Ring around Redemption (HP), PG-13
Title: Ring around Redemption
Fandom: Harry Potter
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairings: Remus/Sirius, James/Lily, Snape
Genre: Drama, Angst, Dark
Word Count: 9.551
Summary: Once, Sirius Black decided to play a very nasty prank on Severus Snape. He told the Slytherin to go down to the Whomping Willow, poke a particular knot, and follow the tunnel where he would undoubtedly find a big surprise. When James Potter heard, he knew exactly how wrong this could go, so he raced down to the Shrieking Shack and saved Snape just before he would have come face-to-face with a feral, merciless, blood-thirsty werewolf. What would have happened if James hadn't made it in time?
Notes: This is technically my first big step back into the Harry Potter fandom since the conclusion of All Kidding Aside. That story was one of the hardest for me to get through for a lot of reasons I won't go into now, but one of them was that I wasn't writing to the best of my abilities. I sacrificed a lot for comedy, I presented the Marauders as being a bit two-dimensional, and I fell a bit into the nobody-likes-Peter hole. I'm dissapointed with how that story turned out, and while I was certain that AKA was going to be my swan song to the Harry Potter fandom, this and at least one other story are telling me that I'm not done yet.
I hope this story is something that I can be truly proud of years down the road, and I hope that it's one that people will be able to enjoy. ^_^ Thanks very much to J.K. Rowling for creating such a fantastic series, to dejana or creating .moon, and to scarlet_malfoy for agreeing to beta-read this project, which I'm sure will be massive as my chaptered fics tend to be.
Status: Incompete
( Prelude - First Time for Everything )
“Fucking. Ridiculous.”
Peter winced, and for once, he didn’t worry about what Sirius thought. For the past twenty minutes, Sirius had been railing about how stupid he’d been to tell, demanding to know what kind of friend he was, and promising that as soon as McGonagall gave him his wand back, he was going to hex Peter so that he burped up slugs for a month. It was fairly obvious to anyone with a pulse that Sirius was not what one would call pleased.
Peter had let him rave until he exhausted himself, because although he knew he’d done the right thing in telling someone about Snape, he wasn’t stupid enough to tempt Sirius’s wrath anymore than necessary. He knew there would be no rationalizing with Sirius when he was in such a temper. There was no rationalizing with Sirius when he was in a state of euphoric bliss or any other mood. Sirius and logic simply did not blend.
Besides, Peter was no good at confrontation. He had his jaw clamped shut for fear of being sick all over Dumbledore’s office, and he did not want to know what would happen when the professors returned and demanded answers from him.
Sirius’s entire body jerked, his boot connecting with the corner of the desk for the third time. “Fuck!”
Peter prayed for some sort of heavenly intercession to save him from being shut up in the room with an infuriated Sirius and the roiling nausea in his stomach. He prayed for a fire, a structural collapse, or a flood. He even prayed for McGonagall to come sweeping into the room, Snape spitting and shaking and acting every bit the greasy twerp so Peter could stop worrying about him and Remus and James.
As luck would have it, the doors swung open. Peter thought he would vomit from relief when he saw McGonagall, standing there with the look on her face that usually terrified him but was now as familiar as a scratchy blanket.
Then he saw James.
-----
James did not know what he had been expecting to see when McGonagall opened the door.
No, that wasn’t right.
He knew Peter would be sitting there sick with anxiety, and he hadn’t want to think about Sirius, smug and self-important but still utterly put out that he was being punished for what he thought was a hilarious prank. He had, however, been somewhat unsure of his reaction. He felt he would be torn between ripping Sirius to shreds or simply collapsing under the weight of what Sirius had done - what he’d allowed Sirius to do.
He had not thought that he would freeze. He felt still as stone as he looked at Sirius. He was sitting in the chair he always sat in, nearer to Fawkes and the portraits so he had something to look at when he feigned his artful apologies. He had his feet up on the desk, crossed at the ankle, leaning back and tipping the chair back and forth in a display of furious boredom. His head tipped back, exposing his throat, and his mouth hung open forming the imperfect shape of the vowel in his favorite four-letter word.
He remained immobile as Sirius registered the door opening, turned his head, and raised an eyebrow. A moment later, the left corner of his mouth slid upwards with that smirk James had mirrored so many times. “You look like shite, Prongs.”
He would never know if it was the smirk or the nickname that set him off. But at once his muscles felt on fire. They demanded to move, demanded to run, demanded that he wrapped his hands around that selfish throat. James let out a raspy shout and crossed from the doorway to the desk in one bloodthirsty leap. He tackled Sirius to the ground, and punch him in the mouth because the son of a bitch was still smiling.
“Ow - Fuck, Prongs!” Sirius yelled. “What the-"
James pretended like he didn’t hear and hit him again. He just kept punching as hard as he could, harder than he thought he could punch, thrilled that Sirius was too stunned to fight back. He pummeled Sirius until his whole face was a bloody mess and he felt bones in his hand break.
“Potter, stop!” he heard McGonagall command. Lucky for Sirius that she knew James had no intention of stopping. He felt something like a claw twist the fabric of his shirt, and she yanked him back, still swinging and kicking at the air.
Sirius turned his head to the side and spit out a mouthful of blood and what James hoped was a tooth. Then he got to his feet, swaying. “What the hell is the matter with you?”
“You bastard!” James shouted. His eyes were wet and his throat was burning, but he didn’t care that Sirius was watching now. “I cannot believe you.”
“Enough,” McGonagall said brusquely, striding into his peripheral vision. “Mr. Potter, perhaps it was a mistake to bring you here after all. You need to control yourself.”
“Why?” James demanded, swinging his gaze to her. “He deserves it after what he did!”
McGonagall took a very long breath to collect herself. He could see in her eyes that secretly she agreed. He wanted to beg her to remove the spell, but Sirius interrupted.
