SDS - Changelings - 6/13
CHANGELINGS
[ masterpost]
Chapter Six: Baba Yaga's Bouquets
Even though the rain is still falling in a light mist on the French countryside, Mrs. Potter lights the candles on the veranda and casts an impervious charm on the swinging vines on the trellis above. It's still a little damp, but James is very, very hungry and not about to complain.
Waiting for the House Elf to bring out the first course and uninterested in some conversation his parents are having - potions trade restrictions in the Hungarian Ministry - James stares out across the sprawling gardens, where little candles float across the grass. France is nice, but he liked the villa better before it meant that he was on his own and Sirius, Remus and Peter were together in Wales.
Under his watchful gaze, a speck appears in the twilight sky. It could be just any bird. James fidgets in his seat and squints through his thick glasses, but it's still too far off. He sighs, and then the Elf appears babbling away in French and holding several more trays of food than its spindly frame suggests is possible.
James, like any thirteen-year-old boy, is distracted. It probably would have been wiser, however, to watch the sky.
Midway through the appetiser Mrs. Potter gives a shriek as a large screech owl crashes into the table, scattering goblets of pumpkin juice and wine onto the carefully arranged slices of cheese. The owl then takes a flying leap at James, who shouts and ducks under the table. Following his descent, the owl begins to stalk him through a forest of chair legs. Mum and Dad have yet to move, still staring at the ruin of their supper.
"Well, take the letter James," Dad directs, speaking to the table in general as he cannot currently pinpoint his son's exact location underneath. James eyes the talons.
"Dunno Dad, maybe it's for you," James quips. He lunges, hoping for the advantage of surprise. What he gets is a resounding thump on his head from the bottom of the table - ooh, was that a goblet shattering? - and a measly handful of feathers.
James narrows his eyes in challenge. Soon there is a tangle of screech owl and scrawny teenager wreaking havoc under the table. Before his parents can cast a good spell to intervene, he emerges somewhat triumphant, well-pecked but with a letter in hand.
James peers at the envelope.
Sprawling French Villa
Wherever the Potters Vacation
Bloody France
"It's from Sirius," he tells his parents.
"I hope the owl didn't disembowel him for trying to post his letter," says Mr. Potter faintly.
"Nah," says James, "It's Sirius." He tears open the envelope and pulls out the note.
James,
A word of warning, mate - I've "borrowed" one of the Malfoys' owls. If he tries to kill you (or worse, if he just sits there preening thinking he's so bloody brilliant because he is a Malfoy owl) do not say you were never warned.
All right, I can't write for very long, but anyway I was looking through that spellbook - you know the one. I'm surprised we don't dream about wandless spells at this point. Anyway, I found it, James. What you and me and Pete've been looking for. I couldn't tell Peter; Remus was there and you were in bloody France.
Have to go now. Stupid Narcissa, having some stupid wedding at such an annoying moment. I would hex her, but you probably wouldn't find my body until Christmas. The Family's a little tense right now. Will you owl Andromeda flowers for me? I wanted to do it myself, but it doesn't look like I'll be able to get away with it for Ages.
Sirius
James stares at the letter with vague horror. He turns to his parents.
"Oh dear," he says, "I think Sirius may have cracked his head open and what was left of his brain leaked out."
They nod and smile and pick owl feathers out of their expensive clothing. By now the Potters are quite aware that, no matter what James says about his friends, if they agree with anything negative he will fly into a rage, probably take off on his broomstick in broad daylight, and only speak to them in grunts for several days.
James is oblivious to this. He strides down the wide steps into the garden, muttering to himself.
"Sirius bloody Black, couldn't you have been slightly more specific? Spend an entire paragraph on the bloody owl and another asking…oh. OH!"
His parents watch with amusement as he runs off into the hedges. Then he remembers that his parents have hidden his wand again (he'll try Mum's jewellery case tonight) runs back, dashes up to his father, waves the parchment in his face, and all but shouts:
"Dadpleasedon'!"
