Memories and Moonlight

Memories and Moonlight

The moon is rising. And before you even look up to face the one window that brings light into this cell, before you look up into the sky, you know this moon is different from the others you've felt recently. It's that big fat, summer moon. The moon with that menacing glow of orange that lifts itself out of the sky just once a year. It's the moon you know will give you a little extra time to morph into your other being. It's the moon that lasts just a little bit longer, whose power is a little bit stronger. It's the moon that gives you power and just a little more courage.

It's the moon Remus feared more than others, because the orange brought a special, deeper pain during his change.

Remus.

You haven't allowed yourself to even think his name for years. But tonight... Tonight, for some inexplicable reason, the faces of your childhood friends, your chosen brothers, inundate you. Beginning with Remus, the one whose affliction started it all.

As you dare return to your other form, your temporary form given all that's happened, your mouth molds his name without daring to put wind behind it and utter a sound. As it happens, you feel it. The R-e-m-u-s. Each letter extends across your lips and tongue as your body contorts, stretching in some places, contracting in others.

You realize you've feeling more like Remus these days. All alone. Trapped in a body you have very little control of. Relying on strangers who would kill you (or worse) if they knew your secret. Waiting for the moon to allow you to safely change.

Remus. He was the gentlest of you four wild children during most of the month. The prefect. The good boy. The loyal one who always tried to soothe mischief and keep the pranks from going too far.

The one the world feared as a monster in the moonlight.

You wonder where he is tonight. Roaming the countryside? Or locked up, fighting his demons, resisting the urge to bite?

You shake your head to put Remus out of it as your thoughts and the moon travel along to somewhere else. The moon is rising over another place. Near or far to here, you cannot tell. Especially as where you are, you're not quite sure, and where he is, was a secret that only a few of you knew and one of you could reveal. Not that it matters much these days.

James can't feel the moon where he is these days, lying next to Lily, slowly turning into dust. Even in the Magical World, the glow of the moonlight's yet to be reported six feet underground.

James.

Funny how, even as you try, you don't think of James as he was when you were in school, though he was the leader of you lot. Perhaps because of the events in those last days of October, first days of November years ago, when you think of James, your thoughts immediately leap ahead to the next generation. As if thinking about his boy is fate's (or guilt's) attempt to keep James whole and on this earth with the rest of you.

James' son is probably feeling the moonlight, though, asleep in his bed near the family who took him in. Wherever he is. You've never learned definitively where Dumbledore hid him. Not that you could risk going to him now.

You think about the boy. Seven years old now. No, as you redo the math. Eight. How much he looked like James, even as a tiny tot; with that shock of black hair and that ready, most definitely mischievous, smile. But those eyes, those were all Lily. You wonder for a second if they show the range of emotion that his mother's did. My, you laugh silently, how those eyes did flash with anger at one of James' pranks, how they danced with laughter after one of you shot her a silly grin. Miss. Evans always did have a magical sense of humor.

You think about the baby who became The Boy Who Lived. You hate that title. Hate him for having it. It represents so much that was lost that night. You're amazed he survived. Continuing on in spite of every effort to destroy him.

A smile creeps to you as you think of what might happen if you ever reunite. You think about the boy and what might happen if...

If...

You can't dare to dream about the ifs.

You shake your head to clear your thoughts. What you wouldn't give for a pensieve right know.

The floodgate of memory opens and the thoughts come rushing in. One springs above the jumble of faces, of voices and you focus on it almost curiously. The baby, James' son, had just started speaking when you'd all set out to teach him the most important words he'd ever remember: the nicknames you four had in school. You look around in the glow of the moonlight and remember the baby, in his tiny baby voice, trying to repeat after you. "Mooey, Pafoo," he'd say, as you all roared with laughter and you'd take turns changing shape, much to his delight. "Wormtail," he never uttered. "Prongs" he never learned. That was "Daddy."

Always "Daddy."

These days, you realize now, hearing a voice call out "Daddy" never fails to make you jump, whichever skin you're in. You hear the cries for parents, "Mummy" and "Dad" often enough from those who share your space, screamed at all hours of day and night. Never directed to you, of course, nor will there ever be one who screams out for you like that. You realize that you've missed the chance at parenthood.

