CHAPTER IV.

As was always the case with the day after the full moon, Remus felt he was the farthest away he could possibly be from the next one, which was a rather sobering thought. He had woken up colder than he had last month, which he supposed made sense being that it was already the middle of October.

Ah, well, Remus thought as he sank onto the bed he always took, at the back left corner of the Hospital Wing. Pomfrey fretted over him as usual. What was there to be done?

It was six-thirty in the morning, and he was tired. James, Sirius, and Peter had deposited him in the Shrieking Shack as usual, and stayed with him when he became himself again, shivering into humanness as the sun rose. But they had been forced to leave him, as they always were, so as not to be discovered when Madam Pomfrey came to collect him.

He watched her as she opened the door to let James, Sirius, and Peter in — mere minutes before, she had turned away Zelda, who had shown up for her apprenticeship as usual and been turned away for the second time that year. Remus's heart was still pounding.

He had reached something of a point of insanity, or rather the brink of it, thinking about Zelda Bancroft. He thought of the month before, when she'd all but blackmailed James into giving Sirius a detention. Hiding something, are we?

Remus closed his eyes, nauseated.

He was, indeed, hiding something. James and Sirius and Peter, of course, were hiding it for him.

There were — whispers, he knew this. Whispers of something (nay, of someone) rising from the shadows. Raising an army. There were whispers Dumbledore was raising one too.

He wondered, idly, if he'd be allowed to join. But then, what good was being a werewolf if the only time he was ever dangerous was the one time he couldn't control it?

"So," James said, in the way he always did, in the way that made his gravitational pull that much stronger — "Moony, why do you look so down?"

Remus only raised an eyebrow in response, as if to say, why do you think?

James laughed. Sirius perched himself on the edge of Remus's bed. Peter hovered, awkwardly. Then, Sirius broke the silence: "Has Bancroft shown up yet?"

James shot him a glare, but Remus ignored him. "Yeah. Pomfrey shooed her away, though."

"Good," James said. "You know, she ought to keep her nose out of other people's business — that slithering little —"

"Prongs," Remus said wearily, "lay off with the name calling, would you?"

"Fine," said James petulantly. "Sirius served the detention, at least, so maybe she really did give up. . ."

"Somehow I doubt that," Remus sighed. He closed his eyes again, wishing they would all disappear so he could nod off. But then, he wouldn't nod off if they did leave, would he — no, he'd just continue to lie there, thinking listlessly of Zelda, of the way she'd all but threatened them and of the way she frowned, with a small crease between her eyebrows and a glint in her eye. He wanted to hate her, like James and Sirius did.

He found, to his great disappointment, that he didn't quite know how.

So no, it wasn't that he fancied her, exactly, because where would that get him? Dreaming after a Slytherin, Moony, honestly, scolded Sirius in his head, and Remus knew he was right. It was more that he thought her impossibly pretty and wonderfully intriguing at the same time. He wanted to know what part of the Muggle world she lived in. He wanted to know how she hid it so well, if she'd told her parents not to come to King's Cross or if she took the tube home or whether or not she liked Bowie. He thought not. She seemed more of a Fleetwood Mac sort.

He wondered if she was hurt every time the people she hung around with used that slur they so often tossed around, gnashing it between their teeth like chewing gum, sticking it under tables and behind the ears of unsuspecting Muggle-borns. Mudblood. Remus shivered as the word passed through his mind.

He wondered if Zelda used it.

He hoped, in some rather perverted way, in a way that disgusted himself on the inside, that she didn't. For if she did, Remus would be in a very tricky spot indeed, because he knew he couldn't possibly fancy someone who used a word like that. He found himself disgusted with Zelda sometimes anyway, with the casualness with which she lied (Yes, sir, she'd once told Professor Slughorn when he'd asked if she bore any relation to some Bancroft fellow at the Ministry), and with the way she seemed to so clearly view everything as a means to an end.

But. And this was a firm, and honest, and sincere but.

