End of Term
Three nights a week, the Marauders donned James’s invisibility cloak and headed out after curfew. They mapped two new passages and the kitchens, which made the parchments increasingly difficult to order. They’d used up most of Peter’s enormous parchment stack and were scouring the library for a method to stick the pieces together in a way that allowed the map to show the entire castle.
Sirius clearly wasn’t looking forward to the summer. He grew uncharacteristically quiet whenever the upcoming holiday was mentioned, his eyes clouding over, the colour leaving his face. James invited all of them to stay with him for as long as they wanted—but Sirius remained pessimistic.
“You know they’ll never let me.”
“Cheer up, mate,” James slung an arm around his friend. They sat together on the big couch in the common room.
Sirius plainly didn’t want to cheer up. “They won’t, though. My cousin’s bloody wedding is in July. You can bet I’ll have to be around for all of it.”
“We got an invitation to that,” Peter said, looking up from his book. “Probably see you there.”
“Yeah, great,” Sirius huffed, exhaling hard so that his long hair fluffed over his forehead.
Remus, too, grew increasingly worried about the summer. His transformations worsened with every month. What had been superficial scratches before had turned into deep gashes that took ages to heal. He often woke in a pool of blood and could not move until Madam Pomfrey patched him up. He was glad she’d offered to see him through the holidays because Remus suspected he might not survive the full moon without her anymore.
He’d spent two weekends in the hospital wing, and was running out of knowledge on muggle diseases to answer their questions. James had suggested his mother get in touch with Remus’s family, since she had some experience with healing magic and could help—and he’d gotten more and more insistent that Remus should spend the summer with him.
The Marauders found their evenings devoted to practising spells and quizzing each other on potion ingredients. Peter seemed to mutter to himself constantly, wringing his hands together, and girls kept bursting into hysterical giggles. Lily had taken to ambushing other students in the common room, demanding they quiz her on the 18th Century Goblin Riots. Remus didn’t understand the fuss and increasingly secluded himself in their dormitory since it was the only place not reeking of anxiety.
The older students had no sympathy for their younger counterparts. Frank Longbottom gave out more detentions during the last week of term than he had all year and even threatened to take fifty points from Gryffindor if James and Sirius didn’t stop levitating inkwells in the common room.
The large classroom where they did their written papers was sweltering hot. They had been given special, new quills for the exams, which had been bewitched with an Anti-Cheating spell.
They had practical exams as well. Professor McGonagall watched them turn a gerbil into a teacup—points were given for how pretty the cup was but taken away if it still had whiskers. Professor Flitwick called them one by one into his class to see if they could make a pineapple dance the flamenco across a desk.
Peter always asked to go through their exam papers afterwards, but Sirius said this made him feel ill, so they wandered down to the lake and flopped under a tree. Some of the older students were swimming. Remus refused to take off his heavy cloak. He wasn’t entirely certain that the gash on his side hadn’t opened up again and stained his dress shirt.
“No more studying,” James sighed happily, stretching out on the grass.
***
Remus still had the book Madam Pomfrey had lent him, and he had to return it before term ended. It had been moderately more helpful than his textbooks. There was a lot he already knew; he had been bitten, and mustn’t be allowed to bite anyone else; there was no cure.
He flipped past the sketches of people who’d seen werewolves. He’d rather not think about having a tail or a snout—but he was curious to discover that he was only a threat to humans.
“Well, well,” Snape purred, “Loony Lupin. And no professor in sight to save your skin?”
“Bugger off,” Remus said, withdrawing his wand. “You got me. Now go away.”
“Oh my, have you actually learnt some magic, Lupin?” Severus replied, facing him off, raising his wand.
“Expelli-”
“EXPELLIARMUS,” Snape roared, beating Remus to it. He caught Remus’s wand gleefully and, pointing his wand at Remus’s legs, added, “Colloshoo.”
Remus tried to move—to no avail. His feet were stuck to the ground. It might be worth calling for help, but the corridor was quiet, and he didn’t want to look like a coward. He stared at Snape, setting his jaw.
