The night of the full moon loomed heavy over Hogwarts, casting silver light like a blade across the grounds. And it was time to test their success in protecting their friend. In the shadows of the Shrieking Shack, four boys—no, brothers—sat in silence, waiting.
Remus sat apart, hugging his knees to his chest tightly. He was pale, shaking slightly, eyes flicking up to the boarded windows where the moonlight had already began to filter in.
Sirius, unusually serious, crouched beside him. "You sure about this, remus?"
Remus gave a short, bitter laugh. "No. Not even slightly."
James reached into his pocket. "Then it's a good thing we are." He gave Sirius a look, then nodded at Peter. "On three."
And then, it happened. One by one, they transformed.
James' body lengthened and lifted, antlers sprouting as he became the powerful stag. Sirius, ever sleek, became the massive black dog, eyes gleaming in the dark. Peter, smallest of the three, vanished into a rat, whiskers twitching nervously.
Remus backed up to the wall, hands clawing at his arms. He could already feel the pain building—the sickening twist of bone and the stretch of skin that no spell could ease.
He didn't scream anymore. He just changed.
The werewolf stood before them, taller, broader, monstrous. His yellow eyes scanned the room, and for a moment—just a moment—there was still Remus inside them.
And then instinct took over.
The wolf growled low, uncertain. Three animals stood before him. Not prey. Not humans. Not a threat… yet.
But Sirius, in his excitement, stepped forward and gave a happy bark.
The wolf snapped. And alas all hell broke loose.
The werewolf lunged. James bolted, slamming into it with his antlers to knock it back. Peter scrambled up the rafters. Sirius bit into the creature's flank, trying to distract it. But Remus—the wolf—fought back harder, confused and furious, lashing out with teeth and claws.
The night was extremely long. Very Painful and of course Bloody.
And when the sun finally rose, they were all still there, bruised and battered, lying across the shattered floorboards of the Shrieking Shack like broken toys.
James was the first to groan. "Remind me never to underestimate you again, mate."
Remus blinked open crusty, bloodshot eyes. "You're… still here?"
Sirius rolled over, wincing as he pulled a claw mark from his arm. "Yeah, next time we'll leave you to redecorate the shack on your own."
Peter peeked out from under a broken chair. "I think I sprained my tail."
"You don't have a tail, PETER!" Sirius exclaimed irritatingly and painfully.
"I know! But it still hurts!"
Remus sat up slowly, surveying the damage he had done. There were splinters everywhere, the wallpaper was hanging off in strips, and James' cloak had somehow been impaled on a splintered bedpost. He swallowed hard, guilt rising like bile.
"I'm sorry. I—I hurt you."
James waved a weak hand. "If you ever say sorry again, I'll hex you."
Sirius grinned. "And if you try to bite me again, I will bite back."
They all laughed, despite their wounds, and for a brief moment, the pain didn't seem to matter.
As the four of them limped through the corridors like veterans of some invisible war. Bandaged, bruised, and proudly disheveled, it didn't go unnoticed.
Snape leaned against the wall, arms crossed, wearing the most poisnous expression known to mankind. "What happened, Potter? Trip down the stairs? Or were you all out for a moonlit frolic with a werewolf?"
James didn't even stop. He turned over his shoulder and grinned. "Ahh… Lily! I'm wounded! Will you help me?"
Lily, passing by, raised an eyebrow. "You'll need more than help to fix that face, Potter."
James clutched his chest. "She wounds me deeper than the werewolf!"
Snape glared at him, lips curled, but said nothing else as the four of them howled with laughter down the hallway.
The holidays came, and like previous summer, the four regrouped at Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place—Black family's ancestral house.
The house was as dark and suffocating as ever. But the four boys lit it up with their laughter, their chaos, their plans.
As they huddled around the Map, talking about improvements, Kreacher wandered by, dusting the corner with long-suffering glares.
Sirius had been ignoring him for days, ever since his last debacle with Kreacher because of sirius's ongoing clash with the family.
But then the elf paused, its ears twitching.
"You speak of magic," Kreacher said slowly, turning. "Of… transformations. Of loyalty."
They froze.
"Uh… what about it?" Peter asked.
Kreacher approached the table, eyeing the half-finished parchment. "Show Kreacher."
James shrugged and handed it over. "It's just the map, mate."
The parchment was blank.
Kreacher tilted his head, narrowed his eyes, and then, surprisingly, pulled out his own wand. It was small and knotted, made of dark wood.
He pointed it at the parchment and muttered something none of them recognized. The parchment glowed—just for a moment—and then faded again.
Kreacher looked up. "Empty."
"We know," Sirius muttered. "It only works inside Hogwarts. And even then, just a half-kilometre radius."
Kreacher was quiet for a long moment.
Then, unexpectedly, he said: "My mistress—your great-grandmother—once enchanted a tapestry that only revealed itself under moonlight and loyalty. Perhaps… your parchment seeks the same."
James leaned forward. "What do you mean?"
Kreacher looked away, almost reluctant. "You boys gave yourselves pain. For one who transforms. This is rare magic. It knows when you lie. And it rewards only when your intentions are true. And the connection is deep"
The boys looked at each other.
"We don't understand… What does this mean?"