Seven Moons of Varying Severity

November 21st, 1972

James wrote the words deliberately in the corner of the parchment: On September 5th in 1971, Remus Lupin disappeared.

He wasn’t the type of person to keep a record—nor did he have the best memory—but he remembered this particular date because it had happened in the first week of school. The week had gone well. He first met Remus after the welcome feast on Wednesday (a sickly sort of bloke, too skinny and too quiet for his own good, considering how bloody hilarious he was). He and Sirius earned themselves their very first detention on Thursday. On Friday, they met Severus Snape and James took no less than four slaps to the face from Lily Evans during Potions for insulting the bloke’s nose, which was glorious. On Saturday the four of them played a lively game of gobstones in the common room and went to bed and then—

Next day, he was gone. Just gone. For three days he was missing, until Peter suggested that maybe they’d shared a hallucination that the boy existed in the first place. They laughed, made fun of him for it, and then Remus showed up a bit later looking weary and relieved all at once.

Remus would not tell them where he’d gone. 

“Right then, keep your secrets,” Sirius told him cheerfully. “We’ll force them out of you sooner or later, mate.”

That was the first time. But it happened again and again.

Sometime in the month of December, James wrote. Remus Lupin went home to visit his mother. He couldn’t remember the exact date, but he did remember Remus hurriedly explaining that his mum was sick with something, perpetually, and he’d need to go home to visit her for a few days. He shoved some clothes in his suitcase and left at once. It was strange, because it happened a few weeks before the Christmas holidays. Why not wait until then? 

He went away again sometime at the beginning of March. Again in April. And that time he forgot to even grab his trunk. It remained neatly packed on the end of his bed until he returned a few days later, looking all the worse for wear.

He went away once in September, 1972. Again, James couldn’t remember the date, but he’d half-expected it to happen. He even asked if Mrs. Lupin was doing better on the train ride to school, having seen her standing on the platform looking very normal and not-sickly, especially next to Remus the walking corpse.

And now it was November, and they were in the library, and James kept glancing between the dusty pink sky in the window and Remus, who was asleep, draped across his History of Magic textbook. Sirius was casting similar glances and Peter was chastising both of them. 

“Would you give it a rest?” he hissed, jamming his quill into his Potions essay. “If that were really true, he wouldn’t be here, at Hogwarts, of all places. He’d be a St. Mungo’s, wouldn’t he?” Peter snatched the parchment from James and looked it over. “You don’t even have dates.”

“It’s every month, Pete.”

“But you don’t—”

“Drop it, will you?” Peter sighed. 

“It does seem hard to believe,” Sirius murmured, but his eyes were still fixed on the window. The moon would be rising soon. 

“And then he’s gone before it ever gets dark,” James added in a whisper, taking the parchment back from Peter. “In fact, if he were to go today, he’d already be gone by now.”

“There’s your proof,” Peter said lightly, gesturing to Remus. “He’d already be gone.”

“He’s asleep,” Sirius pointed out.

“No shit.” 

“No shit—I’m saying if he were to go wolf all the sudden, he ought to be on his way already.”

Peter scoffed. “What’s he do, wander into the Forbidden Forest and run around for the evening?”

James nodded eagerly. Peter rolled his eyes.

“Let’s see,” Sirius said, grabbing the parchment from James. “He left in October, didn’t he?” He paused, checking the parchment against the lunar calendar he’d been browsing. “The 22nd, was he gone the 22nd? Pete?”

“Why should I know?” snapped Peter. 

“Your memory’s better than mine, dimwit. I only wondered—”

Lupin snapped awake with a shout. “NO!”

Madam Pince shot him a cold look, but he didn’t seem to notice. The other boys watched him groggily shoving his books back into his bag, moving so fast that he didn't catch Sirius snapping his own book shut over James' parchment. Just as Remus turned to leave, James said, “About that time?”

Remus glanced back at him. His eyes were wide and terrified. “W-what?”

“It just looks like you're late to something,” James said casually, resisting the urge to glance at the window.