He wasn’t alone. One boy flanking him was a first-year, too. The other looked older, tall and lanky. Remus clutched his bag tighter. If they searched it—
Snape snatched the rucksack, sneering. “Still carrying around homework, Loony?”
“Give it back,” Remus snapped.
Snape dug through the bag, scattering the rolls of parchment on the floor. An inkwell smashed, spraying their trousers. “Oops,” Snape said. He was studying the books now.
“Healing books?” Snape asked, yawning. “Doubt your terminal lack of intelligence can be cured.” Snape turned to his companion. “Avery, weren’t you looking for an opportunity to practise for Defense Against the Dark Arts?”
“I’m not sure if you have noticed, Snivellus, but the exams are over.”
“You can never have too much practice,” Snape sneered. “You should take that to heart.”
Remus struggled, trying to lift his feet from the floor. Avery grinned, licking his lips. “Pungo!”
Remus could feel his arm swelling rapidly where the spell had hit him. He thrashed, trying not to lose his balance.
“Pungo!”
The spell hit his back this time. Remus struggled, knowing it wouldn’t help but needing to do something. He didn’t want to cry, even when he felt a hot trickle of blood seeping into his trousers.
“What’s going on? Severus—” A girl’s voice came from the end of the hall.
“Finite Incantatem,” Snape whispered hurriedly and Remus’ legs came unstuck. He wobbled and staggered backwards, leaning against the wall, before scrambling for his belongings on the floor.
Lily hurried towards them. She stopped when she saw Remus and looked at Snape, frowning. “What are you doing, Sev?”
“Nothing.” He looked at the ground, scuffing the toe of his shoe on the flagstones. “Just chatting to Lupin, weren’t we, Avery?”
Avery shrugged unconvincingly. Lily looked at Remus, who looked away, embarrassed. Bad enough to be caught by Snape. He didn’t need her feeling sorry for him, too.
“Wait! Remus!” Lily ran after him. He didn’t stop for her, but she was quick on her feet and caught him up.
“What?”
“What were they doing to you? Sev won’t tell me, and I know it was bad.”
“It’s fine.”
“Remus.”
“We don’t talk about our black-haired friends.”
Lily stopped, taken aback. “You’re my friend, aren’t you?”
“I just want to get to the hospital wing, Lily,” Remus said, his temper rising.
“Was it that bad?”
Remus didn’t answer and hurried along. He didn’t have time for that today. He had to get to the hospital wing before moonrise.
***
Remus woke in a pool of blood. The first light filtered through the boarded-up windows, and he groaned, trying to flip around. His shoulder felt off, and he couldn’t move his arm.
His whole body burned—it was impossible to tell where the blood came from, so he lay on his stomach, waiting.
“Remus?” Madam Pomfrey’s soft voice came through the door, “I’m coming in now, dear.”
He closed his eyes, unable even to groan.
“Oh,” she said. “Bad one, was it?”
He opened his eyes and nodded weakly. His arm snapped back into place with a jolt of pain.
“There, there,” she murmured. “You have quite the gash on your back. I bet it was that cursed spell.”
The familiar burn of a healing spell covered his lower back. Remus groaned. Madam Pomfrey helped him up. As soon as he was on his feet, his head swam, and his stomach lurched. He bent forward and vomited onto the floor.
“Never mind,” Madam Pomfrey said kindly, an arm around his trembling shoulder. She pointed her wand at the mess, and it vanished in an instant.
She wanted to float him back to the castle, but Remus couldn’t bear the shame of it. Halfway up the third flight of stairs, Remus was about ready to reconsider. He was glad to finally collapse into a warm bed.
Remus cowered in a corner. It was dark, and the curtains moved on their own. Squeaking and scraping broke the silence. A shadow danced over the wall.