But — Zelda was pretty. Strikingly so. Funny, too. Remus heard the comments she made in class (they sat nearest to each other during Transfiguration, and were both in N.E.W.T. level Potions), and her knack for sarcasm sometimes gave his own friends a run for their money.

He drifted in and out of these thoughts, and in and out of sleep: James hovered, like he always did — from the furrow of his brow, Remus gathered that this moon had been a particularly bad one. After a thorough inspection by Madam Pomfrey, Remus was allowed to leave, and soon he was being tailed by James again as they left the Hospital Wing. James, in his usual overbearing manner, was insisting on taking Remus's books but not arguing about Remus's bag.

They made it up to Gryffindor Tower, and James gave the Fat Lady the password ("Gobbledygook!"), then let Sirius and Peter climb through the portrait hole before looking to Remus, jerking his head in the direction of the common room. "Coming, Moony?"

"Er — you go ahead," Remus told him. "I think I'll find something to eat before class later."

James, wisely, seemed to take this as a sign that Remus wanted to be alone. He just nodded, told Remus not to be too hard on himself up the staircases, and followed Sirius and Peter into the common room. The portrait swung shut behind them, and Remus found himself face-to-face with the Fat Lady, who eyed him suspiciously but said nothing.

It was a moment before Remus gathered his thoughts, as he was still incredibly groggy, but he managed to organise them into a somewhat intelligible pattern. Walking aimlessly, Remus soon found himself on the castle grounds, circling around the fogged-up greenhouses and trudging through the early morning light to the gamekeeper's hut.

He often did this — sought out Hagrid for support, or guidance, or merely a "cuppa," as he called it. Sometimes there were things his friends just didn't understand, like all the nights Remus spent wrestling the monster in his dreams, the one that took over whenever his parents locked him in the cellar at the full moon, the one that clawed its way out of the folds in his skin as moonlight seeped through the Shack's boarded-up windows. Hagrid, while most certainly not a werewolf, still seemed to empathise (or sympathise) with Remus. He always knew the right thing to respond with, anyhow, which was more than Remus could say of his friends.

"Anythin' exciting lately, Remus?" Hagrid asked when he had successfully ushered Remus into the crackling warmth of his hut. He had the tact not to mention the previous night's full moon, for which Remus was grateful, despite knowing very well that it was evident on his face, on the way his robes hung awkwardly off his too-thin frame.

"No, not really — although Lily did ask me to come with her as a friend to Professor Slughorn's Christmas party at the beginning of December," Remus said, suddenly remembering the interaction he'd had with Lily when she'd done exactly that. He smiled slightly and accepted the tea Hagrid offered him, moving to sit down at the table. "Between you and me, I think she's grown tired of James since she said yes to his Hogsmeade invitation at the start of term."

"Lily? Tired o' James?" Hagrid waved a huge hand. "Nah. She's smitten with 'im, she is. James probably saw righ' through Slughorn's parties — networking event, tha's all it is."

Remus only smiled again, but could not help agreeing. He'd said yes to Lily only because she was good company, and often provided witty commentary on the interesting characters that were often on Slughorn's guest lists.

A comfortable silence settled around them as Remus sipped his tea and Hagrid bustled around his hut. Briefly, Remus considered consulting with Hagrid about Zelda, who — to Remus's ever-dawning horror — was most-likely leagues smarter than she let on, and was sure to figure out exactly what was preventing her from shadowing Madam Pomfrey every single day of the week.

He counted himself lucky, at least, that it would most likely take Zelda several more moons to put the pieces together. It had taken his friends a year and a half's worth of full moons to be sure of their theory before confronting Remus in their second year, and that had been with the four of them living in the same dormitory.

"Hagrid," he said at last, to which the gamekeeper turned quizzically to face him. Remus set down his steaming teacup on its mismatched saucer with a soft clink. "What would you do if you had a secret, and you thought someone was close to figuring it out?"

Hagrid's eyes, crinkled in the corners, immediately softened. "Remus," he said gruffly, but not unkindly. "You think someone's done figured you ou', then?"

"No," Remus rushed to say, then corrected himself. "Well — maybe. I don't know."

