Year One: Hallowe’en

Peter found the entrance to the kitchens after less than a quarter of an hour—a pear in the portrait guarding the entrance liked to be tickled. They were lucky it was low enough for Peter to reach. Remus wouldn’t have thought of that so quickly. Peter was extremely efficient at discovering hidden passages and entrances, although he rarely realised what they were and ended up half a mile from where he’d intended. Remus envied his talent. All the things he discovered so far, he’d passed by a dozen times, oblivious that there was more to it.

They stepped through the doorway into an enormous, high-ceilinged room, as large as the Great Hall above it, with mounds of glittering brass pots and pans heaped around the stone walls, and a great brick fireplace at the other end.

Remus kept the cloak wrapped tightly around them. At least a hundred little creatures with bulging eyes and floppy ears worked at various tables pushed against the walls. They all wore the same uniform: a tea towel stamped with the Hogwarts crest, tied like a toga.

“House-elves,” Peter whispered when Remus wouldn’t budge.

Remus had stopped dead and cursed under his breath, panicking as the cloak slipped. Peter’s head appeared. Several house-elves shrieked, startled by a head floating in midair.

Hastily, Remus pulled the cloak from them and stuffed it under his uniform. Hopefully, it wouldn’t be confiscated.

“Hello,” Remus said, holding up his hands. “We don’t mean you harm.”

“Would the messers like a cup of tea?” a house-elf squeaked loudly.

“Er - yeah,” Remus said.

Instantly, about six house-elves came trotting up behind them, bearing a large silver tray laden with a teapot, cups, a milk jug, and a large plate of biscuits.

“Good service!” Peter said, his voice breaking on the second word.

Remus frowned at him, but the elves all looked delighted. They bowed very low and retreated. Remus sipped his tea, looking around the room. It was cavernous and lit by several large fires. Four long tables were positioned exactly like the four house tables in the Great Hall above. At the moment, they were clear of food, but Remus supposed they would soon be laden with dishes that were sent up through the ceiling to their counterparts above.

They stood in a corner, taking in the sight. Many of the surrounding elves offered snacks to take back upstairs. They left the kitchens with their pockets full of sandwiches, cream cakes, pies, and an armful of bottled pumpkin juice.

It was a miracle that they arrived in their dormitory in one piece. On the third floor, they heard a sudden high-pitched noise and ducked behind a suit of armour, forgetting they were invisible. They were fortunate for their instinct.

Not a minute later, Peeves floated down the corridor, screaming at the top of his lungs and bouncing off the walls. While Peeves may not have been solid (Remus suspected so, at least) and passed right through them if he’d wanted to, Filch running after Peeves and brandishing his mop was not. He swung wildly in the air, cursing at the poltergeist, his mop barely missing Remus’s head.

Peter and Remus looked at each other, not making a sound, barely daring to breathe. They waited until the clanging and cackling faded in the distance and kept close to the wall. The way back must have taken a significant amount of time, or maybe they’d spent longer in the kitchen than Remus realised—by the time they shit the door of their dormitory behind them, the entire room smelled faintly of bubblegum. James emerged from the bathroom with a wide grin.

***

Over the following week, the four boys experimented with the potion every spare minute they found. They all tested different dosages—in small quantities, unlike Peter’s mishap. Miraculously, none of them ended up in the hospital wing for it. The potion tasted horribly like bubblegum, and even Remus, with his affinity for all things sweet, found himself overcome by waves of nausea.

Peter visited the kitchens at odd hours of the day, coming back with a rucksack full of bottles of pumpkin juice to test the dilution. Sirius sat in the library for three afternoons after observing Remus’s attempt at calculating the volume of the pitchers in the Great Hall—he’d murmured something about complicated Arithmancy and strode off to the library.

Remus joined him happily, sitting at the table on the top floor off the beaten path and catching up on homework. He was the only one of the four who still put in any amount of effort into their assignments. He dictated the facts he still remembered to James over his vigorous stirring of the latest batch of potion late at night or jotted an outline for Peter, who’d had too much of the potion again and was hurling his guts out in the boys’ bathroom on the third floor before they donned the cloak to steal more potion ingredients.

