Goodnight Moon

The end of the tunnel lay just ahead of him. He could only be grateful - well, grateful was a funny word under the circumstances, but it would do - as he bent over double, the pains of his oncoming transformation growing stronger as the time grew nearer. Arms trembling, he pushed open the trap door above his head, and clambered into the parlor of the Shrieking Shack. He lay there for a moment, until restlessness and anxiety drove him to climb the stairs, pace, do anything to get away from the aching in his back, the pains beginning to shoot through his arms and legs. Perhaps if he moved enough, he could outrun it. Never mind that running had never worked before. He was barely aware of stumbling into the corner of the bed - things like that were to be expected when the room was spinning that way. He did notice, however, that he was no longer pacing madly through the room. Apparently, the bed had knocked him to the floor (traitorous thing). Just as well, since he was going to die soon anyway. Couldn't do that standing up. Well, maybe he could, but it was probably more comfortable to die lying down - no fall to worry about. Some part of his brain found that funny, and he tried to laugh but it only came out as a whimper, ending in a broken sob. He wished he'd just die and get it over with, goodness knew it was difficult to breathe. And he was so hot, so cold, so thirsty. Where was the moon, already?

He heard whispers. Splendid. Bring on the delirium, that was always entertaining. Waking nightmares were always such a joy, after all. He clutched at his knees, fighting down a wave of nausea. He could feel his friends in the room with him. Yes, that was good, focus on friends. James and Sirius going on about Quidditch, Peter nodding happily in the background. He could hear them talking, their voices growing louder in his mind, more distinct, overlaid by a grating sound and then a thud.

What?

All at once the smell of teenaged boy filled his nose - three teenaged boys - three particular teenaged boys, he knew those scents - and suddenly the voices were piercingly loud. He whined at the pain, but as though from a distance came to the conclusion that he was not, in fact, hallucinating. They were here.

What were they doing here? Did they want to die?

"Remus? Hey, Remus! Where are you?" Idiots! He groaned, and heard someone say "up there." Three pairs of shoes stomped up the stairs - honestly, why didn't they just ride a stampeding herd of hippogriffs or something? Up the hall away from him, back down again to stop in the doorway, then someone swore. "Remus!" More swearing. "Are you all right, mate?" Someone's hand was on his arm. He whimpered again - it hurt - and opened his eyes so he could glare properly at them.

"Go away." The command came through gritted teeth.

"Forget it, Lupin. We're not going anywhere." It was James. Good James, wonderful friend, brother-in-arms, who was going to have his head ripped off in a few minutes when the moon finally rose high enough to shine on him. Stupid berk. This time when Remus whimpered it was in fear and frustration.

"Go. I'll kill you if you don't. Or bite." It wasn't an idle threat, they had to know that.

Sirius grinned at him. Half-heartedly, but grinned nonetheless. Well, nothing could ever really subdue him, could it? "Not likely. Not now, not ever. We're never leaving you alone again." The corners of his mouth dipped somewhat - he was only just beginning to understand what Remus went through each month.

He tried to shake his head, but was unsure whether it worked. "Stupid, stupid," he gasped, and then stiffened, eyes growing wide. The top of the moon had reached the bottom of the window, its beams fingering their way over the sill, reaching out to touch his tormented body. Tremors shook his limbs though his back remained rigid, and the three other boys jumped back from him. His heart was pounding loud in his ears, but not loudly enough to muffle his screams or the shouts of his friends. His friends, Merlin, they were going to die, and he cried out for them. His body bent and twisted to reshape itself, but still he was aware of something cold and wet whining as it padded anxiously in front of him.

Then, a kind of silence was laid on him; the change was complete. As he lay for a moment, allowing the air to flow freely into his lungs, he caught three foreign scents, and remembered that he was not alone in the room.

