A Year in the Life of a Wizarding Werewolf

A Year in the Life of a Wizarding Werewolf

- The Daily Slog: Homework, Classes, Detentions and Quidditch

It was the start of the third week into the school term, and Remus regretted ever getting himself to believe it would be an enjoyable year of fun and work. Fun? What fun, he thought mockingly to himself as he turned to his fourth essay of the day and began scribbling an answer for Professor Binns. "The Treaty of Riga in 1462: Describe (quoting appropriate references) how it led to the repression of goblins, and discuss whether or not the treaty was a sensible tactic, using case studies to argue your viewpoint."

Remus gave a heavy sigh. He didn't exactly detest History of Magic, though Professor Binns hardly ever managed to stir up a smidgen interest for the subject in any of his classes. But this essay, Remus could tell just by looking at the title, was going to be a lengthy one, with lots of research needed if references and case studies were to be quoted. Flexing his hand to ease the writer's cramp he had, he pulled a heavy textbook on goblin history towards him and flipped to a section he had marked out earlier on when he was at the library. Beside him, Peter was chewing his nails and staring at a blank piece of parchment, a picture of concentration on his face, as if willing the essay to be magically written for him. Even James and Sirius seemed to be feeling some of the strain. James's hair was, if possible, even untidier than usual. Remus had long-since noticed James had a habit of fiddling with his hair as he concentrated.

"How come no one ever warned us about the intensity of fifth year work?" groaned Sirius, stretching himself as he put away his Potions essay and got started on the reading required for Defence Against the Dark Arts.

Peter whimpered slightly. "At least you are keeping up with the work," he squeaked. "Me, l-look!" He gesticulated rather frantically at a huge pile of books and several rolls of parchment he had yet to work his way through. Remus felt badly for him. Peter looked very much stressed out, and barely two weeks had gone by.

"Here," he said gently, pointing to a few paragraphs from his book. "That's the section you need for the first part of Binns's essay."

Peter looked relieved, and started reading. Across from him, James finished his essay with a flourish, and got up from the table.

"You finished?" asked Remus enviously.

"Yup," replied James, making his way across the common room and picking up his miniature model of a Quidditch pitch. He settled into an armchair to continue creating miniature models of the various players to go with it.

"Quidditch training starts on Thursday," he informed the others as he placed a Vivaliosa charm on a Chaser, causing it to zoom up and down the pitch with a Quaffle.

"Good," mumbled Remus vaguely, feverishly copying the references from his book for his essay. He flipped over several pages and quickly scanned through a table of treaty dates and their respective declarations. Then, a few moments later, as he jotted more points down regarding goblin repressions, he looked up distractedly at James. "Er, so you still have a full team, right? No try-outs needed?"

James was polishing a figurine. "Yeah." Pause. "So, will you lot be interested in watching the practice, or do you reckon you'd still be drowned in all this?" he gestured towards the table his friends were at, piled with books, parchments, notepads, inkpots and quills.

"Sure, we'll be there!" said Sirius, closing the book he had been reading and going up to join James. Peter moaned, fretfully flicking through Remus's book to and fro. Remus was feeling rather anxious himself. He dearly wanted the essay to be finished now. He needed rest, and seeing James and Sirius discussing Quidditch in the comfortable armchairs was rather distracting. If the amount of assignments continued to increase, he would be in serious trouble when the full moon came, when he would be forced to take at least a couple of days off.

It was midnight before Remus and Peter finished their work, and that was only because James felt sorry for Peter and gave his Potions essay for him to copy so Peter wouldn't have to do an all-nighter.

Thursday morning started off with double Potions. Just my luck, thought Remus dully, feeling rather groggy from a few consecutive nights of deprived sleep. He spooned himself some steaming hot porridge, hoping that it would revive him a bit and provide him with the concentration he needed for his weakest subject. James and Sirius were chatting animatedly beside him, James excitedly reeling off a long list of Quidditch moves he would be trying out that evening at practice. Peter, on the other hand, looked much worse than how Remus felt. Like death warmed over (and run down again). He wondered how James and Sirius did it. Sure, they complained about the inordinate amount of work to be handed in like the rest of them, but somehow they still always managed to end up with spare time at the end of the day. They were smart, the brightest students in the year. But still. Remus couldn't see himself surviving on only five to six hours of sleep each night all year, and was determined to structure a more efficient homework schedule for himself.

