Emerald Eyes, Silver Chalice

“Friendship is Love without his wings!”
- Lord Byron (L’Amitie Est L’Amour sans Ailes)



October 26th, 1975

I howled, my irrational fury pouring through me with a shudder. With another angry howl, I hurled myself against the locked door, feeling the power of the silver moon coursing through my veins. The beast in me hungered – hungered for warm flesh, salty blood, and the subtle pulse of a dying heart beneath my snout.

But my imprisonment denied me my right to hunt and kill. I wasn’t free to roam about in the magnificent moonlight, reveling in my wildness and freedom. With another howl, more plaintive and lonely this time, I reared up on my hind legs and clawed the wooden door.

Snarling, I dropped back to all fours and began to pace back and forth around the tiny, dilapidated room. Claw marks, dried blood, and damaged furniture covered the floors and walls, silent testimony to my past imprisonments. I stared up at the window; the shutters had been nailed shut over the shattered glass, but a sliver of moonlight struggled through a small crack. I lifted my nose, straining to smell the cool night air that wafted in through the drafty boards.

If there was one good thing about turning into a wolf every month, it was the incredible sense of smell I gained for one full week. The world opened up to me on a completely different level, enticing in all its different scents. I loved the way my nose was filled with a host of intriguing smells that I would have never detected with a human nose.

Unfortunately, my nose could be a curse, too. It reminded me of the great world that lay outside the confines of the “Shrieking Shack” – I could smell people as they slept in nearby houses, animals as they foraged in the night and birds as they shifted restlessly in their nests.

With a disheartened whine, I trotted about in circles before finally laying down. I laid my head on my paws and stared up at the light wiggling through the shutters.

I couldn’t wait until my friends finally finished learning the spells necessary to become Animagi. Even though I couldn’t really think rationally in my wolf-state, I knew that I was lonely. I also knew that I had friends in the “other world” – in the life I lived as a human. And I wanted them to be with me now, alleviating my unbearable loneliness.

My ears flickered, causing me to turn my head and look toward the unfamiliar noise. Something was scratching softly at the bottom of the Shack’s bedroom door. I clambered noisily to my feet and lumbered over to the door, curious. A new scent filled my nose – a scent I had never sniffed anywhere else.

It was soft, subtle and feminine. It smelled of damn fur and the light frost that lay across the brittle autumn grass. My keen nose also picked up on another scent…almost human in nature. A faint, man-made perfume, perhaps?

To my amazement, a weak board in the door fell in, forming a hole perfect for a small animal, but far too small for me. I sniffed the opening, but knew it was useless to try to make it bigger. The door and walls had been enchanted to allow people in, but to keep anything bigger than a small dog in.

I pricked my ears forward in great curiosity as the creature on the other side of the door began to squeeze through the opening. I was astonished to see a little, red female fox slip through. She lifted her head and I was immediately struck by the most amazing sight I’ve ever seen –

A pair of gorgeous, intelligent, deep green eyes that were simply mesmerizing in their intensity.


~ ~ ~


November 5th, 1975

“Hey, Moony!” Sirius broke my thoughts, snapping his fingers underneath my nose. “Wake up.”

“Huh?” I returned to reality, not a little dazed.

“’Moony’ fits you in more than one way,” James snorted, plopping a piece of sausage onto his plate. “You looked like you were on a different planet all together.”

“I was…just thinking,” I replied slowly, snatching a piece of toast off of the platter Peter was passing down the Gryffindor table.

“Looked like it hurt,” James teased flippantly.

I scowled at him, but didn’t answer. If only he knew of what I had been thinking!

Those mysterious green eyes had haunted my dreams for the past month and a half. And along with them was the beautiful vixen that kept me silent sympathy each night I spent in that hell-hole of a shack.

Who is she? I wondered, twiddling absently with my spoon’s handle.

“Do foxes have green eyes?” I suddenly blurted.

Sirius glanced at me out of the corner of his eye, half-way through a gulp of pumpkin juice.

“Say again?” Peter asked blankly, bringing voice to the look Sirius gave me.

“Oh…never mind,” I hastily stuffed a generous bite of toast and baked beans into my mouth, as if that would keep the questions at bay.

“I’ve heard of animals having brown eyes,” Lily piped up.

I glanced over at her, straining to see over James’ big head. Of course, she would answer. Lily heard everything, but not because she was a busy-body. Lily Evans was a quiet, kind, caring girl – one would walk away with their first impression being that she should be a Hufflepuff. But Lily had all the spirit, passion and courage of a lioness – I had seen it on more than one occasion when she rallied to the cause of Severus Snape against Sirius and James.

Strange, I thought, that a Gryffindor girl should befriend a Slytherin boy – and a very ugly, sleazy, oily, sneaky Slytherin at that.

But, as usual, my mind was drifting completely off subject, meandering back to reality in time only to hear the last half of what Lily had been saying.