He opened golden eyes and came face to face with an enormous black dog. A growl started low in his throat, rising slowly till it curled his lips back and made its way past sharp, ivory teeth. The black dog backed up a pace, head lowered but not submissive. Beyond it he could see a great stag, head held high, antlers gleaming in the moonlight. At its feet crouched a large rat. It chittered and darted nervously between the stag's hooves, came abruptly to a stop, and sat back on its hindquarters, as if to greet the wolf, however nervously.

He had not stopped growling. Here before him was prey, and that brought a savage joy to his wolfish instinct. At last he had something to hunt, tear, kill. Again he caught their scents, and for a moment was checked. There was something...and then it was lost, consumed by the bloodlust. His growl continued unabated.

Slowly he rolled to his feet and crouched to spring given the smallest provocation. The stag and dog moved back, one step, two, backing out the door. He advanced slowly, pushing them into the hall. His growl held a whine of madness, his tongue darted out to give a shine to his deadly teeth.

Suddenly the rat darted squealing down the staircase from where it had been hidden under hoof and paw, and chaos erupted. He sprang for the dog, who was closest, his momentum carrying them into the stag and sending all three of them crashing down the stairs to land in a stunned heap. Before he could regain his feet, he felt the dog kicking, pushing him away. He twisted around and leapt at the dog again, sinking his teeth into its shoulder. The dog howled in pain, and he felt a moment of gleeful satisfaction.

It was short-lived. The dog twisted away from him, and as he lunged again he found himself with a face full of bramble-like antlers. Snarling, he fell back. With one great paw he swiped at the rack. The points tore at his paw pad, but the great stag stumbled with the blow and fell. He grinned - one of the stag's hind legs was broken, crumpled beneath him. The kill would be too easy - all he had to do was circle from the side and take it by the throat....

He crouched, muscles tensed, but the deadly attack never materialized. He stumbled in surprise; the rat was dancing between his paws, nipping and biting above his paws and at his toes where the fur was thin.

It was an effective distraction. He was so intent on chasing the rat, trying to bat it away, that he was unprepared for the dog's attack. In an instant he found himself knocked to the ground, the dog's teeth buried in the thick fur around his neck. The dog should have torn at him, should have slashed at the exposed belly or gotten more effective purchase on his throat. Instead it backed away, allowing him to regain his footing. For the smallest moment, he was torn between puzzlement and disgust at the dog's poor tactics. Then he was pacing, seeking the best opening for attack. The stag had somehow gotten to its feet and was watching him nervously. The rat had disappeared from view, no doubt hiding under something. Never mind, the stag was the better prey. Once again though, the dog stood its ground between them. He gave a short growl-bark of frustration.

Then the dog did something he did not understand. It lowered its head, then, favoring the wounded shoulder, lay down on the floor and rolled onto its back. The stag barked fearfully, and tried to limp toward the dog, but stopped. The dog's throat and belly were completely exposed in a gesture of submission; he could easily kill it. Still, the dog was accepting him as its alpha, and he felt a kind of satisfaction at that. Perhaps he would kill it anyway, perhaps not.

Walking deliberately forward, he placed his huge jaws around the dog's throat. He could feel it trembling, but it didn't move otherwise. He held his jaws there for the space of a breath, then two, then a third that reached to eternity. Then recognition hit him - the scent, he knew the dog's scent. Releasing it suddenly, he whined, shaking his head in confusion.

Why did he know the dog's scent? He had never seen this animal before. He moved forward jerkily, sniffing at the dog, who remained perfectly still, and tried to work out the puzzle. Images flashed across his fractured mind, coming together to form a picture of four boys. They had a feel of familiarity about them; more, they had the feel of a pack. His pack. But he didn't have a pack, did he...?

Frustrated and confused, he barked at them all, whined, and sank to the floor to rub his face on his forelegs. The dog seemed to take this as an all clear signal, because it very cautiously rolled onto its belly, laying its head on its paws. He barked at it snappishly. The dog whined and crept forward a little, wagging its tail as if to appease him. He barked again and jumped up, paced once in a circle, and thrust his nose down by the dog's head. Once again the familiar scent filled his nostrils. Giving a very canine groan, he nipped the dog - not hard - on the ear. He would accept him into his pack.

