It Never Happened - Also a one-shot. I tried extending it, but I don't really know how that's going. It's a hypothetical ending to the series in which Harry's memory is erased and he goes back to living in the Muggle world after his defeat of Voldemort. (Written before the sixth book, hence the un-canon-ness.)
Masquerade - Another one-shot. Neville Longbottom meets ... someone at a masquerade ball.
Mice Scream - By far my favourite. It's my explanation to what happened in the year after the Marauders left Hogwarts. It didn't get a great response on the internet, though...
The Shrieking Shack - Also deals with the Marauders, only after the war is over. I think it says it all. Un-canon, as it was written before the seventh book.
Transformation - Remus Lupin's first transformation with the animagus marauders. Just a short little one-shot.
All material on this page is © J.K. Rowling and Aylia Caulwell. All of the following stories are based entirely on characters created by J.K. Rowling.
don’t say “no”
“You must come out to see him. He refuses to leave.”
“I won’t.”
Narcissa Black was a stubborn woman. Beautifully stubborn. She came from a proud family of purebloods and Slytherins. She wasn’t about to give in to a man just because he had power.
“He’s threatening to use blackmail.”
“We’ve already lost everything, Andromeda!” Narcissa spun around to face her sister. She was crying silently. They both were. “What more can he take from us? And you’re scared—”
Andromeda looked up.
“You’re scared that he’ll take more from us! He made ten months of my life not worth remembering.” Narcissa collapsed into the red armchair beside the fire.
“He can get the Ministry away from Father and Bellatrix.”
Narcissa looked up, her cold eyes puffy from the crying.
“I’m not presentable,” she said simply.
“He won’t care, Narcissa. He loves you.”
“If he loved me he would have let me alone. If he loved me, I wouldn’t have had to spend every moment I was with him worrying about if he was going to turn around and hit me because I wouldn’t—” She paused, struggling for words. “Because I wouldn’t let him touch me!”
“Think of Bellatrix. Think of Father, Narcissa. Do they mean nothing to you?”
“What about me?” Narcissa stood up, almost spilling the armchair into the fire behind her. “Don’t you care for my happiness? Don’t you care that he’ll beat me!”
“He won’t leave. At least talk to him.”
“And what? Waste another day of my life to his wretched self?”
“Narcissa…”
She looked over at Andromeda. Narcissa knew that Bellatrix and her father were in dire need of escape from the Ministry, and the man did have connections with the Minister for Magic.
But she could not do that. She could not bring herself to love him. Not even look at him after what he had done to her. His smug smile as he placed her hand on his crotch. His evilly glittering eyes as he touched her breasts, painfully squeezing them. She could remember all those nights like a nightmare pursuing a dreamer.
And yet, here stood Andromeda, her own sister, asking Narcissa to throw away her life for Bellatrix and Father because they had broken the law.
Damn them all.
She hated him.
But Andromeda’s eyes made her feet move reluctantly towards the door through which the bastard stood, waiting. How could he want to see her after what he had done to her? How could he look at her and not think of himself as a sinner?
Her trembling hand paused at the doorknob when she turned around for reassurance from Andromeda, finding only her back turned towards her.
Traitor.
Narcissa seethed with hatred for her sister.
For Lucius.
For her father and Bellatrix for getting themselves into this mess.
Damn them all.
And here she was, paying for the idiots.
With a deep breath, the heavy, mahogany door was slowly pushed open and Narcissa took a step inside, her proud head held high.
She was a Black, and he was nothing but a Malfoy.
Her cold eyes pierced him with a stunning gaze, but he did not flinch nor move. His white hair was tied back in a pony tail with a black ribbon and he looked down his nose at her as if she was something he craved to devour.
“Mr Malfoy,” she said, with an expression on her face as if there were something very disgusting under her nose.
“Have a seat, Narcissa,” he said.
How she loathed him.
“I’m fine standing, thank you.”
“Suit yourself.”
There was a pause before Narcissa took a seat, feeling very silly. “What is it you want, Mr Malfoy?”
“I think you know exactly what I want, Narcissa.” He walked over towards her with slow, strong, confident strides, smiling his stupid smile more smugly than ever. “I can get the Ministry away from your father and your sister. All I ask for…” He paused for effect.
She looked away from her hands up at him.
“Is you.”
She licked her dry lips nervously. There were so many things she wished to say to him.
How dare you show me your face again?
I hate you more than my father hates the Ministry.
A Dementor cannot bring me such pain as you have.
Or perhaps she could scratch out his stupid gray eyes.
But instead, she bowed her head and nodded, tears streaming down on her face.
Lucius Malfoy got down on one knee and opened a small black velvet box which encased a diamond ring bigger than she had ever seen.
“Narcissa Black, will you marry me?”
“You must come out to see him. He refuses to leave.”
“I won’t.”
Narcissa Black was a stubborn woman. Beautifully stubborn. She came from a proud family of purebloods and Slytherins. She wasn’t about to give in to a man just because he had power.
“He’s threatening to use blackmail.”
“We’ve already lost everything, Andromeda!” Narcissa spun around to face her sister. She was crying silently. They both were. “What more can he take from us? And you’re scared—”
Andromeda looked up.
“You’re scared that he’ll take more from us! He made ten months of my life not worth remembering.” Narcissa collapsed into the red armchair beside the fire.
“He can get the Ministry away from Father and Bellatrix.”
Narcissa looked up, her cold eyes puffy from the crying.
“I’m not presentable,” she said simply.
“He won’t care, Narcissa. He loves you.”
“If he loved me he would have let me alone. If he loved me, I wouldn’t have had to spend every moment I was with him worrying about if he was going to turn around and hit me because I wouldn’t—” She paused, struggling for words. “Because I wouldn’t let him touch me!”