No more procrastinating with small talk after dinner before starting on homework.

No more small breaks in between assignments.

No more mind wanderings and losing my focus when doing homework.

And of course, paying rapt attention, and taking detailed notes, in class would help a lot, he thought wryly. It'd save a lot of time having to look up what the professors said in class in the massive volumes of books from the library.

Right, he was going to start now. With double Potions. He pulled a face, but was determined to stick to his newly-devised plan. When breakfast was over, Remus followed Peter, James and Sirius down to the dungeons for Potions with the Slytherins. Snape was standing at the end of the queue that had gathered outside the classroom, buried inside a book as usual.

"Mornin' Snivelly," James greeted him snidely. "Hooked nose in your books again? Tell me, how does it smell?"

"Better than himself, I'd bet," said Sirius, smirking. Peter tittered nervously.

Snape glowered at the two of them. Remus hesitated. Should I do something? Before things get worse? He didn't want to seem as if he was berating James and Sirius for taunting Snape, but he didn't want a scene either. He really should be telling James and Sirius to stop it. Snape looked as if he was thinking of a scathing comeback, and Remus, wanting things to further no more, slipped up behind James and touched him lightly on the elbow. Thankfully, James turned and proceeded to ignore Snape, Sirius following suit. Remus prayed, though without much hope, that encounters like this would be few and far between this year. Professor Dumbledore probably thought making him Prefect would allow him to harness the antics of James and Sirius somewhat, but he doubted if it would work. Sirius and James didn't usually stop at something unless they wanted to. Besides, he didn't exactly want to rebuke his friends. After all, they were keeping his lycanthropy a secret, and have always been there for him.

Professor Sharkhorn strode down the corridor at that point and the class followed him quietly into the classroom.

"Well, the class has had over two weeks to familiarise themselves with the basic theory and the more straightforward brewing of potions. This, however, will be the end of the easy period."

The class sighed. Snape, who was at the table behind Remus and Peter snorted softly. "About time," he muttered gruffly under his breath. "Two weeks worth of baby-level potions is enough for anyone."

He looked up and caught sight of Peter looking at him with distaste. "Of course, Pettigrew, you are so backward, Infant Wizarding Level Potions would be advanced for you."

Remus gripped Peter's arm to stop him from doing anything regrettable and hope James and Sirius, who were slightly further up, heard nothing. Snape, it occurred to Remus, looked paler than usual, his usually sallow face the colour of chalk, and he appeared to have dark circles under his eyes.

"So," continued Professor Sharkhorn, "today, you will be brewing the Draught of Peace. It is a potion that commonly turns up for the Ordinary Wizarding Levels, but at the same time, it's very tricky and exacting. Here are the instructions," he gave his wand a swish, and a piece of parchment appeared on each table, upon which the instructions were neatly written. "And the you can find the ingredients in the main cupboard," he finished, using his wand to point out a large cupboard that ran along the entire back wall of the classroom. "Divide into pairs, and you have until half past ten."

The class split into twos, Sirius pairing up with James and Remus with Peter. Snape, as usual, wound up on his own. Remus had the notion that this appealed more to the Slytherin. Snape wasn't the type to revel in teamwork. He hurried off to get the ingredients as Peter lit a fire under their cauldron with his wand. For the next hour and a half, they worked fervently. Remus, remembering the resolutions he had made at breakfast time, studied the instructions thoroughly and proceeded to concentrate hard on adding the exact amount of different ingredients at precisely the right moment, with the correct simmering times.

Towards the end of the lesson, Professor Sharkhorn announced to the class that they should be finished by now, and that their potion, if correctly brewed, should be emitting a light silvery vapour. Remus stared dejectedly at the mixture in the cauldron in front of him. The steam rising from his and Peter's potion was indeed silvery, but it was rather more like a cloud of smoke, than a thin vapour.