“…They don’t have green eyes.”

“Huh?” I puzzled, completely clueless.

“Really, Remus,” Lily leaned forward, leaning her head across James’ chest and scowling at me. “I’m not having my period, so why are you acting like you are?”

That was yet another reference to a really bad, but amusing, Marauder inside joke. By some freak of Nature, my monthly transformation and Lily’s monthly…well…her monthly, coincided.

Our joint “PMS” consisted of long periods of complete spaciness, often followed by utterly random comments. Then we both got mean.

James always bitched about how he couldn’t decide what was worse – a hormonal (read: homicidal) girl or a blood-thirsty werewolf.

And Lily was talking full-steam ahead, as usual, not bothering to wait until my brain began to filter and comprehend her words.

“…Are you listening to me?” her green eyes narrowed as she continued to survey me from across James’ sweatered chest.

“No,” Sirius answered for me, grinning as he pushed away his plate. “He’s got the ‘vacant sign’ up, Lily.”

“Really, Remus,” Lily clucked her tongue disapprovingly.

“Lily – don’t get me wrong. I love having your head here, but it really should be lower down. And not while I’m eating,” James’ hand hovered above Lily’s red head – whether to push it down or move it away, I couldn’t tell.

Sirius snorted into the last of his pumpkin juice, spraying it over me, Peter, and Frank Longbottom, who was sitting across from little “Wormtail.”

Lily didn’t even grace James’ comment with a look. She straightened up, keeping her eyes on mine, and casually pushed James’ breakfast into his lap.

“What the –!” James sputtered, leaping to his feet and grabbing his wand.

“Magic’s not allowed in the Great Hall!” Peter warned.

“Shit!” James swore loudly, throwing down his wand and reaching for a napkin instead.

“Remus, look at me,” Lily commanded regally.

I obeyed, though it was very difficult with James sputtering and gesturing like a mad man as he tried to wipe ketchup off of his crotch.

“The bottom line is this – foxes don’t have green eyes.”

I nodded absently, turning back to my half-eaten breakfast.

I didn’t think so.

“Why do you ask, though? I mean, there are a lot of cases of animals with blue eyes, but…”

I wasn’t listening. A thought had occurred to me, chilling in its possibilities.

It was uncommon, but not impossible, for an animal to have an eye color differing from the normal black or brown. Gray was a common alternative color; maybe even the rare blue. But green? No – that was one way in which humans differed from animals.

Foxes didn’t have green eyes. Which meant…

The fox is an Animagus!

The fox was someone from Hogwarts.

And it’s a vixen, too!

Which meant that the “fox” was, in reality, a witch.

And that, in turn, meant that someone knew my secret other than my trusted friends and fellow Marauders. Someone knew that I was a werewolf.

Logic therefore demanded that someone had been watching me for a long time. That someone had been planning to become an Animagus before they were legal – if, in fact, they were another student.

Paranoia, my ever-constant companion, tapped on my shoulder and whispered worries into my ear. Flaring my nostrils, as if I were a cornered animal, I searched the faces of my fellow Gryffindors as they stood up, preparing to trudge off to a day of classes.

My eyes fell on Lily – was it she?

Lily certainly met the requirements. She was smarter than any of us, a clever witch well beyond her years in magical learning. If Peter could become an Animagi, then Lily most certainly could!

I watched her laugh at a joke Sirius cracked, flipping her long, rich red braid over her shoulder. Her green eyes glanced toward me for a few minutes, silently laughing and urging me to pick up my books and “come along.”

Green…her eyes were green.

The wrong green, though, my shoulders slumped – it wasn’t Lily.

I had known it all along. Lily and I had been best friends since the day we both rode across the lake toward Hogwarts in a rickety wooden boat with Hagrid at the helm. I knew the way she moved, her little quirks…her smell. Whatever perfume I had sniffed on that vixen, was not a perfume that Lily wore.

Even as a human, I had a stronger sense of smell. Lily’s scent was sweet and fresh – like magnolias or some other fragrant flower. The vixen’s scent had been subtle, but bold and spicy at the same time. A scent to stir the blood and ensnare the senses.

And her eyes – Lily’s eyes were green, but they were the wrong green. They were a bright, clear green. The green of…“pickled toads” is the term I believed Peter had once so poetically put it.

My mysterious visitor had green eyes the likes I had never seen before – or had never bothered to see.

I glanced around once more at my House members, even glancing up at the half-empty teacher’s table.

“Come on, Remus! Whatcha’ dawdling for?” Lily stamped her foot impatiently, turning her head to watch as Sirius and James strolled off, Peter following absently behind.

I hesitated one last time.

My mysterious Animagus fox had eyes the deep green of the firs that bordered the Forbidden Forest. I ran through a mental list of all the Gryffindor faces, from first years to graduates – no one had eyes like that.