"Try again, Jamie-er-James," says his father, leaning affably back in is chair.
It is a testament to James's hurry that he doesn't even mention the slip.
"Could-you-cast-Apecerium-thanks," gasps James, holding the letter out at his father like it will burn him.
"Alright, alright, keep your hair on," says Mr. Potter. He digs his wand out of his robes, sighing.
"Are you alright, dear?" asks Mum.
"Fine, fine, just the same old arthritis." He flexes his knotted fingers and grasps the old wand. Behind his glasses, his eyes narrow in concentration. "Apecerium."
Almost before the spell washes over the parchment James is jumping back, yelping, "Don't look!"
Another head shake and shared smiles on the balustrade. They're glad, really, that he can be so dramatic over such little things as correspondence within friends. Especially the way politics are turning now.
The gardens aren't huge and most of them are laid out in French style, with low-growing flowers and bunches of fat little baby statues which look disturbingly like younger, marble versions of Peeves. Around the edges, however, is a maze of hedges. James darts into them, glances around furtively, and unfolds the parchment. Sure enough, there's a new word, scrawled in that gap between the last paragraph and Sirius's signature.
James peers at it, trying to remember anything in connection. He's read it before, he's sure. Squinting at the page, he tries to pronounce it.
"Ani- urg - animagi." He wrinkles his nose. "Now what, Sirius, is that?"
Suffering Greatly in Formal Dress
Some Bint's Wedding,
Probably a Pit of Slytherins, England
Sirius,
You nutter. How in Merlin's name did you expect me to remember some discussion of some spell we had last Fall? That was nearly a year ago.
I did remember, of course, because my intelligence simply cannot be surpassed and also I filed Apecerium away as a useful idea at the time. STILL. I had to ask Dad to do it, because they don't want me getting in trouble with the French Ministry and keep finding places to put my wand for "safekeeping".
Now I've been thinking. We've been trying to find some sort of spell or cure for Remus, right? Pete wrote something that gave me this idea. He said something along the lines of, "I wish we could try out some of these spells too". Dunno if he was being serious, but what if we've been looking in the wrong place? Maybe we should use the Animagus transformation on ourselves. It's neat, isn't it? Remember what you said at breakfast once (of course you don't haha how does that feel) - Werewolves only try to kill humans. Maybe if we're there as like lions or something we can help him. Keep him from tearing himself up, like.
Don't worry, we'll be back at Hogwarts soon and you can take out all your frustration at pureblood pisspots on Snape. How does that sound?
James
P.S. YOU ARSE that owl nearly pecked off some Very Important Body Parts and wouldn't leave until Mum had given him some caviar and what I suspect was very expensive shark fin soup. At least the Black owls are just moody and regal and likely to try to stab in the back. Not on, mate.
P.P.S. Think of it this way: at least it's Bellatrix's special day. Yet. Merlin, that would be horrific.
Hogsmeade is decked in autumn colours, and every little cottage's stoop is lined with fat orange pumpkins and strangely contorted squashes which Sirius thinks look unfortunately like lepers, and their gardens have a papery covering of fallen leaves. In the distance the Forbidden Forest looks like fire has swept over the mountains, right up to the foot of the castle grounds.
It is quite strange for all of them to be wandering these little cobblestone streets with every right to be here, according to those silly things they call rules. Well, almost according to the rules. Where would the fun be that way? However would they enjoy the stiff fall breeze, the scent of butterbeer on the wind, the Slytherins whose entire underwear drawers are currently run of the flagpole in the main square? No, Sirius thinks not.
Anyway, no one will notice that Mrs. Lupin's signature on Remus's Hogsmeade permission slip is in any way different than it should be. Sirius is very good at his forgery. The woman's just being overprotective, anyway. Remus can take care of himself better than all of them put together when he's not busy being righteous and moral.