Remus woke with a start, shivering and gasping for air. He was soaked in sweat, and the white bedsheets were stained red. Madam Pomfrey hurried over, doting on him. He wanted to tell her, ask, scream—anything—but no sound left his mouth. Madam Pomfrey kept him in bed for several days since the wounds on his back wouldn’t close properly, and she had to reseal them every few hours. Remus was supplied with an endless stream of books from the library. From the door, he heard the Marauders argue with Madam Pomfrey every day.
“Good afternoon, Mr Lupin,” Professor Bracegirdle said.
Remus looked up from his book. “Professor,” he mumbled.
“Not anymore,” she said, sitting in a chair by his bedside. “I wanted to say goodbye and deliver the good news myself.”
Remus frowned. “What good news?”
“You have achieved the highest Defense Against the Dark Arts mark in your year.”
“I did?”
“Yes. I was very impressed. Although it would be wise to keep that to yourself until tomorrow.”
Remus smiled. “Thank you.”
Her scar twisted as the corner of her mouth twitched. “Changes are coming to the Wizarding World, Mr Lupin. We must all stick with our friends.”
She left without looking back, leaving Remus wondering what it meant.
Madam Pomfrey was a nice woman, but very strict.
“Just five minutes,” Remus pleaded.
“Absolutely not.”
“You let Professor Bracegirdle in—”
“Well, of course, that was a professor. Quite different. You need rest.”
“I am resting, look, lying down and everything.”
“Oh, very well,” she said. “Five minutes only.”
The Marauders sprinted to his bed. “Lupin!”
“We’ve tried to come every day,” James said. “But she wouldn’t let us in.”
“Snivellus hexed you?” Peter asked, his eyes big.
Remus nodded, embarrassed. He didn’t want to admit that Snape had bested him, but it was the easiest explanation for spending nearly a week in the hospital wing. “I’m fine now.”
“Don’t worry, we got him back,” James said, grinning.
“How long are you in detention for?”
“Don’t worry about that,” Sirius said. He hovered awkwardly at the foot of the bed.
“Is she going to let you out for the feast tonight?” Peter asked.
“Hopefully,” Remus murmured. “It doesn’t even hurt anymore.”
“What’d he do?” James asked.
“Actually, it was his friends. Some hex or the likes. Stung a lot, and I bled all over. How’d you figure out what happened?”
“Evans told us,” Sirius said, his eyebrows raised.
“Said she was sorry,” James added.
Madam Pomfrey bustled over. “You’ve had nearly ten minutes, now OUT,” she said firmly.
Remus made his way down to the end-of-year feast alone that night. He had been held up by Madam Pomfrey’s fussing about, insisting on giving him one last checkup, so the Great Hall was already full. It was decked out in the Ravenclaw colours of blue and bronze to celebrate their winning the house cup. He slipped into a seat next to James.
“Another year gone!” Dumbledore’s cheerful voice resonated through the Great Hall. “And I must trouble you with an old man’s wheezing waffle before we sink our teeth into our delicious feast. What a year it has been! Hopefully, your heads are all a little fuller than they were—you have the whole summer ahead to get them nice and empty before next year starts.
“Now, as I understand it, the house cup here needs awarding, and the points stand thus: In fourth place, Gryffindor, with three hundred and sixteen points; in third, Hufflepuff, with three hundred and sixty-eight; Slytherin has four hundred and eighteen and Ravenclaw, four hundred and forty-two.”
The Ravenclaw table erupted into a storm of cheering and stamping, intertwining with the resounding applause from their fellow houses.
Their exam results were posted in their dormitories that night. James, Sirius and Remus all passed with good marks—Lily had the best grades of the first-years. Peter scraped through, his good Astronomy mark making up for his abysmal Potions one.
Suddenly, their wardrobes were empty, their trunks were packed, and notes were handed out to all students, warning them not to use magic over the holidays. They clamoured into carriages that took them to the train station.
The Marauders found a quiet compartment and settled their things. James and Sirius wouldn’t let Remus lift anything. Luckily, Sirius’s cousin had bewitched all their trunks to float by them. Remus had insisted he was fine to carry his suitcase, but she’d placed the spell on it anyway, before following a tall brown-haired Hufflepuff onto the train.