It never dawned on me that those eyes could belong to anyone but a lion.


~ ~ ~


“Apollo, this Houston. Apollo, can you hear me? This is Houston speaking,” Lily dangled phial of crushed ginger over a potion that softly simmered in a cauldron standing between her and me.

“Huh…?” I came back to reality with a start.

“Prefect or no, Remus, you’re really spacey!” Lily frowned at me, her eyes dark with worry and concern.

But even then, they weren’t as dark as the fir-dark trees that laughed at me in my dreams every night.

“Sorry,” I mumbled, glancing down at our bubbling cauldron. “Oh…shit!” I swore softly.

“Yeah,” Lily nodded her head slowly, pursing her lips as she glared mildly at me from across the hot pink expanse of potion. “I think the recipe for Pepper-up Potion predicts a –” she glanced at the thick Potions textbook propped up near her elbow on the nearest available desk. “’A nice cinnamon color’…not Barbie doll pink!”

“How do we fix it?” I demanded stupidly.

“Simple,” Lily proclaimed smartly. “With some of this.”

I never got to ask what “this” was, because Professor Starkey came prowling by.

“Humph,” he snorted, nearly sticking his old, craggy nose into the now nicely red potion. “Well done, Miss Evans,” he nodded first at Lily and then me. “Mr. Lupin. I suppose they didna’ choose ya’ as prefect fer nothin’,” his green eyes sized me up shrewdly from behind his wire-rimmed glasses. “Like they usually do.”

Professor Hesper Starkey was a relic from the days of World War II and Lord Voldemort’s magical education. He was also Head of Slytherin House and a bit daft in his old age. But even snakes mellow with old age and he wasn’t really such a bad type – in his day, he had been a Master Potion Maker. He was already featured on many a Chocolate Frog card for his ground-breaking work about the impact of moon phases in potion development.

The Slytherins thought him a bit soft, but the rest of us loved him. He had fought side-by-side with Dumbledore in the days of the Dark Wizard, Grindelwald and he was a testimony to the greatness of Salazar Slytherin’s true heirs.

I guess all Slytherins aren’t that bad. Just since Voldemort came to power…no one else would be foolish enough to become Death Eaters, I reflected as Starkey shuffled off, leaning heavily on his cane. Or ambitious enough, I added ruefully, remembering the Sorting Hat’s song.

“I swear – his Irish accent gets stronger every year!” Lily laughed softly, stirring the Pepper-up Potion gently with an iron ladle.

“Nothin’ wrong wi’ that,” I glanced toward her with a smile, mimicking Starkey’s accent.

She hid her smile behind a hand – Starkey may have been growing “softer” with each passing year, but he was still a splendid disciplinarian. And a strong believer that classrooms should be devoid of laughter and frivolity.

I turned from Lily and followed the old Snake, my mind silently eliminating him from the short list of green-eyed candidates.

Starkey’s eyes were almost the right shade, but they were too worn and faded with age. They were still sharp and shrewd, but one could tell by looking in his eyes that many moons had passed since Starkey had been young and virile.

And young and virile Professor Starkey was not. Nor would he ever be a vixen.

The Slytherin Head of House paused next at a cauldron belonging to his prize pupil – Severus Snape. I frowned and almost turned away, but for some strange reason, I suddenly noticed Snape’s assistant – a pretty young thing, indeed.

Oh, I had seen Vixiana Foxfire many, many times over the past five years. From what I could gather, she was to Severus what Lily was to me. His best – if only – friend, his confidant, his shoulder to cry on and sympathetic ear to listen when he needed it. Wherever Snape went, Vixiana was never far behind.

They were inseparable.

Though heaven only knew why beautiful Miss Foxfire was best friends with the likes of Severus Snape. It was literally “Beauty and the Beast.” Vixiana was vivacious where Severus was sullen; extroverted where he was introverted; preened and proper where he was disheveled and snide.

But this was the first time I actually stopped and noticed Vixiana. I usually passed casually over her – why waste my time ogling at a Slytherin and Snape’s best friend, at that? The longer I looked, though, the more I realized that Slytherin or no, Vixiana Foxfire was worth drooling over.

She clearly came from a wealthy, pureblood wizarding family – the very fact that she was a Slytherin spoke to that. Her robes were carefully tailored and, I noticed with some discomfort on my part, fit to her slim, petite body very nicely.

Vixiana was a tiny thing, at least a head shorter than I was and as frail as a fine piece of bone porcelain. But there was a certain strength in the way she held her head high, a striking power in the confident way she carried herself, a stubborn set to her fine jaw.

A rose among weeds, I thought, ever the romantic.

Vixiana certainly stood out among her fellow Slytherin females. Most of the girls from her house were either ass-ugly or very pretty in a vicious way – like Sirius’ sister, Narcissa. I remembered looking at Vixiana before and thinking her pretty, but not finding her attractive because of the cold indifference that surrounded her.

