The anxiety of waiting threw his stomach into a fever pitch. He fought to stay still, to keep his foot from tapping out an aimless rhythm on the flagstones; to keep his fingers from drumming against his thigh. Waiting only increased his desire to get moving. The sky darkened gradually as it always had, but it felt closer tonight, as though time moved differently when the moon was full.
Remus was not normally a restless person. He was patient, and often spent hours suspended in complete stillness, relaxing while his mind went to work on a problem, or lost itself in the pages of a particularly engrossing novel. It was the wolf in him that was restless. The wolf in him wanted to bite and rip and tear. To run free under the stars and shout at the cold and unforgiving moon.
He had been about to give up and head for the shack himself â his friends knew where to meet him â when he caught the sound of footsteps and turned to catch a glimpse of something out of the corner of his eye. The air shimmered for a moment and then fell away to reveal the dark-clothed forms of three boys huddled close beneath a familiar cloak. Just a glimpse, before the cloak fell back again, obscuring them into the landscape.
Peterâs voice floated up out of the darkness where there bodies had been; still were.
Remus grinned and relaxed his anxious grip on his thigh. His mates knew not to disappoint.
âRight,â he said, and turned on his heel, stepping off the path and onto the loamy earth. The walk was short and he made quick work of it, padding along with his hands in his pockets, at ease with the thought of his friends behind him. âCome on, then. Itâs getting late; what kept you? I was just about to go down to the Shack myself.â
It should have felt weird, speaking to the air. But he was used to it by now. Peeves had given him a nickname because of it, this habit to be the odd one out when it came to the cloak. All because he had been caught while he was patrolling corridors at the start of fifth year, as the others tagged along behind under the cloak and invisible to the poltergeist, who saw only Remus, speaking animatedly to himself in a low whisper.
âLoony loony Lupinâ, heâd been called. A name Peeves cherished and often sung at him from the rafters or while floating between paintings when Remus was on the way to class. Heâd become deaf to it by now, and merely smiled gamely at the ghost, who, confused and insulted, vanished with a dramatic swan dive into the nearest portrait while blowing a raspberry.
The Whomping Willow stood proud and defiant, its thick trunk and bulbous, swinging branches a dark and imposing guardian. Remus had never been scared of the tree, despite its rather impish disposition and the ferocity with which it tried to concuss him. He had to give it credit â it was doing a remarkable job. Still, heâd been outwitting the tree since he was eleven, and it would be a sorry sight to lose now.
Almost lazily, he whipped out his wand and muttered âimmobulus!â The willowâs thrashing branches jerked to a halt and it lay still and frozen, looking deceptively like any other tree.
âCome on,â he muttered to his friends, waving them forward. âQuickly!â The spell never lasted long. He had an inkling that the willow fought it, and slowly had built up a tolerance for it. Really, the knot was the best way, but he was too agitated to get at it properly and in no mood to take a bludgeoning branch to the face. The moon was climbing steadily now. He had best get out of sight.
Without another word, Remus surged forward and disappeared into the tunnel that would lead him to the Shack.
origamiaround
ellievsbear
tangentwithtanner
vaporwave