"I wonder where we went wrong," he frowned, studying the parchment on the table. Peter peered over his shoulder, and after a moment, flushed bright red.

"What?" asked Remus, noticing his partner's guilty look.

"I-I added t-too much of the powdered P-pulsatilla," he stuttered. "I'm so s-sorry!"

Remus sighed, as Professor Sharkhorn passed them and gave them a hard gaze. "At least you seem to know what you did wrong," he said, evidently overhearing Peter's apologetic cry. "An 'A' minus maybe, I'll be lenient this time."

"Forget it, Peter," Remus said quietly, as they began to clear away the ingredients. "I should have been more careful to see that everything was done properly too. Don't worry about it."

Sirius and James were grinning at their table, clearing up a perfectly-made potion which had earned them an 'O'. The only other person who had gotten an 'O' was Snape. No one would've have thought it looking at that scowling face though.

"Anyone would think Sharkhorn had given him a 'D'!" murmured Peter to Remus as they washed their hands in the basins running along the side wall.

Snape appeared beside Remus at that moment, and Remus could hear him mutter something to the effect of "stupid bunch of moronic dimwits". If Remus didn't feel this was a direct insult at Peter and himself, he would have found the vindictive muttering rather amusing. He wouldn't be wasting his own energy on grumbling about someone else's low grade in a class.

"What did you just say?" came a sharp voice on the other side of Snape.

Remus's heart sank. It was James. Before he could do anything, Snape, pleased to have a chance to return the taunting earlier on, said softly,

"It just appears that certain people are really quite the thick-headed dim-witted Squib," he said, rather maliciously, with a deliberate glance at Peter.

That was it. James, whose temper rose and subsided at an alarmingly fast rate, had flung Snape across the classroom with a whip of his wand.

"POTTER!" hollered Professor Sharkhorn from the top of the classroom.

They had forgotten that the professor was still in the room. Peter paled. Remus swallowed hard. James opened his mouth.

"But Professor, he-- "

"Enough!" said Professor Sharkhorn. "Ten points from Gryffindor and detention, Potter."

"But Professor, Snape, he insulted-- "

"One more word from you, it will be a further ten points," said Sharkhorn, cutting him off, a note of finality in his voice. "You should learn to control that temper of yours, Potter." And with that, he strode out of the classroom.

James looked mutinous, hardly trusting himself to speak. "He wouldn't even listen that the scum insulted you," he said hotly to Peter.

Speaking of Snape, the boy was picking himself up off the floor at the other end of the classroom. He looked at the four Gryffindors defiantly, and gave both James and Peter a satisfied sneer. Remus, not wanting any more action to occur than already had, firmly propelled James and Sirius out the door.

"How come Snape didn't get anything?" howled James furiously.

"Maybe there kind of is a difference between insulting someone under your breath and hurling them right across the dungeon," suggested Remus lightly.

"How can you take this?" exclaimed Sirius. "People insulting you or your friends. You just stand there and take it? Don't you feel anything?"

"Of course I do," replied Remus quietly. Sirius fell silent at once, remembering how Remus, of course, would have been the recipient of quite a number of rather scathing and bigoted comments throughout his life.

"Please don't fall for Snape's bait," Remus pleaded. "He knew he would get you all riled up, especially after the teasing you gave him before the class. Really, you shouldn't give much thought to what he grumbles about. No one does, not even the other Slytherins."

James glowered, but could think of nothing to argue against Remus's reasoning, so he kept quiet.

"C'mon, we're going to be late for Transfiguration," said Sirius, pulling James along.

Although he said nothing more about the incident, James was clearly still extremely annoyed over receiving a detention when Snape got away scot-free. And it showed during the practical lesson in Transfiguration.

"You are supposed to be turning the rabbit into a lunchbox, Potter, not jabbing it in the eyes and inflating it," said Professor McGonagall disapprovingly, as James's rabbit leapt off his desk and scampered across the classroom in terror, staring rather reproachfully at James from underneath the bookshelf with its blood-shot eyes. "What's the matter with you today? Please concentrate! I want that rabbit returned to me in reasonable condition by the end of the lesson."