“Think of Bellatrix. Think of Father, Narcissa. Do they mean nothing to you?”
“What about me?” Narcissa stood up, almost spilling the armchair into the fire behind her. “Don’t you care for my happiness? Don’t you care that he’ll beat me!”
“He won’t leave. At least talk to him.”
“And what? Waste another day of my life to his wretched self?”
“Narcissa…”
She looked over at Andromeda. Narcissa knew that Bellatrix and her father were in dire need of escape from the Ministry, and the man did have connections with the Minister for Magic.
But she could not do that. She could not bring herself to love him. Not even look at him after what he had done to her. His smug smile as he placed her hand on his crotch. His evilly glittering eyes as he touched her breasts, painfully squeezing them. She could remember all those nights like a nightmare pursuing a dreamer.
And yet, here stood Andromeda, her own sister, asking Narcissa to throw away her life for Bellatrix and Father because they had broken the law.
Damn them all.
She hated him.
But Andromeda’s eyes made her feet move reluctantly towards the door through which the bastard stood, waiting. How could he want to see her after what he had done to her? How could he look at her and not think of himself as a sinner?
Her trembling hand paused at the doorknob when she turned around for reassurance from Andromeda, finding only her back turned towards her.
Traitor.
Narcissa seethed with hatred for her sister.
For Lucius.
For her father and Bellatrix for getting themselves into this mess.
Damn them all.
And here she was, paying for the idiots.
With a deep breath, the heavy, mahogany door was slowly pushed open and Narcissa took a step inside, her proud head held high.
She was a Black, and he was nothing but a Malfoy.
Her cold eyes pierced him with a stunning gaze, but he did not flinch nor move. His white hair was tied back in a pony tail with a black ribbon and he looked down his nose at her as if she was something he craved to devour.
“Mr Malfoy,” she said, with an expression on her face as if there were something very disgusting under her nose.
“Have a seat, Narcissa,” he said.
How she loathed him.
“I’m fine standing, thank you.”
“Suit yourself.”
There was a pause before Narcissa took a seat, feeling very silly. “What is it you want, Mr Malfoy?”
“I think you know exactly what I want, Narcissa.” He walked over towards her with slow, strong, confident strides, smiling his stupid smile more smugly than ever. “I can get the Ministry away from your father and your sister. All I ask for…” He paused for effect.
She looked away from her hands up at him.
“Is you.”
She licked her dry lips nervously. There were so many things she wished to say to him.
How dare you show me your face again?
I hate you more than my father hates the Ministry.
A Dementor cannot bring me such pain as you have.
Or perhaps she could scratch out his stupid gray eyes.
But instead, she bowed her head and nodded, tears streaming down on her face.
Lucius Malfoy got down on one knee and opened a small black velvet box which encased a diamond ring bigger than she had ever seen.
“Narcissa Black, will you marry me?”
it never happened
There was a blinding green flash and Harry’s shaking hand fell to his side, limp, his wand trembling violently before it clattered onto the floor. He could hear voices. Faint, distant voices. They were speaking familiar sounds in familiar tones. They sounded worried, but he couldn’t understand them.
The green light was still there, fading, a little star in the infinite blackness around him.
It looked familiar, too, somehow.
As if he had seen it in a dream long ago…
In desperation, Harry got up. Trying to remember it would be like trying to remember every dream he had had for the past seven years. He had been sent to a plethora of psychiatrists to examine him, his sleep patterns, his R.E.M., to see if there was a possible explanation for these dreams which had started so abruptly on his eleventh birthday.
No one could give him and his family an answer.
They were just as confused by it as he was.
Finally admitting defeat, Harry had done his best to try to ignore the dreams. The strangest thing about them, though, was that they seemed to succeed each other, one chapter in a story following the last. And they had been so vivid when he had had them. Whole characters created out of his subconscious. More specifically, Harry could remember someone named Ron. There had been a Ron and he was always with Harry. Red hair, very tall. He was the most distinct memory. There had been a girl in almost every dream, as well. A very long name, Hermione. And a castle…
And magic…
There had been magic.
Ever since Harry had been a very little boy living with his aunt and uncle in Surrey, he had always hoped that there was possibly another world out there, one filled to the brim with magic. But when he had turned eleven, he had been sent to an orphanage and then his new family had adopted him.
They seemed scared at first. Scared of Harry.
But the years passed and he had won their confidence. Harry didn’t know why they had chosen him if they really were as scared as they had seemed, but he had never asked them.
Abandoning all reminiscence, Harry pushed his glasses onto his nose and went down the stairs, following the smell of waffles wafting from the kitchen.
“Is it possible he will ever remember, Albus?”
“There’s always a chance, Minerva. Always a chance.”
The two professors walked down the Muggle road. Had anyone kept watching, they would have seen the silver man disappear, and a stiff tabby cat replace the spectacled woman.
Harry Potter’s life was finished changing.
Ron folded the parchment and carefully slipped it into an envelope. He sealed it haphazardly with some red wax and placed the Gryffindor weight he had gotten for graduation into it, sealing the letter that would never be read with a finality none could ignore.
In that envelope which Ron slid under his mattress was a recollection of the adventures Harry and Ron had shared. Memories, nothing particular. That one time they got locked in the girl’s bathroom for an hour and were forty-five minutes late to transfigurations, for example. And a picture Ron had taken of the two of them after a spectacular Quidditch victory against Slytherin in sixth year.
Nothing special.
“When it’s time,” said Ron quietly to himself. “I’ll let him remember me.”
There was a blinding green flash and Harry’s shaking hand fell to his side, limp, his wand trembling violently before it clattered onto the floor. He could hear voices. Faint, distant voices. They were speaking familiar sounds in familiar tones. They sounded worried, but he couldn’t understand them.