“I—I—I’m just not feeling well.” If Remus weren’t rushing off so frantically, James might’ve counted that a good excuse. The boy’s curls were soaked in sweat. Purple bags rimmed his eyes again, a tell-tale sign that whatever plagued him had returned. “I just figured I’d go talk to Madam Pomfrey...”

“She expecting you?”

“What? N-no, of course not. It’s…it comes on now and then, you know that.”

James smiled pleasantly at him. “Best not be late, then.”

Remus nodded and hurried off, catching himself on a bookshelf when his balance threatened to topple him. They watched in silence as he exited the library, and once he was out of sight James announced, “I’m following him.”

Both Sirius and Peter protested immediately. The former said, “Not without me!” and Peter breathed an exasperated, “James, no.”

“Meet you at dinner,” he muttered, yanking out his cloak. He’d thought to bring it with him for this exact reason. The library was empty enough that no one noticed him disappearing on the spot, and he hurried off before Sirius could get up to follow. 

Fortunately Remus moved slowly at this time of the month. This time of the month. James was almost convinced that his guess was correct, only he felt it was inappropriate to bring it up to Remus without being fully certain. Not that would change anything except perhaps raise his opinion of the boy—how could a werewolf have the time to stay on top of his studies? Wouldn’t he rather…rather be drinking blood or something? Chew bones? What did werewolves do?

Nothing fun, James thought. That boy was covered in nasty scars of the magical variety—no right wizard would let himself scar like that unless the wounds were magic.

He spotted Remus frantically limping up a staircase. James only just managed to hop onto it before the landing moved out from under his feet. They were heading in the direction of the hospital wing…was he telling the truth, then?

James got caught up behind a group of fifth years and lost sight of him, and only when he’d reached the doors to the infirmary did he pick up on the sound of his voice, reedy and panicked, whispering to Madam Pomfrey behind them.

“—work it out eventually, and now they’re going to—now they’re going to—”

“Shh, Remus, you don’t know that for certain,” came Pomfrey’s soothing voice. 

“But I do know! J-James is no idiot, he surely—”

“Remus. We need to go, dear, but listen—” James heard shuffling and the squeak of shoes, as though Madam Pomfrey had knelt before him. “Dumbledore will make sure nothing happens, I promise you.”

“But—”

“Come on, we don’t have long.”

James ducked away from the doors as they opened and Remus came out with Pomfrey’s arm securely looped through his elbow. In the short time that James lost sight of him, Remus had become even more sickly. He looked as though he were barely standing. His breathing was ragged, chest-heaving, and he wobbled with each step.

“I’m sorry for being late,” he croaked in a whisper, staggering alongside her. 

“No worries, love. I’d have come to find you if you didn’t show up soon.”

James followed them back down the stairs, past Gryffindor’s common room, past the Great Hall, along halls and corridors that were barely occupied. When they reached the entrance to the castle, he slowed to a stop to avoid trampling the crunchy leaves that covered the lawn, which Remus and Pomfrey crossed at a snail’s pace. James didn’t dare follow, or risk being heard. He watched them for a while before hurrying to dinner to share the news.

Despite his doubts, Peter listened with rapt attention. As did Sirius, who seemed thrilled with the whole idea from the start. “The Forbidden Forest, then,” he said, pressing his palms to the table. “That is where he goes. Let’s go there, next month—”

“Are you kidding?!” Peter squeaked. 

“Oh, now you believe us?”

“I’m not saying that,” Peter said shrilly. “But you still haven’t got proof, and even if you did, hiding in a possibly werewolf-infested forest at night on a full moon is about as stupid as stupid gets, Sirius—”

“Bugger off!”

“Shh, keep your voices down!” James snapped. “If he is…if he is, we shouldn’t shout about it, yeah? You want proof, Peter? December 20th.”

Peter looked at him questioningly. 

James glanced up pointedly at the full moon that now hung above the Great Hall, half-shrouded in clouds. “That’s when the next one happens. If he’s gone on December 20th, we’ll know for sure.”

“And then what will you do?” Peter demanded.

“I don’t know.”

