“I think she’s just freaking out about her exams, Lily”, said Remus. “But I suppose heading down there now would be a good idea.” Five minutes later, after James had said a longer non-verbal goodbye to Lily than could be construed as necessary given that they would see each other again in less than three hours time, the two of them, along with their heavy book bags headed in the direction of the Hogwarts library, and peace and quiet to revise.

“Yes! We got here first!” Lily exclaimed, laughing as they passed the Transfiguration section to see that the books they required remained on the shelf. “Here, take my bag, and score us some seats, Remus, I’ll be over in a minute with the books.”

It wasn’t long before the two of them were engrossed in the theory of Transfiguring human parts, and practicing said theories on one another. By the time the other three boys had joined them, they were giggling, and pointing at each other. At Remus’s bright orange eyebrows and blue and gold striped hair. At Lily’s extra long left arm and matching purple eyebrows and eyelashes.

“Tsk Tsk, I thought you were meant to be studying”, said James, bending down to kiss Lily on the cheek.

“We have been. We are”, Lily protested. “We just happen to have the talent of making studying fun!”

“No one has that talent”, said Sirius. “Well - for school stuff anyway. The only time studying is fun is when it involves something breaking the rules.”

“Like perfecting the Animagus transformation, or getting a muggle motorcycle to fly?!” Remus suggested in a mock innocent voice.

“Exactly. I’m glad we understand each other, Moony.”

“James, you are sopping wet”, Lily scolded. “You are dripping rain and sweat all over me - you need to go and have a shower. Come back here once you’re finished, and we can all go down to lunch.”

“Good idea”, James agreed. “It’ll give me a chance to go over practice in my head. We need to work on a few things tomorrow. Summers really needs to work on his turns, and the Beaters need to be a lot more in tune with one another.”

“Well, I’m going on a kitchen run. Coming Wormtail?” said Sirius.

“I guess. I could do with some soup to warm up after that”, Peter replied, and with that the two of them left, leaving the library with an air of being allergic to the place.

“See you in a bit, Lils, Moony”, said James as he kissed Lily again before leaving.

“I’m so glad James has you”, said Remus. “Aside from anything else, its made him realise that the world does not begin and end with Quidditch.”

“Well, not all of it”, Lily grinned. “How about we leave Transfiguration for today? I’ve had a lot of fun, but I feel like studying something else for a while. How about some Defence, or Herbology?”

“Herbology sounds good. I’m kinda wiped out on Defence”, said Remus. It had only been a few days since the last full moon, and he did not require a further reminder of what monsters were all about.

“You’re not a monster, Remus”, said Lily. He looked at her, confused. Had he said that out loud?

“You always get this look on your face, this pained look when you think things like that”, she informed him. “I know you well enough by now.”

“You may not think I am a monster, Lily - a mistake on your part - but you must acknowledge that I AM dangerous”, Remus said painfully. “And whatever grade I get for these exams we are studying for, no respectable employer is going to give me a good job.”

“You mustn’t think like that, Remus”, said Lily supportively. “You are one of the smartest, kindest people I know. And whatever happens, you will ALWAYS have me and James and Sirius and Peter standing right next to you. Understand?!”

“I suppose”, said Remus, knowing that Lily was stubborn enough not to stop until he agreed with her, yet knowing at the same time that he was unequivocally in the right. He searched around for a change of subject, something - anything - else to talk about.

“As much as I enjoy studying”, he said. “I still wish - in a way - that I could be like James and Sirius and not have to study at all and still get top grades.”

“I still don’t know how they do it”, Lily admitted. “With James I suppose it is because he had so much of his parents’ attention before he came here. It helped him develop his skills from when he was little. With Sirius, it was in his blood so much. And because he had to learn to fight back at those freaks he is related to.”

“I once thought that nothing existed in James’s head beyond you and Quidditch”, Remus admitted. “And us and our mischief making, of course. If it was a choice between learning something new and going to Quidditch, he would be on the pitch all day.”

