Chapter Text
Monday 19th March 1973
James, though disappointed, wasn"t surprised when Remus didn’t show up for class on Monday morning. The full moon had been the previous night so Remus had been forced to stay in the hospital wing and sleep. If Remus had his way he would go to class and suck it up, Madam Pomfrey disagreed though. The day after the full moon Madam Pomfrey would ignore Lupin"s pleas to go to class and make him sleep all day. James didn’t get it, if he transformed into a werewolf he would stay in the hospital wing a week after the full moon feasting on sweets and pudding. As James thought about it more his classmates might get suspicious and Remus’ way of thinking began to make more sense.
The Marauders went to visit Lupin at lunch but Madam Pomfrey said no. They were usually allowed to visit but sometimes Remus would have such a bad night they just weren’t allowed in. James and Pete begged and Sirius practically got on his hands and knees and pleaded, Madam Pomfrey wasn’t hearing it though.
As classes blurred by Lupin still hadn’t arrived. James hoped everything was all right. Though he had never witnessed Remus transforming it didn’t exactly sound comfy. James imagined his skin stretching and bones cracking, his eyes becoming dilated and nose elongating…. NOPE!
James right then and there vowed to never complain about headaches ever again.
The three boys flew out of their seats the second they got dismissed, (since they did in fact possess magic James wouldn’t have been surprised if they took that to a literal). As they sprinted down the halls multiple first years gave them confused looks, the seventh years glanced at them and noticed who they were then ignored them, just the marauders being marauders.
Finally arriving in the infirmary James and Sirius gracefully slid in while Peter slammed directly into a cabinet door that had been left open. Bedpans came toppling out making a little bit more noise than what James was hoping for.
Madam Pomfrey appeared beside them in an instant.
“Mr. Pettigrew!” She screamed, “What do you think you are doing?!”
“Pick those bedpans up right now and put them back in the cupboard! And you can wipe that smirk off your face, Mr Black give him a hand.”
James instantly put on his most serious face and saluted which earned him a scowl from Madam Pomfrey. James peeked the curtains back to see a very injured but also a very entertained Remus.
“Hiya, Remu,” James greeted. “Sorry about all the noise.”
Remus’ smile only widened as he sat up.
“S,ok.”
“Lie down!” Madam Pomfrey had managed to capture a scowl in her voice. “You’ve had three broken bones you silly boy.”
So it had been a bad one.
“I’m feeling much better!”
* Crash*
“MR PETTIGREW WHAT DID I SAY?!” Madam Pomfrey trampled over to the noise.
James, who was a little out of breath from his marathon to the hospital wings sat down on the chair next to Remus’ bed.
“Ready to go?” James asked.
“If she’ll let me,” Remus nodded to the curtain Pomfrey had vanished behind. “How was the match?”
“Smashed it,” James thought of the glory he felt as he circled around the pitch. He pulled the little golden snitch out of his pocket and dropped it into Remus’ lap. “Made one of the Ravenclaw beaters cry.”
“How nice.”
Remus’ tone was a little bitter, James felt bad about bragging when Remus had been in immense pain the night before.
“How was… y’know, your night?”
“Fine.” Remus snapped. James got the vibe Remus didn’t quite want to talk about it, frankly James didn’t care.
“Three broken bones, did she say?”
“Yeah. All fixed now though, she’s amazing, only takes one spell. Muggles have to wear plaster casts for weeks and weeks.”
“Weird!”
“REMU!” Sirius whipped back the curtain so hard James feared he’d broken it, “You’re ALIVE!” Sirius fainted onto the edge of Remus’ bed, “I was convinced she was trying to cover something up, the old bat wouldn’t let us come over.
“Don’t call her that,” Remus snapped, James agreed, “And don’t call me that!” James disagreed.
“But you wanted a nickname,” Sirius whined, he stood up so he seemed more powerful than Remus. Peter scurried up beside him lip pouted out, he shoved his hands in his pockets.
“No, I didn’t,” Remus glowered, “When did I ever say th–”
“Last year,” Sirius cut him off, “Almost exactly a year ago, you said you wouldn’t mind being called anything as long as it wasn’t Loony Lupin.”
“God, you’ve got a memory like an elephant,” James thought elephants were cool. “Anyway,” he practically whispered, “The whole point of having a nickname was so no one knew who wrote the map. I don’t think ‘Remu’ is going to fool anyone.”
“He’s got a point there,” James regretfully agreed, “As much fun as it’s been.”
“Fair enough,” Sirius sighed, “But can we call you Remu until we come up with something better?”
“No.”
“Boring.” Sirius’ eyes flicked around the room. “So are we getting out of here or shall I settle down for a rousing game of snap?”
“He’s not going anywhere,” Madam Pomfrey bustled in, “I’m keeping Mr. Lupin in for observation overnight.”
“No!” Based on how quick Remus responded he seemed delighted at the thought of staying the night. “I’m feeling much better!” Remus wasn’t a very good liar.
“I’m not being deliberately unkind, Remus,” Madam Pomfrey sighed, she genuinely sounded sad, “This is for your health.”
“I’ll go straight to bed!”
“We’ll look after him!” James quickly jumped in. It was a long shot but just maybe…
“I’m sorry, Mr. Potter, but no.”
“Fine,” Pete spoke bravely like the Gryffindor he was, “We’ll stay here then.”
“Yeah!” James and Sirius agreed.
“You’ll miss dinner!” Remus protested.