For a few minutes, though, I saw beneath that façade. There was a great warmth to her – a passion that made her beauty suddenly striking, if not appealing. There was something about the way she was smiling at Severus, leaning over to whisper some girlish thing in his ear that reminded me strongly of Lily.

I shocked and not a little dismayed with my myself. What kind of feelings could I suddenly be experiencing toward a Slytherin? Why hadn’t I ever noticed Vixiana before? Why was I unexplainably mesmerized by her dark red hair that glistened in the dungeon’s faint candle light? Why did I inwardly bubble and seethe like the boiling potion that threw an eerie red glow against the glistening classroom walls?

“Remus – are you okay? What the hell are you staring at?” Lily leaned forward over the cauldron, her eyes narrowed in disbelief.

I looked toward her and shrugged helplessly. I opened my mouth to talk, but then I felt a pair of unknown eyes gazing steadily at my profile.

I turned my head quickly – I knew instinctively who was looking at me, though I couldn’t explain how.

It could have been Sirius or James, who conspired like true warlocks over their hissing cauldron. Or it could have been Frank Longbottom and Lucius Malfoy (an unfortunate pairing) glaring death-threats at each other and surreptitiously fingering their wands shoved inside of their robe pockets.

But I knew that there was only one person watching me with undisguised interest.

My eyes met with Vixiana Foxfire, over Severus’ bent head as he muttered to himself through one of the textbook’s pages.

Her eyes were the calm, warm blue of a Caribbean lagoon.

There was something wrong with her eyes. But I couldn’t explain why… All I could think was –

They’re not supposed to be that color!

“Remus…?” Lily whispered softly, tugging on my sleeve. “Starkey just dismissed class. Why are you still standing around like a lump on a log?”

“Uh…oh…” I blinked and glanced at the cauldron.

It was no longer filled with the Pepper-Up Potion. Slytherin and Gryffindor students alike were milling about with a quiet rustle of parchment, robes, and book pages. I grinned sheepishly at Lily, who only harrumphed and cocked a cynical eyebrow.

“Don’t try to act all innocent, Remus,” she pursed her lips and glanced at me one more time before gathering her books and shoving them into her bag. “And don’t try to deny it, either – you were checkin’ out Vixiana Foxfire!”

“I’m allowed to look at girls,” I grumbled. “Just because I don’t chase every living thing in a skirt like frickin’ Sirius, doesn’t mean that I don’t notice the opposite sex.”

“Yes…well…” Lily sighed and slung her bag over her shoulder. “You can definitely find better than Miss Foxfire.”

Her eyes strayed over to the individual in question and I couldn’t resist another peek myself. Vixiana already had her books gathered in her arms and was chatting away with her ever-present familiar. She tossed her loose, red mane over her shoulder and out of her eyes before moving toward the door with Severus on her heels.

For some reason, I was disappointed that she didn’t sense me looking at her as I had sensed her looking at me.

I wanted just one more look into those beautiful clear eyes that were so inexplicably wrong.


~ ~ ~


November 12th, 1975

“As I promised, we’ll be starting our studies on the Tarot today,” Professor Vablatsky – one of Starkey’s contemporaries – folded her hands inside of her pale blue robes. “Miss Foxfire, will you please select one of these decks?”

Vablatsky waved her hand at a small collection of various Tarot decks were lined neatly on a low table in front of the class.

I looked up from my book with sudden interest. I had always known Foxfire was the only Slytherin to take this more advanced Divination course.

The class consisted of two Hufflepuff students, three Ravenclaws, one Slytherin, and one Gryffindor – me. Second, third, and fourth year Divination classes were a requirement, but at the end of our fourth year, Vablatsky chose seven of the brightest Hogwarts students – regardless of their House – to grace her advanced fifth year class.

By “brightest,” I mean those of us who either showed a gift of Sight, or bullshit. I was one of the seven chosen for an amazing capability in the subtle art of chicanery. Sirius, James, Peter, and especially Lily couldn’t understand why I agreed to take the fifth year Divination course. But it was an easy class for me and it genuinely interested me – in a purely academic manner, of course.

I never really saw anything in a crystal ball, but I could understand all the talk of moon phases, Zodiac houses, and stars. When boiled down to it’s true essence, there was very little guess work involved in Divination – it was simply a matter of memorizing facts and figures, of remembering what personality traits corresponded with what constellation, what palm lines represented what, and what significance a certain shape in a pile of soggy tea leaves held.

Vablatsky would whittle us down at the end of the year to three students for her sixth year course. And for the seventh year, she would only pick one, to be her star pupil and apprentice.

As I watched Vixiana step to the front of the class and kneel in front of the Tarot table, I knew who would be that one seventh year student. She closed her eyes, evened her breathing, and held her hand above each Tarot card individually, as if trying to sense the strength of the deck through inward means.