James's temper was in no way tethered by lunchtime, where Snape had sidled up to him with an expression of malevolent glee, informing him smugly that Professor Sharkhorn would like to see James at six o' clock the following evening for his detention. James stalked over to the Gryffindor table and sat down, his face a thunderous cloud.

"Insufferable berk," he fumed, sloshing stew onto his plate so violently specks of gravy flew everywhere.

"Hey," spoke up Peter timidly, looking a bit fearful in case James blow up at him. "At least you've got Quidditch this evening, and your detention didn't clash with that."

The thought of Quidditch practice seemed to temper James some bit. By the end of lunchtime, he had regained most of his usual jauntiness. The Gryffindors spent the afternoon in Professor Sprout's greenhouses with the Hufflepuffs potting Alihotsy plants, whose leaves would cause hysteria when ingested. Alihotsy plants themselves weren't difficult to take care of. They needed just the regular sunshine, water and dragon dung compost. The finicky part was the initial soil preparation. One had to mix the exact fractions of different types of soil together, in addition to providing the correct ratio of nutrient supplements.

"How about shoving some of those Alihotsy leaves down his throat?" suggested Sirius. "Do him good to get out of that permanent funk he is in.

Remus could only guess who "he" meant. "A hysterical Snivellus laughing heartily along the corridor? Scary. I think I'll take the dour, sour-puss instead. Better the devil you know, you know."

Following dinner, the four went up to the common room and rushed through as much homework as they possibly could before heading out to the Quidditch pitch at seven. Sirius, Remus and Peter had all firmly decided to watch James's practice, in order to lift his spirits more than anything else. Besides, it was as good an excuse as any to get out of doing homework for a couple of hours.

As his three friends sat themselves in the stands, James went and joined the rest of the team. It was a balmy evening. An occasional light breeze wafted across the grounds, causing the rustling of some leaves as it filtered through the trees situated at the edge of the lawn, along the outskirts of the Forbidden Forest.

Down at the pitch, the Gryffindor team was listening intently to their Captain speaking, a tall, well-built boy, Derek Perry, who was in his final year. Remus couldn't hear what was being said from where he was sitting, but gauged a fair idea that it was a pep talk of sorts when a roar of enthusiastic approval greeted the end of his speech a few minutes later.

A whistle sounded, the seven players soared into the air and began their first training session of the season. Perry got them warming up with some basic flying skills and straightforward Quaffle handling first. He was a stickler for basics, upon which one could then build the more advanced skills. This clearly showed in the matches, more often than not providing them with an advantage over the other teams. The Gryffindors arguably had some of the smoothest team machinations and the fastest flyers of the four houses.

In the stands, Remus was sandwiched between Sirius and Peter. Watching the team go through some drills, he could see James really was a superb flyer. Not that he didn't know that already of course, but it was still a treat to watch each time. His reflexes were excellent, and he had such great skill handling his broom, he could move through the air at tremendous speed with an ease none of the others could achieve.

Refreshed from their summer break, the team was raring to go. As it split up so the players could play a game amongst themselves, Remus got a steady stream of commentary coming from his right by Sirius.

"C'mon James! Faster! Look out!" he shouted, seeing a Bludger hurling itself towards his friend. "And he scores!" he roared.

"Mind that Bludger, Jean. Oh careful! Oh well hit, Derek!" he cried, as Perry gave the Bludger a resounding whack, sending it more than halfway down the pitch.

"Great score, Karla! Class! What a shot! That one was from halfway up the pitch!"

"James scores again! Fantastic! And ooooh, nice dive Caitlyn. Mad Wronski Feint. Where did you learn that? Wicked!"

Sirius had gotten up off his seat and was standing on the bench, hands cupped to his mouth, hollering up at the players. On Remus's other side, Peter was squeaking exicitedly, his focus very much on James alone. He too, was on his feet, bouncing up and down rather precariously on the bench.

"Ooooh! Ahhhh! Ohhhh!"