The first Quidditch game of the year is over, with a resounding Gryffindor victory over Ravenclaw, and all four of them - even Remus with his pathological hatred of anything shaped like a broomstick - have decided to celebrate. So far they've hit every store on the high street, even Honeydukes which they know like the backs of their hands. Now they're wandering aimless, meandering further up the hill and closer to the Shack.
Up a head is a gaggle of black and yellow, Hufflepuffs gathered around an older wizard.
"I heard it's haunted," whispers a third year Sirius hasn't bothered to get to know.
"Bet it's where the Hogwarts ghosts send all the evil spirits they don't want in the school."
And older boy, maybe in sixth year, pushes to the front. Sirius recognizes him only because he's keeper for the Hufflepuff team; he's handsome, but an awful player. Diggory.
"What we want to know," Diggory says loudly, "is how long it's been haunted. Maybe then we can find out what's in there."
When Remus stiffens, he doesn't do it in his back or his face. Just his hands. He moves them like his joints are frozen in the nippy fall air. James picks up the pace a little.
The Hogsmeade wizard stares over the young faces of his little audience. They hold their collective breaths.
"Oh, it's been haunted for years now," intones the wizard, "I always knew; I just didn't say nothin'. And I know what's living in there, too." He pauses to readjust a terribly ratty red scarf around his neck. The four of them have stopped dead on the street. "There was this poor Italian tourist who came by sightseeing and stopped by the Hogs Head. They say he insulted a Banshee, and it's her and her fourteen sisters in there, torturing his poor ghost. That's why if you listen close those screams are…in Italian."
There are oohs and ahhs and shudders.
Peter, James, Sirius, and Remus hurry to move again, absolutely sure they're going to break into gales of laughter before they can turn the corner. They all turn to each other, making gestures of WHAT, what REALLY and BRILLIANT (all very complicated hand signs that only Sirius and James seem to really understand). Quickly they tumble down a side street, tripping over robe hems and cobblestones, but now it's just to get far away enough from the little crowd to hide their laughter. They forget in moments that any of them even thought to be afraid that the old wizard would gaze out at those students and say, "It's a werewolf and it came here two years ago in September and his name rhymes with Shremus Shoopin."
Finally they collapse outside a shop, spurting out cryptic phrases at each other and laughing even more. The autumn air has put colour in even Sirius's pallid cheeks, and they are all very certain that they are glorious and invincible. Remus laughs the loudest.
"Alright mates, this has been fun," Sirius announces after a bit, "but I need to hit the flower shop."
"Oh Merlin, no!" moans Peter. A few passing Gryffindor girls giggle and he shoots them a quick, boy-next-door grin.
"Sirius," says James, "I would follow you into a dragon's den. I would help you try to seduce a Veela. I will not accompany you into - he squints across the street at the peppy yellow sign - Baba Yaga's Bouquets And General Witch-Wooing Needs."
"I'll go," says Remus simply, as if he's announcing that he'd like another sausage or he needs to wee. James and Peter stare, and Remus flushes.
"Lay off, it's me Mam's birthday in a couple days. I haven't got any other ideas, now have I?" His chin comes up and his amber eyes flash a little like they do when he's defying things, usually expectations about himself. It's easily Sirius's favourite expression on him; he can always appreciate a rebel.
Remus sighs and studies the sign apprehensively.
"I wonder if Baba Yaga has any daffodils?"
But James and Peter have already escaped, the traitorous sods, and Sirius decides not to remind him that this is a Wizarding shop, and very unlikely to have something as normal as a daffodil. Remus gives him a little, resigned smile and they trot across the street.
Baba Yaga's Bouquets and General Witch-Wooing Needs is crowded with blooms Remus has never seen before: odd strains of pitcher plants which play themselves like various brass instruments, including one giant one which sounds just like a tuba, giant roses as big as two of his heads, nasty-looking purple blossoms which trail dusty pollen that makes Remus woozy if he gets too close, a whole back corner that hisses, and another that looks viciously carnivorous.