For the first time, I truly watched her and my skeptical nature soon gave way to quiet awe. Vixiana slowly opened her eyes and bent over the decks, picking up one here, another there, turning the first few cards over to carefully analyze the art.

“Why doesn’t she just hurry up?” Jenna MacCorrigai – one of the Hufflepuffs and a fellow bullshitter – leaned over in my direction and muttered under her breath.

I just glanced at pretty, dusky-skinned Hufflepuff and shrugged. I was unwilling to break the almost sacred silence that had fallen over the circular tower room.

Vixiana’s movements were dainty and deliberate. She seemed lost in her own world, far beyond the reaches of time and space. For the second time, I truly saw Vixiana Foxfire – I saw beneath her cold, aloof Slytherin exterior and saw the fire within.

Her lips were slightly parted, her cheeks flushed. She was completely absorbed in her task and her defenses were lowered, exposing the incredible passion she had for mystical arts.

It was then that I came to respect Vixiana. I had always known she was smart – she was a prefect the same as me. I wouldn’t be surprised but if, in a year or two, she became Head Girl. She was the perfect Slytherin to the casual observer – as I had been until the other day in Potions class.

There was a sly away about her and she detached herself from the friendships of all except her fellow Slytherin, Severus. Though, I had occasionally seen Vixiana exchange a lengthy conversation with Hufflepuff Jenna and Gryffindor Lily that seemed friendly enough.

But as I thought on the matter, I realized I had never heard Vixiana speak ill of Muggle-borns, or “half-breeds”, as the typical Slytherin likes of Lucius Malfoy and Narcissa Black did. As a matter of fact, I had seen Vixiana act only in a distant, but not impolite or unkind way, toward other students of different Houses, regardless of their heritage.

“…An excellent choice, Miss Foxfire,” Professor Vablatsky praised Vixiana’s choice.

I had been so lost in my thoughts, that I had missed what deck the young Slytherin had settled on. With a sigh, I looked down at my book, resigning myself to spending the next hour and a half trying to learn the difference between “the Devil” card and “the Death” card.

“Now,” the Ravenclaw Head of House stood to her feet and motioned toward the table. “I would like Miss Harrison and Mr. Leafa to come up and pick a deck of their own.”

The respective Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff stood up and joined Vixiana at the table.

“Miss Foxfire,” Vablatsky turned to her star pupil. “I’d like you to take your deck and sit with Mr. Lupin. I want each of you to read the cards to each other.”

“We’re…we’re to be partners, Professor?” Vixiana cocked a perfect red eyebrow.

“Yes, Miss Foxfire, now get along with you – you’re distracting Mr. Leafa and Miss Harrison,” the Seer shooed Vixiana on her way.

The Slytherin prefect turned and looked hard at me. She then advanced slowly to my little round table, her eyes narrowed almost suspiciously. Pausing slightly with her hand on the chair across from me, she eyed me for several excruciatingly long seconds.

I suddenly began to feel foolish for feeling any kind of camaraderie or respect for her. I ducked my head and tried to loose myself once again in my textbook.

I was quickly distracted, though, when I heard the chair legs scrape against the stone floor. Glancing up in amazement – I hadn’t really expected Vixiana to comply with Vablatsky’s instructions – I was shocked yet again.

Vixiana Foxfire, Slytherin and best friend to Marauder arch-rival, Severus Snape, folded her hands over her Tarot deck, leaned in toward me across the table and smiled. A genuine, friendly smile, free of sarcasm or contempt.

What a fool I must have looked, with my eyes bugging and my mouth hanging wide open.

“We’re not all bad, Remus Lupin,” she whispered softly, her smile creeping up into her crystal eyes. “Just like all you Gryffindors aren’t all good.”

Then she winked at me, before sitting back to read my fortune.

And from that moment on, we were friends.

Just as easy as that.


~ ~ ~


November 19th, 1975

“Should we…well…tell him?”

I sat in front of the Gryffindor Common Room fire, in my typical, “PMS mood.” My arms were crossed defiantly across my chest and I snarled at anyone who even dared to look at me. Some of the first years were a bit put off by my foul temper, but most of the Gryffindors were used to my “monthlies,” though only the Marauders knew the reason for them.

As it was, most of our House members were asleep at this late hour – it was fifteen minutes to midnight, on a school night, no less. Sirius, Peter and James were huddled in a far corner of the room, far from the fire’s warmth and light, deeply engaged in some sort of powwow.

Lily was upstairs in the girls’ dormitory, curled up with her water bottle – a gift I had given to her our second Hogwarts Christmas, just as a joke. But she loved the damned thing. I often told James that if he ever got over himself and married her, he’d have to compete with that worn old water bottle for her monthly affections.

I sat and sulked quietly, wishing that I could take the place of that damned contraption. I had never harbored a sexual thought toward Lily since the day we first met, but there was something innately comforting about snuggling up against another warm body. A secure, simple pleasure that is often complicated by human nature’s baser needs.

