Mundane Literature, task 7: Write a fairytale with a twist

Word Count: 2497

"Father?" Five-year-old James Potter looks up from his toy sword when his father enters the cottage. "What's out there? What's in the woods."

His father lowers the hood of his red cloak– a mark of the fiery Gryffindor clan– and offers James a tired smile. It's only then that James notices the blood splattered across his face. "Wolves, my son," his father answers.

James' eyes widen. Wolves. He's heard the howling from the Forbidden Forest at night, and he's seen the way the elders tense at the sounds.

"Did you kill one?" James asks.

His father's smile strengthens, and there's a glimmer of pride in his hazel eyes. He kneels, resting his palm gently on James' cheek. "I did. Two of them," he says. "And that's just tonight."

"I want to kill one too!" James says eagerly. "Can I go with you next time, Father? Please?"

His father grins before affectionately ruffling James' messy hair. "You'll have your chance one day. I promise. You come from a long line of Red Hoods," he says. "And you know what Red Hoods do."

James nods. The Red Hoods of Gryffindor are the fiercest warriors. Their duty is to protect Hogwarts from all threats. One day, he will wear the hood as well.

He can hardly wait.

...

"If you think I'm going to surrender," James says, countering as his opponent's blade sails near his neck, "you have clearly gone mad."

Sirius Black grins. "We all go a little mad sometimes," he says with a barking laugh before swinging his sword wildly.

James rolls his eyes. Unlike most of the boys in the training arena, Sirius wasn't born a Red Hood. He had shown up in his green cloak, and everyone held their breaths.

Green Hoods are the rulers of the land. So few of those families ever ventured beyond the castle gates; when they did, it was often to talk business with the Blue Hoods of Ravenclaw or, rarely, to check on the Yellow Hoods of Hufflepuff to ensure that the crops were doing well.

But a Green Hood of Slytherin among the Red Hoods? It was unheard of.

Sirius had never told them why he left. All he would ever tell James is that he's from the Black family, and that he hates his parents. He had fled because he wanted to do something meaningful with his life.

It shows in the way he holds his sword now. Natural-born Red Hoods grow up with toy swords, and they are taught the importance of the blade early. Sirius' grip is loose, and his movements are awkward. Even so, he has a lot of spirit. Sometimes that's more than enough.

Besides, it isn't as though Sirius is a terrible fighter. He just isn't as good as James. Then again, no one can really rival him.

"Ha!" James knocks the sword from his friend's hand and smirks.

"Oh dear," Sirius says, his voice neutral and his expression bored. "I am unarmed. How will I ever make it through?"

James tenses. Before he can get his guard up again, Sirius sweeps his leg out, hooking his foot around James' ankle. With a startled gasp, James falls to the ground, groaning. "You cheated."

Sirius grins and helps James to his feet. "I improvised," he says. "Green Hoods must always know how to exploit someone's vulnerability."

James tugs at his friend's red cloak. "Mhm. I'm not sure how to tell you this, but that ain't green," he teases.

With a huff, Sirius swats his hand away. "Filthy peasant," he says, though his tone is soft and playful.

"Pain in the arse."

"Potter! Black!" Mad-Eye Moody, the elder who oversees training, staggers forward.

Moody embodies the horrors of their life. His leathery skin is laced with scars, and he isn't exactly in one piece. His eye is missing, as is part of his nose, and everyone has heard the rumor that one of his legs is made of wood. He simultaneously fills James with awe and terror.

"I would not be smiling so much," the old man snaps, jabbing his finger against Sirius' chest. "Tomorrow marks this class' first hunt. You know what that means."

The atmosphere suddenly changes. Practice matches are instantly forgotten, and all eyes fall upon their mentor. Moody rests against his cane, his good eye scanning the small crowd.

No one answers. No one needs to.

Tomorrow is the final test as a Red Hood. Once the sun sinks beneath the horizon, they will charge into the Forbidden Forest. Though they hope to kill a wolf, the ultimate goal is to survive the night. Not everyone who goes into the forest for their first hunt is lucky.

"Bet I can slaughter a whole pack of the bastards," Sirius says, breaking the tense silence.

No one really relaxes. There's a soft sound of nervous laughter, but James can see it on their faces. They're all terrified.

…

James climbs into his father's lap. At six, he is probably too old for such things, but his father doesn't discourage him.

"What's troubling you, boy?"

"I thought the wolves were animals," he says. "Benjy Fenwick's father brought one in, but… I didn't see all of it, but it had human hands."

"You can't really call them humans. They aren't like you and me."

James snuggles closer, peering through his dark lashes. "What are they like?"