The smell in the shop is made up of a war between spicy and sickly sweet, each in such abundance that Remus has already got a headache. He's about to give up and buy Mam some silly trinket or just transfigure her a teacup when Sirius marches right up to an incredibly old, terrifying looking witch behind the counter and begins to chat.
"Hello there, lovely lady," he says. Remus is fairly certain this lady has miniature human skulls strung in a necklace over her shawls.
"Hello, Black," she spits back, glaring.
"Er, I prefer Sirius. You know, tends to keep things friendlier."
Baba Yaga - Remus assumes - grunts. Her beady eyes drift over Sirius's shoulder and stare at him. Remus tries to dull the instinct to run.
"Anyway, Madam Yaga," Sirius continues, oblivious as usual, "I'm looking for the most gaudy, most overdone, most horrific bouquet you have. Preferably one which is outrageously expensive."
She peers up at him with little beetle-black eyes. Remus shivers. Baba notices and treats him to a wide, awful, gap-toothed grin. Then she turns back to Sirius.
"I'm afraid, Mr. Sirius Black, that we do not carry any 'horrific' arrangements," she sniffs.
Remus tries to judge whether he's standing close enough to Sirius to drag him out onto the street if the lovely lady decides to go for the jugular. It's probably a lost cause.
"Who are you even buying for?" he mutters in Sirius's ear. This has been nagging him since they were outside. Sirius is rummaging in his robes. He plops a gold galleon down on the table. Baba Yaga's black eyes widen a little. They make Remus think horribly of endless winters.
"My favourite cousin," he says. "Andromeda; you know. Our most infamous rebel." His long fingers twist the Black family ring.
Remus doesn't say anything. He wants to comfort Sirius, ask him if he's jealous; ask him why he hasn't done it himself. But he doesn't say a word. How does one even try to breach a subject like that in the bloody flower shop?
Madam Yaga is watching them shrewdly. Sirius glares right back and slaps down another galleon. Remus tries very hard not to think about how much money that is. Transferred into Muggle pounds, he could probably buy Mam that second-hand car she's been wanting.
Baba Yaga scoops them up quickly and bites each coin to test it. Satisfied, she shuffles off into the tangles of flowers, muttering to herself.
"Er, Madam Yaga?" Remus pipes up. "Any chance you have anything resembling daffodils?"
She turns slowly and gives him the evil eye. Remus, in possession of no bribe money, doesn't push it any further.
"Actually," says Sirius, lowering his voice and pulling Remus away from the counter, where Baba Yaga is forcefully stuffing a bunch of horrifically fushia, diamond encrusted flowers into a tiny vase, "There's something we've all been meaning to ask you."
Remus's stomach does an awful nosedive, even though they already know. It's just a gut response. He holds up his hands.
"No more Dark Creatures, furry problems, or violent secrets, I solemnly swear," he promises in a whisper, hoping to head off the discussion, whatever the discussion may be.
"No need to be touchy, it's just a bit of Charms work. James came across it when we were researching - well, something - and we thought it would be neat, you know?"
Remus tugs at the cuffs of his robes. Sirius bows to Baba Yaga and she sees them out of the shop, into the chilly sunlight.
"I threw in some of the singing daisies for free," she croaks with a horrible grin, "because you've been such a good customer."
"You've been wonderful to deal with," Sirius says breezily. She laughs hoarsely and slams the door.
"What charm is it, then?" asks Remus. He's fairly confident in his charms work, if he does say so himself.
"The Patronus," says Sirius. Mistaking Remus's gaping mouth he explains, "It's the Dementor repulsion Charm, but the book mentions that it can be used for a lot of other things, some of which didn't make much sense, but-"
"I know what it is, Sirius," gasps Remus as they wave to Peter and James, sitting with their ice creams across the square. People are giving Sirius and Remus odd looks and a wide birth. The daisies have commenced singing in high, posh voices. Remus distinctly recognizes the strains of Dad's favourite pub song, the one Mam smacks him for humming.
"Then what's the problem?" asks Sirius in that infuriating way of his. He seems not to notice the daisies, or the looks.
