Regulus walked up beside Dumbledore and swept a hand through the air in front of him.
Under the moonlight, a row of faint white numbers materialized. 1:17 a.m.
He lowered his hand and turned to Dumbledore. "Good evening, Professor."
Dumbledore watched the numbers dissolve into nothing, his beard twitching upward. "Good evening, Regulus."
His eyes blinked behind his spectacles. "This time it really is evening."
Regulus let a small smile pull at the corner of his mouth.
Last time on the Astronomy Tower, also past midnight, he'd said good evening and Dumbledore had pulled out a pocket watch, inspected it, and informed him that strictly speaking, it was good morning. Now he'd put the time up front, and the old man caught the callback without missing a beat. Sharp memory.
Together, they looked toward the Whomping Willow thrashing in the distance.
James had already charged in. Sirius had charged in after him. Both were getting beaten senseless.
The crack of branches echoed across the grounds, audible even from this far away. James was the loudest, howling like a wounded animal, though whether from pain or excitement was anyone's guess. Sirius grunted a few times and swore, his words drowned out by the whipping branches.
Peter was still hunched behind a bush, shaking all over, showing no intention of moving.
Regulus watched for a moment.
"Professor," he said, cutting straight to it. "Do you come out here every night?"
Dumbledore tilted his head toward him. "You know what's inside?"
Regulus nodded. "A werewolf. Lupin."
Dumbledore simply nodded back. He didn't ask how Regulus knew.
The physical signs of lycanthropy weren't easy to spot from appearance alone, but for a skilled wizard, the magical signature was unmistakable. That bloodthirsty, inhuman quality held under tight suppression, the restless fluctuations in magic that started building days before the full moon... impossible to hide.
For someone at Regulus's level, noticing would have been stranger than not.
"Every month on this night, yes," Dumbledore said. "Remus is a good boy. He shouldn't be hurt because of what makes him different."
His gaze drifted toward James, still struggling in the distance. "But what he needs even more is not to be misunderstood."
Regulus listened in silence.
"Those three," Dumbledore continued. "Tonight they'll learn something. They may be frightened. They may pull away. Or they may choose differently."
Regulus knew what he meant. It came down to how Sirius and the others would react once they saw that Lupin really was a werewolf.
Fear, Retreat or acceptance.
He already knew what they'd choose.
They would accept him. Then they'd find a way to help, training as Animagi, transforming into animals to keep Lupin company through the full moon. For a friend, they'd try anything.
He thought it but didn't say it. Then another thought struck him.
Dumbledore seemed to have a particular fondness for putting young wizards through exactly this kind of thing.
Set the stage. Confront them with a truth. Then stand back and see what choices they made.
Fear or courage. Retreat or advance. Abandon or protect.
And he'd watch from the sidelines, guiding here and there, offering praise when the outcome pleased him.
Probably an occupational habit of an aging educator.
He liked watching people grow. Liked watching them face a crossroads and choose. Liked tracing where those choices eventually led.
What would James and Sirius choose?
They'd rush in. Stand by Lupin no matter what he turned into. Find some way to help him, even if the plan was reckless beyond belief. The next morning, they'd pretend nothing had happened and carry on being friends.
Dumbledore would see it all.
The value of friendship. The worth of courage. Three young wizards willing to throw themselves headfirst into danger for a single friend.
Regulus understood that feeling, in the abstract. Charging forward for friendship, no hesitation, all passion and impulse and risk, friendship bigger than everything... he got it.
But he was too rational.
He weighed things. Before committing to anything, the costs and benefits ran through his mind first, sorted and assessed, and only then did he decide. It meant he rarely experienced that kind of pure, reckless impulse.
He thought about the people he knew. How many actually counted as real friends?
Lily was one. They'd met plenty of times, and conversations always came easy. She understood what he meant, and he understood her.
Freya was one. Less than a month together, but the unspoken understanding between them, that sense of not needing many words... that was rare.
Narcissa was family. Not friendship.
As for Cuthbert, Alex, Hermes... friendship was there, but not much. Their relationship was more followers and leader. They followed his lead, took his orders, stayed by his side. He protected them in turn, taught them, pushed them forward.
But they weren't friends. Not the kind who'd be reckless together, impulsive together, throw caution to the wind together.
Regulus pulled himself out of his thoughts.
Dumbledore hadn't spoken, standing quietly beside him.
He'd noticed the shift in Regulus's expression. That look that surfaced now and then, the one that didn't belong on a face so young.
Like someone remembering. Or someone calculating.
Dumbledore didn't interrupt. He knew Regulus was different. Young as he was, a child by every measure, the boy already carried a fully formed framework of his own. His view of the world, his understanding of magic, his sense of self... all of it had already crystallized. None of it would shake easily.
What was going through his mind right now, Dumbledore couldn't say. But he was willing to wait.
After a while, Regulus spoke.
"Friendship," he said, his tone carrying the kind of wistfulness that had no business coming from someone his age. "When you think about it... it really is something rare."
Dumbledore blinked.
Coming from Regulus, the words sounded off no matter how you heard them.
A twelve-year-old, waxing philosophical about the rarity of friendship?
Dumbledore looked at him. His beard shifted. Then he laughed, quiet but unmistakably genuine.
Regulus saw him laughing and let out a small laugh of his own.
In the distance, a cheer erupted near the Whomping Willow.