“Maybe, maybe not”, Lily mused. “You know he is as keen as you and I to get rid of this stupid Voldemort character. If it was a choice between that and Quidditch, he would choose that.”

“If it was a choice between you and Quidditch, he would choose you”, Remus pointed out.

“I’d never make him make that choice, though”, said Lily. “I don’t want to control him. He has his interests, and I have mine. He has Quidditch, and the team, and I have friends and hobbies away from him. I would never force him to give up something he loves as much as Quidditch for me. Its part of who he is, and a part of him would always resent me for it.”

“He is still obsessed with it, though. More than is normal”, Remus stated.

“Yeah, that I WILL agree with”, Lily laughed as James re-entered the library, looking a lot cleaner than he had previously, and beckoning them towards him. Looking at his watch, Remus saw that it as time for lunch. Gathering his belongings together, he thought about what Lily had said. Whatever she thought out of love for him, he was dangerous, and he was a monster. That was as set in stone as the fact that James would always be Quidditch obsessed - though he supposed his friend had his priorities sorted now. Lily would always come before Quidditch. Now, at least, though it had not always been that way.

Remus turned his attention back to the class sitting in front of him in the present. He had almost forgotten that they were there.

“And so”, said Remus. “I thought we might begin with the worst: the Unforgivable Curses. Who can tell me about the effects of excessive use of the Cruciatus Curse?”

The class went well, beyond Remus’s expectations, and he was shocked that there were one or two disappointed groans when it ended at 12.30. And that there were quite a few requests for developing what they had studies on some subjects the next time that they convened on Friday. This had been a better idea than he had considered it to be at the time he had first conceived it.

“Sorry I was late, Professor”, said Oliver, coming up to Remus at the end of the lesson. “I know I should be concentrating on doing well, even with Puddlemere and Portree and the Magpies watching me, but we HAVE to beat Slytherin in the last game of the season, and being Captain, I have to go to practice……………”

“Its fine, Oliver”, said Remus smiling. “In fact, when I was at Hogwarts, the Quidditch Captain in my House was as dedicated as you are. Some of us thought he was barmy, but as long as you balance Quidditch with studying, you should be fine for the exams. Just remember to up your study hours after the last game.”

“Thanks, Professor Lupin”, said Oliver as he left the room. Remus shook his head, bemused.

After the company of his revision class, Remus did not feel like returning to the seclusion of his office, or his quarters, and so he headed to the staff room, in the hope that it might be occupied, and he could pass some time in conversation with another adult. This was a strange feeling to him; usually he craved solitude, having become so long used to it and not wanting to acclimatize himself to company lest it was soon snatched away from him. After all, what he had experienced little of in his adult life, he could not miss. Right?

In the end, the staff room was empty, and his walk by Minerva’s office did not yield any company. Returning to his quarters, though, Remus reflected on how much he had enjoyed his day. He loved teaching. It made him feel as if he was useful, and that his life had some sort of purpose. Something he had never thought would happen. It wasn’t supposed to. Even with the potion, he was still a dangerous monster.

And he thought about James. Why was it that little things seemed to remind him of his fallen friend? He saw one devoted Gryffindor Quidditch Captain and thought of another. Would the feeling that pressed on his chest whenever he contemplated James and Lily and Peter and Harry and….Sirius…..ever go away? Would it be as eternal as the agony he experienced whenever he passed milestones like their birthdays and the Christmases and wedding anniversaries they missed?

Would he wake up one day and found that all of the pain had disappeared?

Or would he be left with it forever?

Or would something happen to take all of the agony away? Or some of it, at least?


Feedback??????
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[MissGryffindor]

Chapter 33 - Quidditch Final, Moony’s POV

While all of the other teachers were using the Easter holidays to relax as well as ensuring they were prepared for exam season, Remus found that he enjoyed all of his revision sessions as much as the first. The uneven teaching they had experienced in the past, coupled with the fact that most of them saw the importance of his subject ensured that they were all interested enough to continue coming, and to actually take something from it.