"No problem," Remus bluffs, trying to remember just how complex of a spell the Patronus is. "I just need to do a bit of research, is all."
Meaning, Remus thinks as he scans the rest of the square, he needs to talk to Lily Evans.
As it turns out, it's rather difficult to get a word in with Lily. The others are showing an odd, cautious restraint when it comes to pestering Remus about Patronuses, so he almost wonders if it's worth it to ask her. Unfortunately, the idea of Patronus has inflamed his academic curiosity, and he'd really like to know what Lily, best in their year at Charms, can tell him about it.
The Halloween Feast proves to be a bit of a setback, thanks to prank with the charmed treacle, and how were they supposed to know that Evans would eat anything off of the Slytherin table when she's over there chatting with Snape? Mind, Remus feels pretty guilty about that one. He'll insist they prank the whole school next time, but it is fun to see Rosier floating around like a big party balloon. Unfortunately, Lily is also floating around the ceiling with the Slytherins, bumping around in the sea of jack-o-lanterns.
"He really does a lovely job accentuating the Halloween decorations, doesn't he?" muses Sirius, pointing out Snape, who resembles a giant obese bat as he bobs through the air, spitting with rage. Remus knows by now that Sirius has no conscience nagging him, especially when it comes to messing with people like his family (or possibly in his family, as no one seems to be far from it). Remus envies this a little bit.
However, the mess with the treacle leaves Evans in the Hospital Wing overnight, and she's released with more hatred of the four of them (hopefully sans Remus) than ever before. It doesn't help that James has begun to try to chat to her about Quidditch in the halls between classes, an activity that leaves her visibly grinding her teeth and more surrounded by an indignant female flock than ever.
"Trust me, Remus," says James to him after yet another failed attempt, "they travel in packs. There's no hope."
When Remus finally catches her it's in Care of Magical Creatures, which the other three took as a sort of private joke, and Remus took because he's genuinely interested.
"We shall learn to care for ickle Remus," Sirius had explained, bouncing on the bench in the Great Hall the first breakfast when schedules were handed out. Remus whapped him over the head with James's Prophet, stole his bacon, and quietly charmed his underwear silver and green. He would only admit under extreme duress that he was, in some strange way, pleased. Maybe it was just good to joke about it after so long; after all the years with the ridiculous Werewolf Not around his neck.
Lily Evans is staring at him like he's gone soft in the head. He realises he greeted her with, "Good morning, Lily, there's a spell I wanted to discuss with you" about a minute ago.
"Pardon me," he stammers. "I must not have had enough coffee this morning." As if the stupid Werewolf metabolism allows coffee to do any good, the damn traitor. "Anyway," trying to shut his brain up, really trying, "I wanted to ask you about a spell."
"Is it for a prank?" she asks flatly, jotting down notes on dragon taming. They're all seated in little rows in the grass, observing the behaviour of some caged pixies and listening to Professor Kettleburn ramble on one of his dragon tangents.
"Not any prank that I know of," says Remus with a smile. Those pixies bring back fond memories of last year. He thinks he saw one the other day, flitting down the corridor by the kitchens with Peeves in hot pursuit. It'll be decades before the staff can find them all.
"Remus, you're zoning out again," snaps Lily.
"Right, sorry." He gives her what he hopes is a disarming smile. It comes out wobbly. "The Patronus Charm. What do you know about it?"
"Ooh," says Lily, "and here I thought you were going to ask me about some stupid Transfiguration technique. I've wanted to try that Charm for ages, but…." she chews her lip, green eyes thoughtful. "We're a bit too young to manage it, don't you think?"
"Not at all," says Remus cheekily. She gives him a withering look.
"Don't act like you do around them. I'll have to hex you."
He almost laughs. Then she opens her mouth and starts explaining and he's paying rapt attention, ignoring all gestures and looks sent his way by his friends. James is especially dramatic today.
Once Lily finishes summing up the complexities of the spell - the concept of happy thoughts, the jabbing motion of the wand, the individual animals, the many uses she's thought of but hasn't seen in any books - she frowns and peers over his shoulder.