“After I did what?” Sirius asked, wiping his chin. “Jesus, James, it was a joke.”
McGonagall turned towards him so sharply that her neck cracked. “Mr. Black, I sincerely suggest that you learn to read a room. I can assure you that even if things had not turned out so disastrously this evening, what you have done is the farthest thing from funny I have ever heard of. If it were not so against protocol that it makes one’s head spin, I may have just let Potter beat you senseless.”
Sirius gaped at her as if she had just announced that she were part mermaid. “Has someone put some sort of psychedelic drug in the drinking water? Who was it, and why was I not involved?”
McGonagall went white with rage, but before she could speak a word, Peter slowly rose to his feet.
“James,” he said in a voice that was so near a whisper James had to hold his breath to hear, “what happened?”
He didn’t want to say. Every time he thought about it, he wanted to die. But Peter needed to hear it from him because McGonagall couldn’t afford to be kind. Sirius needed to hear it from him because it would hurt more.
He tried not to think about who would have to tell Remus.
“I’m sorry, Pete,” James murmured. “I didn’t make it.”
Peter immediately turned grey and his knees gave out. He missed the chair and hit the floor. The inkwell on Dumbledore’s desk shuddered.
Sirius just blinked. “What?”
“I said I didn’t get there in time,” James growled, his voice twisted from shame at his failure and hatred for Sirius forcing him to say it again.
Sirius continued to stare at him, on the verge of gaping like a fish plucked from the water and drowning in the air. His mouth opened and closed once. Twice. Three times. Then his shock twisted into his usual irrefutable fury and he began to stalk forward as if James was the one to blame. “What do you mean you weren’t fast enough? What does that mean? What’s happened? Is Moony-"
“Mr. Black,” McGonagall forced out between teeth that glittered like a feral cat’s, “Forgive me for pointing out the obvious, but you would have done well to think of that before you sent Severus Snape hunting for wolves without bothering to inform him that he was doing so.”
Sirius froze and looked as chastened as one could ever hope to make him. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his trousers and flopped back into his chair, looking more like an ominous storm cloud than a school boy.
McGongall closed her eyes as if attempting to count to ten. James ventured that she either did it very quickly or that she gave up the attempt. “Mr. Potter, if you will help Mr. Pettrigrew and then take a seat - away from Mr. Black - I will explain to the others what has happened.”
James carried out her instructions dutifully, moving like the zombies in those Muggle horror movies Sirius had insisted they watch. He set Peter in the chair, wishing that the shorter boy didn’t cling to him as if holding on would fix this. Then he took his own chair and listened as McGonagall told the story in a voice far away and holding back barely contained rage.
James heard his name spoken intermittently, though obviously the key players here were Snape and Remus. Though really, Remus had almost nothing to do with it, and James doubted Snape was part of the picture anymore either. All that was left were a pair of wolves who hopefully would not kill each other before dawn.
The thought threatened to make James sick again, but he swallowed it down. He knew full well that Remus could take care of himself. Padfoot may not have been the size of a werewolf, but Sirius Black had enough vicious pride to make up for it. Tonight had certainly proven that.
Finally, McGonagall finished. Peter looked about as ill as James had felt earlier. He discreetly shoved an empty rubbish bin in his direction, and James saw the gratitude lying beneath the horror. For his part, Sirius looked shock. James didn’t think he looked sorry.
“Now,” McGonagall said, heaving a long sigh, “I have already sent the portraits to inform Professor Slughorn of this… incident. Doubtless he will want to have a word with all of you. But that will have to wait until the Headmaster-"
With the impeccable timing of a man who sometimes seemed more of a deity than a schoolmaster, Albus Dumbledore swept into the room. Even at a distance, James could tell that his eyes had changed. Even for their most convoluted and potentially dangerous of pranks, Dumbledore had always looked at them with a mix of exasperation and fondness. There had always been a twinkle that suggested that Dumbledore himself was in on the joke, and James had known that as long as they were smart enough so that no one actually got seriously injured, he would let them slide. It had always been an entirely different matter when it came to the singling out of Severus Snape. Something James had once resented, he now could no longer blame the old man for.
Considering that this involved Snape and something far more serious than an ill-timed Levicorpus, Dumbledore’s eyes were no longer twinkling with mischief or laden with disappointment. There was little more than cold rage.
McGonagall prudently stepped away from his desk, and by the set of her shoulders, he knew that even the indomitable Transfiguration professor was nervous. Albus Dumbledore drew closer, trailing periwinkle robes behind him that seemed less cheery in hue than they had mere hours before. Then he stood behind his desk, pressing his fingers into the wood so that it trembled beneath his weight. He looked at each boy in turn with equal contempt and when he spoke, it sounded like thunder.
“I know I do not need to impress upon you the seriousness of what you have done,” Dumbledore began. “And note that I am encompassing each and every one of you in this. Mr. Black - in a stunning error of judgment I would be more apt to see in an emotionally stunted first year - may have sent Severus Snape to the Shrieking Shack, but the mere fact that he knew how to get there and knew how to get past it does not inspire my confidence in the rest of you.
“I have long suspected that you three knew of Remus Lupin’s condition. In fact, I would have thought you spectacularly dull if you didn’t. However, it seems to me that you know far too much about the willow and how to bypass it for my liking. Remus is spelled against telling you the charm that stops the branches in any way, and since you three do not - as far as I know - wind up in the hospital wing on a monthly basis, you do not get past it through quick feet and prayer.
“Now one of you three is going to tell me what is going on, and I guarantee you that if you do not, Horace Slughorn would be more than happy to use up some of his Veritaserum to see that you do.”
In any other circumstance, James would have passed this off as an empty threat and called the headmaster on his bluff. But this was so much more serious than releasing a volley of dungbombs in the Slytherin dungeons. This was life and death, and James found himself believing that in this instance at least, Dumbledore would stop at nothing to get at the truth.