He also found time to plan the end of year examinations for those not sitting OWLs or NEWTs, and to lay out a revision timetable for his classes. If nothing else, all of this served as a way of keeping himself busy, ensuring that his mind did not constantly turn to the topic of Sirius Black. He had been neither seen nor heard of since he had broken into Gryffindor Tower back in February, yet Remus knew that he still lingered. He would not be happy until he had finished the job he had started more than twelve years prior.

Remus’s efforts to keep himself busy continued unabated when school started again, and he had been assigned, along with all of the other teachers, to patrol the corridors in preparation for the Quidditch Final. The animosity between Gryffindor and Slytherin had reached fever pitch, and Remus had started to understand why this was usually the first match of the season; an encounter that caused so much trouble at the best of times was much worse when the outcome essentially decided the outcome of the House tournament.

“I am exhausted”, Remus sighed as he collapsed into the free chair opposite Minerva McGonagall the night before the match. “I have at least seven Gryffindors and two dozen Slytherins in detention at various points over the next week, prepared a copy of the notes from this week’s NEWT level classes for Wood because he has done nothing in my lessons other than plan his tactics for tomorrow’s match……..”

“I too have been lenient with Wood this week”, Minerva admitted unabashed. “These past two years, Gryffindor have been so close, and bad luck has kept the trophy from them. It would kill Wood if they did not win.”

“I don’t think Wood is the only one desperate to win the trophy tomorrow”, Remus responded pointedly. “Have you already set aside a spot on the back shelf for it?”

“That would be bad luck.”

“It has not been reported in the Prophet at Dumbledore’s request, but there was an alleged sighting of Black about forty or fifty miles away”, said Minerva a while later. Remus simply humphd in response.

“You do not think it genuine?” she asked.

“I know that we have seen no evidence of him in the castle or the locality since what happened in February”, said Remus heavily. “But I do not think that he has gone even that far away. He would not risk it. If an opportunity to act came up he would want to be as close to Hogwarts as possible. No, I do not believe this report. Sirius would not travel that far away from his prey.” Unfortunately.

“Dumbledore agrees with your assessment”, she responded grimly. “He thinks that it will only cause Potter pain to hear mention of Black, now that he knows he and James were friends at school. And it may cause him to let his guard down if the immediacy of Black’s threat to him is removed. It is likely that these reports are either to make mischief, or to try and make the Aurors think that Black is moving away from Hogwarts.”

Remus remained a little while longer for tea and biscuits, before trudging along to his quarters and falling almost immediately asleep; something that he would find odd the following morning after all those years as a student when James’s excitement had kept them awake for most of the night before a match.

Though he may have teased Minerva the night before, in truth Remus was looking forward to the match as much as she was. Though he knew he should not show any favouritism, he was still a Gryffindor at heart, and had not been this excited about a match since the final in his own seventh year at Hogwarts, when James had helped to win the Championship for Gryffindor.

He ambled down to the Quidditch Pitch with Professor Burbage, who admitted that she did not usually attend these matches but had a genuine curiosity to see the outcome after all of the commotion that it had caused recently. They slipped into the box set aside for the teaching staff and the commentator, Lee Jordan, finding a seat next to Hagrid.

“Morning, Hagrid”, Remus greeted him as they sat down. “Looking forward to the match?”

“Yeh, should be a good ‘un”, Hagrid replied. “They worked hard enough fer it. Take it you’re supportin’ the Gryffindors like me, then?” he whispered conspiratorially as they saw Snape enter the stadium, dressed in Slytherin colours. He took a seat with his House members, sitting in the front row.

“But not in an obvious way”, Remus responded as quietly. The teachers were supposed to remain as impartial as possible, though this concept had obviously not reached Hagrid‘s ears as Remus‘s eyes ran over the Gryffindor scarf and rosettes that covered Hagrid‘s coat. Judging by the students, Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff were anything but. The vast majority of them appeared to be supporting Gryffindor.