The green light was still there, fading, a little star in the infinite blackness around him.
It looked familiar, too, somehow.
As if he had seen it in a dream long ago…
*
Harry Potter woke up with a start to the voice of
his mother after a long, disturbing dream. He closed his eyes, sitting
up in bed, trying to remember the details. There had been someone …
someone he hated. Many people he hated, all crowding around him in a
dark room. In desperation, Harry got up. Trying to remember it would be like trying to remember every dream he had had for the past seven years. He had been sent to a plethora of psychiatrists to examine him, his sleep patterns, his R.E.M., to see if there was a possible explanation for these dreams which had started so abruptly on his eleventh birthday.
No one could give him and his family an answer.
They were just as confused by it as he was.
Finally admitting defeat, Harry had done his best to try to ignore the dreams. The strangest thing about them, though, was that they seemed to succeed each other, one chapter in a story following the last. And they had been so vivid when he had had them. Whole characters created out of his subconscious. More specifically, Harry could remember someone named Ron. There had been a Ron and he was always with Harry. Red hair, very tall. He was the most distinct memory. There had been a girl in almost every dream, as well. A very long name, Hermione. And a castle…
And magic…
There had been magic.
Ever since Harry had been a very little boy living with his aunt and uncle in Surrey, he had always hoped that there was possibly another world out there, one filled to the brim with magic. But when he had turned eleven, he had been sent to an orphanage and then his new family had adopted him.
They seemed scared at first. Scared of Harry.
But the years passed and he had won their confidence. Harry didn’t know why they had chosen him if they really were as scared as they had seemed, but he had never asked them.
Abandoning all reminiscence, Harry pushed his glasses onto his nose and went down the stairs, following the smell of waffles wafting from the kitchen.
*
Albus Dumbledore and Minerva McGonagall walked away
from the Muggle home in which they had just deposited Harry Potter, the
Boy-Who-Lived. It was unsettlingly similar to the circumstances
seventeen years ago. Harry had just defeated Voldemort, as he had
seventeen years ago, he had just been dropped off in some Muggle home,
as he had been seventeen years ago, but this time, his memory was gone.
To him, the past seven years of his life were folded into a dream and
arranged behind a series of lies he naively believed. True, he resisted
to most mind-altering spells, but Dumbledore was finally able to do it.
“Is it possible he will ever remember, Albus?”
“There’s always a chance, Minerva. Always a chance.”
The two professors walked down the Muggle road. Had anyone kept watching, they would have seen the silver man disappear, and a stiff tabby cat replace the spectacled woman.
*
Ron Weasley blew gently on the wet ink carefully
penned on the parchment. He read and reread his letter to his old best
friend, knowing that Harry would never get a chance to read it. He was
a Muggle, now. A legend in the wizarding world, his, Ron’s world. But
in his own mind, Harry was just a Muggle, and this time, there would be
no Hagrid to rescue him, no Hogwarts Express to take him away to a
magical place where his life would change forever.Harry Potter’s life was finished changing.
Ron folded the parchment and carefully slipped it into an envelope. He sealed it haphazardly with some red wax and placed the Gryffindor weight he had gotten for graduation into it, sealing the letter that would never be read with a finality none could ignore.
In that envelope which Ron slid under his mattress was a recollection of the adventures Harry and Ron had shared. Memories, nothing particular. That one time they got locked in the girl’s bathroom for an hour and were forty-five minutes late to transfigurations, for example. And a picture Ron had taken of the two of them after a spectacular Quidditch victory against Slytherin in sixth year.
Nothing special.
“When it’s time,” said Ron quietly to himself. “I’ll let him remember me.”
masquerade
It was a masquerade, an event dedicated to deceit, the point of which to lure you to dance and interact with someone of whose appearance you knew nothing of, thanks only to the mask that was required to be worn along with all costumes.
Neville Longbottom had decided to dress as Batman, a Muggle who had no super powers, but through sheer will power, became a legend, a hero. And it was convenient, as the costume was already equipped with a mask, designed to give the wearer a bat-like appearance. Neville had always liked Batman. If Bruce Wayne could become a super hero, so could he.
The costume he had gotten was a bit loose, but Hermione Granger, a fellow Gryffindor seventh year, had arranged it to fit him better.
Fifteen minutes before he was to go down to the Great Hall, where the ball was to take place, he observed himself in the mirror. He shared a room with four other boys, Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, Seamus Finnigan, and Dean Thomas, all of whom had dates.
Neville did not.
He was going for the sole purpose of pleasing his Grandmother, who might perhaps let up on his romantic and social life were he to attend a ball.
Neville’s four roommates were all chatting merrily. Each one had dressed in simple, yet extravagant dress robes, and wore simple black masks that were tied behind their heads. He felt a little foolish in his plastic black costume with an eight-pack chest built in and various bat accessories scattered around his utility belt. Taking a deep breath, he adjusted his helmet and walked out of the dormitory before the rest of his roommates had a chance. An assortment of girls in big dresses were all waiting at the bottom of the staircases in the common room, giggling and gossiping amongst themselves. Neville did his best to ignore them and just walk past, but he couldn’t help but sense a few girls follow him out of the common room. He thought he even heard one girl say to her friend, “Who’s that? You think he’ll dance with me at the ball?”
And as he climbed out of the portrait hole, Neville swelled with pride. He shouldn’t feel ridiculous… he should feel prideful.
Tonight, he was Batman.
As he walked to the Great Hall amongst all the happy, masked couples, the only teasing he received was from a group of Slytherins.