James glanced over at his roommates, unsurprised at their reactions. Sirius had sunk into his usual stubborn sulk. No matter the gravity, Sirius would cling to his secrets out of spite or misplaced loyalty. Peter was glancing between James and Sirius furtively, unsure of who to follow. James knew Peter wanted to tell all, but he was sitting far too close to Sirius to dare. Sirius sometimes had bouts of explosive wandless magic when he got especially angry, and barring that, James would not put it past Sirius to attack someone he could overpower a lot easier than James.
“We figured out what Remus was by second year,” James began, ignoring Sirius’s bark of protest and Peter’s audible relief. “We hated knowing that… that he was alone when he was like that. Anyone could see how sad he was, and when we figured out why, we couldn’t stand it. It wasn’t right for him to be locked up in that shack clawing at himself when he couldn’t rip the walls down. He was… We were afraid he’d kill himself, and then it wouldn’t matter how good a person he was. All people would see was a wolf too savage to have the sense not to kill himself.
“So Sirius got the idea-"
“James,” Sirius snarled, every inch of him a warning. “Shut up.”
“Sirius, I have half a mind to do it right now and impale you, you bloody fucking son of a-"
Peter held up his hands, trying to fulfill Remus’s role as peacemaker. “Prongs, don’t. It’ll only make a bigger mess.”
“It’ll make me feel better,” James snapped petulantly.
“You just try it,” Sirius growled in response, snapping his jog as if he were unconsciously beginning a transformation. “I know where your underbelly is, Potter.”
It was a taunt flung out so often in their play fights. There was a hint of blood on the air that made it hold so much more weight, but James knew that deep down, Sirius still thought that eventually this would be solved by a wrestling match in front of the fireplace. Sirius wasn’t used to his closest friends being angry with him. He didn’t understand the irrevocable damage he’d done that night.
“Much as I enjoy attempting to unravel mysteries,” Dumbledore interrupted wearily, “I’m afraid I’m going to need an explanation as to what you boys decided to do.”
“Fine,” James said, shooting to his feet. He started to unbutton his shirt, heedless of propriety.
“Mr. Potter!” McGonagall squawked. “I understand you are under a great deal of emotional strain-"
James tore the shirt off and began working on the trousers, ignoring her. “I’m not hysterical. It’s just we haven’t figured out how to keep the clothes like you, and mine always rip.”
“Jamie, I swear to God-" Sirius began.
“For fuck’s sake, Sirius!” James shouted. “Do you think if you shout at me long enough I’ll change my mind? You and Pete might as well too.” He realized a moment later that to suggest this was entirely unnecessary as Peter had already gotten to his feet.
Sirius shook like a volcano about to explode, but he too vaulted upwards, stepping out of his clothes while McGonagall continued to turn a shade of plum that would have been hilarious on any other day. Sirius’s clothes didn’t rip, but he had a tendency to get tangled in them, and it was simply easier to do without. Peter was the only one who never bothered, for obvious reasons.
Once they were ready and McGonagall had her eyes steadily fixed on a point above their heads, the three of them simultaneously transformed.
Things were so much easier in stag form than in human form emotionally. A stag did not understand the concepts of betrayal, or even of mixed feelings. A stag could not comprehend the fact that James wanted to kill Sirius, but that James also still loved Sirius like a brother. He could not understand that he himself felt guilty for what had happened to Remus, because after all James, had not been the one to tell Snape which knot to push. A stag felt only the base emotions, and all the human trappings nearly vanished as the human part of James’s consciousness sank into the background. For the stag, James was little more than a voice in the back of its head, no more noteworthy than a fly buzzing by its ear.
The stag may not have understood the higher concepts, but it gleaned enough off James’s mood to understand that Sirius - now in dog form - had gone against the pack. The stag opened up it’s mouth and made a terrible sound that James could not hope to describe and began to circle around towards the large black dog at the other side of the room.
The dog raised its hackles, baring its teeth, but then seemed to think better of it. It started to whine and tucked its tail between his legs, slinking off behind the great oak desk. The part of James that was still human felt like laughing as a madman does when he realized that the dog had more sense than Sirius when it came to what had happened. The dog understood that it was in trouble, that it had done something wrong. Sirius still acted like the entitled prince dragged out of bed for no good reason.
The stag shook its great head with an irritated ‘whuff’ and then turned its massive head towards the desk. It saw the rat standing up on its hind legs, looking up at the stag almost plaintively. The stag pawed its front hoof and then leaned over the rat. It exhaled, rustling the rat’s fur in what it hoped was a comforting manner. A stale, woody smell filled the air, a smell entirely too like the Forbidden Forest to be coincidence. A smell that frightened humans set the animals - most notably the rat - at ease. James-in-the-stag suspected that Peter would be a great deal calmer when the transformed back.
The stag heard someone speaking and raised its head to look towards the sound. It saw Dumbledore, and began to ascertain if the old man was a threat. It seemed to believe so, but that the wizard was not necessarily a threat to him. The stag did not process the human words, but James recognized them as a stiff request to please return to human form. James and the stag were both reluctant. Neither would have minded circling around the desk and teaching that dog a lesson, but ultimately, James choose to obey.
In the same breath, three human boys reappeared where three animals had been. To James’s surprise, he and the others were dressed again. If he guess rightly, Dumbledore hadn’t wanted to see any more of the boys than he already had.
James turned to McGongall and Dumbledore, who wore twin expressions of shock and awe. James had a feeling that they wanted to be impressed, but given the circumstances and the danger they had placed themselves in by even attempting it, it was an impossibility. Dumbledore had sat down in his chair to process this information, and it looked as though McGonagall were remaining upright by sheer force of will.
“Peter’s small enough to get to the knot,” James explained, probably needlessly. “Sirius fights with the wolf so that it can work out its aggression. And I keep it from running away.”