“I’m just here as a curious, impartial observer”, said Professor Burbage. “No one’s talked of anything else all week, so I thought I’d come and see what all the fuss was about. Looks like Minerva’s come prepared”, she added, indicating the Gryffindor flag that Professor McGonagall had beside her, as she busied herself getting Lee and the microphone set up for the commentary.

As much as Charity Burbage might be there as a curious observer, Remus knew as soon as the teams entered onto the pitch that this was going to be an extremely partisan match, the Slytherin boos drowning out the introduction of the Gryffindor team and a few carefully chosen comments by Jordan regarding the Quidditch skills of the Slytherin line-up.

Within ten minutes it was twenty-zero to Gryffindor, to Remus’s delight. Maybe it was the combination of Quidditch and Gryffindor-Slytherin animosity, but he could feel things he had not done since his school days creeping back into his consciousness. The match was starting to get dirty just like it had in Remus’s day, when James and much of the Gryffindor team had seen their Slytherin counterparts as essentially Death Eaters in the making. They had been right in some cases. Visions of Regulus Black playing Slytherin Seeker flitted through his mind.

A Gryffindor penalty put them thirty-zero ahead, and Remus grinned at the sight of Minerva McGonagall trying to be as professional as possible.

“Jordan, if you can’t commentate in an unbiased way - !”

“I’m just telling it like it is, Professor!”

And he was amused a few minutes later when the two Slytherin Beaters crashed into one another, though not so much when Slytherin scored, and Remus could hear Minerva admonishing him and threatening to end his commentating career if he did not stop using such foul language.

The match seemed to Remus to be getting progressively dirtier, almost bordering on the hatred and competitiveness of the Gryffindor vs. Slytherin match from Remus’s sixth year, when James had ended up in the hospital wing after the Slytherin Beater Baddock had hit him with a bludger at close range and left a few minor cracks in his skull that, when James had recovered, he had joked Lily had always thought were there anyway. And when Malfoy pulled Harry’s broom to stop him getting the snitch, even Minerva McGonagall was unable to keep her cool, and Remus thought wryly how much James would have been amused by the sight of her thrusting her fist in the young Slytherin’s direction and shouting that he was a cheat.

But the match looked like it might be coming to a close now. Remus could see Harry and Draco Malfoy charging towards the far end of the pitch. He willed Harry to catch up with Malfoy, not realising he was actually cheering aloud until Hagrid gave him a nudge and wide grin. He was shouting just as loudly.

“And Harry Potter catches the snitch in a dramatic victory for Gryffindor!” Lee Jordan yelled into his magical microphone. “Two hundred and thirty to twenty!! Gryffindor seal the Quidditch Championship with an annihilation of their deadly rivals, and win Oliver Wood’s team the trophy! Well done Oliver!” Jordan continued with his biased summation of the match, Minerva too busy sobbing into her large, Gryffindor flag to stop him.

“Dear me, the effect Quidditch can have”, said Dumbledore, entering the box and passing Remus, eyes twinkling. He had come to award the trophy. “I hope the house elves are well prepared. I believe that Gryffindor House will be very much the life and soul of the party this afternoon and this evening.”

Remus grinned, and then watched, his smile growing even bigger by the second as he watched the Gryffindor team come into the teachers’ box to receive their trophy. Though Oliver Wood was captain of the team, it was Harry that Hagrid seemed most anxious to congratulate.

“Yeh beat ‘em, Harry, yeh beat ‘em! Wait till I tell Buckbeak!” He saw Harry grin wildly at Hagrid, and then wince as Hagrid grabbed his hand to shake it. Then he glanced at Oliver Wood receiving the trophy from Dumbledore. He had told him a few weeks before that he was reminded of the Gryffindor Quidditch Captain from his own time at Hogwarts in terms of the hours that he was putting in.

And of the rewards………

Remus stood nervously at the Gryffindor end of the pitch, Lily and Sirius on either side of him, and Peter side Sirius. He still could not quite believe that this was the last match they would see at Hogwarts; they would be leaving the castle forever in just a few weeks time.