It was as if a wave had broken and washed away much of the tension. From under a broken settee came the rat, skittering toward him nervously until it stood next to Dog. It sniffed at him nervously, whiskers twitching, but stood its ground when he feinted at it. Another familiar smell - so confusing. But the rat-smell had the feel of pack also. Very well. He chuffed at the rat and chuckled to himself when it squealed. He nosed at it but didn't bite, and it put its small paws on his nose. Another pack member.

He looked up to see that the stag had limped cautiously forward and was watching him. He still thought the beast would make a lovely meal, but his mind was reeling with the strangeness of his newfound pack, and he was curious. He knew Dog and Rat were watching him intently as he circled the stag, but stayed where they were, waiting for him to make a move. He snuffed the air around the stag, breathing in its scent, and again saw images of four boys flash through his brain, again felt the sense of pack. That was irritating. This was prey, even more than Rat should have been. It shouldn't be part of his pack, and yet it was. He growled his annoyance, and the stag started. If wolves could snicker, he did. He pranced around the stag, playing a little game, seeing if it would run, but it didn't. It stayed still, though it watched him with the whites of its eyes showing. All right then, maybe it could be more than supper on the hoof. He stopped in front of it and met its gaze. Hesitantly, the stag dropped its head and he bumped its muzzle with his nose.

Wolf, Dog, Rat and Stag. It was probably the strangest pack anywhere in Britain, but it was his pack. The thought made him feel curiously...whole. He gave a funny sort of yip, and pranced a few steps. Dog broke into a wide doggy grin and sank onto as forepaws as well as he could, asking to play. Play? Ha, he would show Dog play. His head was still spinning, worse when he reached a patch of moonlight, but if he was jumping at Dog and Rat, dancing around the largely immobile Stag, playing tug-of-war with pieces of fabric ripped off of furniture, it didn't seem so bad. Hours later, when the moon had begun its descent, he collapsed into an exhausted heap with Dog and Rat near Stag. As he drifted into sleep, distant names whispered to his mind: Sirius...James...Peter...Remus...and he seemed to know the last to be himself.

He woke just before dawn. The moon was dipping below the horizon, making way for Aurora to light the sky, and his body was stiff with the oncoming change. He got to his feet with difficulty, pushing Dog and Rat aside, and made his way painfully to the center of the room before he collapsed. As the sun's golden rays caressed him, overriding the last weak beams of moonlight, he felt himself stretch and change until he was once again human. After a few minutes, when the worst of the pain had faded, he became aware of a light morning breeze alerting him to the fact that he was without covering, and attempted to get up and go in search of his clothing and wand. He looked up and came face to face with Sirius, Peter and a...stag? staring at him.

He stared back blankly - it was really all he could do. The stag was favoring one of its back legs, Peter looked dazed, and Sirius...Sirius had dried blood on one shoulder. "What - why are you here? Sirius, please, please tell me I didn't do that to you...."

"Relax, Moon-boy," Sirius told him. Peter half laughed at the name, and even the stag seemed to find it funny. He pulled his wand out a pocket, pointed it as close to up the stairs as he could manage, and called "Accio Remus' clothes!" They came flying down the stairs at him a moment later, and he tossed them to Remus. "Might want these."

Remus nodded, still trying to figure what was happening. "Your shoulder?"

"Yes, you bit me; no it's nothing to worry about."

Remus exploded. "What do you mean it's nothing to worry about? I bit you! I told you to go away last night! What - why - did you want to become a werewolf? Are you that stupid?"

"Get dressed and I'll explain." Remus muttered a quick "Reparo" at his torn clothing and jammed trousers, shirt and shoes on as quickly as he could. As he did he watched Sirius and Peter circling the stag, muttering and snickering to each other. He couldn't believe it. He must have had the stupidest friends on the entire planet. "Ok," he heard Sirius say, "you hold him up on that side, I'll take this one...there you go...right, Potter, your move - " and suddenly they were holding up James, who was trying not to swear and failing. Remus found himself sitting on the floor in a very abrupt manner.