It could be that Remus’s imagination got the better of him, but James and Sirius’s notoriety for trouble didn’t help. When a week passed without either of them losing Gryffindor points, the prefects took note. Remus and Peter could still move about the castle freely—as far as Remus had noticed, at least—but James and Sirius were always followed or otherwise occupied by a prefect or another. Groups of Gryffindor fifth and sixth years bumped into Remus and Sirius on their way to the library several times.

Then there was Snape, who lurked in dark corners and followed Remus like a shadow. Remus found himself clasping his wand in his pocket, ready to defend himself every time he left the safety of Gryffindor Tower alone, mainly to provide passage through the portrait hole to an invisible James and Peter.

Remus’s old habit often got the better of him, and he roamed the castle, taking lengthy detours before joining Sirius at the library. Snape tried to hex him only once—in a desolate hallway on the sixth floor. The head girl had exited one of the disused classrooms just as Snape had pulled his wand, ready to cast a spell. Andromeda bodily dragged Snape away.

The four of them settled into a constant state of sleep deprivation. While Andromeda’s time in detention was up (much to Sirius’s dismay), James and Sirius continued to report to McGonagall every evening at half past seven. In the approximately ninety minutes they were gone, Remus was in charge of monitoring the potion in the bathroom. Peter used the time to catch up on his work since he was the only one who was actively failing transfiguration and potions. So, Remus sat reading in the bathroom, one eye on the near-frozen potion. The room smelled so sweet Remus wouldn’t have been surprised if sugar built up as condensation on the mirror.

***

Remus arrived early to Defense Against the Dark Arts on Wednesday before Halloween. The room was empty. Most Gryffindors returned to the common room after breakfast, and Sirius had taken a detour to the hospital wing to get a bite on his fingers healed. His enormous black eagle owl had paid him a visit at breakfast, and for a moment, Remus had suspected Sirius may have lost a few fingers.

Remus settled in his usual spot, pulling out his books, quills and parchment, and placed the homework on imps and fairies on top. He didn’t want to fuel Bracegirdle’s suspicions by arriving late along with James and Sirius. Peter would probably be on time if he could climb the stairs from the kitchen to the tower fast enough.

“Keeping out of trouble?”

Remus’s head snapped up—Professor Bracegirdle had appeared on the small balcony connecting the tower to the classroom.

Remus nodded, suddenly nervous she’d be able to sniff out his lies. “As much as I can.”

She narrowed her eyes, limping down the stairs. Remus wondered if she’d stopped being an auror because she was too slow. “Some of your friends have sent a student to the hospital wing.”

“I wasn’t there, but I heard the same thing.”

“Do they know? Your friends?”

Remus turned to see if anyone else was there. “No.”

The old witch tutted. Silence stretched long and uncomfortable, but Remus held her gaze. “You are a bright young man,” she said finally.

“Thank you,” Remus mumbled.

“It was merely an observation. How many full moons have you spent at Hogwarts so far?”

“Two,” Remus said quietly.

“Ah. Two,” she said. She settled against her desk. “I was out on the grounds.” Remus squirmed in his seat, trying to hold her gaze. “That’s right. I heard your howling.”

Remus swallowed. “I don’t remember anything.”

“Huh, interesting.”

“I never do,” Remus added, not knowing why he was explaining himself.

“At any rate,” Bracegirdle said. She didn’t finish her thought because the first Hufflepuffs had strolled into the classroom and taken their seats. Professor Bracegirdle’s eyes rested on Remus.

James arrived on the bell, just about sliding into his seat before Bracegirdle began her lecture, and Sirius sauntered in, a fashionable ten minutes late, carrying a note from Pomfrey, which made Bracegirdle narrow her eyes and dismiss him to his seat. She picked on Sirius to answer her every question that morning.

The lesson was almost entirely dedicated to the smokescreen spell. They emerged from a steamy classroom almost two hours later and stumbled outside into the cool autumn air. A slow drizzle cleansed their faces. Gryffindor still had the same number of points they’d had when the day began.