The Great Hall was spectacularly decorated. In fact, it was hardly recognizable. The five long tables usually set out for meals had disappeared and been replaced by a wide dance floor, upon which one or two early, lone couples danced to their own music. Along the edges were blue chairs for people to sit and wait for a dance. There was a shorter table at the other end on which drinks and snacks stood. Instead of magically floating candles to illuminate it, there was a giant ball filled with what appeared to be faeries, revolving near the top of the ceiling, enchanted to look like the starry night sky outside. But the most eye-catching and breathtaking of the decorations were two staircases on either side of the Great Hall, leading up to a balcony which had been added for the masquerade. Gold statues decorated the lengths of it, very regal looking with the red carpet all down the steps.
More people began to filter in, followed by “ooh”s and “aah”s. As some of them cleared from before Neville, he couldn’t help but notice a girl sitting in one of the blue chairs. She blended in very well. Her dress was the same colour light blue. She had a silver belt across it with a blue stone embedded into it. A closer look told Neville it was a sapphire. Her mask was white with three black feathers emerging from the middle of it. Her blonde hair was pulled back into a delicately intricate bun, with a few curled strands falling about her face. She didn’t notice Neville starring at her for a few moments before she turned her head and looked directly at him. Her eyes seemed surprised behind her mask. They were a protuberant hazel colour.
“Hello,” she said to him.
He walked over to her, his confidence at a peeking level thanks only to his costume.
“Are you Batman?” she asked him.
He nodded.
“I like him, too. He gives the rest of us hope.”
Neville’s heart skipped. “Exactly!” he said. “Um… would you like to dance?”
“Sure,” she said.
He held out his gloved hand to the girl, and she took it. Standing up, it became obvious that her dress was much larger than it seemed to be. It fit her bodice in a flattering manner, but the bottom of it fanned out, leaving a trail of about four feet behind her.
“I like this song,” she said, as a slow song came on.
Neville held out his hand and she took it. He carefully placed his other hand on her waist and she put hers on his shoulder.
“This- this is nice,” he said awkwardly, having never danced with a girl before.
“Will you kiss me, Neville Longbottom?” said the girl.
And slowly, very slowly, she raised her face up to his, and, like in a dream, their lips met, Batman and the Lady of the Lake.
As soon as she pulled away, and as soon as Neville was able to regain control of his tongue, he croaked the question burning within him. “Who are you?”
It was a masquerade, an event dedicated to deceit, the point of which to lure you to dance and interact with someone of whose appearance you knew nothing of, thanks only to the mask that was required to be worn along with all costumes.
Neville Longbottom had decided to dress as Batman, a Muggle who had no super powers, but through sheer will power, became a legend, a hero. And it was convenient, as the costume was already equipped with a mask, designed to give the wearer a bat-like appearance. Neville had always liked Batman. If Bruce Wayne could become a super hero, so could he.
The costume he had gotten was a bit loose, but Hermione Granger, a fellow Gryffindor seventh year, had arranged it to fit him better.
Fifteen minutes before he was to go down to the Great Hall, where the ball was to take place, he observed himself in the mirror. He shared a room with four other boys, Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, Seamus Finnigan, and Dean Thomas, all of whom had dates.
Neville did not.
He was going for the sole purpose of pleasing his Grandmother, who might perhaps let up on his romantic and social life were he to attend a ball.
Neville’s four roommates were all chatting merrily. Each one had dressed in simple, yet extravagant dress robes, and wore simple black masks that were tied behind their heads. He felt a little foolish in his plastic black costume with an eight-pack chest built in and various bat accessories scattered around his utility belt. Taking a deep breath, he adjusted his helmet and walked out of the dormitory before the rest of his roommates had a chance. An assortment of girls in big dresses were all waiting at the bottom of the staircases in the common room, giggling and gossiping amongst themselves. Neville did his best to ignore them and just walk past, but he couldn’t help but sense a few girls follow him out of the common room. He thought he even heard one girl say to her friend, “Who’s that? You think he’ll dance with me at the ball?”
And as he climbed out of the portrait hole, Neville swelled with pride. He shouldn’t feel ridiculous… he should feel prideful.
Tonight, he was Batman.
As he walked to the Great Hall amongst all the happy, masked couples, the only teasing he received was from a group of Slytherins.
The Great Hall was spectacularly decorated. In fact, it was hardly recognizable. The five long tables usually set out for meals had disappeared and been replaced by a wide dance floor, upon which one or two early, lone couples danced to their own music. Along the edges were blue chairs for people to sit and wait for a dance. There was a shorter table at the other end on which drinks and snacks stood. Instead of magically floating candles to illuminate it, there was a giant ball filled with what appeared to be faeries, revolving near the top of the ceiling, enchanted to look like the starry night sky outside. But the most eye-catching and breathtaking of the decorations were two staircases on either side of the Great Hall, leading up to a balcony which had been added for the masquerade. Gold statues decorated the lengths of it, very regal looking with the red carpet all down the steps.
More people began to filter in, followed by “ooh”s and “aah”s. As some of them cleared from before Neville, he couldn’t help but notice a girl sitting in one of the blue chairs. She blended in very well. Her dress was the same colour light blue. She had a silver belt across it with a blue stone embedded into it. A closer look told Neville it was a sapphire. Her mask was white with three black feathers emerging from the middle of it. Her blonde hair was pulled back into a delicately intricate bun, with a few curled strands falling about her face. She didn’t notice Neville starring at her for a few moments before she turned her head and looked directly at him. Her eyes seemed surprised behind her mask. They were a protuberant hazel colour.
“Hello,” she said to him.
He walked over to her, his confidence at a peeking level thanks only to his costume.
“Are you Batman?” she asked him.
He nodded.
“I like him, too. He gives the rest of us hope.”
Neville’s heart skipped. “Exactly!” he said. “Um… would you like to dance?”