"Oh! That was fabulous James!"

"A score! A score! He scores again! Go James, go James."

"Oh go on James! Oh YEEEESSSSSSS!"

"Ooooooh! Ahhhhh! Ohhhhhh!"

"Peter," said Sirius curtly, taking his eyes off the action in the air for a brief second. "You do realise there are six other players up there too, right?"

Peter flushed, but at that point, James scored yet another goal, this time, from three-quarters of the way down the pitch. Peter emitted a series of excited squeaks again, while Sirius put his fingers in his mouth and whistled shrilly.

"That was a corker, mate!"

Remus sat back and enjoyed the practice, letting the two on either side of him do the majority of work with the cheering, at times, having to cover his ears from Sirius's piercing whistles. He did, however, chime in with his chant of "Die Slytherin die" whenever one of the team did something spectacular.

It was a great practice, with James, Jean and Karla managing to score several very impressive goals each, and Robert Jenkins, the Keeper, putting in a stellar effort to defend all the penalty point-type shots that the rest of the team members whirled at him after the game at the end of the practice. Caitlyn Orr, the Seeker, caught the Snitch four times, while the Beaters, Padraig O'Connor and Derek, did their job so well, the Bludgers barely got a chance to get near the rest of the team.

When the hour was up, James, his breaths coming short and fast, flew down to where his friends were, his eyes shining, exhilarated. The Quidditch obviously had done him a world of good.

Remus was glad when Friday came and the weekend was in sight. Having no classes for two full days haven't ever been so appealing. Following dinner that evening, he settled in the common room, resolving to get all his homework done by the following evening so he would at least get a full day off on Sunday before the week started all over again.

James had gone off for his detention with Professor Sharkhorn. When he returned just before nine o'clock, his mood was a mixture of anger, humiliation, satisfaction (strangely enough) and there was an air of wanting to spill some beans.

"So, what'd Sharkhorn want you to do?" asked Peter. "Lines?"

James gave a sardonic laugh. "I wish! The bloody bastard made me clean the toilets and that broom cupboard down in the dungeons by the Slytherin common room."

"Did anyone spot you?" Sirius asked, giving him a horrified look.

"You bet," answered James bleakly, sinking into an armchair at the corner of the room. "I never realised just how many students wander in and out of their common rooms at this time of the night. Not to mention the number of times the same ones do it."

"Oh," said Sirius, clearly not knowing what to say in reply to that, so gave him a look that said tough luck, mate.

"So," piped up Peter hesitantly, "did they, like, say anything to you?"

"Did they say anything?" repeated James bitterly. "Of course they did. They probably went in and out of that portrait hole on purpose, just to get a chance to have a go at me."

"I'm sure they didn't," interjected Remus hurriedly. "People go in and out of the common rooms all the time." He didn't sound very convinced himself though.

"I would have gladly done ten feet of lines than scrub in front of the Slytherins. And then there was Peeves!"

"What about him?"

"He was the reason why I took so long to get back. As if cleaning and scrubbing wasn't bad enough without his chants and taunts, loud enough for the Slytherins to hear every word." Remus and Peter winced, while Sirius paled. "Anyway," continued James. "He decided it would be fun flooding the corridor with buckets of water, so I had to spend ages mopping that up as well."

"Snape was hanging around enjoying the spectacle too," he added miserably, a moment later, sitting up in the chair.

"Slimeball!" cried Sirius hotly, to which James sighed resignedly.

"Y-you didn't do anything, did you?" asked Remus anxiously. "I mean, you know he would hang around just to goad you, right?"

"I didn't hex him or change him into a toad, if that's what you mean. I even kept my temper, like a good little boy," said James deprecatingly.

"That, okay then." Remus looked relieved. "Detention over, and we can forget all about Snape."

"Oh, I did hear stuff about him," said James tantalisingly.

"What?" asked the other three at once.

"Baby Snivellus has been having bad tempers and sleepless nights lately," said James softly. "I know he isn't all that popular even in his own house, but even taking that into account, from what I could pick up, his temper has been worse than usual, if it is possible," he added cuttingly. "He also hasn't been sleeping all that well. Gets up at night and either sits on his bed gazing into space, or sneaks down to the common room and does goodness knows what."

