Stag Night

Beyond the marble pillars lay a dark portico, lit only by the glow of candles in wall sconces, one by each of three doors.  Madam opened one of the doors and motioned for them to enter.  The white tiger sat back on its haunches and rumbled ominously as they passed, and then padded in after them

“The Victorian parlor is generally reserved for the bearer of Mr. Pettigrew’s key,” she said as she closed the door.  “Had I met you gentlemen first, I would have chosen a different parlor, more modern, or perhaps in a Classical motif.” She gave Remus a glimmer of a smile.

Pop! A silver bucket containing a bottle of champagne appeared on a table near the back of the room. Pop! A house-elf, wearing what looked like a toga, winked into existence on a chair next to the table. 

“A moment, please,” she said and swept past them to the table where the house-elf bounced on the chair.

Remus couldn’t make out her low words amid the squeaking of the house-elf. What was she saying about them? he wondered.  Disgusted by his curiosity, he surveyed the room, a shrine to Victorian excess.  The wallpaper’s garish red roses, splashed on a purple background, pulsated if the eye lingered too long.  A spinet piano topped with a lacy shawl was playing softly all by itself.  The rest of the furniture consisted of overstuffed sofas upholstered in floral fabric and little lace-covered tables bearing silver candelabra. 

“Yes, Madam!” squeaked the house-elf loudly with much bowing and then--Pop!--it disappeared. 

James started at the sound, aroused from his study of the objects d’art crowded on the fireplace mantle. He cleared his throat in the short silence that followed, but the former Head Boy couldn’t seem to find a proper speech for the occasion.   

“Please, make yourselves comfortable,” said Madam, filling the silence with a practiced turn of phrase while she filled four champagne glasses.  She held one out invitingly.  Four more flutes stood empty on the table.  “You shall have company shortly.”

Sirius brushed past James and took the glass.  He smiled at her and bowed formally.  Then he sat on the piano bench and stretched his legs out in front of him as if he were settling down comfortably in the Gryffindor common room back at school. “It wasn’t easy finding this place, you know.  Makes a man thirsty, that kind of work.”

“I’ve never known Sirius to turn down a drink, no matter what the circumstance,” said James.  He walked stiffly to the table, but didn’t take a glass until she offered it. 

“Thank you,” he murmured and extended his neck awkwardly to take a small sip.  “This is quite a room.  It’s, er, well-decorated.”

“Here, James, let me take that for you,” said Peter.  “Wouldn’t want you to spill, after all.  Have a seat, eh?  Yes, just here.”  He ushered James toward one of the sofas and clucked at him like a nursemaid over an invalid.  After James sat down, careful to keep his back straight, Peter settled himself close by.

“Great gods, Peter!” chortled Sirius. “Don’t you want to taste James’s drink, too?  You never know; it might be poisoned.”  He downed half his champagne in one gulp, obviously not concerned about coming to harm.

Remus watched her watching them.  Madam smiled and laughed along with James and Sirius, though he found her glance too calculating.  He had taken the seat vacated by the house-elf and toyed with a champagne glass, but didn’t drink.  The tiger eyed him warily.  Was it purring or growling?  He wasn’t sure, but he didn’t think the big cat liked him. 

“James is getting married tomorrow,” Peter piped up, “and the location is a big secret.”  He laughed and licked his lips nervously.  “Since it’s almost here--in just a few hours, you know--you can let us in on it, eh?  No harm in that, is there, James?”

“Give it a rest, Peter.  Have a drink and forget about it,” said Sirius and drained his glass.

“Look, Peter--“ James began, but he stopped as a door at the back of the room swung open. 

Although it opened silently, as did all the doors in that house, all four noticed immediately.  A woman stood framed in the doorway.

“Ah, here are the ladies,” said Madam with a graceful wave of her hand and the woman entered, followed by three more.

Sirius raised his empty champagne glass in salute.  “Last call, Prongs.”