“Yes,” Dumbledore said in an odd voice. “Those antlers are rather… intimidating.”
Sirius made a noise as if to indicate that he had never once been frightened of the antlers, their sharp points, or the insurmountable force that existed behind them. James suspected that Sirius was unnerved by his animal’s behavior. James would have liked to twist that knife a little, but the line of questioning continued.
“When did you learn to do this?” McGonagall breathed, her pallor resembling that of the Grey Lady.
“We started researching it at the end of second year, after we knew for sure that Remus was a werewolf,” James explained. “We started working on the transformations when we came back for third.”
McGonagall collapsed onto the arm of Dumbledore’s chair, propriety be damned.
“We mastered it in fifth,” James concluded.
“Good Lord,” McGonagall breathed. James could see that her shock was fading, and they all knew what it would devolve into. She began to shake with renewed fury. “Do you have any idea how dangerous-you could have been killed! You could have gotten stuck between!”
James looked askance at Sirius, but the taller boy did little more than clench his jaw.
“I ought to throttle each and every one of you for-"
“Minerva.”
Dumbledore’s voice filled the air, a pacifier filled with the wisdom of age. McGonagall clearly wanted to continue, and she certainly wanted to make good on her threat, but she shut her mouth nonetheless. After all, she could be patient when she needed to be. There was plenty of time to kill the Gryffindor Sixth Years later.
“Well,” Dumbledore murmured, looking at each of them in turn. James thought that he caught a dull note of pride, one he was sure would have been stronger on any other day. “I must say, I was not expecting this. I can’t say what I expected the alternative to be, but… this is a surprise.”
Peter shifted uncomfortably in his seat, looking deeply apologetic. Peter always looked sorry when he got caught, though he certainly had plenty of bravado in the moment.
“That answers several important questions,” Dumbledore concluded. “I am sorely tempted to have each of you checked over by Madame Pomfrey, but I suspect that if anything… unfortunate had resulted from these transformations, the problem would have been apparent by now. James, Peter, you may go.”
It went without saying that Sirius would stay.
James and Peter rose slowly. James saw Peter look over his shoulder at Sirius, but James didn’t dare. He didn’t want the other boy to mistake it for a show of support.
After the pair of them exited the office and shut the door behind them, Peter collapsed once more.
“Buggering fuck,” he whispered, his face chalk white. “Moony…. Shit, James. What are we going to do?”
‘Kill Sirius’ was the answer he wanted to give, but James knew it was not the answer Peter needed. More importantly, much as part of him would have liked to, he knew he couldn’t. The blinding rage was beginning to subside, leaving a more level-headed kind of anger. Part of James still loved Sirius. A smaller part even wanted to forgive him.
He wouldn’t, of course, but that part wanted to.
Rather than pull Peter to his feet as he normally would have done, James sank down beside him. The two boys leaned towards each other without thinking of it. The proximity helped, but only a little.
“I don’t know, Pete,” James whispered, knowing it wasn’t what Peter wanted. James, after all, was always supposed to know what to do. It was his role. Whenever they got in over their heads, James pulled them out. He kept them from drowning.
“I don’t know.”
But not this time.
-----
“You’ve left me in quite a pickle, Sirius,” Dumbledore said. He tried very hard not to sigh. Sighing always made him feel old, and he was going to need a certain youthful vitality to sort out the mess Sirius Black had put them all in.
Dumbledore wondered if Sirius had realized this yet. From the set of his shoulders, Dumbledore suspected not; although it was equally likely this was all for show. So much of Sirius’s character was posturing that it was occasionally difficult to tell.
“What you’ve done easily warrants expulsion,” Dumbledore continued. Sirius had been threatened with this so many times that he didn’t even blink. “I dare say if one looked hard enough, one could discover a clause which makes it a criminal offense. I would not be surprised if Eileen Prince-Snape looked into this matter with vigor.”
Finally, Sirius squirmed.
Dumbledore suppressed yet another sigh. It would be mothers that affected Sirius.
“Furthermore, since you still do not seem to understand the gravity of your offense-"
“I understand it,” Sirius snapped, interrupting with eternal boldness.
“Quiet, Black,” Minerva snapped, ever the disciplinarian.
“The fact remains,” Dumbledore continued, “that I have yet to receive any indication that you are sorry for what you have done. You began angry, briefly sank into shock, and then switched right back to angry. I understand that it is somewhat of a default setting for you emotionally, Mr. Black, and I also understand that your opinion of Severus Snape is… derogatory, to say the least. However, I was under the impression that Remus Lupin was a fine friend of yours.”
Sirius’s dark eyes blazed. “He is my friend!”
“Then perhaps you should act like it,” Dumbledore answered coldly.
Sirius opened his mouth to retort, but in his first wise move of the evening, he snapped it shut. Dumbledore did not allow himself to be hopeful at this shadow of humility.
“I know better than to expect you to explain yourself to me, Sirius,” Dumbledore said. “I have tried on numerous occasions to understand you, and it seems I have failed at every turn. You are the eternal contradiction. In a way, I suppose you ought to count yourself lucky. You are a puzzle I have not as yet solved.
“I will reserve judgment for now, Sirius, and my reasons are my own,” he added, directing the last to Minerva. “All I know for certain is that dawn approaches, and soon Severus and Remus will need to be fetched from the Shrieking Shack. Severus will be kept sedated for as long as possible, so you need not worry about seeing him, though I suspect you weren’t. However, informing Remus of what you have done will be the first part of what will doubtless be an extensive punishment.”
He expected Sirius to argue with him or to continue on in his eternal punishment. But as always, Sirius Black defied expectations. At first, Dumbledore thought he hadn’t registered what was happening. But then there was a flash of something. Remorse?
“That will be all, Sirius.”
Perhaps at last, Sirius was beginning to regret what he had done.
