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The night was growing cold and black, and Sirius considered transforming just so he would be warm and better equipped to see in dark of the forest.
“We should go after him,” Peter said, pulling his jacket out of his bag.
Sirius thought for a moment.
“Snape didn't follow us, which means he is probably at the willow now...so we can't go,” he said, annoyed.
“We'll change,” Peter shrugged. “He won't know it's us.”
“If he sees a stag, a dog and a rat all hanging around the werewolf he knows is Remus, he'll put it together,” Sirius said rolling his eyes.
Peter kicked the ground and started walking slowly towards the castle, clearly disappointed.
“Okay, fine, then let's have a drink in the dormitory and wait a few hours. Then we'll go out.”
Sirius shifted uncomfortably. His excitement had worn off and was starting to get a bad feeling about what he had done. A drink would suit him just fine.
“Yeah, let's go.”
When they got back to the common room, the fire was blazing and students were lounging about, reading, doing homework and chatting. It was the epitome of a normal night.
Sirius and Peter tried to merge with the ordinary humdrum, distracting themselves by making nightcaps with some of their classmates who had strayed from schoolwork. They sat on the plush crimson rug in the center of the throng, carefree laughter all around them.
Sirius had fallen into a game of exploding snap with the gryffindor seeker, and was losing in embarrassing fashion. Two of his cards heated and burst into flames right in his fingers.
“Drink,” she said, flashing him a smug smile.
Sirius shook out his hand and wordlessly knocked back his whiskey. He was so distracted he hadn't bothered to watch the deck, argue over the rules or engage in his normal smack talk.
“Where's Remus?” She asked with a grin, poking his arm.
Sirius looked into the fire. Where was Remus?
The flames crackled, consuming all the oxygen in the room and replacing it with oppressive heat. Sirius ached to be out in the cool air.
He was always with Remus during his transformations. He wanted to be there to play with him, protect him, make sure his shame was overshadowed by the fun and mischief of it all; it was was singular reason he learned to change in the first place. In trying to punish Snape, he inadvertently deprived himself of the only important part of his month.
Annoyed, he poured himself another drink.
“Visiting his mom,” he replied, barely skipping a beat.
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Close to midnight, he and Peter staggered out to the edge of the forbidden forest under the cloak.
Sirius had never tried to change after having a few drinks, but it felt like attempting to do anything else after a buzz kicked in - it seemed easier, but he was objectively worse at it.
One of Sirius’s favorite aspects of transforming was the heightened sensory experience; the capacity to take more in so much more of your surroundings and in ways that were bolder, simpler and unrecognizable to humans. The hues around him would dim to near sepia, but color was irrelevant when the whole world lit up with sounds and smells and feelings. But Sirius felt those senses flickering, like the focus and energy just weren't being provided.
Peter held onto his neck with his tiny claws, his weight barely noticeable as Sirius trotted between the trees in an attempt to find signs of Remus or James. Sirius kept sniffing and pawing at his nose; he couldn't pick up a scent properly and it made him feel blind.
He also felt physically off, a sensation reminiscent of the first few times he transformed. His muscles rippled awkwardly under his fur and his legs cramped at the slightest exertion; it felt like he had carelessly stuffed a skeleton and some tendons into a pelt sack.
The fog that he normally loved to cut into stripes with Remus hung stagnant and heavy over his head. Sirius would find his friend’s smells and tracks, and lose them again moments later. After an hour of searching, Sirius couldn't help the small whimpers that escaped his muzzle.
Trying another tactic, he scaled the highest point he knew; a substantial bluff that had been pushed to the sky over the course of millennia, littering the broken boulders next to the lake during its gradual ascension. As he emerged on the ledge, he and Peter were bathed in the inviting white glow of the moon and treated to the twinkling stars smattered across the night sky like paint flicked from a brush.
Straining to listen in a way that he normally didn't have to, the sounds of the forest serenaded him. Sirius could hear leaves falling and each individual note the crickets sang out, the trees humming and even the dew collecting. But he could not hear Remus or James.
He tipped his head up and howled. A long rolling bellow erupted from deep in his chest, pitched at the end as his ribcage contracted and the last of his breath left him. It satisfied primal urge inside him to harmonize with the forest, to pay tribute to the moon and to announce to the vast kingdom of creatures that he was here. He patiently panted hot steam into the night, but his reverberating call was met with no reply.
Sirius looked longingly at the harvest moon and howled again, this time, his singular intention to share his sadness.
The fog was thicker than ever on the forest floor, and Sirius sank into it as though he were wading into a body of water. He knew they had to stop for the night; he was dehydrated, swollen and sore as he padded back to the edge of the trees. Worse, he felt heavy with guilt; it weighed him down into the milky brume and made it hard to breath.
We’ll find them in the morning, Peter reassured him as the boulders came into view.
Sirius only whimpered in return.