“A silly young witch from Khartoum--”

“--Had a mix-up twixt boyfriend and broom
’Long and hard though you be,
It’s your Clean Sweep,’ cried she,
’That will fuck me from morning til noon!’”

“No fair!” said James.  “That last rhyme was a cheat!”

“It’s a game, you see,” Remus explained to Mai, the woman sitting next to him.  “James throws out the first line and then Sirius has to make up a limerick.”

“Go on, then.  Give me another!” shouted Sirius with a laugh.  “Hang on, though, this is thirsty work.  How ‘bout another drink first?” 

His last words were muffled as he nuzzled Lydia, a leggy blonde with whom he was sharing the piano bench.  She murmured something that only Sirius could hear and pushed away from him.  Her tight gown outlined every curve from shoulder to hip when she rose and then undulated toward the table with the champagne.  Sirius howled in appreciation.

“Funny game,” Mai said to Remus and eyed him suggestively.  She was a petite Oriental woman with cascades of dark hair and spangly earrings, although she spoke with a flawless upper class accent.  “What sort of games do you like to play?”

“I’m not very good at poetry,” Remus mumbled into his champagne glass.  He stared at the bubbles breaking on the surface for a moment and then took a drink.  It tickled his tongue, but tasted good, much better than the champagne at Auggie McKinnon’s wedding last year, which had been the first and only time he’d got drunk on the stuff.  Tigerseye could obviously afford the best-- the best champagne, the best women--and Peter’s law firm was paying.    

Madam had departed after introducing them to their dates.  Now what were they supposed to do?  For the moment, James ignored his and tossed out opening lines to limericks instead, while Sirius got drunker. Peter hadn’t left James’s side and acted more nervous than the bridegroom-to-be. At least the tiger had gone.

Remus glanced quickly up at Mai.  She parted her lips in an inviting smile.  Gods, she was beautiful, tempting… and very determined.

“Let’s have another, James!” said Remus hoarsely.

“Another, eh? Erm, let me see…” James smiled weakly and looked grateful for the distraction.

“Oi!  Peter!”  Sirius yelled.  “Leave the man alone!”

Peter eyes darted guiltily between Sirius and James.  He still occupied a spot on the sofa next to James and had been whispering in his ear, which didn’t please Peter’s date Kitty, who crawled into Peter’s lap and did her best to distract him.  He flushed in embarrassment 

“There once was a--” James stopped and winced. 

“You must relax,” said Elsa, the large and amply endowed blonde who sat on James’s other side.  With her German accent, braids and broad smile, she looked like a cheerful Valkyrie about to vanquish a foe on the battlefield. She got up, crossed behind the sofa and began to knead James’s shoulders like so much bread dough. 

“I’m fine,” he protested.  “You don’t have to--”

“Not to worry.  I relax you.” 

James moaned and sank deeper into the sofa. After a minute, though, he murmured, “Not half bad.  How’d you do that?  Where was I?  Oh, yeah.” He cleared his throat importantly and then began. 

“There once was a wizard named Stokes--”

Sirius didn’t miss a beat.

“--Who thought himself luckiest of blokes.
With twin sisters he’d dally
’Cause both Nancy and Sally
Would do him for double the strokes.”

The women laughed.  Sirius raised his glass in salute and then noisily drained it with one slurp.

“Alright, that’s it,” laughed James.  “Enough limericks for one night.”

“What a sodding barrel of laughs you turned out to be,” Sirius said to James.  Then, addressing Lydia, he growled, “You want to hear more, don’t you?  Or how about The Wizard’s Wand?  I know fifty-seven verses, none of them clean.”

“Oh, go on, then,” she giggled. “You don’t.”

“Oh, I was a lad of seven and ten,” he sang in an enthusiastic baritone.  “When a pretty young--” 

James and Peter joined in catcalls, drowning out Sirius.  They’d heard all fifty-seven verses many times before and weren’t keen to hear them again

“More champagne!” Sirius called.  He lurched to the table and grabbed the bottle, which magically refilled itself whenever it was empty.  “Don’t mind sharing, do you, Remus old sod?” he said with a wink.