“Sure,” she said.
He held out his gloved hand to the girl, and she took it. Standing up, it became obvious that her dress was much larger than it seemed to be. It fit her bodice in a flattering manner, but the bottom of it fanned out, leaving a trail of about four feet behind her.
“I like this song,” she said, as a slow song came on.
Neville held out his hand and she took it. He carefully placed his other hand on her waist and she put hers on his shoulder.
“This- this is nice,” he said awkwardly, having never danced with a girl before.
“Will you kiss me, Neville Longbottom?” said the girl.
And slowly, very slowly, she raised her face up to his, and, like in a dream, their lips met, Batman and the Lady of the Lake.
As soon as she pulled away, and as soon as Neville was able to regain control of his tongue, he croaked the question burning within him. “Who are you?”
mice scream
“Hey, Pete. You gonna finish that?” asked Sirius Black, stretching, and eyeing Peter Pettigrew’s uneaten Mice Scream.
Peter looked absentmindedly over at Sirius, and smiled, shaking his head. Remus Lupin and James Potter both looked worriedly over at Peter from the other side of the table, noticing that his grin didn’t reach his eyes as Sirius gobbled down the Mice Scream in just under five seconds.
“You OK, Peter?” said Remus.
“Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine,” said Peter, looking down at his hands as if a Muggle movie show was taking place on his palm. “Just, um … a headache is all. It’ll go away.”
Remus nodded slowly, not quite believing his friend.
“Well,” said James, clapping his hands down on his knees. “Best be off. Lily’ll get mad if I’m late tonight. It’s our anniversary tomorrow.” James grinned excitedly, standing up. “You all know what that means,” he said, slapping Sirius on the back in a friendly manner and laughing heartily.
Remus stifled a yawn and said, “Yeah, I should get going, too. Got an Order assignment tomorrow morning.”
“What are you doing?” asked James, one arm in his jacket, and fumbling for the other one.
“Oh, you know. The usual. Check ups on the stations, probably a little research on the last names that came up.”
“Wonder why Dumbledore didn’t call me,” thought James out loud.
Sirius stood up stiffly. “Probably knew it was your and Lily’s anniversary and wanted to give you the night off.”
“You going, too?”
Sirius nodded.
James looked at Peter expectantly, feeling somewhat helpless.
Peter grinned sheepishly.
“Well, I’ll see you all in a couple of days, then.” James headed for the door and Remus called after him.
“Say ‘hi’ to Lily for me!”
James held up his hand in acknowledgment and the door shut behind him as he left the Rum and Monkey Pub.
“Right, then mates,” said Remus. “You guys leaving soon, too?”
Sirius and Peter nodded.
“See you tomorrow morning then, bright and bloody early.”
“Not a night owl, I see, Moony?”
Remus shot Sirius a menacing glare. “Full moon in two days.”
Sirius looked humble as Remus left the pub with a final wave “good-bye” and Peter got up to leave too.
“Hey, Peter,” said Sirius, getting up after Peter. “I actually wanted to talk to you.”
“What’s up, Padfoot?” said Peter, sounding remarkably like James.
“You just, well, you seem out of it, lately, and – I just – wanted to make sure you – you’re alright.” Sirius ended somewhat lamely, obviously uncomfortable.
“Sirius,” said Peter in an uncharacteristically confident manner. “I’m fine.”
Sirius raised an eyebrow in doubt, but slapped Peter’s shoulder and left the pub, leaving Peter behind, still starring blankly at where Sirius had just been standing.
It was true that something had been bothering him. He had received dozens of owls from anonymous blackmailers, threatening to reveal his unregistered animagus abilities if he didn’t join them. The Death Eaters.
Threatening to hurt his friends.
Threatening to kill them.
He couldn’t see a life without Remus …
… without Sirius …
… without James …
The Marauders were what was important to him. He collapsed into the chair beneath him, his hand loosely clutching his bottle of Butterbeer. He would soon need something stronger. Much stronger; a Firewhisky, for example.
His thoughts, however, were interrupted by a small pop and a dark hooded figure suddenly appeared before him. Peter sat bolt upright, completely at attention. “The time for your decision, Pettigrew,” said the hooded figure.
“I’ll never join you,” said Peter timidly, looking down.
He was a Gryffindor.
He wouldn’t give in to simple threats.
“Have you forgotten our last letter?” said the figure in a voice that made Peter want to lunge out at him, but he restrained himself.
He was a Gryffindor.
Not stupid.
“No,” said Peter simply, his grip on the bottle tightening.
A slight twitch of the Death Eater’s hand and an image of James, Sirius and Remus appeared, all of them laughing. Peter’s hand inched towards it longingly.
The pub was starting to empty. It was almost midnight.
As Peter’s stubby fingers closed in around the edge of the picture, however, it disappeared and the Death Eater laughed.
“The Dark Lord is powerful, Pettigrew. He doesn’t have patience. If we don’t come back with a new recruit, you, I can assure you—” The Death Eater leaned in menacingly. “—he will come down and personally attend to your little friends.”
Tears started building up in his already watery eyes.
Why did they want him? It was because he was the weakest link, the flaw in the Order of the Phoenix. Each and every Auror in the Order had been as carefully chosen as the disciples of Christ, and Peter had only been accepted through the help and mentoring of his friends, and here he was.
Crying.
Failing.
Losing.
No.
He was a Gryffindor.
He was a bloody Gryffindor.
The Death Eater gripped his arm and a searing pain shot through Peter, like iron. The pub was empty. The bartender was already in the back, closing up. The hooded man’s wand was pointed at Peter.
He knew what was coming next.
“Crucio!” shouted the man.
