Animagi Circle:

Preparations

“We can’t.”

“You didn’t think we could pull off the last prank.”

“It isn’t the same. This’ll take years.”

“Scared, Potter?”

“A bit, yeah. Aren’t you? Failing’s hardly the worst that could happen. You remember Boreas Amyntoros.”

“We’re smarter than old horse-face.” He stops, sighs. “He’s our friend, James. Our best friend, and he needs us.”

“And this is the only…” he nods. “Fine. But neither of us can try anything without the other around and if you’re hurt I’m telling McGonagall. And Mum.”

“When did you become Remus Lupin?” James glares. “Fine, fine. But you’re the one telling Peter.”


Taste

A certain desire is often noticed in the newly-turned Animagus to devour, even in human form, those foods which would be natural for the animal whose form he/ she takes. Thus, a witch/ wizard taking the form of a horse may find himself/ herself inexplicably attracted to hay and oats. This desire must obviously be restrained. It may initially prove difficult to accomplish, but all conducted studies show that it grows easier over time. However, celebrated Animagus Hippolyta le Fay (1671-1749) was of the opinion that the desire itself waned.
— Felicia le Fay, Animus, (Hogsmeade: Wandlit Publications, 1845), Pg 207


Smell

Somewhere in the sixth year dorms, someone (he suspects Andy Brunswick, who is Muggle-born) is smoking pot. Peter’s socks have not been washed for two days. Remus has been reading the illustrated manuscripts about Medieval Magic for his History of Magic paper and the smell of the coloured inks lingers on the neat pages of his notebook. And James, perched on the nearest bed, eyes eager, smells of grassy Quidditch pitches and dusty hidden passages and safety. He shakes his head briskly, coming out of the near-trance.

“Well?”

He nods, once, decisively. “Could be better, but it’ll do for now.”


Sound
“What happened, Sirius?” It’s a whisper. They’re in class and Remus is sitting beside him and whispering. But the whisper is louder than most yells.

Nothing, he writes, on a corner of his parchment. The scratch of the quill, though loud enough to be heard, is much softer than the sound of his voice would be. His own fault, really, for trying to spy on the Slytherins at the other end of the class.

But it comes in handy later in the day, when he sidesteps a trap. Evans, who falls into it, promptly deducts points from Slytherin. Many points.


Sight

This is the hardest yet, though he knows changing form will be harder still. It takes some time, the books say, to shift back into human sight, and he has volunteered to go first. But the change itself is surprisingly easy, as easy as opening his eyes though they are already wide open, and he is beginning to think that the books have exaggerated, when the colourlessness of everything overcomes him, drives him to his knees in shock. Strong arms come around him, grey skin and lighter grey shirt and iron hair falling on his forehead. He closes his eyes.


Shapes

He has been practising for months. But now, looking at the stag his best friend has become, he grows afraid for the first time, though he has known the risks from the very beginning. He had known them, but only now do they become real. And in an ecstasy of terror, he lets himself think like the creature that he’s been nurturing all these days, lets all the newly-found senses come into being, all at the same time, and surrenders himself to their commands, lets himself be twisted into the shape they wish to attain. Sheds Sirius Black, becomes Padfoot.


Touch

His parents didn’t believe in physical demonstration of affection, even when, presumably, they felt any for him. His memories of being hugged, carried, rough-housed with, as a child, centre on Charlus Potter and Lucius Malfoy. Not James. James, despite all evidence to the contrary, has inherited the Black dislike of casual touching. (Even Meda, who is pretty much a non-Black, hates touching.) Hugs from James, or indeed, anything beyond a manly pat on the back/ shoulder, are rare and significant.

But the dislike, he finds, is limited to humans. Padfoot is cheerfully patted and stroked and scratched behind the ears.


Triangle

“Nox.”

“You cannot possibly expect…Sirius, what’s going on? Ugh. What?”

“Lumos.”

“Where did you get the dog from? Where’s Sirius? James...oh, Merlin, Sirius? Is that you? Sirius?”

He pushes, carefully; distancing himself, crawling back into the shape of Sirius Black.

Remus stares at him, eyes wild and disbelieving. “Sirius, you… for me? You… do you even know how dangerous…you became an Animagus for me?”

“All of us,” he says, uncomfortable with so much gratitude.

“All his idea,” James puts in quietly.

“Thank you. Thank you both. Gods.”

He is suddenly fiercely glad of James and as inexplicably possessive of Remus.