“Well…I don’t know…” I heard James’ voice, even from across the room.

As the days counted down to my transformation, my senses became increasingly more wolf-like. My eyesight became poorer during the day, but sharper during the night. I could start to smell like a dog and gained an acute sense of hearing. I also started to see in black-in-white. Now, only seven days away from the full moon, I was beginning to view the world as if it were an old photograph, in differing shades of sepia.

I sniffed the air – I could smell the tension and sweaty nervousness that drifted across the room from my fellow Marauders. I scowled and huddled deeper in my enormous, flaming red armchair, glaring into the fire and keeping my ears perked for more tidbits of conversation.

“I don’t know,” I heard Sirius sigh. “I…um…don’t think now would be a good time to tell him.”

“Tell me what?” I snapped, finally tired of their whisperings.

“Uh…um…er…” Peter stuttered, glancing back and forth from James to Sirius as if prompting them to say something.

If I hadn’t been such an ill humor, I would have laughed at them all. I rose from the chair and turned to face them, hands-on-hips. They all three looked at me guiltily, their eyes wide like Muggles caught in the Knight Bus’ headlights.

“Well?” I narrowed my eyes suspiciously.

“We’re not going to be able to be with you this month,” James finally blurted after several seconds of uncomfortable silence.

“What?” I frowned darkly. “But…you all promised!”

“We know, Remus,” Sirius ran his fingers through his unruly black hair. “But –”

“It’s my fault,” Peter piped up suddenly, interrupting Sirius before he could get another word out. “It…I…uh…” the little blond dropped his gaze sheepishly to the threadbare rose-colored rug beneath our feet.

“Yeah?” I prompted, my heart growing heavy with the realization that I would be alone yet again in that horrible Shrieking Shack.

“Well…you know that Wormtail’s not the best when it comes to Transfiguration,” James tried to laugh, but it died in his throat when I turned my scowl toward him.

“I know that,” I snapped curtly. “It’s Peter’s worst subject – next to Divination, that is. Just tell me the damned bottom line!”

“Peter needs help – he’s not ready to become an Animagus yet, Remus,” James threw it out on the playing floor.

I glowered angrily at Peter, but I knew it really wasn’t his fault. He simply wasn’t any good in Transfiguration – everyone from McGonagall, down, knew that was just a bare fact of life.

To be quite honest, I wasn’t even surprised. But I was hurt and angry nevertheless. I had looked so forward to finally being able to have my friends with me, to take my mind off the drudgery and unbearable isolation of being a werewolf.

Without another word, I turned on my heel and marched stiffly toward the stairs, leaving my friends staring at me with silent consternation. I half-hoped one of them would come after me, but they stayed where they were, not willing to risk the wrath of a pre-transformational werewolf.

I can’t say I didn’t blame them. I could be irrationally volatile at this tender time of the month.

It’s not fair! I whined inwardly as I slipped into the dormitory and started pulling my robes over my head as I shuffled toward my bed – the last one on the far left. Why does Peter have to be such a dunce?

I threw my clothes in an undignified heap at the foot of my bed, wriggled into my pajama bottoms and slithered between my cool sheets. With an injured sniff, I rolled over toward the wall, so I wouldn’t have to see James, Peter, and Sirius slip apologetically into the room.

I also turned so I wouldn’t have to see the treacherous, milky white light of the autumn moon pouring in through the nearby window.

I hated the moon – I hated and feared it at the same time. It represented all that was loathsome and evil to me. Loneliness. Ridicule. Prejudice. Fear others had toward me. The damned nuisance was the cause of all my angst and issues for the past thirteen years.

How I wished, at times like this, that the worst I had to fear with the full moon was five days of bleeding. Lily often disagreed with me, but there were times I wished the Fates had destined me to be a woman and not a werewolf.

At least a woman had her hot water bottle. I had nothing but four banged up, ugly, weather-beaten, wooden walls.

But that’s not all, a quiet voice reminded me. What about a pair of emerald eyes?


~ ~ ~


November 26th, 1975

I went berserk that night. Simply and completely berserk. The Shrieking Shack never had nor never will shake so from the force of my fully unleashed fury. And I wasn’t even in my werewolf form.

I was solemnly escorted to the Whomping Willow and through the underground tunnel to Hogsmeade; I sulked with every step. That wasn’t necessarily any different from any time I had been lead this way for the past five years, but this time, I was suppressing a great deal of anger instead of the usual teenage werewolf angst.

It was an overcast night and the moon hadn’t had a chance to peak out just yet. As a result, I was still human and very rational…to a point.

I wasn’t being very rational about the whole Marauder situation.

“Damn Peter!” I roared on the top of my lungs, throwing myself against the enchanted door, banging my fists and practically clawing at the wood.