He didn’t know how long the pain lasted, but when it had subsided, he was only vaguely aware of the Dark Mark burned into his skin …
… and the fact that he had asked for the tattoo himself.
“Hey, Pete. You gonna finish that?” asked Sirius Black, stretching, and eyeing Peter Pettigrew’s uneaten Mice Scream.
Peter looked absentmindedly over at Sirius, and smiled, shaking his head. Remus Lupin and James Potter both looked worriedly over at Peter from the other side of the table, noticing that his grin didn’t reach his eyes as Sirius gobbled down the Mice Scream in just under five seconds.
“You OK, Peter?” said Remus.
“Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine,” said Peter, looking down at his hands as if a Muggle movie show was taking place on his palm. “Just, um … a headache is all. It’ll go away.”
Remus nodded slowly, not quite believing his friend.
“Well,” said James, clapping his hands down on his knees. “Best be off. Lily’ll get mad if I’m late tonight. It’s our anniversary tomorrow.” James grinned excitedly, standing up. “You all know what that means,” he said, slapping Sirius on the back in a friendly manner and laughing heartily.
Remus stifled a yawn and said, “Yeah, I should get going, too. Got an Order assignment tomorrow morning.”
“What are you doing?” asked James, one arm in his jacket, and fumbling for the other one.
“Oh, you know. The usual. Check ups on the stations, probably a little research on the last names that came up.”
“Wonder why Dumbledore didn’t call me,” thought James out loud.
Sirius stood up stiffly. “Probably knew it was your and Lily’s anniversary and wanted to give you the night off.”
“You going, too?”
Sirius nodded.
James looked at Peter expectantly, feeling somewhat helpless.
Peter grinned sheepishly.
“Well, I’ll see you all in a couple of days, then.” James headed for the door and Remus called after him.
“Say ‘hi’ to Lily for me!”
James held up his hand in acknowledgment and the door shut behind him as he left the Rum and Monkey Pub.
“Right, then mates,” said Remus. “You guys leaving soon, too?”
Sirius and Peter nodded.
“See you tomorrow morning then, bright and bloody early.”
“Not a night owl, I see, Moony?”
Remus shot Sirius a menacing glare. “Full moon in two days.”
Sirius looked humble as Remus left the pub with a final wave “good-bye” and Peter got up to leave too.
“Hey, Peter,” said Sirius, getting up after Peter. “I actually wanted to talk to you.”
“What’s up, Padfoot?” said Peter, sounding remarkably like James.
“You just, well, you seem out of it, lately, and – I just – wanted to make sure you – you’re alright.” Sirius ended somewhat lamely, obviously uncomfortable.
“Sirius,” said Peter in an uncharacteristically confident manner. “I’m fine.”
Sirius raised an eyebrow in doubt, but slapped Peter’s shoulder and left the pub, leaving Peter behind, still starring blankly at where Sirius had just been standing.
It was true that something had been bothering him. He had received dozens of owls from anonymous blackmailers, threatening to reveal his unregistered animagus abilities if he didn’t join them. The Death Eaters.
Threatening to hurt his friends.
Threatening to kill them.
He couldn’t see a life without Remus …
… without Sirius …
… without James …
The Marauders were what was important to him. He collapsed into the chair beneath him, his hand loosely clutching his bottle of Butterbeer. He would soon need something stronger. Much stronger; a Firewhisky, for example.
His thoughts, however, were interrupted by a small pop and a dark hooded figure suddenly appeared before him. Peter sat bolt upright, completely at attention. “The time for your decision, Pettigrew,” said the hooded figure.
“I’ll never join you,” said Peter timidly, looking down.
He was a Gryffindor.
He wouldn’t give in to simple threats.
“Have you forgotten our last letter?” said the figure in a voice that made Peter want to lunge out at him, but he restrained himself.
He was a Gryffindor.
Not stupid.
“No,” said Peter simply, his grip on the bottle tightening.
A slight twitch of the Death Eater’s hand and an image of James, Sirius and Remus appeared, all of them laughing. Peter’s hand inched towards it longingly.
The pub was starting to empty. It was almost midnight.
As Peter’s stubby fingers closed in around the edge of the picture, however, it disappeared and the Death Eater laughed.
“The Dark Lord is powerful, Pettigrew. He doesn’t have patience. If we don’t come back with a new recruit, you, I can assure you—” The Death Eater leaned in menacingly. “—he will come down and personally attend to your little friends.”
Tears started building up in his already watery eyes.
Why did they want him? It was because he was the weakest link, the flaw in the Order of the Phoenix. Each and every Auror in the Order had been as carefully chosen as the disciples of Christ, and Peter had only been accepted through the help and mentoring of his friends, and here he was.
Crying.
Failing.
Losing.
No.
He was a Gryffindor.
He was a bloody Gryffindor.
The Death Eater gripped his arm and a searing pain shot through Peter, like iron. The pub was empty. The bartender was already in the back, closing up. The hooded man’s wand was pointed at Peter.
He knew what was coming next.
“Crucio!” shouted the man.
He didn’t know how long the pain lasted, but when it had subsided, he was only vaguely aware of the Dark Mark burned into his skin …
… and the fact that he had asked for the tattoo himself.
the shrieking shack
“You’ve changed, Peter.”
“Remus, please! You don’t want to do this.”
“You are quite mistaken, Wormtail.” But the quiver of fear in Remus Lupin’s voice gave him away to the quaking creature before him.
Lupin was in a state. His hair had grayed significantly since the end of the war. All he had known was gone, and his last link to his innocent childhood, his last memory, was kneeling before him, begging for mercy, like a coward.
“You are no Gryffindor,” he said under his breath. “James and Sirius would not be proud. Do you know what they would say, Peter? Tell me what they would say.”