He knew, of course, that the entirety of the faculty was aware of his condition. While not a teacher, Hagrid had still helped Professor Sprout to plant the Whomping Willow. Remus had consulted with Hagrid many times, including on the day his friends had finally voiced their concerns — when he'd run, panicking, thinking his friends were surely lying, that surely they didn't want to be his friend anymore now that they knew what he was. . .

("Remus," James had said uncertainly, sharing a nervous glance with Sirius and Peter, "We know you're a werewolf. And — and we don't care.")

"Wha' d'you mean?" Hagrid asked, and Remus swallowed the rising bile in his throat.

"It's nothing, Hagrid," was all he said. He flashed what he hoped was a reassuring, unbothered smile. "Just — just a thought I had. There's really nothing to worry about."

━━

Weeks passed, and the air grew colder, less oppressive than the heat of summer and with more room for crisp, goosefleshy winds. No snow had fallen yet, only frigid rain, and as always, the Hogwarts Rumour Mill was in full swing. This was especially the case with the seventh years, who were anticipating their very last opportunity to attend Professor Slughorn's annual Christmas party just before the winter holiday; every conversation, as far as Remus could tell, was awhirl with questions of who was taking who to the party.

Honestly, he kept thinking. It's barely Halloween.

Those who were not members of the Slug Club, of course, only had to hope they received an invite or secured a date — James, who couldn't be bothered, was more focused on Quidditch and (begrudgingly) Head Boy duties, whilst Sirius, ever the rebel, was making a point to ignore anyone who dared bring up the topic of the party at all.

Remus found himself an idle listener to the gossip. One morning at the beginning of November, he was sitting at the Gryffindor table sipping coffee over that day's edition of the Daily Prophet (FOUR MUGGLES KILLED IN MANCHESTER — MINISTRY SAYS PERPETRATOR STILL AT LARGE, blared the headline) and listening to Mary Macdonald and Marlene McKinnon titter over the latest bread from the rumour mill.

"Well, I heard that Pandora Malfoy's going with some Ravenclaw bloke in the year below us, isn't that interesting?" Mary was saying as she buttered her toast. "Her poncy pureblood friends are all going with people they deem 'worthy,' but not her. . . strange, isn't it?"

"Very," Marlene agreed. Remus trained his eyes on the Daily Prophet, but found he was not reading any words. "I heard Dorcas Meadowes is going with Nott. . . funny he'd go for a half-blood considering everyone knows his father's one of those Death Eaters the papers are always talking about these days."

"Mm, and she's so lovely too," Mary replied, but Remus was no longer paying attention. "Pity she's a Slytherin. . . she seems quite nice. . ."

Death Eaters. The phrase bounced around in Remus's head like Peeves in the trophy room. He had heard the term before, mainly from his father, who worked at the Ministry and who Remus had heard talking in hushed voices with his mother about recent "developments." Whatever these developments were, Remus suspected that his mother (being a Muggle) didn't understand enough about wizarding politics to tell him, and his father didn't want to tell him at all.

But Remus had heard the whispers. He'd seen the way the Slytherins had become tighter-knit, picking more and more on Muggle-born students — particularly of the younger variety — and muttering conspiratorially over the papers. Remus wasn't stupid; he knew there was a fight brewing.

"— and Zelda Bancroft is going with Graham Carter, but Carter's sister isn't going at all! The Slytherins aren't as consistent these days with their date choices." Mary's voice broke through Remus's thoughts. He looked up.

"What?" he asked, a little too sharply.

"Oh," Mary said, looking confused. "I was just saying that the Slytherins are branching out. Graham Carter is in Hufflepuff, isn't he? He's pureblood, but still. . . going with Bitchy Bancroft, of all people. . ."

"Right," Remus muttered, and hid behind his edition of the Daily Prophet once more. Over the edge of the paper, he saw Mary and Marlene exchange dubious looks, and though they continued their previous chain on conversation, Remus felt that he had just made a grave mistake by bothering to ask.

━━

UK SLANG:

poncy/ponce — a pretentious person