Coming Soon - Part Two: Trouble Shooting
Fandom: Harry Potter
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairings: Remus/Sirius, James/Lily, Snape
Genre: Drama, Angst, Dark
Word Count: 9.551
Summary: Once, Sirius Black decided to play a very nasty prank on Severus Snape. He told the Slytherin to go down to the Whomping Willow, poke a particular knot, and follow the tunnel where he would undoubtedly find a big surprise. When James Potter heard, he knew exactly how wrong this could go, so he raced down to the Shrieking Shack and saved Snape just before he would have come face-to-face with a feral, merciless, blood-thirsty werewolf. What would have happened if James hadn't made it in time?
Notes: This is technically my first big step back into the Harry Potter fandom since the conclusion of All Kidding Aside. That story was one of the hardest for me to get through for a lot of reasons I won't go into now, but one of them was that I wasn't writing to the best of my abilities. I sacrificed a lot for comedy, I presented the Marauders as being a bit two-dimensional, and I fell a bit into the nobody-likes-Peter hole. I'm dissapointed with how that story turned out, and while I was certain that AKA was going to be my swan song to the Harry Potter fandom, this and at least one other story are telling me that I'm not done yet.
I hope this story is something that I can be truly proud of years down the road, and I hope that it's one that people will be able to enjoy. ^_^ Thanks very much to J.K. Rowling for creating such a fantastic series, to dejana or creating .moon, and to scarlet_malfoy for agreeing to beta-read this project, which I'm sure will be massive as my chaptered fics tend to be.
Status: Incompete
( Prelude - First Time for Everything )
“Fucking. Ridiculous.”
Peter winced, and for once, he didn’t worry about what Sirius thought. For the past twenty minutes, Sirius had been railing about how stupid he’d been to tell, demanding to know what kind of friend he was, and promising that as soon as McGonagall gave him his wand back, he was going to hex Peter so that he burped up slugs for a month. It was fairly obvious to anyone with a pulse that Sirius was not what one would call pleased.
Peter had let him rave until he exhausted himself, because although he knew he’d done the right thing in telling someone about Snape, he wasn’t stupid enough to tempt Sirius’s wrath anymore than necessary. He knew there would be no rationalizing with Sirius when he was in such a temper. There was no rationalizing with Sirius when he was in a state of euphoric bliss or any other mood. Sirius and logic simply did not blend.
Besides, Peter was no good at confrontation. He had his jaw clamped shut for fear of being sick all over Dumbledore’s office, and he did not want to know what would happen when the professors returned and demanded answers from him.
Sirius’s entire body jerked, his boot connecting with the corner of the desk for the third time. “Fuck!”
Peter prayed for some sort of heavenly intercession to save him from being shut up in the room with an infuriated Sirius and the roiling nausea in his stomach. He prayed for a fire, a structural collapse, or a flood. He even prayed for McGonagall to come sweeping into the room, Snape spitting and shaking and acting every bit the greasy twerp so Peter could stop worrying about him and Remus and James.
As luck would have it, the doors swung open. Peter thought he would vomit from relief when he saw McGonagall, standing there with the look on her face that usually terrified him but was now as familiar as a scratchy blanket.
Then he saw James.
-----
James did not know what he had been expecting to see when McGonagall opened the door.
No, that wasn’t right.
He knew Peter would be sitting there sick with anxiety, and he hadn’t want to think about Sirius, smug and self-important but still utterly put out that he was being punished for what he thought was a hilarious prank. He had, however, been somewhat unsure of his reaction. He felt he would be torn between ripping Sirius to shreds or simply collapsing under the weight of what Sirius had done - what he’d allowed Sirius to do.
He had not thought that he would freeze. He felt still as stone as he looked at Sirius. He was sitting in the chair he always sat in, nearer to Fawkes and the portraits so he had something to look at when he feigned his artful apologies. He had his feet up on the desk, crossed at the ankle, leaning back and tipping the chair back and forth in a display of furious boredom. His head tipped back, exposing his throat, and his mouth hung open forming the imperfect shape of the vowel in his favorite four-letter word.
He remained immobile as Sirius registered the door opening, turned his head, and raised an eyebrow. A moment later, the left corner of his mouth slid upwards with that smirk James had mirrored so many times. “You look like shite, Prongs.”
He would never know if it was the smirk or the nickname that set him off. But at once his muscles felt on fire. They demanded to move, demanded to run, demanded that he wrapped his hands around that selfish throat. James let out a raspy shout and crossed from the doorway to the desk in one bloodthirsty leap. He tackled Sirius to the ground, and punch him in the mouth because the son of a bitch was still smiling.
“Ow - Fuck, Prongs!” Sirius yelled. “What the-"
James pretended like he didn’t hear and hit him again. He just kept punching as hard as he could, harder than he thought he could punch, thrilled that Sirius was too stunned to fight back. He pummeled Sirius until his whole face was a bloody mess and he felt bones in his hand break.
“Potter, stop!” he heard McGonagall command. Lucky for Sirius that she knew James had no intention of stopping. He felt something like a claw twist the fabric of his shirt, and she yanked him back, still swinging and kicking at the air.
Sirius turned his head to the side and spit out a mouthful of blood and what James hoped was a tooth. Then he got to his feet, swaying. “What the hell is the matter with you?”
“You bastard!” James shouted. His eyes were wet and his throat was burning, but he didn’t care that Sirius was watching now. “I cannot believe you.”
“Enough,” McGonagall said brusquely, striding into his peripheral vision. “Mr. Potter, perhaps it was a mistake to bring you here after all. You need to control yourself.”
“Why?” James demanded, swinging his gaze to her. “He deserves it after what he did!”
McGonagall took a very long breath to collect herself. He could see in her eyes that secretly she agreed. He wanted to beg her to remove the spell, but Sirius interrupted.