“Remus, please—”
“TELL ME WHAT THEY WOULD SAY!” screamed Lupin, taking a small step forward. Peter crumbled in fear.
“I- I don’t know.”
“No,” said Lupin, burning bright tears threatening to fall from his old eyes. “You wouldn’t know, would you? You abandoned them. You gave James out and the last time you saw Sirius … that must have been the Shrieking Shack, this very same house. How long ago now? Eight? Nine years?”
Peter was now trembling so violently, Lupin could not tell if his movement had been a nod, or simply a tremor.
“I’ll tell you what they would have said, Peter.” Lupin took a deep shaky breath, and in a small voice, so very much like the one he had once owned when he was carefree with his three best friends back at Hogwarts, he said, “They would look down on you and say, ‘Get up, Peter. It’ll take a while to get over this, but we know you didn’t mean it.’”
Peter gave a small squeal, barely audible.
“You know the difference between them and me, Wormtail?” Lupin raised his wand until it was pointing in between Peter Pettigrew’s watery eyes.
“Remus—”
“I know you did mean it,” he whispered, in a menacing voice.
“Remus, my old friend—”
“Do not call me that.”
“Moony—” cried Peter desperately.
Lupin’s eyes widened for a split second. “No one has called me that for many years.”
A small smile, perhaps of victory, began to creep onto Peter’s face, but before Lupin noticed, the words came flying out of his mouth. The same words that had killed his best friend on Hallowe’en so many years ago.
“Avada Kedavra!”
Peter Pettigrew was dead before he hit the ground, his eyes open, and his mouth barely cradling the hint of a grin.
Lupin’s eyes faded in and out of focus. This house brought back so many memories. Too many memories. Those full moons when he had come here with the dead man at his feet along with James and Sirius. They were all gone now. He was the last one left.
Moony was all that was left of the Marauders.
One by one, they had died. Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs. Counting backwards, his life had been erased. His wand fell from his limp hand to the dusty floor of the Shrieking Shack and he fell to his knees.
Peter’s body faded in and out of view, and Lupin couldn’t help but notice a dusty piece of what looked like parchment, protruding from underneath the man.
Slowly, with trembling fingers, Lupin pulled it out from Peter with a noise that reverberated uncomfortably in the empty ruins. He unfolded the dusty parchment slowly, afraid to rip it.
It looked familiar.
And with a surge of dread, Lupin realized what it was.
He picked up his wand and pointed it at the parchment.
“I solemnly swear…” he began.
“You’ve changed, Peter.”
“Remus, please! You don’t want to do this.”
“You are quite mistaken, Wormtail.” But the quiver of fear in Remus Lupin’s voice gave him away to the quaking creature before him.
Lupin was in a state. His hair had grayed significantly since the end of the war. All he had known was gone, and his last link to his innocent childhood, his last memory, was kneeling before him, begging for mercy, like a coward.
“You are no Gryffindor,” he said under his breath. “James and Sirius would not be proud. Do you know what they would say, Peter? Tell me what they would say.”
“Remus, please—”
“TELL ME WHAT THEY WOULD SAY!” screamed Lupin, taking a small step forward. Peter crumbled in fear.
“I- I don’t know.”
“No,” said Lupin, burning bright tears threatening to fall from his old eyes. “You wouldn’t know, would you? You abandoned them. You gave James out and the last time you saw Sirius … that must have been the Shrieking Shack, this very same house. How long ago now? Eight? Nine years?”
Peter was now trembling so violently, Lupin could not tell if his movement had been a nod, or simply a tremor.
“I’ll tell you what they would have said, Peter.” Lupin took a deep shaky breath, and in a small voice, so very much like the one he had once owned when he was carefree with his three best friends back at Hogwarts, he said, “They would look down on you and say, ‘Get up, Peter. It’ll take a while to get over this, but we know you didn’t mean it.’”
Peter gave a small squeal, barely audible.
“You know the difference between them and me, Wormtail?” Lupin raised his wand until it was pointing in between Peter Pettigrew’s watery eyes.
“Remus—”
“I know you did mean it,” he whispered, in a menacing voice.
“Remus, my old friend—”
“Do not call me that.”
“Moony—” cried Peter desperately.
Lupin’s eyes widened for a split second. “No one has called me that for many years.”
A small smile, perhaps of victory, began to creep onto Peter’s face, but before Lupin noticed, the words came flying out of his mouth. The same words that had killed his best friend on Hallowe’en so many years ago.
“Avada Kedavra!”
Peter Pettigrew was dead before he hit the ground, his eyes open, and his mouth barely cradling the hint of a grin.
Lupin’s eyes faded in and out of focus. This house brought back so many memories. Too many memories. Those full moons when he had come here with the dead man at his feet along with James and Sirius. They were all gone now. He was the last one left.
Moony was all that was left of the Marauders.
One by one, they had died. Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs. Counting backwards, his life had been erased. His wand fell from his limp hand to the dusty floor of the Shrieking Shack and he fell to his knees.
Peter’s body faded in and out of view, and Lupin couldn’t help but notice a dusty piece of what looked like parchment, protruding from underneath the man.
Slowly, with trembling fingers, Lupin pulled it out from Peter with a noise that reverberated uncomfortably in the empty ruins. He unfolded the dusty parchment slowly, afraid to rip it.
It looked familiar.
And with a surge of dread, Lupin realized what it was.
He picked up his wand and pointed it at the parchment.
“I solemnly swear…” he began.
transformation
He could feel it coming, that familiar pain in his body, echoing from the night eight years ago, when he had been bitten by the cursed beast, but it was still just as painful. Exactly how he remembered it.
The teeth…
The blood…
The moon…
His body was trembling, involuntarily convulsing. A poison was coursing through his body, releasing the creature that had consumed him, that night, so long ago.