Remus stretched, watching the platform empty as the last students boarded the train. To one side, Hagrid stood, his face buried in a massive handkerchief. Two months. Remus would miss this place, and his friends.
“And you’re sure you can’t visit?” James asked.
Remus nodded. “I don’t think I can convince my parents. Besides, Mum wrote that we’ll visit my Muggle grandparents.”
“You, Sirius?”
“With the wedding? I don’t think they’ll let me.”
“We’ll write every day,” Peter said.
“And maybe we can all meet in Diagon Alley in August,” James said.
Emerald green hills zoomed past outside. Remus rested his forehead against the glass. His stomach grumbled. He opened his suitcase, rummaging through the clothes.
“Please tell me you’re not about to pull out a book,” Peter groaned. “I cannot see any more books.”
Remus grinned. “Chocolate frog, anyone?”
“Ohh, yes, please,” James said, leaning forward.
Remus tossed him a box, depositing a few more on the seat between them. His hands brushed the stack of unfinished map fragments he’d bound with one of his ties. He grabbed that, too.
“We need to figure out a way to stick these together,” Remus said.
Sirius untied the knot. “First, we need to finish organising them,” he said, flicking through the stack. “And possibly redraw some. Look, that is far too small.”
“Well, it’s not finished yet,” Remus said.
“Of course,” James said.
“What do we need the map for?” Peter asked. “Lupin knows where all the stuff is.”
“Well, I was thinking,” Remus started.
“You so often are,” Sirius mused, and the four broke into laughter.
“I wanted to put some spells on it.”
“What kind?” James asked eagerly.
“Just some improvements,” he said cautiously. “You’ll think it’s silly.”
“No, we won’t,” Peter replied earnestly. “We can help!”
“I wanted to animate it. You know, the stairs and such. I know we’ve made markings.”
The others nodded. A smile spread across James’ face, then Peter’s.
“Think about the possibilities we have for pranks with this,” Sirius mused. He held up a section of the Great Staircase. “The Marauder’s Map.”
“The Marauder’s Map,” Remus repeated, grinning.
“We’ll put your name first,” Sirius continued.
“Our names?” Remus asked.
“I’m not sure if we want our names on it,” Peter said nervously. “What if someone finds it?”
Sirius shrugged. “Our nicknames, then.”
“We don’t have nicknames.” Remus replied, “Well, I sort of do, but I really don’t want ‘Loony Lupin’ written on it.”
James cracked up, and the others followed. The trolly passed by not long after, and James supplied them with an armful of sweets. They laid out the map on the floor of their compartment, marking which parchments had to be connected in which ways.
Sirius pointed out several spots that needed reworking, as a wall or room was too big or small for his liking. They added Gregory the Smarmy’s name to the map next to the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom and his passageway, along with a short instruction on how to open the door.
James had taken to naming the corridors nonsensical things. Remus shook his head.
“I want to add Mrs Norris,” he said, popping an Every Flavour Bean in his mouth and pulling a face—lemon.
“Mrs Norris?” Peter asked.
“If we’re going to animate the map, maybe we can track her. She’s been following me all year,” Remus said. “That way, we can avoid her.”
“Why stop there?” Sirius whispered, scribbling out a line, his long hair obscuring his face, “Why not track everyone?”
“Everyone?” James asked.
Sirius tucked a strand of hair behind his ear. “We could get away with anything.”
“I dunno.” Remus replied, uncomfortable with the idea. What would happen when his friends saw him travelling to the Whomping Willow every month? How long before they decided to follow him and got themselves killed? Maybe he could leave out the passage, but then being out in the grounds when he told them he wasn’t at Hogwarts at all wouldn’t provoke less suspicion.
Remus sat back, listening to their chatter. It would take them long enough to explore the entire place and finish the map, let alone put spells on it. James was busy musing about knowing where Snape was at every moment and planning pranks he could pull on him.
Eventually, he must have drifted off to sleep. Remus woke when the train pulled into platform nine and three-quarters at King’s Cross Station.