Moonlight

Author's Note: A Marauders Era fic. Griselda Blake is an OC who actually grows up to be the mother of the OC in my Neville/OC fic All The Time In The World. I decided to leave that out because then this fic can be more canon.

Griselda Blake was a bad girl. Not bad like a Slytherin, all spite and snide, but she had more detentions in one year than most Ravenclaws racked up in their entire time at Hogwarts. Somehow she still managed to be top of the year, every year, something that drove the conscientious Remus Lupin mad. She had a casual intelligence, the sort of mind that just sucked up every piece of information laid before her. The only thing she had to try to excel in was History of Magic – but that was only because it bored her.

"But that's Blakes' for you," Sirius said. "The whole family has been in Ravenclaw and then they all end up in the Ministry. It's in her genes, mate."

"That doesn't actually make me feel better," Remus retorted.

Sirius exchanged a wicked look with James, who stifled a snort and looked away, pushing his glass up his nose – a sure sign of guilt. Remus glanced at Peter, who shrugged.

"What?" Remus asked. "What's so funny?"

"Well, me and James –"

"It was Sirius's idea!"

"Coward. Anyway, we think you've got a crush on Blake."

Remus gawped at them. Peter turned to look at him, studying him through narrowed eyes as if he thought he could see something that would prove them correct. Sirius still had that wicked grin on his face; James looked both amused and apologetic.

"You do talk about her a lot," James said.

"You talk about Lily all the bloody time!"

"Aha!" Sirius pointed in triumph. "And we both know what James has been getting up to with Evans down by the lake on a Sunday afternoon!"

James turned a fantastic shade of red and Remus couldn't help but laugh. Had James really thought that they didn't know about his secret Sunday dates with Lily Evans?

"What?" Peter asked. "What's he been doing down by the lake with Lily?"

"Playing wizard chess," Sirius said, so innocently that Peter frowned, unable to imagine why that would embarrass James.

"Oh. Does she beat you?"

Sirius crowed.

"Kinky, Petey, very kinky."

"They kiss," Remus explained. "They spend hours upon hours just... kissing."

Sirius had thrown himself backwards, laughing hard. James's blush had finally started to recede, even though Peter was now sniggering at him. In an attempt to regain his dignity, James straightened up, pulling the sleeves of his robes straight and pushing his hair back.

"Yeah. Well. At least I'm getting some action, Moony. Instead of just daydreaming about it."

It was Saturday evening and Remus had just left the hospital wing. A cut above his eye had needed healing. He told Madam Pomfrey he had smashed a chair in the Shrieking Shack, but actually he had caught it on a low hanging branch in the Forest. It is moments like these, when he has to lie to someone that he thinks he has been foolish. He must tell James and Sirius they need to stop this, it's absolute bloody madness.

He needed some air, so he pushed out of the main doors and headed across the grounds. His body still ached and he wanted some sleep, but the old buzz was still humming away beneath his skin and he needed to walk it off, to wear himself out.

There was a small flare of light to his right, just on the outskirts of the forest. Squinting through the dusk, he saw someone leaning against one of the outlying trees and went closer to see who it was.

It was Griselda Blake.

She wore her skirts short and her socks long, it was a trend that other girls tried to copy but few could carry it off. Blake had countless detentions regarding her attire. She had the usual Blake figure – very tall and very slim, almost boyish. She had no hips to speak of and was all but flat-chested. Not that Remus had been looking. She had long tawny blonde hair that kinked all the way down to the low slung waistband of her skirt.

She was leaning against a tree, smoking a Muggle cigarette. She glanced up when she saw him, then went back to drawing on her cigarette.

"Lupin," she said coolly, leaning her head back and blowing smoke circles. "Shall I wait while you run to tell on me?"

He bristled. He might be the nerdy one in his gang, but he wasn't a grass.

"No," he said stoutly and then winced. He sounded like Peter.

The side of her mouth kinked up and she leaned forward, extending the hand holding the cigarette.

"Ever tried one?" she asked.

"No," he said and reached out to take it. It smelt vile, the smoke made his eyes smart.

"They smoke in all the Muggle films," she said.

He put it to his lips and drew on it. The coarse smoke seemed to fill his mouth and hit the back of his throat and he coughed hard. He felt her hand on his as she took it from between his and when he looked up he expected to find her smirking.

"You all right?" she asked, her eyebrows furrowed in concern. "Do you need a drink?"

"I'm all right, don't worry. Sorry."

"S'all right. Took me three till I could get the hang of it."

"Why are you even smoking them?"

"I bought a packet over the holidays, just wanted to see what the big deal was. They're not all that good, but I might as well get through them."

Out of her pocket she pulled a battered packet of Benson and Hedges. She flicked open the lid and showed him.

"See? This is my last one," she took another drag on the cigarette, leaned back against the tree and observed him. "How'd you do in the Transfiguration test last week?"

"Almost as well as you."

She laughed.

"Blimey, Remus. So you have got a sense of humour. I thought you were just a hot swot."

He was about to retort, his mouth open, the words poised on the tip of his tongue. But then he realised what she said and his mouth snapped shut. He took the cigarette from her, drew hard and forced himself not to cough.

"If it makes you feel any better, it's not my fault I do so well in tests," she shuffled her feet and she suddenly looked less intimidating. She hunched forward slightly and he realised just how many buttons of her shirt were open. "Blakes have always been Ravenclaws and we've always been top. I spend every summer doing extra homework, extra work with tutors. Mum and Dad can be pretty intense."

He thought of his own parents. The slice of Victoria sponge and glass of pumpkin juice that his mother brings every other hour when he's studying at home. His father encouraging him out for impromptu Quidditch practice, insisting he abandons his homework to listen to matches on the radio. He thought they would be proud even if he came bottom.

"Oh. I didn't know."

"Why should you? The plan is I'll join the Ministry, like every Blake before me. And maybe I'll be the one to finally make it to Minister for Magic."

"You don't sound pleased," he drew again on the cigarette. He was getting quite good at it; he imagined that it gave him a rakish air he always thought he lacked. He ran a hand casually through his hair, the way Sirius always did.

"Not really. Who wants to work for the stuffy old Ministry? I'd rather be out there, in the field. But try telling my Dad that. Here, you've messed your hair up."

She stepped towards him, coming closer than was necessary to brush his hair back over his forehead. She stayed close, took the cigarette from his hand, pressed it to her lips for a final small puff, then stubbed it out under her foot.

"You know, Remus, this would be an excellent moment for you to kiss me."

"Do you want me to kiss you?"

"What do you think?"

She wound her arms about his neck and as her lips touched his he felt the curve of her mouth and knew she was smiling. She tasted smoky, with a sharp undercut of peppermint. He clutched her close and together they stumbled back against the tree.

When they finally pulled apart she was laughing.

"I thought you were only an animal once a month!"

"What?" he jerked back from her as though burnt.

The laughter evaporated and she looked suddenly horrified.

"What?" he repeated. "What did you mean by that?"

"Nothing, nothing. Just forget I said anything."

She tried to leave, but he grabbed her wrist and pulled her back into the shadow of the trees.

"What did you mean?"

"I know what you are," she said quietly, looking him square in the eye. "I've known what you are for years. It doesn't take a genius to work it out."

"You don't know anything!"

She leaned close. Her breath seemed to swirl in the shell of his ear as she whispered. He shivered, his body suddenly alive with goosebumps.

"You're a werewolf, Remus Lupin."

He let her go, panic liquefying his gut. But she wrapped her arms tightly about his waist so that he couldn't move away. He stared at her.

"And," she murmured, leaning closer. "I couldn't give a flying fuck."

The End.