“No…” he mumbled. He didn’t want to transform, but the full moon above him was eerily looming, mocking him as he lay on all fours, panting.
His eyes were glowing yellow, his nose elongating with fangs rudely protruding from his jaws, his back stretched and arched, his arms and legs extending, unretractable, deathly claws replacing his old, friendly fingers. He could feel his senses increase threefold, his human instincts fade away, the wolf taking over. Fur sprung out all over his body, replacing the clothes he had sported, his wizard robes a mere human memory, completely unimportant to the carnivore.
Remus Lupin no longer was.
He had been completely devoured by the wolf within him.
But a growl to his right made the wolf spring around, and he found himself face to face with a big, shaggy black dog, his jowls quivering. The wolf tilted his head in curiosity. Beside the dog was a beautiful white stag, almost radiating a silver heat, and on the other side, a rat, no larger than a small loaf of bread.
They were all starring directly at the wolf, attentive, ready for anything.
The wolf took a small step to the right, and the animals all followed, mirroring him exactly. He set his paw down in front of him, and the three animals all touched their hind legs to the ground behind them.
They obviously knew the wolf, but he couldn’t remember them.
Nor did he care.
The wolf was hungry.
But no food seemed to be around him. He was in a falling apart house, the windows boarded up with wood that had scratches on it. But the scent…
The scent…
There were humans somewhere…
Somewhere close…
The wolf ran towards the window and started scratching and sniffing, when a sharp thing poked him hard in the back.
Turning around angrily, the wolf could see a defiant stag stare him straight in the eyes, daring him to try to escape. But the stag could not understand, there were humans outside! There were humans, filled with blood and meat and covered in flesh…
The wolf ignored the threat and returned to the window, scratching at the wood, desperately, whimpering. Growling, he continued to scratch when a familiar sharp thing prodded him again in the middle of his back. Springing around, the wolf crouched on all fours, his shoulder blades accented through his thick coat of fur.
The stag, however, did not move. He continued looking at the wolf, but his expression significantly changed. It seemed to say, Remember… Please, don’t do this.
But this meant nothing to the wolf.
He growled again, flaunting his teeth. The stag lowered his head, showing off his beautiful head of racks, and the dog and rat came to stand by him, ready for anything.
The wolf howled, trying to scare them off, trying to get them under his control, but they knew that he could never harm the three of them.
The wolf was outnumbered.
When he took a step backwards towards the window, the animals all followed.
The rat shook his head.
Not this time, old friend, he seemed to say. Not this time.
The wolf sat down, his teeth still showing. He did not trust this odd band of musketeers. They had a strange smell of them. A familiar smell, but he couldn’t remember…
Not this time, old friend. Not this time.
He could feel it coming, that familiar pain in his body, echoing from the night eight years ago, when he had been bitten by the cursed beast, but it was still just as painful. Exactly how he remembered it.
The teeth…
The blood…
The moon…
His body was trembling, involuntarily convulsing. A poison was coursing through his body, releasing the creature that had consumed him, that night, so long ago.
“No…” he mumbled. He didn’t want to transform, but the full moon above him was eerily looming, mocking him as he lay on all fours, panting.
His eyes were glowing yellow, his nose elongating with fangs rudely protruding from his jaws, his back stretched and arched, his arms and legs extending, unretractable, deathly claws replacing his old, friendly fingers. He could feel his senses increase threefold, his human instincts fade away, the wolf taking over. Fur sprung out all over his body, replacing the clothes he had sported, his wizard robes a mere human memory, completely unimportant to the carnivore.
Remus Lupin no longer was.
He had been completely devoured by the wolf within him.
But a growl to his right made the wolf spring around, and he found himself face to face with a big, shaggy black dog, his jowls quivering. The wolf tilted his head in curiosity. Beside the dog was a beautiful white stag, almost radiating a silver heat, and on the other side, a rat, no larger than a small loaf of bread.
They were all starring directly at the wolf, attentive, ready for anything.
The wolf took a small step to the right, and the animals all followed, mirroring him exactly. He set his paw down in front of him, and the three animals all touched their hind legs to the ground behind them.
They obviously knew the wolf, but he couldn’t remember them.
Nor did he care.
The wolf was hungry.
But no food seemed to be around him. He was in a falling apart house, the windows boarded up with wood that had scratches on it. But the scent…
The scent…
There were humans somewhere…
Somewhere close…
The wolf ran towards the window and started scratching and sniffing, when a sharp thing poked him hard in the back.
Turning around angrily, the wolf could see a defiant stag stare him straight in the eyes, daring him to try to escape. But the stag could not understand, there were humans outside! There were humans, filled with blood and meat and covered in flesh…
The wolf ignored the threat and returned to the window, scratching at the wood, desperately, whimpering. Growling, he continued to scratch when a familiar sharp thing prodded him again in the middle of his back. Springing around, the wolf crouched on all fours, his shoulder blades accented through his thick coat of fur.
The stag, however, did not move. He continued looking at the wolf, but his expression significantly changed. It seemed to say, Remember… Please, don’t do this.
But this meant nothing to the wolf.
He growled again, flaunting his teeth. The stag lowered his head, showing off his beautiful head of racks, and the dog and rat came to stand by him, ready for anything.
The wolf howled, trying to scare them off, trying to get them under his control, but they knew that he could never harm the three of them.
The wolf was outnumbered.
When he took a step backwards towards the window, the animals all followed.
The rat shook his head.
Not this time, old friend, he seemed to say. Not this time.
The wolf sat down, his teeth still showing. He did not trust this odd band of musketeers. They had a strange smell of them. A familiar smell, but he couldn’t remember…
Not this time, old friend. Not this time.