~ ~ ~

James furiously scribbled in the corner of his parchment during Transfiguration lessons. On December 19th, 1972, Remus fucking Lupin returns home for Christmas break early because his uncle’s passed. He chewed on the end of his quill before adding, WHY?, underlining and circling the word with fervor. 

Sirius glanced at him with a sour look. “Bugger,” he mouthed. 

~ ~ ~

On January 16th, 1973, two days before the full moon, Remus Lupin falls ill with the flu. 

They’d walked him to the hospital wing despite his insistence otherwise. It truly was the flu, not the standard amount of general unwellness that seemed to befall him around every full moon. As they headed back to the common room, Sirius said, “Awfully convenient, isn’t it?”

“Yeah. Here’s an idea. We’ll sneak back day after tomorrow and see if he’s there. If he’s not, then we’ll know for sure.”

“You’re still on about this?” Peter sighed. “James—”

“Listen, the coast will be clear. I told you, Pomfrey walks him out every month!”

“And again, what if you find out that you’re right? Remus will have to leave!”

James frowned. “Why?”

“Because—because a werewolf can’t go to Hogwarts!”

Sirius smacked his shoulder and growled, “Keep your voice down, Pettigrew.”

But Peter raised a valid point. Would Dumbledore really be okay with it? Or maybe that wasn’t the right question to be asking. Would his parents and his friends’ parents be okay with sending their children to school alongside a werewolf? Probably not, which explained why Remus was always so secretive in the first place. 

He couldn’t deny that the thought of sleeping in the same room as a werewolf was…chilling. But James did know this—he’d never once been afraid of Remus. Remus was Remus. If he was also a werewolf, he certainly didn’t deserve it. 

“Well, I’m not coming with you. I’ve got work to catch up on anyway, and Remus asked me to copy notes for him,” Peter said defiantly. “So while you two sneak around, I’m going to actually do something helpful for him.”

Two days later, once classes had concluded and most of the Gryffindor crowd was heading to dinner, James and Sirius ditched Peter in the common room and snuck their way up to the hospital wing. Having misjudged the timing, they reached the infirmary just as Remus and Pomfrey were exiting.

“—expect me to be gone for a few days,” Remus was saying. His voice sounded more hoarse than usual, probably the sickness on top of whatever else was going on. “They’re getting suspicious…”

Pomfrey glanced down at him. “Remus—what are you implying?”

“If I’m back early enough—before they wake up, they’ll—”

“Absolutely not.”

“But I’m already sick! They’ll just think I’m coming off it!”

“No. Each moon it’s worse. Look at you now, you’re barely—”

James had stopped listening, having frozen in the middle of the hallway just a few feet behind them. Sirius slammed into his shoulder but wisely kept his big mouth shut. As they descended the stairs, his mind spun. Moon. That counted as proof. Not bothering to check where Pomfrey and Remus were heading, he tore off the cloak and dragged Sirius behind a tapestry. 

“I was right,” he said urgently. “I was right.”

~ ~ ~

Remus returned the next day, in the late afternoon. 

They’d waited up for him that morning to see if he’d gotten his way with Pomfrey. With no sign of him showing up, they went to the hospital wing and found it locked. The nurse would not permit it, telling them that Remus was still feeling under the weather and was not accepting visitors. 

With no further avenues to pursue, they begrudgingly attended morning classes. Peter dutifully scribbled two sets of notes for himself and Remus. James collected two sets of homework. Sirius didn’t pay attention, but it had always been hard for him to focus on two things at once, and he was clearly preoccupied. On the walk from Potions to Transfiguration, he said, “I wonder if we ought to bring it up to him.”

“Are you kidding?” James said, spinning to face him. “How can we not bring it up?”

“Sure, but don’t you think he’d rather we didn’t know—”

“That’s the idea I got,” Peter mumbled. He’d been uncharacteristically quiet since the events of last evening.

“You didn’t hear the way he sounded with Pomfrey,” James said. “He was terrified, thinking we might find out. Probably thinks we’ll want to ditch him.”

