Sirius's Birthday
November 2nd, 1971
November crept in with icy winds and a persistent chill that settled deep into the castle’s stones. The grounds sparkled with frost each morning, and the chatter in the Great Hall buzzed with talk of Quidditch tryouts, upcoming Hogsmeade weekends, and the anticipation of the holidays. But for Remus, November marked something else: another full moon.
November 2nd arrived too soon. Remus spent most of the day quiet and withdrawn, his usual sharp focus in lessons dulled by the dread pooling in his stomach. The knowledge of what awaited him that night weighed heavier than the books in his satchel.
During dinner, he barely touched his plate, pushing peas around as the others joked and laughed. James was recounting a dramatic tale of a near-miss during Quidditch practice, Sirius chiming in with exaggerated commentary.
“Remus, you all right?” Peter asked, his brow furrowed.
“Fine,” Remus said, attempting a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.
The others exchanged glances but didn’t press him. They had learned by now that his monthly moods weren’t a topic he wanted to elaborate on.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, Madam Pomfrey appeared at the entrance to the Great Hall. Remus stood without a word, the scrape of his bench loud in his ears.
“See you tomorrow,” he muttered to his friends, not daring to look back as he followed the matron out of the hall.
The walk to the Whomping Willow was quiet but heavy with unspoken concern. Pomfrey glanced at him occasionally, her kind eyes soft with worry.
“It might be a rough one tonight,” she said gently. “The colder months can make things worse.”
Remus nodded, his throat too tight to respond.
At the base of the tree, she tapped the knot with her wand, freezing the violent branches. “In you go,” she said, her voice soothing. “I’ll be back at dawn.”
The transformation hit him like a storm. The pain seemed sharper, his bones grinding as they shifted, his muscles stretching and contorting. The wolf was angrier this time, clawing and howling as it threw itself against the confines of the shack. When it was over, the room bore fresh scars—splintered wood, claw marks across the walls, and bloodied scratches on Remus himself.
November 3rd, 1971
Pomfrey found him at dawn, crumpled in a corner, his pale face streaked with dried blood and sweat.
“Oh, my boy,” she whispered, gently wrapping a blanket around him. She helped him back to the castle, careful to avoid any curious eyes.
By the time she settled him in the hospital wing, the sun had fully risen. She handed him a potion for the pain and began tending to his wounds.
“You need rest,” she said firmly. “You shouldn’t even think about classes today.”
“But Sirius’s birthday…” Remus croaked, his voice hoarse.
“You’re in no state to celebrate anything,” she said, her brow furrowing.
“I can’t miss it,” he insisted, his voice quiet but resolute. “It’s important.”
Pomfrey sighed, pressing a cool hand to his forehead. “I don’t recommend it, but if you insist… at least stay through lunch and take the morning to rest.”
By late afternoon, Remus dragged himself to the Gryffindor common room. It was transformed into a riot of red and gold, enchanted banners proclaiming “Happy Birthday, Sirius!” floating above the hearth. Balloons bobbed along the ceiling, shifting colors with every pop. A massive cake sat on the table, candles already flickering despite the absence of any breeze.
“Remus!” Sirius called from across the room, his grin wide. He was wearing a party hat at a jaunty angle and holding a Butterbeer. “There you are! Thought you’d decided to skip the festivities.”
“Wouldn’t miss it,” Remus said, smiling faintly as he lowered himself into a chair. Every movement sent sharp aches through his body, but he tried not to let it show.
The party was lively, with James attempting to charm the candles on the cake to sing (and failing spectacularly), Peter sneaking second and third slices, and Sirius basking in the attention.
Remus tried to keep up, laughing at their antics and even taking a bite of cake, but the exhaustion weighed him down like a heavy cloak.
Sirius eventually dropped into the seat beside him, his sharp grey eyes studying Remus.
“You look knackered, mate,” he said, his voice quieter than usual.
“Just tired,” Remus replied, attempting a reassuring grin.
“Tired enough to skip cake? Now I know something’s wrong,” Sirius teased, though there was a softness to his tone.
“I’m fine,” Remus insisted, though his pale complexion and the way he slouched betrayed him.
Sirius leaned closer, his grin fading. “Seriously, Lupin. You don’t have to push yourself for this if you aren’t feeling well.”
“I wanted to be here,” Remus said, his voice barely above a whisper. “This is the first birthday party I’ve ever been to.”
For a moment, Sirius just stared at him, his expression unreadable. Then he clapped a hand on Remus’s shoulder, careful not to jostle him too hard.
“Well, it won’t be the last,” Sirius said firmly. “From now on, you’ve got us. Birthdays, holidays, Tuesdays—we’ll celebrate everything.”
Remus chuckled weakly. “Even Tuesdays?”
“Especially Tuesdays,” Sirius said, grinning again.
As the evening wound down, the four boys found themselves alone in the common room, the remnants of the party scattered around them.
“First birthday party and you still look miserable,” James said, nudging Remus’s arm.
“He’s miserable because he missed me hexing Snivellus earlier,” Sirius said, throwing an arm over Remus’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, Remus, there’ll be more opportunities.”
“I’ll hold you to that,” Remus said, his voice tired but light.
Peter yawned loudly, and they all laughed as he nearly toppled off his chair.
As Remus finally left the group, an excuse given that he was too tired, he climbed into bed that night, he felt the ache of his body more keenly than ever. But there was something else, too—a warmth, a quiet sense of belonging he hadn’t felt before.