Remus ate slowly, savouring every minute he could spend in the castle before the Gryffindors had flying class. He’d looked up a water repulsion spell, but even when he gave his all, the spell only lasted for about fifteen minutes. Remus hadn’t even been a fan of flying in good weather. James, already bouncing on his heels, dragged Remus from the hall.

The Gryffindors were supposed to learn how to withstand high winds that day. Remus shivered, clutching his broom tightly as Madam Hootch shouted the instructions at them over the chatter that went through the students. The weather was bad enough that she didn’t have to conjure extra wind. As if that was a comfort.

Remus was one of the last students to take off. They’d have to go high up, higher than the commentator’s box and the goalposts, which were the highest structures in the stadium, to be exposed to the strong winds and give Madam Hootch enough time to catch them if they fell off their brooms. Remus focused on the whirling clouds ahead and did not look down—unsure he could hold on to his lunch if he would.

James swerved ahead, racing Marlene in front of a crowd of nine others. Peter hung back, waiting for Remus to catch up. Remus had a tight grip on his broom, afraid he would slip off at any moment. The thin gloves lent to him by the school strained and made the handle slipperier than normal. The rain wasn’t helping.

At the height he was hovering at, the small water droplets froze into shards of ice, pelting at Remus’s exposed skin. Unlike many others who’d brought flying gear from home, he hadn’t worn a scarf or hat or goggles. Remus leaned against the wind, standing still in midair. At least the wind made it impossible for him to hear the instructions Madam Hootch was no doubt shouting his way.

Remus landed with his classmates, hands frozen to his broom at the end of class. He had to walk awkwardly with the broom still between his legs until they finally reached the changing tents and James could defrost his gloves. Remus swore he’d never get on a broom again.

***

By Halloween morning, the boys had a stash of Babbling Beverage in all containers they’d come across neatly piled in Remus’s rucksack under Sirius’s bed, and their dormitory smelled like a sweets shop—it was a miracle none of the other students reported them.

James was already bouncing on his heels. Remus sighed—he felt the same, though probably for different reasons. If they got caught, what would happen to him? He went through the motions of any weekend morning, desperately craving the structure a weekday would provide. He’d even volunteer to spend a double lesson in the dungeon with Snape. However, on second consideration, that didn’t ease his anxiety.

Worse even, the full moon was only two nights away. His temper rose by the minute, and he felt hungrier than ever. He had four helpings of eggs and sausages for breakfast and would have happily continued stuffing his face if the others hadn’t dragged him back to the common room.

They sat in the common room doing homework so no one would wonder what they were doing. Remus couldn’t sit still. The scratching of Sirius’s quill distracted him, and he had a strange urge to scratch at the skin behind his ear. Apparently, as nervous as Remus, Peter kept muttering under his breath, which mixed with the hammering of his heart. Or was it Remus’s? He definitely heard more than one heartbeat. And chewing, more wet and sloppy noises, giggles—it was too loud in the common room.

Remus leaned his head against the cool window, desperate for an escape from the heat of his jumper. He counted to ten on his inhale and fifteen on his exhale. Again and again. He had to get his nerves under control. This was fine, like any other Sunday. The others had done this before. Nothing would go wrong.

Besides, the only way to stop James and Sirius from trying was to tell the staff, and as much as Remus’s stomach twisted, he couldn’t bring himself to do it.

Remus didn’t quite know how he made it through the day. By five to six, he paced in their dormitory, waiting for James and Sirius to don the cloak. He and Peter could be seen in the halls together—no one would suspect them of any mischief.

If they were confronted, Remus would tell them he was going to the library, but they didn’t encounter anything unusual on their walk down the seven flights of stairs. Remus strained his ears for any errant footsteps. Only the occasional student passed them. Filch and Mrs Norris were nowhere in sight.

Remus skipped down the steps into the basement, Peter falling behind. Sirius and James were even slower if the faint clinking of glass against glass in the rucksack was any indication. Remus was too nervous to wait for them to catch up properly. The kitchens weren’t far now. Swiftly, he rounded the corner, squeezing past a huddle of Hufflepuffs, only to find himself on the brink of a collision with none other than Professor McGonagall.