“I mean, if I was a werewolf I wouldn’t want anyone knowing,” Peter said quietly.

“Yeah, because people’d think you were dangerous. Rem’s not dangerous, is he?”

“Guess not…”

“We’re going to tell him,” James said definitively. 

When they next saw Remus, he was already seated in the Great Hall for dinner with his nose buried in Hogwarts: A History. He did not look up at them as they approached.

“Hey there, Remus,” Sirius said loudly, strolling up to him and throwing an arm around his shoulders. 

James didn’t miss the wince that mangled his features momentarily before he gained control of his expression and murmured, “Evening.”

“Feeling better?”

“Yeah, thanks. Lots of work to catch up on, though. Again. Me and my stupid immune system, you know…”

James plopped onto the bench across from them. “Must’ve been one hell of a bug.”

Remus glanced at him over the spine of his book, but said nothing. Once he’d become sufficiently invested in his textbook again, Sirius gave James a pointed look and mouthed, Now?

Peter shook his head, glancing up and down the full table of Gryffindors chattering happily. 

“Remus,” James said carefully. “We were thinking of swinging by the kitchen and eating in the room instead.”

Remus eyed him suspiciously, again lowering his book until it was closed in front of him. James wondered if he’d even been reading in the first place. “Alright…”

“You still look pretty terrible!” Sirius added cheerfully. “Probably better just to head back anyway, yeah?”

Still suspicious, Remus glanced between them and nodded, slowly standing to follow them out of the Dining Hall. James was acutely aware of the painful silence that blanketed them as they walked. He started to panic. Was Peter right? Was it a horrible idea to bring it up in the first place? No, he told himself forcefully, because friends don’t keep secrets. But at the same time he was utterly terrified to do so because saying it out loud would drag it all into the light. Somehow, it would become more real than before.

A few months ago the speculation was…well, it was fun for James. Considering the possibilities, imagining Remus Lupin sneaking like a spy or a thief through the halls to transform in the dead of night, huge and muscular and horrid, it was fun. James wasn’t scared of werewolves, never had been. Even the stories his mother told him at night to warn him against leaving the house after dark never really bothered him. 

There are dangerous men out there, James. Men who aren’t men—men who like to bite and scratch! And she’d playfully wiggle her fingers all over his stomach and neck until he giggled, and then her tone would become more severe, and she would tell him very seriously, It’s a full moon tonight. Don’t go running off, understand?

Was it cruel to scare a child into staying inside? Maybe, but James figured she understood much more about werewolves than he did, at that age. He wondered vaguely whether Remus had heard the same stories. Maybe he hadn’t listened to his mum at some point.

A conversation came back to him suddenly, one from around the time James first met Lupin. Feeling an embarrassment that hadn’t been there two years ago, he remembered turning abruptly to the other boy and uncouthly asking where his scars came from.

With unsettling dignity, Remus replied that it had been a hippogriff attack. It doesn’t do to insult those beasts, take it from me, he’d said. When James asked how old he’d been, Remus hesitated before explaining that he’d been five years old. The conversation ended then, abruptly. 

Five years old. Had he sprinkled a little bit of truth into that lie?

As soon as they reached the common room, Remus turned to them and said hurriedly, “Listen, you lot can head to the kitchens if you want. I’m a bit tired. Think I’ll head up to bed.”

“We’ll go too!” Peter chirped nervously. 

“Classes were a pain today,” Sirius added. “I could do with a lie down.”

They followed him up the stairs. James was already wringing his hands. Some small voice in his mind screamed that he ought to turn back, ought to not mention it at all, but he couldn’t help himself. The moment Remus kicked off his shoes and climbed into his four-poster, James said, “Oi, Remus?”

The boy gave James a bemused look, eyes a little wider than necessary. “Yeah?”

A silence thick as syrup made his skin crawl. Biting the inside of his mouth, he staggered forward without thinking and dropped onto the bed next to Remus so their knees were touching. “Don’t…just don’t get upset, okay?”

“Why would I get upset?” Remus whispered back, horrified. “Oh great. What the hell did you do?”