Sirius made the rounds, carelessly splashing champagne in everyone’s glass, and then collapsed onto the piano bench.  He wrapped one arm around Lydia’s waist and clutched the magnum to his chest with the other.   He had done his duty as he saw it and was now determined to enjoy himself fully.  And drinking champagne in the company of expensive whores in an exclusive wizarding brothel was a fine old time as far as Sirius was concerned. 

“Ach, James,” said Elsa as she continued working on his neck and shoulders, “you cannot be in such a state for your wedding.  I have something that helps you.  Tinktur.  I do not know the englischer word.  Something to rub in, ja?”

“I’m feeling much better, thanks,” said James.  “No need to…you know.”

“Das Liniment,” she murmured to herself, while redoubling her efforts to unknot his neck and shoulders.  “Ja, Liniment. You say that in English?  The liniment?  Good for muscles.  My grandmother makes and sends me.”

James twisted out from under her fingers and looked up at her.  He smiled, but panic crept into his voice as he said, “I’m sure your grandmother makes a good home remedy, but I don’t think...”

“She’s good, that one,” commented Remus in a low voice.  Conversation seemed to be expected and he’d prefer that the discussion didn’t center on him.  “Five minutes ago James could barely move, and now look at him.”

“Elsa is very, very good. Your friend is in for a treat.” Mai slyly painted a picture of desire and release in the round way she rolled the words on her tongue.  She focused on him, eyes narrowed.  “Would you like a massage or… something else?”

Remus took another drink instead of answering.  He knew how James must feel right about now.  Even though his muscle spasms seemed to have improved, that sense of honor and the need to balance out all the world’s rights and wrongs must have made up for the lost pain.  James didn’t tell Lily everything.  She still didn’t know that one of James’s best friends was a werewolf.  But on the subject of this evening’s adventures, James would want to tell her, or at least he wouldn’t want to do anything that he couldn’t tell Lily--eventually. 

“The German national Quidditch team uses the liniment of my grandmother,” said Elsa with a serene smile.  She reached down and began to work over his shoulder blades and lower back

“You don’t play Quidditch, do you?” said James.  He tried to twist around again to look at her but was rebuffed as she continued her kneading.  “You look familiar…from the World Cup last year?”

She laughed.  Her hands stopped moving and came to rest on the back of the sofa.  “Ach, nein. My sister Karin plays for Germany.”

“Karin Enke?  The Chaser?”  James bounced excitedly.  “Fantastic match against Italy.  Such a shame about their Seeker, though,” he said warmly. 

“The quarterfinal, ja?  It gives me much pride.  I do not see my family for many years.  Only my grandmother, she visits me in England.”

“I lost a hell of a bet, but what a match!” Sirius said and downed his champagne with such enthusiasm that he slopped most of it on himself and on Lydia. She took the bottle from him smoothly and poured him another glass.

“Where’s m’wand?” he said, as he tried to jam a hand into his pocket and missed. “I s’pose I ought to clean it up.”

“No wands here, darlin’.  Besides we adore champagne,” Lydia giggled and ran a hand over his sodden chest.   “We’d bathe in it if we could, wouldn’t we, ladies?”

Sirius laughed heartily and made short work of the newly filled glass.  After he finished, Lydia prised the empty flute from his fingers and set it down alongside the magnum.  He protested, but she wiggled into his lap and wrapped her arms around his neck.  That kept him too busy to wonder about the next drink.

Meanwhile Peter tried to tear James’s attention away from an animated discussion of last year’s World Cup. Elsa appeared to be an enthusiastic Quidditch fan and knew the teams in the English league almost as well as James did.  She hinted that some of the top players had visited Tigerseye, though she didn’t name any names.

“Peter,” Kitty whined petulantly.  The little redhead, who didn’t look much older than sixteen, ran her fingers through his hair and nibbled at an earlobe. “Forget about your friends for a bit.  Let’s go....”