"Close your mouth, Lupin, you'll let the flies in," James told him, grinning weakly.

"Wha - ? "

"Dear old Moony-boy, so eloquent," Sirius kidded him. "See, way back in second year we decided you shouldn't have to go through this full-moon nonsense alone. Finally got the spell right a few weeks ago."

"Spell?" Communicating didn't seem to his strong point this morning.

"The Animagus spell," James explained. He looked to the others. "Show him - maybe he'll get it once he sees the two of you. Hey, don't drop me!" Sirius and Peter helped him to find a seat of sorts, and then there was a huge black dog and a rat where his two friends used to be. To his shock, the events of the night came flashing back to him - fighting the animals in front of him, the wolf accepting them as his pack. Remus thought he was going to be sick.

"I could have killed you...I tried to kill you - "

"But you didn't."

"You berks!" he yelled. "How could you do that? What if I had? What do you think would have happened then? I could have eaten.... And you - " he turned to Sirius, "what were you thinking? You...I could have torn out your throat!" He thought he really was going to be sick then, but the other boy was shaking him by the shoulders, making him focus on his face.

"But you didn't."

Tears were beginning to stream down his face, and he brushed them away roughly. "Why did you do it?"

Sirius rolled his eyes. "We told you. Because you shouldn't have to go through that alone."

"I'm sorry Remus. We didn't think - " James stopped, acknowledging his glare. "All right, we just didn't think. Well, we thought a lot, actually, just - we didn't - well, I mean, we're brothers, right?"

He hesitated a moment, not wanting to admit the point, but nodded. "Yeah, we're brothers."

"All for one and one for all?"

He laughed in spite of himself. "I thought that was 'brothers,' not 'musketeers.'"

"Well?" Sirius put in.

He sighed. "Yes, all for one and one for all. So that bite...?"

Sirius shrugged and then winced. "Werewolf bites don't affect animals, do they?"

"No, you're right." He sighed. They had won. "I'm glad you're not dead."

James laughed. "Yeah, me too. Now if it wouldn't be too much trouble to do something about my leg? The one broken for the sake of brotherhood?"

Sirius rolled his eyes. "Would you like the honors or shall I?" he asked Remus.

"You'd better, I'd probably botch it at this point. Can you fix a broken leg?"

"Nah, that'll have to be Madam P, but there was that splint charm we learned a couple of weeks back, what was the incantation?"

Remus started at the mention of the Hogwarts nurse. "Gah! Madam Pomfrey! She's going to be waiting for me at the Willow! I've got to get back...how are you going to get back? James, what'll you tell her?"

"I'll tell her I fell down the stairs. I just won't tell her you pushed me," he added with a grin. "Er, Sirius, why are you staring like that?"

"Trying to remember the incantation...what was it again?"

"Ferula," Peter piped up.

"You sure?" He nodded the affirmative. "Here we go then: Ferula!" The look of momentary panic on James' face was replaced with relief as a splint appeared on his leg. "Good?"

James nodded. "Good."

"Right then," Sirius clapped his hands together, "I think we should all be heading back to school now."

It didn't take very long to reach the Whomping Willow, even considering Remus' weakened morning-after state and James' broken leg, but it gave Remus time to mull over everything that had happened. By the time Madam Pomfrey was helping him out of the tunnel, exclaiming over the relative mildness of his wounds, he had gotten over the shock of his friends' presence at the Shrieking Shack, their newfound transformative abilities, and had even managed to stop thinking about the fact that what they had done was illegal and stupid on so many levels it was appalling. He was simply grateful beyond expression for their extraordinary friendship. They would probably not speak of it again, he doubted they would even let him try to express his gratitude or - yes, that was the word for it, love - but it was felt, nonetheless.

And he knew he would never be alone again.