“Fuckin’ shit!” I howled as a very large splinter imbedded itself beneath my index fingernail.

Tears welled up in my eyes and I sucked my finger, licking away the blood that trickled out from under my fingernail. I tried to grab hold of the splinter with my teeth and pull it out, but it was embedded deeply. That, and I was a wuss.

But it hurt to clench my fists and it seemed to throb throughout my arm. I sucked on my finger for a few minutes more, which kept me silent for a while.

Why does Peter have to be such a dunce? I wondered silently as I huffed down on the dusty old bed. All he does is drag the rest of us Marauders down.

A horrible thing to think about a friend, but think it I did. I sullenly pulled my legs up under me and continued sulking with my finger in my mouth, like a petulant little boy. I glared at the door and then decided I didn’t want to look at it. I turned around and stared out the window instead, silently dreading the moment the moon would inevitably break through the clouds and flooded the tiny room with its damned light.

To be fair to Peter – he couldn’t help it that he struggled in Transfiguration, any more than I could help that I struggled in Potions. It was just that I…I had so been looking forward to having my friends here with me now. I was tired of being lonely.

Another weight settled down on the bed beside me, startling me. I turned around, wide-eyed and not a bit unnerved (the old shack could be quite creepy on a moonless night).

But I only came face-to-face with a pair of sympathetic green eyes.

“You!” I whispered softly, incredulously. “You haven’t decided to forsake me?”

The little vixen lowered her head and lay down on the bed, putting her dainty chin in her paws. She looked up at me as if to say, “you idiot – stop feeling sorry for yourself.”

“Thank you for coming,” I smiled thinly, reaching out hesitantly to pet her.

My hand hovered above her head – should I touch her? A part of me knew, as I was mesmerized by those fir-dark eyes, that I was, in all technicality, petting the head of a fellow Hogwartian.

But the little creature lifted her head, rubbing her soft fur against my rough hand. I couldn’t help myself – I smiled and lay down on the bed, on my stomach, so I could be eyelevel with her.

“You sly little thing,” I grinned, rubbing her behind her ears.

She cocked her head to the side, closing her eyes in sheer delight.

“Are you lonely?” I had a sudden insight. “Is that why you come out here to visit me? Because you know what it’s like?”

I couldn’t possibly think of anyone at Hogwarts who knew what it was like to change every month into another, beastly, hideous form. But perhaps…just maybe…there was someone in that whole, giant school, who understood in their own way, what it was like to be lonely.

A ghastly white light suddenly illuminated my hand and my smile rapidly faded. I snatched my hand away from her, my face contorting into a grimace that was soon followed by a low moan.

She lifted her head and gazed up at me, her green eyes watching my transformation.

“Noooo…” I groaned, feeling the bones in my body begin to break and painfully realign in accordance with canine anatomy. “Don’t…”

I could no longer say anymore. My voice seemed ripped out of my throat with a gurgled scream – there was nothing in the world more painful than changing into a werewolf. I tried to turn away. What was left of my reason shrank away from the vixen in shame.

I didn’t want her to see me like this. In the horrifying between state of man and wolf.

But she didn’t avert her gaze. I lifted my head, ripping my hair out with deformed hands, screaming and shrieking in pain and humiliation.

And then…she lifted her own head and howled. Long, low, and mournful.

At first, I thought she was crying in fear. But as I glanced down at her, panting and sweating as the bones in my face elongated and as ears grew out of my head, I realized the truth.

She was howling with me. She was trying to share my pain, trying to express the pain she felt in watching my misery.

Another hideous convulsion ripped through me and I lowered my head, howling in agony. But this time, I didn’t howl alone.

There was someone to share in my shame and pain. And it made the transformation somehow easier – knowing I wasn’t alone.


~ ~ ~


December 2nd, 1975

“Ready to take the test?” Vixiana trounced to the table in a flurry of robes and plopped down on the chair across from me.

“Guess so,” I shrugged.

“Divination’s not really your thing, is it, Remus?” she grinned at me before removing the Tarot deck from her school bag and placing it on the table.

“How’d you know?” I snorted sarcastically.

“Read your mind, of course,” Vixiana retorted flippantly. “The All-Seeing Eye knows,” she winked at me, tapping her forehead where the “Inner Eye” was supposed to reside. “I’m going first, okay?”

I nodded absently, watching her as she focused her energy on shuffling and cutting the deck.

The Tarot seemed a little silly to me, but “Vixi” (as I now called her) took it very seriously. She seemed to have a particular talent for the cards and she vehemently claimed that my cynicism clouded our readings – that the cards could “absorb” my negativity and so, become negative themselves.

Whatever.

I would have normally just have brushed such words off with a smile and shrug, but for some reason, I felt compelled to humor Vixi.

“You don’t have to look so serious,” she scolded me as I lay the deck down and began to place 11 cards down on the table in a precise order and design.