“I’m so nervous”, Lily admitted to him in a whisper. Remus turned and smiled at her.

“Don’t worry. They have practiced so much - as much as any team could - and they only have to win. They are leading the Championship so they don’t need a huge margin of victory. A win of any sort will do”, he reassured her in an attempt to stifle his own nerves.

“Prongs will be fine”, said Sirius dismissively. He had obviously overheard what they were saying. “He’s been worse about training this year, since its his last chance to win the Cup, and he’s won it virtually every year he’s been in the team. He’s won every year he’s been captain.”

“That is true”, Remus agreed, but he had no chance to ruminate on the topic further as the commentator, Ravenclaw Zach Zeller, announced the arrival of the two teams.

“And first up, the reigning champions, the Gryffindor lions, led for the last time by their outgoing captain James Potter! Following their leader are Macdonald, Murphy, Peakes, Kirke, Hooper and Stimpson! And their challengers today, out to beat the Gryffindor team’s unbeaten run going back more than two years are Hufflepuff! Joining Captain and Seeker Gus Moon are Branstone, Jones, Madley, Ellington, Hopkins and Chiltern!”

Remus and the rest of the Gryffindors screamed loudly at the announcement of their own team, and booed at that of Hufflepuff. They were alone, though. The Slytherins cheered for anybody other than Gryffindor, and were next in line for the trophy if Gryffindor lost. Though the Ravenclaws had nothing to gain, they too seemed to want a Hufflepuff victory. As Zeller had said, Gryffindor had not lost a match in more than two years, thanks to James’s strict discipline.

“And we’re off!” yelled Zeller as the snitch was released. He could see the two Seekers, Gus Moon and Mary Macdonald, try to follow its path, but the sun was particularly bright, and they seemed to lose track of it fairly quickly.

“Quidditch is so hard to follow!” Lily complained a little while later. “Do you concentrate on the Seekers and their attempt to catch the Snitch, or do you follow the Chasers or the Beaters?!” Remus supposed it did not help that one of her best friends was the Gryffindor Seeker.

“Stick with the Chasers”, he advised as the Hufflepuff Keeper Gemma Chiltern just managed to get the tips of her fingers to a shot from James, preventing him from scoring the first goal of the match. “Zeller will tell us when the Snitch makes an appearance.”

Remus watched nervously as Gemma Chiltern saved shot after shot from James and the other two Gryffindor Chasers. While most people would admire her skill, Sirius tried his best to put her off, and wondered loudly how she was so much improved from the match against Ravenclaw earlier on in the year. Sharing a look with Lily, they both seemed to agree that Gemma’s skills had not been shown off very well when she had been playing opposite her long-term boyfriend, Ravenclaw Chaser Bradley Chambers. Tactfully, neither one of them mentioned this to Sirius, who was now in full force with an anti-Hufflepuff tune.

Although they had yet to score, Gryffindor were the dominant team, and the Hufflepuff Chasers never made it very far from the goal that Chiltern defended before the quaffle returned to Gryffindor hands.

“And here are Gryffindor on the attack again”, said Zeller. “And its Potter - to Peakes - to Murphy to Potter! And Potter shoots………..and this time he scores!! James Potter finally opens the scoring after fifteen minutes for Gryffindor. They lead ten-zero. And I think we can all agree that without the heroics of Hufflepuff Keeper Chiltern, the score would be much greater!”

“Ten-zero! Come on Gryffindor”, Remus could hear Lily yell from his left. “Come on James! You can do it!”

While Remus thought it doubtful that James had actually heard what Lily was shouting, James did seem to perk up a bit after that - though it could just have been that the first goal opened the floodgates. A few minutes later, Gryffindor were fifty-ten up, James having scored another two of the Gryffindor goals, though Hufflepuff had also won and scored a penalty when the Gryffindor Beater Jonathan Hooper had hit a bludger at their Chaser Charlotte Jones seconds after she had passed the quaffle to her team-mate Edmund Branstone.