"Sniwelly's hawing nwightmares?" cawed Sirius in a baby voice. "Pwoor boy. Is he afwaid of monsters?"

"There's your reason why he wasn't Sorted into Gryffindor," said James to the other three.

"Maybe his nightmares involve you Scourgifying him in public, and then running off to win the Quidditch Cup and becoming Head Boy in front of everyone," grinned Remus.

"Ooooh, that'd be nice!" exclaimed James, rubbing his hands together hungrily.

"Don't be giving him ideas, Moony," scolded Sirius, feigning disapproval.

"Well, aside from ole Snivelly, I also heard a bit about the Dark Lord that is gaining power everywhere," James said, lowering his voice so others in the common room wouldn't hear him. "You know, the one who we've been hearing snatches of every now and then for the past three, four years?"

"You did?" asked Peter, looking rather scared. "What did you hear?"

"Nothing too concrete," replied James, serious now. "Only that he is steadily gaining power, and is immortal. He is gathering followers from all over, forming an army."

"Immortal?" squeaked Peter. "What do you mean by immortal? He can't be killed?"

"Shhhh!" whispered Remus sternly, elbowing him in the ribs.

"Yes, Peter," said James heavily. "Immortal would generally imply he cannot be killed. I don't know how he did it. I caught a wisp of something like he took all these potions, and infused his blood with different things," he trailed off. "I suppose more discussion goes on behind that portrait door. I think I also caught his name. Something beginning with 'v'. V-v-v-voldemort, I think. But I can't be too sure. The boy who said it got shushed by everyone around him at once. I didn't get a chance to catch it properly."

"B-b-but," stammered Peter, looking terrified now. "The Daily Prophet, it has said nothing about this. They just warned that there were more dark activities going on, but for us not to worry. It couldn't be that bad now, could it? You get the odd fight and murder in the Muggle world too, I'm sure."

"Do you really think the Ministry of Magic is going to announce in the Daily Prophet that a mysterious Dark Lord called Voldemort, who can't be killed, is running rampant around Europe?" snorted Sirius. "People would panic and start pointing fingers. And that's the last thing the Ministry wants. It's politics, shoving everything under the carpet, sticking their heads in Floo powder," Sirius finished, looking disgusted.

"Apparently this Dark Lord is a pure-blood fanatic too," added James. "I heard this cocky Slytherin girl say in her bloody superior voice that Mudbloods and half-bloods would be the first to go."

"Suits the whole Black family perfect then," remarked Sirius acrimoniously.

"Oh come on," said Remus cagily, trying to lighten the conversation a bit. "Andromeda is lovely, you say so yourself. And you aren't like that. That's the main thing."

"I sure am glad I am not like the rest of my cracked-headed family with their pure-blood mania," declared Sirius in a fierce whisper. "The only place for someone like this Voldemort is Azkaban, since he can't be killed, if what you heard was right, James. Keep him there with those Dementors, drive him mental. If he gets the Kiss, even better. Leave him an empty shell of his former self."

"Woah, hold your hippogriffs," said James, jumping up from his armchair and patting Sirius on the back. "We get you. The guy would probably be caught if he starts showing himself more prominently anyway," he added soothingly. "Haven't you ever heard of that Muggle sadist Adolf Hitler?"

"If indeed this Voldemort gets sent to Azkaban, and if he gets the Kiss, he'd really be facing a horrendous predicament," mused Remus quietly. "Really, he'd be better off being mortal, and bow out the easier way by dying."

There was a silence. Peter scuffed his toe on the golden threads lining the edge of a scarlet rug spread across the floor. There wasn't anything anyone could think of to say, and Remus was relieved when Karla Dobbyn and her friend Kerrie Quinn called them over a few moments later to join them in a game of Gobstones.

They didn't say anything more about what James had overhead that night, though Remus was sure, like himself, the news about the Dark Lord gathering power was playing on the minds of all four of them.