“After I did what?” Sirius asked, wiping his chin. “Jesus, James, it was a joke.”
McGonagall turned towards him so sharply that her neck cracked. “Mr. Black, I sincerely suggest that you learn to read a room. I can assure you that even if things had not turned out so disastrously this evening, what you have done is the farthest thing from funny I have ever heard of. If it were not so against protocol that it makes one’s head spin, I may have just let Potter beat you senseless.”
Sirius gaped at her as if she had just announced that she were part mermaid. “Has someone put some sort of psychedelic drug in the drinking water? Who was it, and why was I not involved?”
McGonagall went white with rage, but before she could speak a word, Peter slowly rose to his feet.
“James,” he said in a voice that was so near a whisper James had to hold his breath to hear, “what happened?”
He didn’t want to say. Every time he thought about it, he wanted to die. But Peter needed to hear it from him because McGonagall couldn’t afford to be kind. Sirius needed to hear it from him because it would hurt more.
He tried not to think about who would have to tell Remus.
“I’m sorry, Pete,” James murmured. “I didn’t make it.”
Peter immediately turned grey and his knees gave out. He missed the chair and hit the floor. The inkwell on Dumbledore’s desk shuddered.
Sirius just blinked. “What?”
“I said I didn’t get there in time,” James growled, his voice twisted from shame at his failure and hatred for Sirius forcing him to say it again.
Sirius continued to stare at him, on the verge of gaping like a fish plucked from the water and drowning in the air. His mouth opened and closed once. Twice. Three times. Then his shock twisted into his usual irrefutable fury and he began to stalk forward as if James was the one to blame. “What do you mean you weren’t fast enough? What does that mean? What’s happened? Is Moony-"
“Mr. Black,” McGonagall forced out between teeth that glittered like a feral cat’s, “Forgive me for pointing out the obvious, but you would have done well to think of that before you sent Severus Snape hunting for wolves without bothering to inform him that he was doing so.”
Sirius froze and looked as chastened as one could ever hope to make him. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his trousers and flopped back into his chair, looking more like an ominous storm cloud than a school boy.
McGongall closed her eyes as if attempting to count to ten. James ventured that she either did it very quickly or that she gave up the attempt. “Mr. Potter, if you will help Mr. Pettrigrew and then take a seat - away from Mr. Black - I will explain to the others what has happened.”
James carried out her instructions dutifully, moving like the zombies in those Muggle horror movies Sirius had insisted they watch. He set Peter in the chair, wishing that the shorter boy didn’t cling to him as if holding on would fix this. Then he took his own chair and listened as McGonagall told the story in a voice far away and holding back barely contained rage.
James heard his name spoken intermittently, though obviously the key players here were Snape and Remus. Though really, Remus had almost nothing to do with it, and James doubted Snape was part of the picture anymore either. All that was left were a pair of wolves who hopefully would not kill each other before dawn.
The thought threatened to make James sick again, but he swallowed it down. He knew full well that Remus could take care of himself. Padfoot may not have been the size of a werewolf, but Sirius Black had enough vicious pride to make up for it. Tonight had certainly proven that.
Finally, McGonagall finished. Peter looked about as ill as James had felt earlier. He discreetly shoved an empty rubbish bin in his direction, and James saw the gratitude lying beneath the horror. For his part, Sirius looked shock. James didn’t think he looked sorry.
“Now,” McGonagall said, heaving a long sigh, “I have already sent the portraits to inform Professor Slughorn of this… incident. Doubtless he will want to have a word with all of you. But that will have to wait until the Headmaster-"
With the impeccable timing of a man who sometimes seemed more of a deity than a schoolmaster, Albus Dumbledore swept into the room. Even at a distance, James could tell that his eyes had changed. Even for their most convoluted and potentially dangerous of pranks, Dumbledore had always looked at them with a mix of exasperation and fondness. There had always been a twinkle that suggested that Dumbledore himself was in on the joke, and James had known that as long as they were smart enough so that no one actually got seriously injured, he would let them slide. It had always been an entirely different matter when it came to the singling out of Severus Snape. Something James had once resented, he now could no longer blame the old man for.
Considering that this involved Snape and something far more serious than an ill-timed Levicorpus, Dumbledore’s eyes were no longer twinkling with mischief or laden with disappointment. There was little more than cold rage.
McGonagall prudently stepped away from his desk, and by the set of her shoulders, he knew that even the indomitable Transfiguration professor was nervous. Albus Dumbledore drew closer, trailing periwinkle robes behind him that seemed less cheery in hue than they had mere hours before. Then he stood behind his desk, pressing his fingers into the wood so that it trembled beneath his weight. He looked at each boy in turn with equal contempt and when he spoke, it sounded like thunder.
“I know I do not need to impress upon you the seriousness of what you have done,” Dumbledore began. “And note that I am encompassing each and every one of you in this. Mr. Black - in a stunning error of judgment I would be more apt to see in an emotionally stunted first year - may have sent Severus Snape to the Shrieking Shack, but the mere fact that he knew how to get there and knew how to get past it does not inspire my confidence in the rest of you.
“I have long suspected that you three knew of Remus Lupin’s condition. In fact, I would have thought you spectacularly dull if you didn’t. However, it seems to me that you know far too much about the willow and how to bypass it for my liking. Remus is spelled against telling you the charm that stops the branches in any way, and since you three do not - as far as I know - wind up in the hospital wing on a monthly basis, you do not get past it through quick feet and prayer.
“Now one of you three is going to tell me what is going on, and I guarantee you that if you do not, Horace Slughorn would be more than happy to use up some of his Veritaserum to see that you do.”
In any other circumstance, James would have passed this off as an empty threat and called the headmaster on his bluff. But this was so much more serious than releasing a volley of dungbombs in the Slytherin dungeons. This was life and death, and James found himself believing that in this instance at least, Dumbledore would stop at nothing to get at the truth.