“What about James? He might need--that is, I have to make sure that he’s…having a good time,” Peter whispered to her.  Beads of sweat danced on his forehead and his face was very red. 

“Oooh.  You’re burning up, you are.  Here, this’ll help.”  She tugged Peter to his feet and took off his jacket, over his weakening protests.

“That’s a good boy,” she said in a sing-song voice as she led him to small sofa that was about as far away from James as possible. After sitting him down, she brought a champagne glass to his lips and tipped it up. “Have a nice drink for Kitty.  There, isn’t that better?”

Peter spluttered and coughed; a good deal of the champagne ended up in his lap, but he gave her a bewildered smile.  That seemed to be enough encouragement for Kitty; she took Peter’s furiously blushing face in her hands and gave him a very thorough kiss.

This is a fantasy come to life for Peter, Remus mused, but he acts as if it’s a bad dream.  Sirius is in his element and even James seems relaxed at last.  Remus glanced sideways at Mai, surreptitiously watching her watch him.

It’s just a job for them, he told himself.  But even “professionals” might not tolerate a werewolf.  Not many would in the wizarding world.

Do they have to know?

Most witches probably wouldn’t recognize that scar of his, distinctive though it was, but there was always the chance...  Because of that fear of discovery, his few “romantic” encounters thus far had been with Muggle women.  To a Muggle, a werewolf was just an actor on the telly stumbling around in bad make-up and a laughably fake mask.  But not to a witch.  What would the ladies of Tigerseye think if they knew that he was not only a werewolf, but also sought after by the darkest of the Dark, Lord Voldemort? 

What would his friends think?  That question had been gnawing at him since he’d remembered fully the dead unicorn and his encounter in the woods.

James would tell him to go to the Aurors.  Remus had never spoken to an Auror, but he was familiar with the Werewolf Registry and their tactics.  Someone had informed the Ministry about the incident with Snape and the Whomping Willow, though Dumbledore had forbidden any talk about it.  Those bastards from the Registry had turned up at Hogwarts for an “interview” that consisted of four hours of ridicule, abuse and just plain torture. Remus learned later that they had wanted him expelled, but Dumbledore had adamantly refused.   No, Remus didn’t put much trust in the Ministry.

What would Sirius say about his encounter with Lord Voldemort?  Sirius wouldn’t have been so stupid as to have been cursed in the first place.  He’d have been quicker and thrown off a few curses of his own.  He would be concerned and would offer to check Remus over for any lingering effects of the curse.  But would he understand how it felt to be face-to-face with Lord Voldemort?  Would he understand how painfully confusing it had been to have that voice inside his head?  And would he wonder if Remus had succumbed?

These days all wizards had to wonder about their fellows.  Not a week went by without news of another witch or wizard having been under the Imperius Curse without family or friends ever knowing.  But it was absurd that Sirius or James would ever think that about him.  Wasn’t it?

A growl brought Remus back to the present.  He looked around in confusion, only half-remembering where he was, and found himself staring into a pair of golden eyes.  Gods, the tiger was enormous.  Its massive head nearly came up to his shoulder.  He could feel its warm breath on his leg and there was no mistaking the low-pitched rumble this time.

“Mai, dear, why don’t you help Lydia make Sirius more comfortable?”

Remus caught the look that passed between Mai and Madam. How long had she been there? He watched Mai rise and leave the table without looking at him.  She whispered something to Lydia and both women glanced briefly back in his direction, not at him but seeking some sort of confirmation from the mistress of the house, who stood behind him.

“I don’t think your tiger likes me,” Remus said with a glance at the beast.

Madam laughed softly and took the seat next to him.  “Shambles is mostly harmless, though a bit funny sometimes in her likes and dislikes.”

The tiger gave him another warning rumble and moved away, closer to its mistress. He felt relieved.  He understood the mind of a predator and didn’t like the feeling of being prey.

“James is enjoying himself,” he commented.  “He can talk about sport for hours, comes to that. And he does seem to have…relaxed.”