James and Sirius had finally made it past the attack zone and scrambled into the small entrance beneath the tree.
Peter stood rooted to the spot, lost. He stared at the dark mouth of the tunnel, wanting to follow, not daring to. He took two steps forward and got swatted back by a branch.
He shrank behind the bushes again, trembling, and didn't move.
Regulus caught Dumbledore raising his head, fingers moving in the faintest gesture.
The Whomping Willow's branches slowed, losing their fury, swaying with lazy indifference.
Peter froze for a few seconds, then scrambled forward in a graceless tumble and threw himself into the tunnel.
Regulus looked away. The old man certainly knew how to manage a scene.
He glanced up at the moon.
The Forbidden Forest would have to wait. No matter. There'd be other chances.
"Professor," he said.
Dumbledore looked at him.
"Shall we go have a look?"
Dumbledore nodded. "Let's."
Regulus drew his wand and cast a Disillusionment Charm on himself. Modified version. It blocked light, heat, sound, magical fluctuations. Standing there, he was indistinguishable from air.
Dumbledore watched his spellwork. "An excellent Disillusionment Charm."
Then he blinked, and was simply gone.
No gradual fading. No shimmer of bent light. Just... gone. Like someone had been cut out of a photograph, leaving only the background.
Regulus stared.
His magical perception was running constantly, but it picked up nothing. Dumbledore was standing right beside him, and he couldn't sense a thing.
He turned his head toward where the old man should have been. Nothing.
His mouth twitched. Was the old man showing off?
---
The Shrieking Shack.
The room was wrecked. Furniture lay scattered and overturned, wallpaper peeling in sheets, the floor littered with broken planks and torn fabric.
Against the far wall, a set of iron chains was bolted firmly to the stone and floor. At the other end of those chains knelt Lupin.
His hands and feet were locked tight, the chains pulled taut. His body shook. Something moved beneath his skin. Sweat beaded his forehead, and his face was a bloodless, ashen white.
James and the others hid behind a ruined bed in the corner.
James had half his head poking out, eyes wide, fists clenched, looking like he might bolt forward at any second. Sirius gripped his shoulder with one hand while the other dug into the seam of his trousers. He wanted to rush in too, but he was holding himself back.
Peter was pressed against the farthest wall, only his eyes visible, darting back and forth.
The transformation began.
Regulus spread his magical perception wide. He wanted to observe every stage of the process.
Lupin's magic changed first. Beneath the layer that belonged to the wizard, something else was thrashing, a caged beast hurling itself against the bars.
Then the body. Bones cracking, growing, warping. Fingers curling, nails lengthening and darkening. His spine arched upward, clothes splitting apart. His face stretched, the jaw pushed forward, teeth sharpened to points.
By then, the magic had shifted completely.
The wizard's power was crushed down and something else surged up in its place. Inhuman and primal.
That magic held no reason. Only instinct. Rend, kill and destroy.
Regulus watched. Through the magical fluctuations, he could feel how excruciating it was.
He sensed Lupin's struggle within the waves of power. The human consciousness was still there, still resisting, but being devoured piece by piece.
The transformation finished. What stood there now was Werewolf Lupin.
Tall, bipedal, body pitched forward, coiled to spring. Grey-brown fur. A long-snouted face with matted hair, jaws wide open, rows of fangs bared. Yellow eyes that held no intelligence. Only the beast.
It lunged. The chains rattled and snapped it back. It lunged again. Snapped back again. Over and over.
The chains held. Bolted tight, unbreakable. All it could do was pace in circles and howl, a piercing, bone-deep sound.
James and Sirius crouched behind the bed, holding their breath.
Regulus kept watching, perception still wide open.
The werewolf's magic was pure. Pure in the way that only instinct could be. Hungry, eat. Caged, flee. See a person, bite.
The magic was stronger. The body was stronger. But the person called Remus Lupin, in this moment, did not exist.
Regulus traced the currents of magic, searching for what remained of the human inside.
The trace was faint. A guttering flame, barely there. But as long as it still burned, the transformation could reverse.
Cruel.
Not a full descent into the beast. Just one night a month forced into it. Aware enough to know what he'd become. Cursed to remember what he'd been.
Time crawled.
The werewolf's howls grew weaker, quieter.
Until the moon sank lower, no longer so full, so bright.
Then Regulus felt the bloodthirsty, inhuman magic begin to ebb.
The body shrank. Fur receded. Fangs retracted.
Lupin became human again.
He collapsed on the floor, drenched in sweat, clothes hanging in tatters, fresh wounds scored across his skin. The chains still held him, but he had no strength left to move.
James was the first one out.
He sprinted to Lupin's side and dropped to a crouch, reaching out, then pulling his hand back, unsure where it was safe to touch.
Sirius ran over too, standing beside him, breathing hard.
Peter came out last, hovering behind the other two, craning his neck to see.
Dumbledore's hand landed on Regulus's shoulder. He turned and headed for the exit. Regulus followed, and together they walked out of the Shrieking Shack and back into the moonlight.
The air was cleaner out here. Regulus drew a deep breath and let it out slowly.
Dumbledore stood beside him, gazing toward the distant edge of the Forbidden Forest.
"Regulus," he said, his tone easy, as though the question had only just occurred to him. "What do you make of werewolves?"
Regulus considered it for a moment.
"Too ugly," he said.
Dumbledore turned to look at him. His expression stiffened. His beard twitched. No words came.