“We know where you went last night,” Sirius said carefully. “Or—or at least we think we do.”

When he said it, Remus visibly stiffened but recovered quickly, running a slow hand through his hair before he said. “Well, I went to the hospital wing to—”

“We know you’re a werewolf!” Peter blurted. Then he clamped both hands over his mouth, shocked at himself, and Sirius gave him a seething look. 

Lupin blanched. It took James a moment to notice that he’d moved backwards on the bed so that he was as far as possible from all three of them. James reached out to grab his shoulder. “Listen…”

“No,” Remus said at once, flinching away. “No, I’m not.”

“The evidence adds up.”

He laughed nervously. “Don’t be ridiculous! I get ill, James, you know I do—”

“Once a month, sometimes twice. Every month on the full—”

“That’s not true.”

“You’ve got scars, mate,” Sirius said quietly. “We’ve seen them.”

“I told you! I told you it was from a—”

“Remus,” James said forcefully. “We know. And it’s okay.”

Lupin’s eyes trailed over all three of them. They were bloodshot and dull, evidence of lack of sleep, but glistening slightly with the tears he fought to hold back. The bandages visible under his shirt sleeve were probably hiding a fresh new scar. In a sudden jerky movement, he threw his hands over his face and curled up as small as possible as if to hide himself from them. “No, no. No, you can’t.”

James hesitated before pressing a hand to his arm. “What?”

“You can’tknow. Dumbledore said—he said if anyone figured it out—”

“We won’t tell!” Sirius insisted. At the same time Peter squeaked, “Dumbledore knows?”

“Of course he knows, you dolt!” Sirius snapped, whirling on him. “How could Pomfrey know if Dumbledore doesn’t?”

“We won’t tell,” James echoed softly. “Honestly, we don’t want you to leave.”

Remus peeked at him through his fingers. The glint in his eyes reminded James of a cornered animal. Once, he’d seen a cat under his parents’ front porch with the same expression. Remus wanted to bolt, but he was too afraid to move. 

“It doesn’t matter what you are,” James persisted. “You’re our friend, it doesn’t make any difference.”

“Of course it makes a difference,” Remus mumbled. “Now that you know, you’re going to—”

“Treat you like a werewolf?” Sirius finished for him. “Hate to break it to you, mate, but we figured it out months ago. Nothing’s changed.”

“Figuredit out is a strong word for it,” Peter mumbled. Sirius kicked him.

Remus slowly lowered his hands. “You really won’t tell?” he asked warily.

“‘Course not.” James crossed his arms. “Your secret’s safe with us. This is a werewolf-safe zone. If you want, you can bite all of us and that way we really won’t tell—”

“No!” Remus gasped, as Peter’s face drained of all color. “Don’t even joke about that—”

James threw his hands up in surrender. Desperate to right his mistake and bring the conversation back to something more normal, he said, “Right. Sorry. Hey—you sure you don’t fancy a trip to the kitchens? I’m guessing you didn’t eat lunch.”

Remus dropped his gaze to his lap. “How’d you know that?” 

“Because we know you, Lupin,” Sirius answered, grinning. He threw an arm around Remus’ shoulder. Even Peter calmed himself down enough to sit down on the edge of the bed, though he was wringing his hands together a little too frantically for James’ liking. 

He seriously hoped things would return to the way, but that didn’t seem possible even then. Remus still looked nervous—no, terrified, or maybe in shock. That deer-in-headlights look was still flickering in his eyes. But he hadn’t run yet.

Later that evening, when they’d all gone to bed, James heard the unmistakable sound of Sirius’ footsteps on the carpet, the swishing of heavy fabric moving, and the hushed sound of whispering. James guessed that he’d gone to reassure Remus, or maybe to tell him off for trying to keep a secret so long. Sirius had always been better at talking to Lupin than the rest of them. He understood the quiet types like that.

Resisting the urge to eavesdrop, James smiled to himself. If he knew anything, it was that Sirius Black—too fierce a friend to let a wolf scare him off—wouldn’t let Remus run anywhere. At least, not by himself.