“I’m sure we can arrange something just this once,” Madam Pomfrey agreed, “All right, boys – but you’re to keep quiet. And get on with your homework, I’ll not have you using Mr. Lupin here as an excuse for not handing anything in.”
Three chairs, a long pinewood desk, some inkwells and quills, appeared from a wave of her wand. Awesome.
Remus, who was just about to speak, was interrupted by Madam Pomfrey, “And no, Remus, no homework for you. Just rest.”
How Remus hadn’t burned out yet was witchcraft in itself.
“Can I read my book?” He asked, meekly.
“As long as it doesn’t strain your eyes.”
Sirius and Peter plumped into some chairs and began to work. James, who thought homework was boring and werewolves were cool, seemed to be the exact opposite for Remus. James waggled his finger right in front of Lupin"s eyes. He covered his work with his sleeve.
“Ah ah ah,” James taunted, “No looking, Remu, you just rest.”
“Ugh, call me Loony!” Remus groaned, “Anything but Remu!”
“But it’s suits you!” Sirius said, over his quill, “Reeeeemuuuuuu.”
“Stop it or I’ll bite you.”
“Reeeeemuuuu.”
“Reeeemuuu!” Peter joined in, all three boys giggling hysterically, but trying not to be heard.
“I hate my name,” Remus moaned, covering his face with the book he was reading. “You might as well call me anything you like, I dunno what could be worse.”
“Loony Remu?” James suggested, helpfully. “Remoony?”
Sirius seemed to be the boy who was going to get them caught. His laughter was beginning to get too loud.
“REMOONY!” Sirius snorted, his face falling onto the desk.
“Moony is actually quite good.” Peter said, very seriously.
“Eh?”
“Moony. As a nickname.”
Remus stared at Pete deep in thought. His face seemed to display this nickname could quite literally determine the fate of the world, James kinda agreed.
“I don’t hate it.”
“I love it,” James agreed, “Moony. Suits you.”
“Won’t people...y’know, catch on?” Remus asked, gnawing on his lip.
“Nah,” Sirius waved a hand, “We’ll tell them it’s after that muggle in The Who.”
“They’re all muggles in The Who.” Remus replied, Sirius didn’t look so sure, “But I don’t play the drums.”
“You like hitting things.” Sirius shrugged.
“Thanks.”
“No problem, Remoony.”
* * *
James left for quidditch practice. The striking March air hurt his cheeks as he stepped outside. Despite what many may think about a hyper masculine future quidditch captain like James his favourite season was spring. He loved the small violets that would sprout all through the field. It was the season when classes began to move outside sometimes. He loved sitting in the grass with his friends beside him.
When he thought of his friend’s favourite seasons it was a bit of a mind struggle. He wondered if any of them liked summer as he climbed onto his broom. He doubted it though as they all had to go home soon. Pete may have when they were kids they loved rolling around in the grass. As he went loops around the pitch he wondered if any of the marauders liked autumn, the crisp leaves and promise of Hogwarts. Lupin seemed like he would love the familiar scent of Hogwarts for the first time in a while. As James changed out of his uniform he thought of the current season. Winter was quite easily Sirius’ favourite. He made that quite clear. The cold breeze and wet never stopping rain. Sirius insisted he looked ruggeded with his hair in his face.
James could use magic and could one day control the weather but the thought of nature taking its course with the seasons was quite a beautiful idea.
There"s a certain slant of light,
On winter afternoons,
That oppresses, like the weight
Of cathedral tunes.
Heavenly hurt it gives us;
We can find no scar,
But internal difference
Where the meanings are.
None may teach it anything,
"T is the seal, despair, -
An imperial affliction
Sent us of the air.
When it comes, the landscape listens,
Shadows hold their breath;
When it goes, "t is like the distance
On the look of death.
A light exists in Spring
Not present on the year
At any other period.
When March is scarcely here
A color stands abroad
On solitary hills
That science cannot overtake,
But human nature feels .
It waits upon the lawn;
It shows the furthest tree
Upon the furthest slope we know;
It almost speaks to me.
Then, as horizons step,
Or noons report away,
Without the formula of sound,
It passes, and we stay:
A quality of loss
Affecting our content,
As trade had suddenly encroached
Upon a sacrament.
It will be Summer, eventually.
Ladies - with parasols -
Sauntering Gentlemen - with Canes -
And little Girls - with Dolls -
Will tint the pallid landscape -
As "twere a bright Bouquet -
Tho" drifted deep, in Parian -
The Village lies - today -
The Lilacs - bending many a year -
Will sway with purple load -
The Bees - will not despise the tune -
Their Forefathers - have hummed -
The Wild Rose - redden in the Bog -
The Aster - on the Hill
Her everlasting fashion - set -
And Covenant Gentians - frill -
Till Summer folds her miracle -
As Women - do - their Gown -
Or Priests - adjust the Symbols -
When Sacrament - is done -
Besides the autumn poets sing,
A few prosaic days
A little this side of the snow
And that side of the haze.
A few incisive mornings,
A few ascetic eves, —
Gone Mr. Bryant’s golden-rod,
And Mr. Thomson’s sheaves.
Still is the bustle in the brook,
Sealed are the spicy valves;
Mesmeric fingers softly touch
The eyes of many elves.
Perhaps a squirrel may remain,
My sentiments to share.
Grant me, O Lord, a sunny mind,
Thy windy will to bear!