Chapter 9
Combat magic training was a dangerous hobby. Our little group confirmed the truth of that statement very quickly, spending a significant portion of our first few weeks of regular training as more-or-less permanent residents of the hospital wing.
It reached a point where our fellow Gryffindors had begun to sincerely believe we were waging a daily war against Slytherin — that was the state some of the injuries came back in.
*It's all because of what Sirius's family sent him,* I thought darkly, shaking my head. *Most of that material you couldn't find outside the Restricted Section. And I'm now absolutely certain the entire Black family is unhinged. Sending a teenager a collection of spells, the majority of which could only charitably be described as "conditionally permitted" — that takes a genuinely original mind. And according to Sirius, Andromeda is the calmest and most level-headed of his cousins.*
I remembered the consequences of a few spells I'd failed to dodge. That had been bad. Catastrophically bad. But in a strange way, I was almost glad the attack had landed on me rather than on any of the others.
Recovery from wounds like that took a long time for ordinary wizards — and even then, there was no guarantee anyone else would have recovered so cleanly from a Rot Curse. I had the advantage of being a werewolf as well as a wizard, which gave me a solid baseline resistance to that kind of filth. When I'd stumbled into the hospital wing with a slowly decaying, spreading wound on my left arm, I'd still had the arm attached. Madam Pomfrey had torn strips off me verbally while also summoning Horace Slughorn to brew a very specific potion for my treatment — and in the end, I didn't even have a scar, despite her initial warning that I'd carry that one forever.
*She must not be used to working on werewolves and other dark creatures, who shrug off most curses far more easily,* I noted to myself, unsure what to do with that particular revelation.
Not that it mattered. What mattered was that the training session hadn't produced anything permanent. But after that, we all swore off using spells at that level of lethality during sparring — at least until we'd mastered more advanced defensive charms and accumulated enough general experience to reduce the risk of fresh injuries to something manageable.
James's father, to his credit, agreed to help with exactly that. He began by sending his son a set of references focused primarily on defensive magic and tactics for applying it.
"There's someone who genuinely understands that you learn to defend first and attack second," I said, studying one of Potter's new books with real interest.
"Rubbish. You don't win a fight by pouring everything into defense," Sirius grumbled, disagreeing on principle.
A single look from me was enough to adjust his position.
"Though I suppose we should start by keeping our bodies in one piece," he finished.
"As always, Sirius, you're right. Focus on defense." I grinned at him, showing teeth. "Because you're first on the list of people I want to test these new spells on."
Sirius flinched, looking theatrically guilty. He was, after all, the one who'd cursed me so thoroughly that I'd spent nearly three days in the hospital wing, dealing with bone-deep pain in my left arm. So I had solid grounds for a grudge. Not that I actually held one — but playing on it kept him from slacking during training.
*I've noticed that working as part of a group is more comfortable than working alone. And when someone manages something better than I can…*
I smiled to myself, slightly taken aback by my own vanity. If someone else mastered a spell faster than I did — even a spell I'd never heard of, belonging to an entirely different branch of magic than whatever I'd been working on — I immediately wanted to close the gap.
It bordered on absurd. I'd just spent an entire training session drilling *Stickklavn*, a defensive charm that created a protective film around the body to ward off flying shards. It wouldn't stop a bullet — there were dedicated spells for that — but in a magical fight it could be genuinely useful.
The problem was that the moment I finished with it and turned my attention to the others, I spotted James practicing some variant of *Depulso* — one optimized for inanimate objects, which could be used in combat to accelerate transfigured projectiles.
Was it a powerful spell? Not particularly. Difficult? No — I'd mastered things more difficult. Useful? Only in a narrow range of situations. But the simple fact that someone else knew something I didn't produced a disproportionate amount of irritation, a strange discomfort lodged somewhere deep in my chest.
*I don't know where this comes from, but I genuinely can't stand being outdone by anyone around me. Maybe on some level I'm afraid of being left behind if I turn out to be a less capable wizard than the rest of them.*
It wasn't a particularly cheerful line of thinking, and I'd noticed for a while now that some of the original Lupin's complexes had left their marks on me. I was also rather critical about my own future — well aware that my nature was going to play cruel tricks on me more than once. No other fate could be expected for a werewolf in a world ruled by racist wizards.
*That's probably why I care so much about other people's progress. I don't want to fall behind anyone. Not even my friends.*
I smiled bitterly, acknowledging another quirk in my own psychology.
*Though this particular quirk — I actually like. There's nothing wrong with wanting to become the strongest and most educated wizard of this generation.*
"What are you thinking about, Moony? Found something interesting?" James's voice pulled me back to the present, realizing I'd drifted well off the topic of conversation — which had been planning next week's training schedule.
"Not really. More like figuring out how to become a second Dumbledore in the shortest amount of time possible," I said with a snort — not really exaggerating the answer.
I redirected.
"So what did you all decide about fitting our training around James's Quidditch practices, Sirius's detentions with Filch, and Peter's Wizard's Chess club?"