“P-Professor,” he stuttered as loudly as he could muster in his surprise.

She halted abruptly—her gaze piercing through him. “Mr Lupin,” she replied. “You seem in a hurry. What is a Gryffindor student doing in the basement, of all places?”

Remus scrambled for an answer, nervously glancing over his shoulder. He focused, but all he could hear was his panicked heartbeat. “I wa—”

“Come with me,” McGonagall interrupted, motioning for Remus to follow her.

Defeated, Remus followed the professor, hoping Peter was safely under the cloak. McGonagall led him through the entrance hall toward the transfiguration wing. With a flick of her wand, the door to her office swung open, granting him passage. Two comfortable armchairs stood by a crackling fireplace reminiscent of the Gryffindor common room.

“Take a seat, Mr Lupin,” she instructed, settling behind the desk. “What brings an earnest Gryffindor like yourself to the basement?”

“I was hungry,” Remus mumbled.

McGonagall arched an eyebrow, and Remus surmised that feigning innocence was his best course of action. She possessed an uncanny ability to detect mischief brewing. “The feast is set to commence in less than an hour,” she remarked curtly.

“It’s the full moon,” Remus said quietly, his gaze fixated on the floor.

“That still doesn’t clarify your presence in the basement,” she pressed, her voice different, softer.

“I was searching for the kitchens,” Remus confessed. On her desk, scrolls of parchment were neatly arranged. He looked anywhere but her face. He wasn’t exactly lying. The full moon made his hunger worse, and he was feeling a little queasy.

“I see,” she responded. “And what made you suspect the kitchens?”

“Peter told me where to look,” Remus mumbled. He dared not mention James and glanced at an exotic-looking bird perched in a cage by the window.

“Mr Pettigrew?”

“Yes, we share a dormitory.”

“I am well aware,” McGonagall said. “Along with Mr Black and Mr Potter.” Remus nodded. “How are you managing, Mr Lupin?”

“Er—Fine, I believe,” Remus replied, confused. “Apart from the hunger, of course.”

“Do you experience any other side effects before the full moon? I can have arrangements made—”

“No, no. It’s not that bad, honestly. I just wanted to appear more normal during the feast.”

“It must be difficult,” she said. Her lips were twisted into a sad smile. Remus regretted looking at her. At least she seemed to have forgotten all about punishing him. “Your friends must be noticing you’re gone sometimes. Have you devised a strategy for dealing with them?”

“No,” Remus admitted.

“Perhaps you could inform them you are visiting family? A parent?” she suggested. “I could arrange for you to spend a few nights in the hospital wing during periods that don’t coincide with the full moon, simply to allay any suspicions.”

“I will manage on my own,” Remus asserted. He didn’t need her pity. “May I be excused?”

“Not just yet,” she replied, her gaze unwavering. “You are not to search for the kitchens any more. They are off-limits to students, and I will not hesitate to give you detention should you be found in their vicinity again.”

Remus nodded, his ears burning. “Yes, professor.”

“Since I already have you here, let us discuss another matter.” She rifled through a stack of notes, adjusting her glasses closer to her eyes. “As you may be aware, one of the December moons will fall during the Christmas break. Madam Pomfrey has requested that I contact your parents to inquire if she may pay you a visit the morning after.”

“I—” Remus began, his mind racing to find a response. He wasn’t sure if his parents would be comfortable.

“You needn’t provide an answer immediately,” she interjected, her tone softer. “Simply inform me by December. I will ask for the names of the students who would like to remain at Hogwarts. It won’t look suspicious if you approach me then. Or you could speak to Madam Pomfrey directly. Whatever is more comfortable for you.”

The bird cawed, flapping its wings. Remus flinched.

“Well, now,” McGonagall said, glancing at an intricate grandfather clock on the fireplace mount. “It is getting rather late.”

She rose, leading Remus into the corridor. Remus trotted after McGonagall, hoping the others had carried out their plan in the kitchens. He wasn’t sure what time it was—the clockface showing planets and moons instead of numbers—but if the empty corridors indicated, the feast would begin at any moment.

