The Melody Lingers

James once said that Ella Fitzgerald taught him how to love.

Lily had laughed at that, arms cradling her rounded belly and asking him if he was quite sure it wasn't her who had done so. James assured her that - no, somewhere between "Cheek to Cheek" and "They Can't Take That Away from Me", his heart expanded to roughly twice its original size, and he realized that there was more to life than Quidditch.

Sirius muttered something about "stupid, ancient Muggle music", but his eyes twinkled and I laughed when he theatrically clasped my hand into his and began to reenact those dancing lessons I had given James years before.

"Seriously, Remus, do you ever think Lily would have gone out with me again if I'd stepped all over her feet at the Yule Ball our seventh year?" James asked when Sirius let go of me and gave a low bow.

I dusted off my robes and smiled at James. "I was certain you'd laugh at me for knowing how."

"And then he managed to smuggle that huge phony graph into Gryffindor tower," Peter reminded us, not moving from his spot on James' and Lily's couch.

"Phonograph," I corrected.

"It think it lent some authenticity to the exercise," James assured me, and then proceeded to grab his pregnant wife around the waist and swing her about their living room floor.

"Careful, you daft man!" she cried gleefully. "You're going to shake her to pieces!"

"Him," James corrected, "And he's going to have to know how to dance, hasn't he?"

"I still don't know how to dance," Peter pointed out.

"I can teach you," I offered, but he shook his head.

"Real men don't dance!" Sirius yelled. "Real mean play Quidditch and ride motorcycles!"

"And that, Padfoot, is why I am married to a beautiful witch and you are spending your evenings in the pub fawning over Rosmerta."

Lily stifled a giggle and smacked James playfully across the back of his head. "You're going to make them not want to come back and visit us anymore!"

"I wouldn't worry about that," I said, and kissed Lily lightly on the cheek. James had grinned at me and accused me of making a move on his wife, and then Sirius had grabbed her and planted a kiss squarely on her mouth. She laughed uncontrollably as James chased him around the house.

But actually, that was the last time that all five of us were together.

The next year had been filled with war and terror, of hiding and hushed voices, of mistrust and regret. Myself, I only saw Harry once, and it was shortly thereafter that it was all over.

Things would never be the same.

And in the years following, I began to wonder how it had come to pass that I was the only survivor. They were all dead and gone. Even the handsome boy with the black leather jacket and roaring laugh - he was dead inside whatever shell they had locked in Azkaban prison.

I wandered aimlessly for a while, consumed by my own pain. The only light in those dark times was the development of the Wolfsbane potion, which did something to cure my madness, but not my loneliness.

The first apothecary that brewed the potion for me allowed me to stay in the attic above his shop while I transformed into a harmless wolf.

"You're still going to feel the itch," he told me, almost apologetically, "I'm told it's quite unpleasant, actually. You'll have your own mind, but the urges will be sort of... scratching at the surface. The best thing to do is just relax, and try to empty your mind or sleep."

He'd led me up the stairs where there was a cot and something that looked like a dog bed. "I've been told it's rather comfortable," he assured me lightly. Then, pointing towards the other end of the room, he'd added, "An old Muggle contraption over there too - some kind of musical thing. My last... costumer left it here, said it helps, the music. If you can figure out how to work it, be my guest."

Then he'd handed me the steaming goblet and I thanked him profusely as he made his way down the steps and bolted the door behind him.

As soon as the sun began to set, I realized how frightened I was. Frightened because I didn't know how the transformation would feel this time - or even worse, that something would go wrong, that the potion wouldn't work and I would end up destroying the kind apothecary's attic...

I walked over to the old gramophone and examined it, glad for the small token of familiarity. A short pile of records was on the floor beside it, and I started flipping through them, wondering what sort of werewolf - man - it was that had left this here for future occupants.

Upon reading the label on the last record, I couldn't keep the smile from my face. Gershwin. I pulled it out of the sleeve and placed it on the record player, positioning the needle and sighing peacefully as the sounds of a big band and a throaty, familiar voice filled the tiny attic.

My romance won't end on a sorrowful note

Though by tomorrow you're gone

I could see the first streams of moonlight seeping through the windows, and I could feel it as well, deep in my muscles as the wolf strained to get free.

I collapsed onto the large pillow and cringed as the all too familiar pain began to spread through my body.

The song is ended but as the songwriter wrote

The melody lingers on

They may take you from me

A howl escaped my lips, but it was not yet the wolf's howl. My skin ripped and contorted, and the fire spread from my forehead to my toes.

And then, it was over.

For the first time in my life, I knew what it was like to be a wolf. I could feel it, struggling to break free in the recesses of my mind and it felt like a constant struggle to keep it back, but the important thing was - I could. I was a wolf, but I had my own mind.

I'll miss your fond caress

But though they take you from me

I'll still possess

I spread out on the pillow, whimpered, and pressed my head against my paws. I lay like that for a long time, and could finally feel myself drifting off to sleep...

The way you haunt my dreams...

They can't take that away from me.

Years later, the monthly transformations were no longer the struggle they once were. With the help of a string of skilled apothecaries, I came to no longer dread them. I frequented Muggle flea markets and bartered various knickknacks for old jazz records. And one pleasant evening I found an old phonograph just like the one I had brought into Gryffindor Tower all those years ago - after being swindled by the goblins at Gringotts in the exchange rate I went back and bought it. Folding it up like a suitcase, I could bring it with me to wherever I happened to be on the nights of the full moon.

Those years of aimless wandering and unemployment were difficult, which I suppose made my eventual appointment at Hogwarts an even greater blessing. My few possessions came with me - some clothes, books, and that phonograph with its records.

And even though the students thought I was completely mad, I brought it out at a time when I thought it was most needed. Jazz helped soothe my troubled soul when I was frightened, and I hoped that it would do the same for them as they battled their own worst fears.

Hearing the familiar music while looking into those familiar eyes was troubling at first, but I tried to remain unnerved by Harry's presence. I couldn't help but look at him and see James, dancing with Lily across their living room floor.

The memory lingers.