Work Text:
Remus' hip is aching. It’s t-minus forty-five minutes until moon-rise and he doesn't think there is a single part of him that doesn't hurt. He had shuffled himself up to the Shrieking Shack fifteen minutes ago, leaning heavily on his cane the whole way. He’s been grumbling to himself about the fact that Padfoot, Prongs and Wormtail weren’t with him. They had somehow all landed in detention that evening and likely wouldn't join him until right before the transformation began, if they make it at all. He knew it wasn't fair to be so irritated about it, but they really didn't have to put stink bombs in all the girls toilets on the morning of the full. Sirius pouted prettily when he pointed this out, but it’s not like anyone put a wand to their heads and said ‘You have to hack off Filch on the full moon, or else .’ They knew what the full moon meant for him, how much he needed them there— how anxious it made him when there was no guarantee that he didn’t have to go through this alone. Though they couldn’t be there to help him hobble to the shack, he hoped that they would be for the part that really mattered. The part where his spine twisted and bent, ribs cracking, bones crushing, teeth gnashing as Remus reshaped and became Moony.
He sighs. There's no use whinging about it now. He begins the slow process of removing his school uniform. He always moves slower on the full moon, and without Padfoot to gently help him unfasten his buttons, and to carefully roll his trousers and pants down his legs (a distracting look of veneration in his eyes all the while)— well it was a lot more difficult. He fumbles with his buttons, his fingers stiff and having lost most of their dexterity. A sob leaves him as he tries to shrug his school shirt from off his shoulders—It hurts to bend in that way, his muscles burning. When he’s finally naked, he sets his clothes gingerly on top of the rickety, rusted cot under the boarded-up window. He probably has a good twenty or so minutes left before the rest of the marauders would (hopefully) arrive and his transformation would begin. His eyes move around the room, catching on the old wooden piano in the corner. Termite ridden, he muses about the fact that it looks as if it would collapse if you laid so much as a finger on it— much how he imagines he looks at the moment. He knows from personal experience though that it won't.
Remus has been playing piano since he was just a small boy. Hope taught him how to play under the roof of their tiny thatched cottage in the Welsh countryside. The upright piano was the one muggle artifact that Hope insisted on bringing with her when Lyall had moved them all there in the aftermath of Remus being bitten. He loved the sounds that were made when he would playfully plonk the keys with his chubby fingers. Happy memories of drinking tea and reading Bronté in a spot of sun, the shaggy sitting room carpet tickling his toes as he listened to his mother play pleasant melodies that drifted through the air of their little cottage like a gentle breeze. It was one of the few things that brought him any sense of calm during the weeks and days leading up to the full.
Remus limps over to the ancient and broken looking baby grand and sits with caution on the decaying piano bench. Placing his stiff fingers on the ivory keys, he experimentally plonks out a few notes. He smiles to himself— it’s always in tune. Remus chalked it up to some sort of charm the first time that he tried playing it. He flexes his aching fingers and clumsily plays the first few notes of a familiar tune. He sings along, quietly at first, gradually becoming more confident.
I saw a werewolf with a Chinese menu in his hand
Walking through the streets of SoHo in the rain
He was looking for the place called Lee Ho Fooks
For to get a big dish of beef chow mein
Ah-ooh, werewolves of London
Ah-ooh
Ah-ooh, werewolves of London
Ah-ooooooooh
His voice is moon-hoarse, but his mouth shapes itself into a grin around the lyrics.
He's the hairy handed gent who ran amok in Kent
Lately he's been overheard in Mayfair
You better stay away from him, he'll rip your lungs out Jim
Huh, I'd like to meet his tailor
Ah-ooh, werewolves of London
Ah-ooh
Ah-ooh, werewolves of London
Ah-ooooooooh
Remus' long, deft fingers drift loftily across the keys, his scratchy voice carrying around the room. He isn’t pain free, but he feels lighter than he has in days. Just as he reaches the final ’ah-ooh’, the door to the shack springs open, making him jump and his fingers slip— a loud dissonant chord reverberates around the room. James and Sirius walk in with Wormtail already transfigured and resting on the taller boy's shoulder.
"Oh, Moony-mine! I heard you howling and thought we’d missed the main event.”
"Bugger off, Sirius.” he mutters, but he's smiling.
Sirius leans himself against the crumbling piano, Remus putting out his hand to try and stop him before he falls straight through the ancient thing. “We have nearly ten whole minutes until the full. How about a repeat performance? A private show? Come on, Moony. I wanna bask in those dulcet tones.”
"Yeah Moony, serenade us. It's been so long since I've been properly woo'd." James chimes in, placing Wormtail on the floor.
"I think you mean ah-ooh'd, Prongsy boy."
Remus sighs. He supposes there isn't much else to do, and it was a good distraction from the pain radiating around his entire body. “Alright, twist my arm. You both have to sing along with me, though.”
“You have yourself a deal, Moons.”
With a roll of his eyes, Remus brings his fingers back to the keys and begins to sing—
I saw a werewolf with a Chinese menu in his hand…