The snitch continued to elude both Mary Macdonald and Gus Moon. Remus felt for them both a little; like James they were playing their last Quidditch match at Hogwarts. But the way things were going, it looked like the snitch would become immaterial to the outcome of the match. Gemma Chiltern was still saving four out of every five shots the Gryffindor Chasers made, but the continual onslaught was taking its toll, and she and her Beaters could only defend so much. Approximately forty minutes in, and Gryffindor were winning one hundred and eight to twenty.

“And the snitch looks like it is making an appearance, as Macdonald and Moon head for the Gryffindor goals! The race is on, and Moon looks like winning it at present, his Silver Arrow more than a match for Macdonald’s Cleansweep! And as James Potter scores yet another goal for Gryffindor, it is all over!! Gus Moon has the snitch, but Gryffindor win the match by a smaller margin than the gamblers amongst us anticipated! One hundred and ninety to one hundred and seventy! Gryffindor win the match and retain their Quidditch Championship crown!”

“We won! We won!” Lily, Sirius and Peter were yelling on either side of him, as they jumped up and down. It was only when his throat started to hurt that Remus realised he was shouting just as loud - even not louder - than the three of them.

“Mary will be so disappointed”, said Lily, as the Gryffindor team went to the teachers’ box to collect the trophy from Dumbledore. “Its her last match. She really wanted to catch the snitch today.”

They all started to cheer James’s name as he collected the trophy.

“We won anyway, I suppose that’s what counts”, Remus reasoned. And he could see Mary Macdonald taking a hug and the trophy from James. He did not seem too bothered at any rate.

“Look at Minnie”, Sirius laughed, pointing at their Transfiguration teacher and Head of House. She was visibly emotional as she and James held the trophy aloft, one hand holding onto the Quidditch Cup, and the other holding a tartan handkerchief that she was using to wipe her eyes.

“I always said she liked us more than she admitted! She’s going to miss Prongs next year - she won’t have a guaranteed Quidditch win!” Sirius continued.

Yes, one Quidditch Captain did remind him of another. Both had been absolutely devoted to their team, and determined to win. And both had done so. Deservedly. Glancing across to the opposite end of the stadium, Remus could see that Severus Snape was not at all amused at Slytherin’s defeat. He was looking at Harry with the same look of pure loathing that he reserved for Remus….that he had always reserved for the Marauders. Singling Harry out was unjust, thought Remus fairly. While Harry had caught the snitch, the Chasers had done an excellent job too, keeping the quaffle. Wood had stopped Slytherin from scoring - with more than a little help from the Weasley twins. It had been a team effort.

“Congratulations, Minerva”, said Remus warmly once the Gryffindor team had taken their trophy on a victory lap around the stadium. “A well deserved victory.”

“It was”, she sniffled. “I am proud of each and every one of them. Days like this, though, I seem to recall ALL of the Gryffindor victories I have seen.”

“I know what you mean”, said Remus sadly. “One obsessed, almost militant Quidditch Captain reminding you of another.”

“Ah. You recall one specific occasion, then”, she said astutely. “He was my most successful captain. I just wish I had told him at the time.”

“He knew”, Remus whispered as he turned to go out of the box.

And as much as he wanted to forget, he let his mind wander now, to reminisce. To try and think of the happy times at Hogwarts. To see James as purely the Quidditch Captain, rather than his friend. It didn’t work. And it took him a few moments to realise why: every memory he had of James featured Sirius in some way or another.

Ruined and tarnished them.

Back at the castle, Remus headed straight for the great hall; a late lunch was always served almost immediately after Quidditch matches. Sitting down beside Professor Sinistra, he watched a few disgruntled Slytherins, and huge swathes of Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws come in. The Gryffindor table was conspicuous only by its emptiness.

“Doubt they’ll be down for dinner either”, said Professor Sinistra shrewdly. “Probably for the best. I know most teachers don’t approve of the massive parties that are held after these matches - not the best advertisement for inter-house unity according to some - but in my mind it helps to prevent skirmishes breaking out between a few sore losers and some wand-happy winners!”