You've missed a lot of chances over the years you've wasted here, waiting for freedom and release. You've missed a lot of opportunities, you sigh again, without sound. Opportunities taken from you right after James and Lily were killed and their son was not.

You shake your head to clear your thoughts. James and his son fade away, but there's another face replacing them in the foggy cloud of memory.

Not that face, you silently groan.

You shake your head again.

He's still there. Still starting at you with those wild eyes.

You shake your head again...

... and again and again. Determined to shake him from your thoughts, even if it means your brains shake right out of your head.

You will not. think. of. him.

You cannot. You cannot allow your thoughts, your last vestiges of sanity to be contaminated by images of the last brother you faced before you landed here. You will not think of the lies, the choices, the disappointment, the loss.

You shake your head over and over, more forcefully until...

The creak sounded so close.

Did they hear you? You hold your breath not knowing how you would get out of this one if they happened upon you. If the eyes opened, if the door swung, and you were discovered here in your present form. You stand still, feeling, practically hearing, your heart pound in your chest. Panting with agony. Still, you won't transform, preferring to risk discovery for just a few more minutes of sweet reward that being able to stand in this present form can bring.

Silence.

After what seems like an eternity, you relax. The danger of discovery has, it seemed, passed for now. How you'd give your right hand not to ever have to go through that again.

He is gone from your thoughts, at least. At least for the moment. You think about your body instead. The physical pain inflicted the last time you saw him (oops, here he comes again) in that street filled with Muggles has waned. You've even gotten used to the little bit of permanent scarring that encounter wrought. History has painted him with a far different brush than what the true facts of the matter would reveal. You know for certain he'll never have the chance to set the record straight. He, like James, is in a place where no one will ever dare to look.

Over the years, you've stopped wondering if anyone will ever look for you. You doubt it as you remember that the world actually knows where you are, though no one would go looking for you there either. Strange how the boys every one sought at Hogwarts are all scattered, mostly to places no one dares to tread.

The moon is rising over your prison where you have been kept since your little band of brothers was shattered all those years ago. It's getting brighter and you know it will soon be time to end this for tonight. This, whatever it is... torture or therapy. Your inner monologue that has taken you down memory lane. Torture or therapy, either way, as the moon's glow floods into the tiny space, you know you cannot stay in your current form. Too much risk. Too many questions would be asked, requiring no answers that you want to give. You know the time is running short, yet your mind unconsciously drifts to the only place you've ever gone in the previous nights that you've sat, looking up from your prison to the freedom of the sky above.

Hogwarts.

The moon is rising over Hogwarts tonight. Where the journey began for all of you. You lot used to use the moonlit nights to explore the grounds, turning your adventures into a most convenient, useful tool of mischief. Three of you practicing, learning skills beyond your years, all to change at will to keep company with the one who couldn't make that choice.

From the stories they tell, not much has changed since you lot left. Dumbledore still reigns. McGonagall still transforms to the delight of first years. The Sorting Hat still sorts. The Fat Lady still sings. Sir Nicholas still longs to join the Headless Hunt. Quidditch, watching or playing, is still the best way to spend a Saturday afternoon. Peeves still wreaks havoc. Hagrid still cares for the animals. Snape is still a greasy git (though you understand he's now standing in front of the classroom instead of skulking in the back row) and children still come for seven years of magical education and to make chosen brothers and sisters from their closest group of friends.

James' boy may be there one day soon.

And you will be waiting for him to complete the task the Dark Lord could not accomplish.

You won't have to break in or use force. Patience has gotten you this far in prison and it will sustain you for a few more years.

Percy will take you to Hogwarts next term.

It is that anticipation that fills your heart as you take a last glance of that orange moon as your body contorts again and your backside elongates to include a perfect, wormlike, tail. This is the last time for awhile, you think. It's risky enough transforming in a houseful of Weasleys sleeping in separate rooms. Attempting it, even for a moment, in a dormitory of curious boys would be simply suicide. No, you're just going to have to get used to living in one form, even on the moonlit nights.

And if you do, Percy will take you to Hogwarts.

You smile a rat's smile as you crawl back into the cage beside the sleeping red head.

You are his pet after all.

So long as you remain your body's prisoner.