James glanced over at his roommates, unsurprised at their reactions. Sirius had sunk into his usual stubborn sulk. No matter the gravity, Sirius would cling to his secrets out of spite or misplaced loyalty. Peter was glancing between James and Sirius furtively, unsure of who to follow. James knew Peter wanted to tell all, but he was sitting far too close to Sirius to dare. Sirius sometimes had bouts of explosive wandless magic when he got especially angry, and barring that, James would not put it past Sirius to attack someone he could overpower a lot easier than James.
“We figured out what Remus was by second year,” James began, ignoring Sirius’s bark of protest and Peter’s audible relief. “We hated knowing that… that he was alone when he was like that. Anyone could see how sad he was, and when we figured out why, we couldn’t stand it. It wasn’t right for him to be locked up in that shack clawing at himself when he couldn’t rip the walls down. He was… We were afraid he’d kill himself, and then it wouldn’t matter how good a person he was. All people would see was a wolf too savage to have the sense not to kill himself.
“So Sirius got the idea-"
“James,” Sirius snarled, every inch of him a warning. “Shut up.”
“Sirius, I have half a mind to do it right now and impale you, you bloody fucking son of a-"
Peter held up his hands, trying to fulfill Remus’s role as peacemaker. “Prongs, don’t. It’ll only make a bigger mess.”
“It’ll make me feel better,” James snapped petulantly.
“You just try it,” Sirius growled in response, snapping his jog as if he were unconsciously beginning a transformation. “I know where your underbelly is, Potter.”
It was a taunt flung out so often in their play fights. There was a hint of blood on the air that made it hold so much more weight, but James knew that deep down, Sirius still thought that eventually this would be solved by a wrestling match in front of the fireplace. Sirius wasn’t used to his closest friends being angry with him. He didn’t understand the irrevocable damage he’d done that night.
“Much as I enjoy attempting to unravel mysteries,” Dumbledore interrupted wearily, “I’m afraid I’m going to need an explanation as to what you boys decided to do.”
“Fine,” James said, shooting to his feet. He started to unbutton his shirt, heedless of propriety.
“Mr. Potter!” McGonagall squawked. “I understand you are under a great deal of emotional strain-"
James tore the shirt off and began working on the trousers, ignoring her. “I’m not hysterical. It’s just we haven’t figured out how to keep the clothes like you, and mine always rip.”
“Jamie, I swear to God-" Sirius began.
“For fuck’s sake, Sirius!” James shouted. “Do you think if you shout at me long enough I’ll change my mind? You and Pete might as well too.” He realized a moment later that to suggest this was entirely unnecessary as Peter had already gotten to his feet.
Sirius shook like a volcano about to explode, but he too vaulted upwards, stepping out of his clothes while McGonagall continued to turn a shade of plum that would have been hilarious on any other day. Sirius’s clothes didn’t rip, but he had a tendency to get tangled in them, and it was simply easier to do without. Peter was the only one who never bothered, for obvious reasons.
Once they were ready and McGonagall had her eyes steadily fixed on a point above their heads, the three of them simultaneously transformed.
Things were so much easier in stag form than in human form emotionally. A stag did not understand the concepts of betrayal, or even of mixed feelings. A stag could not comprehend the fact that James wanted to kill Sirius, but that James also still loved Sirius like a brother. He could not understand that he himself felt guilty for what had happened to Remus, because after all James, had not been the one to tell Snape which knot to push. A stag felt only the base emotions, and all the human trappings nearly vanished as the human part of James’s consciousness sank into the background. For the stag, James was little more than a voice in the back of its head, no more noteworthy than a fly buzzing by its ear.
The stag may not have understood the higher concepts, but it gleaned enough off James’s mood to understand that Sirius - now in dog form - had gone against the pack. The stag opened up it’s mouth and made a terrible sound that James could not hope to describe and began to circle around towards the large black dog at the other side of the room.
The dog raised its hackles, baring its teeth, but then seemed to think better of it. It started to whine and tucked its tail between his legs, slinking off behind the great oak desk. The part of James that was still human felt like laughing as a madman does when he realized that the dog had more sense than Sirius when it came to what had happened. The dog understood that it was in trouble, that it had done something wrong. Sirius still acted like the entitled prince dragged out of bed for no good reason.
The stag shook its great head with an irritated ‘whuff’ and then turned its massive head towards the desk. It saw the rat standing up on its hind legs, looking up at the stag almost plaintively. The stag pawed its front hoof and then leaned over the rat. It exhaled, rustling the rat’s fur in what it hoped was a comforting manner. A stale, woody smell filled the air, a smell entirely too like the Forbidden Forest to be coincidence. A smell that frightened humans set the animals - most notably the rat - at ease. James-in-the-stag suspected that Peter would be a great deal calmer when the transformed back.
The stag heard someone speaking and raised its head to look towards the sound. It saw Dumbledore, and began to ascertain if the old man was a threat. It seemed to believe so, but that the wizard was not necessarily a threat to him. The stag did not process the human words, but James recognized them as a stiff request to please return to human form. James and the stag were both reluctant. Neither would have minded circling around the desk and teaching that dog a lesson, but ultimately, James choose to obey.
In the same breath, three human boys reappeared where three animals had been. To James’s surprise, he and the others were dressed again. If he guess rightly, Dumbledore hadn’t wanted to see any more of the boys than he already had.
James turned to McGongall and Dumbledore, who wore twin expressions of shock and awe. James had a feeling that they wanted to be impressed, but given the circumstances and the danger they had placed themselves in by even attempting it, it was an impossibility. Dumbledore had sat down in his chair to process this information, and it looked as though McGonagall were remaining upright by sheer force of will.
“Peter’s small enough to get to the knot,” James explained, probably needlessly. “Sirius fights with the wolf so that it can work out its aggression. And I keep it from running away.”