Professor McGonagall halted rather abruptly in front of a dozen giant floating pumpkins in the grand staircase and narrowed her eyes.

“Show yourself, Peeves.”

“Well, well, well, what have we here?” Peeves sneered. “Oh-so-serious professor, out and about on this fine Halloween night!”

“Stop this nonsense,” she said curtly.

“If professor so pleases.”

Peeves zigzagged between the pumpkins, and as he passed, they stopped hovering, dropping to the floor with a crack. Pumpkin innards splashed across the cobbled stone, covering the walls and suits of armour. The portraits shouted as the mess splattered on their frames.

Professor McGonagall sighed and muttered something about alerting Filch. She shook her head and vanished the smashed pumpkin with a flick of her wand. Peeves bobbed further along the corridor, cackling.

The Great Hall was abuzz with students. A thousand live bats fluttered from the walls and ceiling while more swooped over the tables in low black clouds, obscuring the flickering light and casting shadows over the feast.

Remus hurried to where they usually sat. James waved enthusiastically, and Sirius moved aside so Remus could sit opposite Peter. Dumbledore stood, raising his goblet, and the feast appeared suddenly on the golden plates, as it had at the start-of-term banquet.

Remus dug in. He’d devoured an entire plate of mashed potatoes and beef stew before he blinked, swallowed, and remembered what they’d planned for tonight. Slowly, he looked around. Everything seemed perfectly ordinary, except—

Three people down, a fifth-year girl with glasses was spluttering utter nonsense, and she wasn’t the only one. The volume of the hall was no louder than usual, but the students weren’t holding excited conversations but couldn’t help the random strings of gibberish escaping their mouths.

With a wink, James took a gulp from his goblet.

“Maybe we should have put it in the pudding,” Remus whispered to Sirius.

“Nonsense,” Sirius answered, clutching his stomach. “This is brilliant!”

“Did you get in alright?”

James attempted an explanation, but the words jumbled up before they left his mouth. Remus glanced at McGonagall’s stern expression. “She doesn’t look too pleased.”

McGonagall sat next to Dumbledore with a stern expression on her face. Remus felt sorry for her. Dumbledore, next to her, sat gurgling in his high-backed golden chair.

Sirius shrugged, still grinning. “She’ll get over it. Besides, it’s worth it to see Dumbledore like this.”

Many students seemed to realise something was happening, even if they couldn’t pinpoint exactly what was wrong with them. Those dosed with the potion could not stop the words coming out of their mouths, precisely like they’d planned. The potion wouldn’t do any severe damage—unlike it had with Peter—since they didn’t have enough potion to lace the pumpkin juice for very long. Remus doubted the potion would still be in the drink by the time pudding was served.

Red sparks exploded over their heads, and the volume dropped drastically, except for the occasional stray shouts of nonsense.

“It seems,” Professor McGonagall addressed the school, her voice cutting through the chaos like a blade. “That the feast has been tampered with. However, we will finish the meal in an order—” She was interrupted by Professor Flitwick’s high squeak before silencing him with a stern glance—“As I was saying, you will continue the feast. If anyone experiences severe side effects, I expect their prefects to take them to the hospital wing immediately.”

Remus helped himself to the roasted vegetables and a steak—he hadn’t been lying to McGonagall. He truly was famished. Sirius took a big gulp of the pumpkin juice, and Remus expected nonsensical yelling to come out of his mouth, but instead, Sirius started murmuring, low and intense, much akin to Peter’s nervous habit.

Peter was the only one who wasn’t supposed to drink any pumpkin juice. He had a talent for going unnoticed and was responsible for returning the invisibility cloak and rucksack safely to their dormitory. Remus gingerly sipped on his pumpkin juice, feeling his tongue instantly loosen.

The dosage wasn’t very strong—the volume of his babbling didn’t exceed a whisper until he’d drank two full cups. He hadn’t considered that the incessant talking would make eating and drinking difficult. He’d only had his second helping when the main course vanished and the pudding appeared.

For most, the potion’s effects lessened after two hours, and they stuffed their faces with cake and ice cream. They trudged up to the common room near midnight, round-bellied and giggling.