“I thought I was doing what you told me to do,” I sniffed indignantly. “Haven’t the readings been ‘messed up’, because I’ve been too casual about the cards?”

“Not so much ‘casual’ as just…well…cynical about the outcome,” Vixi spoke in a preoccupied tone of voice as she surveyed the cards laid out before us.

“You pulled very interesting cards, Vixi,” I looked down at the cards myself.

I furrowed my brows and propped my head against my fist. “In first position – representing your female energy – you’ve got the Two of Tine. This card calls on you to make a choice…to choose one passion over another. Your instincts are right about the choice to make and it will be the right one.”

I glanced at her and was puzzled to see a very thoughtful look on her face. Stifling a sigh, I turned to the next card.

“Five of Domhan, in your male energy position. This card represents a future time of bad luck. But you can handle losses in your life by realizing that wherever there is life, there is hope. Everyone will go…” I paused, suddenly realizing what this card signified. “Through lonely times. Things will get better.”

Our eyes met over the cards and I was strongly reminded – yet again – of how wrong her blue eyes seemed. I couldn’t figure out what was so wrong about them…could it be that I was disappointed to find that they weren’t emerald green?

“Continue,” she said softly.

“Next is the card signifying your spiritual energy, or inner soul – The Seeker. You can be anything you want to be; you’re on your way to a better beginning. But you need to guard against day-dreaming and watch your step, so you don’t stumble and look a fool.”

“How true,” she murmured softly, never looking up from the cards.

I sighed and continued with the next row, struggling to remember the meanings and names of the beautiful, but unusual Tarot deck. The deck was called “The Faery Witch Tarot” and drew heavily after Celtic traditions, designs, and words.

On every face card, there was a figure from Celtic mythology or Magical history, and almost every card had a hidden rune that, in turn, signified a deeper meaning. I couldn’t find or understand Rune, since I didn’t take Ancient Runes – nor did I have a Gift, like Vixi.

To me, they were just really big playing cards.

The next five cards dealt with the current problem that Vixi was facing her life. And what an strange collection of cards, indeed. She pulled – in respective order – the Four of Domhan, The Old One, The Guide, The Mother Goddess, and the Eight of Domhan

I glanced at her – apparently, the reading was very accurate. She seemed unsettled and bothered. I would have asked her if she wanted me to stop, but this was our test, after all, and I couldn’t just stop reading.

Altogether, the cards so far painted a picture of hard times, rebirth, obstacles to overcome, choices to be made, struggles, triumph, harmony, and new birth. Vixi was quiet and thoughtful – I felt foolish, reciting meanings that I had memorized from the deck’s hand guide, but they seemed to hold some meaning to her.

“You’re…uh…pulling a lot of earth cards,” I glanced down at the three Domhan cards that lay on the table.

“I’m a Taurus,” Vixi replied simply.

“That would explain those, too,” I pointed at the Mother Goddess, the Guide, and the Seeker, which were either ruled by the constellation Taurus, or by Venus, the planet which, in turn, ruled Taurus.

Vixi nodded absently; I moved to the last three cards after a slight pause.

“Two of Uisce – this is the love card, signifying the recognition of a friend or soul mate. It predicts that you will find someone who ‘knows you’ and you, in turn, ‘know them’…”

My voice trailed off. This particular card had shown up in every reading we had done in the last week and a half – regardless of whom the reading was for. Both Vixi and I consistently pulled it. It was unnerving, to say the least.

This seemed to be Vixi’s last straw.

“It’s okay, Remus. I know what The Druid and the Ten of Aer stand for, anyway,” she smiled me and I was shocked to see tears in her eyes.

She lowered her head and stared hard at the cards, before looking back up at me.

“My suspicions about many, many things have been confirmed,” she said softly. “Not least about you.”

The Tarot deck references comes from my own personal deck and a reading I did a month ago on myself. The deck is actually called the “Faery Wicca Tarot” (by the ever-talented Kisma K. Stephanich), but I didn’t think the term “Wicca” would fit in the whole Potter-verse. Please excuse the liberties taken with the title.

The deck is as described – a truly beautiful deck. Even if it doesn’t personally call to you (if you’re into Tarot reading, that is), it’s still a deck worth looking at. The visual art is amazing.

The titles of the cards aren’t traditional, however. So if you’d like to take the time and look up the full meaning if Vixi’s reading (may give you some insight into her enigmatic statement – and the plot of the story!), here are the equivalent names in a traditional deck:

Two of Uisce = Two of Cups

Five of Domhan = Five of Pentacles

The Seeker = The Fool

Four of Domhan = Four of Pentacles

The Old One = The Devil Card

The Guide = The Heliphicant (I think that’s how you spell it…)

The Mother = The Empress

Three of Domhan = Three of Pentacles

Two of Uisce = Two of Cups

The Druid = The Magician

Ten of Aer = Ten of Swords