“Yes,” Dumbledore said in an odd voice. “Those antlers are rather… intimidating.”
Sirius made a noise as if to indicate that he had never once been frightened of the antlers, their sharp points, or the insurmountable force that existed behind them. James suspected that Sirius was unnerved by his animal’s behavior. James would have liked to twist that knife a little, but the line of questioning continued.
“When did you learn to do this?” McGonagall breathed, her pallor resembling that of the Grey Lady.
“We started researching it at the end of second year, after we knew for sure that Remus was a werewolf,” James explained. “We started working on the transformations when we came back for third.”
McGonagall collapsed onto the arm of Dumbledore’s chair, propriety be damned.
“We mastered it in fifth,” James concluded.
“Good Lord,” McGonagall breathed. James could see that her shock was fading, and they all knew what it would devolve into. She began to shake with renewed fury. “Do you have any idea how dangerous-you could have been killed! You could have gotten stuck between!”
James looked askance at Sirius, but the taller boy did little more than clench his jaw.
“I ought to throttle each and every one of you for-"
“Minerva.”
Dumbledore’s voice filled the air, a pacifier filled with the wisdom of age. McGonagall clearly wanted to continue, and she certainly wanted to make good on her threat, but she shut her mouth nonetheless. After all, she could be patient when she needed to be. There was plenty of time to kill the Gryffindor Sixth Years later.
“Well,” Dumbledore murmured, looking at each of them in turn. James thought that he caught a dull note of pride, one he was sure would have been stronger on any other day. “I must say, I was not expecting this. I can’t say what I expected the alternative to be, but… this is a surprise.”
Peter shifted uncomfortably in his seat, looking deeply apologetic. Peter always looked sorry when he got caught, though he certainly had plenty of bravado in the moment.
“That answers several important questions,” Dumbledore concluded. “I am sorely tempted to have each of you checked over by Madame Pomfrey, but I suspect that if anything… unfortunate had resulted from these transformations, the problem would have been apparent by now. James, Peter, you may go.”
It went without saying that Sirius would stay.
James and Peter rose slowly. James saw Peter look over his shoulder at Sirius, but James didn’t dare. He didn’t want the other boy to mistake it for a show of support.
After the pair of them exited the office and shut the door behind them, Peter collapsed once more.
“Buggering fuck,” he whispered, his face chalk white. “Moony…. Shit, James. What are we going to do?”
‘Kill Sirius’ was the answer he wanted to give, but James knew it was not the answer Peter needed. More importantly, much as part of him would have liked to, he knew he couldn’t. The blinding rage was beginning to subside, leaving a more level-headed kind of anger. Part of James still loved Sirius. A smaller part even wanted to forgive him.
He wouldn’t, of course, but that part wanted to.
Rather than pull Peter to his feet as he normally would have done, James sank down beside him. The two boys leaned towards each other without thinking of it. The proximity helped, but only a little.
“I don’t know, Pete,” James whispered, knowing it wasn’t what Peter wanted. James, after all, was always supposed to know what to do. It was his role. Whenever they got in over their heads, James pulled them out. He kept them from drowning.
“I don’t know.”
But not this time.
-----
“You’ve left me in quite a pickle, Sirius,” Dumbledore said. He tried very hard not to sigh. Sighing always made him feel old, and he was going to need a certain youthful vitality to sort out the mess Sirius Black had put them all in.
Dumbledore wondered if Sirius had realized this yet. From the set of his shoulders, Dumbledore suspected not; although it was equally likely this was all for show. So much of Sirius’s character was posturing that it was occasionally difficult to tell.
“What you’ve done easily warrants expulsion,” Dumbledore continued. Sirius had been threatened with this so many times that he didn’t even blink. “I dare say if one looked hard enough, one could discover a clause which makes it a criminal offense. I would not be surprised if Eileen Prince-Snape looked into this matter with vigor.”
Finally, Sirius squirmed.
Dumbledore suppressed yet another sigh. It would be mothers that affected Sirius.
“Furthermore, since you still do not seem to understand the gravity of your offense-"
“I understand it,” Sirius snapped, interrupting with eternal boldness.
“Quiet, Black,” Minerva snapped, ever the disciplinarian.
“The fact remains,” Dumbledore continued, “that I have yet to receive any indication that you are sorry for what you have done. You began angry, briefly sank into shock, and then switched right back to angry. I understand that it is somewhat of a default setting for you emotionally, Mr. Black, and I also understand that your opinion of Severus Snape is… derogatory, to say the least. However, I was under the impression that Remus Lupin was a fine friend of yours.”
Sirius’s dark eyes blazed. “He is my friend!”
“Then perhaps you should act like it,” Dumbledore answered coldly.
Sirius opened his mouth to retort, but in his first wise move of the evening, he snapped it shut. Dumbledore did not allow himself to be hopeful at this shadow of humility.
“I know better than to expect you to explain yourself to me, Sirius,” Dumbledore said. “I have tried on numerous occasions to understand you, and it seems I have failed at every turn. You are the eternal contradiction. In a way, I suppose you ought to count yourself lucky. You are a puzzle I have not as yet solved.
“I will reserve judgment for now, Sirius, and my reasons are my own,” he added, directing the last to Minerva. “All I know for certain is that dawn approaches, and soon Severus and Remus will need to be fetched from the Shrieking Shack. Severus will be kept sedated for as long as possible, so you need not worry about seeing him, though I suspect you weren’t. However, informing Remus of what you have done will be the first part of what will doubtless be an extensive punishment.”
He expected Sirius to argue with him or to continue on in his eternal punishment. But as always, Sirius Black defied expectations. At first, Dumbledore thought he hadn’t registered what was happening. But then there was a flash of something. Remorse?
“That will be all, Sirius.”
Perhaps at last, Sirius was beginning to regret what he had done.
Coming Soon - Part Two: Trouble Shooting