He glanced toward his friend, who was waving his arms about freely to illustrate a Quidditch play to Elsa.  James noticed him and paused for a moment with a bemused shrug.  Peter, Remus noted, had stopped pestering James and was firmly under thrall to Kitty.  In fact, it was a wonder that Peter was able to breathe at all, given the non-stop snogging going between those two.

“Here we go, darlin’,” Lydia said cheerfully.

“What’s this, then?  Am I going somewhere?” said Sirius thickly.  “Don’t want to go.  Like it here.”

“Come on, then,” Mai teased.  “There’s no room for me.  Let’s find a better spot, shall we?”

The two women coaxed Sirius to stand with some difficulty.  He was very, very drunk and couldn’t keep from stumbling as they led him to a sofa.  He sat heavily, or rather the women let him fall.  His initial confusion dissolved into delight as Mai and Lydia settled themselves on either side of him.  He put an arm around each woman and seemed to be the happiest of men.

“And you?”

Reluctantly, Remus turned his attention away from Sirius.  He flushed and toyed with his half-empty glass, but thought better of drinking any more. 

“What can we find to tempt the scholar?” Madam’s soft tone teased.

“Don’t,” he said, more sharply than he’d intended.  After a moment’s pause, he looked up at her and wished he hadn’t.  “Don’t worry about me. As long as James is--as long as he enjoys himself, I really don’t care.”

“Oh, but you do,” said Madam knowingly.  She had the round face of a saint in a Renaissance painting, imbued with secret knowledge whose depth can only be guessed by the viewer. “As for your friend,” she glanced toward James and gave a small nod, “he’ll do all right.”

A signal must have been passed, for Elsa whispered something to James, and then got him to his feet.  He continued to chat easily with her as she led him toward the door.

“P’raps I’ll try a bath,” James addressed Madam rather sheepishly as he passed the table, “and Elsa recommends a, er, massage. Tell the others that…” He glanced back at the room.  Neither Peter nor Sirius, so solicitous a few minutes earlier, had noticed his departure.  Remus bet himself that the ladies were distracting them on purpose.

“They can draw their own conclusions,” said Remus with a shrug.  “Have fun, mate.”

James winced slightly at the word  “fun” and his grin slipped down a notch.

“Don’t worry about it,” Remus continued with a wry smile.  “Just clear out before Peter notices or we’ll be here all night.”

“Right,” chuckled James.  “See you, then.”

And he was gone.

Remus sighed and poured himself more champagne, aware that Madam watched and waited, as careful as any tiger on the hunt.  He envied the bubbles, squeezed on all sides down at the bottom of the glass and then shooting up through the wine to escape at the surface.  Were they happy to be free? 

His headache was back.  He shouldn’t have drunk any champagne; and he certainly shouldn’t drink any more.  But he took another sip anyway and wished he could get as blissfully pissed as Sirius.

 Pop!

More champagne? No, something else had arrived. Under the table, the bony and knobby something bumped into his shins.

“Madam!” came a frantic whisper.  A frightened house-elf poked its long nose out from under the table, caught sight of Remus and vanished back under the table with a squeak.

Madam leaned under the table and tried to calm the semi-coherent elf.  The creature refused to come out, but after a moment it continued in a barely audible whisper: “Madam must come quickly!  There is being a wand!”

She frowned, displeased, and dragged the house-elf from under the table. “Excuse me,” she said to Remus with a tight, distracted smile. 

The tiger wasn’t put off so easily; it nudged her insistently, but she paid it little heed.  She had her arms full of a squirming house-elf. 

“Stay here, Shambles,” she commanded with a backward glance and then she closed the door on the unhappy tiger. 

The cat growled and nudged the door with its nose.  Remus wasn’t sure that he wanted to stay in the same room with an unhappy tiger. He checked on Sirius and Peter, to see if they’d noticed, but they were too absorbed.  When he turned back, the tiger had worked open the door and slithered through.  He poked his head outside the room and saw a blur of black and white vanish around a corner. 

He followed the tiger, of course.  But was he predator or was he prey?