“I never thought of it that way”, said Remus thoughtfully. Perhaps these parties were for the best. In some ways. He remembered the occasions on which the Marauders had slipped some stronger refreshments than Butterbeer into the post-Quidditch parties, and thought perhaps it was best that he was not Head of Gryffindor.

“Ah well, I am just glad that it is not I that will have to go and send the Gryffindors to bed at midnight.” Evidently he was not the only one who was relieved that they were not a Head of House.

“And now, I need to return to my marking. The students may complain that there is an increase in the number of essays they have to complete at this time of year, but they do not stop to think that it means more work for us as well! Goodbye, Remus”, she said as she got up and left.

Remus was grateful that he was not overly hungry, as Severus Snape entered the hall just as he was getting up to leave. The two of them were still at loggerheads; the bad feeling on Severus’s side had not subsided following the Marauders Map incident, and Remus assumed that Severus’s mood would not be lightened at present by meeting a former Gryffindor.

“Professor Snape”, said Remus politely as he passed Severus part of the way down the hall.

“Lupin”, Snape sneered in acknowledgement.

Keen to avoid any kind of confrontation, Remus walked away, thinking vaguely that Professor Sinistra was on the right track, and that perhaps marking would be the best course of activity this afternoon; he had yet to mark revision essays on the Unforgivable Curses that he had taken in from his sixth year class the previous day.

He pored over the essays groaning.

‘The Unforgivable Curses are unforgivable because they are so horrible’, Remus read in one essay. ’They are harshly punished because of this. The Imperius Curse means people are forced to do things they do not want to do. The Cruciatus Curse causes lots of pain, and the Killing Curse does just that. It ends life.’

Who in Merlin’s name had written this?! Remus mused, wincing at the crudeness of the work. He took a look at the top of the parchment. Bryant Bole, one of the Slytherin Beaters. Obviously his mind had been on Quidditch rather than his homework when he had written this. Remus hated failing students, but sometimes it gave them the kick start they needed to improve………

Alternatively, he picked up the essay written by Ravenclaw Kyra Michaels, one of the smartest students in that class, in desperate need of something intelligent.

‘The Unforgivable Curses were banned by the Ministry of Magic because of their heinous consequences. The use of any one of them in present times will result in a life sentence in Azkaban. The Cruciatus Curse for example, causes extreme pain to anyone that it is used on, and excessive use can result in the loss of mental faculties for the victim/victims. While permanent disablement is only caused by continual use over a short period of time, even one instance of the curse’s use is enough to scar a person for life…….’

At least his classes were penetrating some minds.

As he came to the bottom of his pile, Remus noticed another piece of parchment, one that did not have an essay on the Unforgivable Curses written on it. He came close to saying the words. What harm would ten little words do?

“I solemnly swear that I am up to no good.”

But he could not utter them. As much as he wanted Sirius gone, and this nightmare over, he could not do it. What if he did see Sirius’s name on there? What could he tell Dumbledore? That he had had in his possession for two months something that could lead them to Black? And then he would have to explain everything. Once again his guilt won over his better sense. One betrayal of Dumbledore to cover the dozens from his schooldays when he and the Marauders roamed the grounds and the village each full moon. As much as Snape detested Remus for having been a Gryffindor while at school, he was now nothing more than a coward and in some ways guilty by default of hiding Sirius.

No, he would not look at the map now. He returned it to the drawer that he had placed him essays in. He would put it away again and try and fail to forget about it. For now.

The use of an Unforgivable Curse is enough to earn the perpetrator a one-way ticket to Azkaban. But in hiding the map he put away, and hiding a possible way of tracking Sirius out of his own personal guilt and shame, Remus wondered if he was committing an equally heinous crime.


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[MissGryffindor]

Chapter 34 - Time Flies By - Padfoot's POV

Padfoot paced the Clearing impatiently, waiting for the time he was meant to move towards the edge of the Forest to meet Ginger. He knew that this was a risky move, particularly