"What is the matter with Potter these days?" Lily demands. At her gaze, James gives a little nonchalant wave and runs a hand through his hair.
"Er, I suppose he fancies you," says Remus. It sounds fairly logical.
"He fancies me?" Evans repeats, torn between disbelief and disgust.
"Ah," says James, who has apparently been listening, the tosser. "That's it, I must fancy you. I think. Care for a date, Evans?"
Remus groans and rubs his forehead. He catches Sirius's stricken look and grins.
There's no chance to try the Patronus Charm before the next full moon. Sirius, James, and Peter see him off to the hospital wing, shrugging on the Invisibility Cloak when they begin to get close. They've been exceptionally careful around Madam Pomfrey this year, but she still gives Remus a searching look whenever he walks in, as if she thinks he's hidden them under his cloak.
While Pomfrey steps into her office to don a heavy cloak against the late autumn chill, Remus stares at the double tapestry over the room to his sealed off little room. He wonders if there has ever been another werewolf at this school, or if there will ever be another one. The little room is old. It was there before he came, not unlike the Whomping Willow.
"Let's go, Mr. Lupin," says Madam Pomfrey. He swallows down moon nausea and ignores that bone-deep ache.
Just get through the night, and then he can see his friends again.
They stride through the frostbitten grass, Remus struggling to keep up even though he's recently had a growth spurt and his legs are a bit longer. He waits out the job of getting through the Willow, still painstaking even if Madam Pomfrey is rather good at wielding long sticks after three years of this. Remus would find this amusing in almost any other situation but this one. The Willow seems to have an understandably vile dislike for Remus, and takes a swing at him whenever it can. Then Pomfrey touches the knot, the failsafe, and it goes silent and still.
There the long, familiar walk underground.
He is alone, dodging moonbeams.
Dark black-red pain. White pain. There's no escaping the moon. Sometimes, on the nights when the moon barely skips along the horizon, it slides behind a mountain and there is the added agony of transforming half back, stuck in some horrible middle place, only for the werewolf to wrench its form back over him again.
Back in the dormitory, though he doesn't know it, three boys are wide awake. They stare out of a tower window, even though Hogsmeade is nothing but a dull glow on the horizon, and maybe even that is their imagination. Everything is still and calm, but it feels like a horrible illusion.
"We need to move faster," says Sirius, glaring out over the grounds. His fingers drum on the windowsill and twist at his ring.
"You're going to have to accept that becoming Animagi will take a very long time," says James, eyes steady behind his glasses.
"And we don't know if we even can," adds Peter, shivering as another gust blows through the window. He casts another heating charm, but it doesn't seem to do much.
"I wasn't saying that," says James, steel in his voice. "We will do it. There's no way we won't."
Sirius nods stiffly and Peter looks cowed. James throws him a smile and casts a much better heating charm as a sort of apology.
"No time to lose then," says James, rubbing his hands together. "We probably won't get it right, but I don't feel like sleeping yet."
Sirius doesn't feel like sleeping again, ever. He doesn't know if he can be any more grateful for James, who shoots him a quick grin.
"Alright mates," he says, "we don't have to create the best Patronus in the world. We just need to create one with some sort of form to it. It'll be an animal." He looks around at their faces. "Probably the same animal we'll become as animagi."
"Er, what happens if one of us is…an ant, or a dolphin or something."
"We work around it, Pete."
Peter gives them one of those cheerful grins. "I'll just do my best then, and you figure out how you're going to fit an elephant in the shack."
Even Sirius laughs a little.
As James predicted, they conjure absolutely nothing that night. None of the silvery clouds Remus predicted as starting attempts, no magnificent animals. But it's such a relief to be finally doing something that they hardly care. When dawn inches its way into the frosty, pale and weak, Sirius rouses the other two and they duck under the cloak and creep up to the hospital wing to await behind the tapestry for Remus's return.
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