"You really weren't listening, were you." James shook his head, mildly offended but not actually angry. It had been the full moon last night, and I was still somewhat patched together from the latest transformation. "We were mainly arguing about the value of defensive charms, not the schedule."
"Ah. Well — carry on, then. I'll work around whatever you settle on." I gave them a bright smile. "Just bear in mind that if we end up with fewer than five sessions a week, I'm waking you all up for morning runs around the castle."
"Oh, thanks awfully. I'm not running around a cold castle at sunrise — I'm not built like you, Moony, I'm afraid of drafts," Peter grumbled in mock indignation, playing up his horror at the prospect.
It was decent enough as a joke to earn a round of laughter, which broke the tension nicely. I went back to my reading while the others argued about when to hold the next session. James had a match coming up against Slytherin, so the Quidditch team had been practicing more aggressively lately. Peter was apparently participating in Hogwarts's inter-house Wizard's Chess tournament, which meant he'd be occupied Monday and Thursday evenings. And Sirius's detentions would clear up by Thursday — which was precisely what they were fighting over. Peter didn't want to miss his tournament. Sirius didn't want to give up one of the easier days in his week.
*I'm the lucky one. My library hermit lifestyle fits around training with no adjustments needed.*
Eventually I forced them into agreement. It cost us both weekend days, but the schedule worked out to five sessions a week.
What didn't work out were the plans themselves. And it wasn't even another visit to the hospital wing that derailed them — though one near miss almost cost Peter Tuesday's session.
The real problem was Saturday.
The first weekend of the week. The perfect opportunity for students to settle old grudges with the people who'd given them grudges. No classes. Half the teachers gone from the castle. McGonagall off to the Ministry to handle some bureaucratic matter. The older students were legally permitted to leave for a few hours to relax in Hogsmeade, the magical village nestled at the foot of the ancient castle.
*Genuinely perfect conditions for revenge and a good old-fashioned magical brawl.*
And I ended up right in the middle of one.
While the Marauders and I were quietly focused on our own studies, the Slytherins had called out the Gryffindors — and we'd all been dragged along.
To be precise, no one dragged us by force. But a pointed *"Come on then, are you lot going to hang back like some timid Hufflepuffs?"* from our house prefect was enough to have Sirius and James agreeing without hesitation to participate in the coming battle at the edge of the Forbidden Forest.
And I trailed along after them, naturally, toward this charming little clearing where, by noon, nearly all of Hogwarts had gathered.
A mob of serpents, with a scattering of ravens behind them, had lined up against a mob of lions allied with a cluster of badgers standing shoulder to shoulder. The remaining Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs hung back, acting as a rear guard for the girls, the majority of whom had decided their role was to evaluate the coming battle from a safe distance.
Though a fair portion of them had no intention of staying out of it. I spotted Narcissa Black in the Slytherin ranks, from whose gaze Sirius was carefully keeping his head down. Among the Gryffindors, the Attwood twins stood out immediately — seventh years, beaters for our Quidditch team, and entirely unbothered by the scale of what was about to happen.
"Bloody hell, there are a lot of them," Sirius muttered, chewing his lip anxiously as he took in the opposing crowd. Their front line — mostly the leaders of each house — was currently trading insults with our own prefect, our Quidditch captain, the Hufflepuff prefect, and several fifth, sixth, and seventh years.
"What did you expect?" I said, more annoyed than nervous, studying the Slytherin formation. Though "formation" was generous — they were simply making an effort not to stand too close together, which was enough to make a couple of hundred students look like an actual army.
Then again, by the standards of the magical world, two hundred wizards was precisely what "an army" was. The Dark Lord's current forces probably didn't exceed fifteen hundred assorted dregs, and of those, Merlin willing, maybe two hundred were actual Death Eaters. Which meant the crowd assembled at the edge of the Forbidden Forest represented real force by any reasonable measure.
*Where, precisely, is the headmaster? What about the teachers still in the castle?*
The question annoyed me. Because something of this scale couldn't possibly have escaped Dumbledore's notice. You could distract ordinary professors and heads of house. But Dumbledore…
*The old goat decided to entertain himself at someone else's expense?*
"Remus… if things go badly, defense falls to us," James said quietly, his face noticeably pale at the sight of the massed Slytherins. "And — if it comes to it — drag me to the hospital wing, yeah?"
"Drop the doom-and-gloom. Look at our opponents — the third and fourth year snakes are white as sheets. And plenty of their upper years are nervous too. Some of them can't even keep their faces in order," I said, baring my teeth in a grin, quietly lifting not just James's mood but the other Marauders' as well.
And just in time.
The moment the others managed to pull themselves together, the exchange between our respective leaders came to its natural end — and spells began flying in both directions.
Watching the opening volley, I finally understood completely why wizards made an effort not to stand too close together. For anyone who couldn't work properly in a team, being in the middle of any significant crowd was as good as suicide. Dodging an incoming curse in an unorganized pack of equally disorganized people was nearly impossible.
Fortunately, the four of us could, more or less, work as a team. And we were, like all of the younger students, positioned along the edges of the broader formation. Which meant our main opponents would be the corresponding third and fourth years from Slytherin and Ravenclaw.
That made things considerably easier.