His father tells him about the wolves. They seem human during the day, but that is exactly why the Red Hoods hunt them at night. They are moon-touched. Nighttime transforms them into feral monsters with frightening yellow eyes and terrible fangs.

"Imagine if one got into the village," his father says with a shudder. "We wouldn't know until the sun fell, and by then it would be too late."

…

James adjusts the straps of his leather armor before checking his inventory. Sword, a dagger tucked into each boot, healing herbs and tinctures, rope for setting traps.

"Seems a bit excessive, doesn't it?" Sirius asks, appearing at his side. His armor is lighter, and he seems to only carry a sword. "It's simple. Stay near the treeline. Don't wander into the bloody forest, and bam! You can easily survive the night."

"Looking a bit green there," James says.

Sirius just shrugs. "Better than dying, isn't it?"

James considers. Maybe Sirius has a point. It is tempting to try things his way.

Except James can't. He meets his father's eye, and he stands a little taller. The Potters are noble Red Hoods, strong and proud. He is desperate for his father's approval, desperate to prove himself as a worthy warrior.

His father smiles, and James bows quickly.

"They're lighting the torches," Sirius says.

James looks up. The younger children, those who have just begun their training, pass by each torch, lighting it. The bursts of red and orange illuminate the dusk sky before fading to a softer glow. Aside from the moon overhead, those torches will be their only source of light, and they will be too far away to do any good.

Mad-Eye hobbles to the front of the gathered class. "You know what is expected of you," he says. "No need to waste time on silly speeches." He turns, silent as the sun creeps a little lower, completely disappearing behind the thick branches in the distances. The outside of the camp is plunged into darkness, except for the torches. "Go."

James doesn't move straight away. He shivers narrows his eyes, searching between the trees for movement. It seems clear enough.

Swallowing dryly, he lifts his hood over his head and takes the first step.

…

"Father!" James calls proudly, parading around in his father's hunting cloak. "I'm a real Red Hood! Look at me!"

His father chuckles. "Not long now, and you'll be able to start your real training."

James beams. One more year. Training begins at age eleven, though James has managed to sneak into the training arena on a few occasions. Mad-Eye Moody had chased him out, yelling at him.

In the meantime, he has been able to train with his father. He isn't allowed to use a real sword, but the carved wood is weighted and feels like the real thing.

He's quick. His father says he's never seen anyone move the way James does. He says that James is as graceful as a deer.

"I'm gonna be the greatest Red Hood!" James says, thrusting his sword forward, imagining spearing a pretend opponent. "Maybe I will even kill the fearsome Greyback!"

His father grabs the sword, easily pulling it from James' hands. "I don't think you're ready for Greyback quite yet, my boy."

…

Every sound makes him jump. Somehow, the forest is even more frightening at night. He wonders if it's because of what he knows is lurking in the shadows, or because of the stories.

They say the trees grow so well because they're watered with blood. Salazar Slytherin, the first Green Hood, allegedly would hold rituals in the forest. They say he would kidnap villagers and sacrifice them.

Then there's the war. Countless enemy soldiers took refuge in the forest on their path to take Hogsmeade. No one knows what happened to them, only that their bodies were found, mutilated and warped beyond recognition.

The thought makes James shiver. He wraps his arms around himself as though to keep warm, knowing that it isn't the night's chill that makes him quiver. Being afraid is the worst. As a Red Hood, he is meant to be bold and daring.

James takes a deep breath and squints into the darkness. The forest isn't quite pitch black. The moonlight trickles through the branches in some places, speckling the area with a soft, milky glow. It isn't enough. It is still dark, and James hates it.

What if the wolves have night vision? What if they're all completely hopeless? Maybe Sirius had been right, and James should have stayed close to the treeline.

He shakes his head. "I will not be afraid," he whispers, sinking back into the dark. He keeps his eyes fixed upon the trap before him, and he listens, barely daring to breathe.

He can hear the sounds of the night. Owls, crickets, frogs. No howling. James wonders if the wolves knew of their arrival, if perhaps their need to survive kicked in.

He fights back a laugh. That would be his luck. Of course his first hunt would be spent wandering along blindly while the wolves laughed in the safety of their den.

Just as he starts to head for the treeline, he hears the first howl. Around him, all noise seems to fade in an instance. It seems he isn't the only one who had begun to get comfortable and assume that maybe this is a game.

He draws his sword, gripping it so tightly that he can feel his knuckles ache from the tension. Maybe this is what it truly means to be brave. Deep down, he is terrified, and it shows in the way his hand is as unsteady as his breathing. Even so, he holds his head high. He is ready; he will not fail.

…

James can barely contain his excitement as he makes his way to the training arena for the first time. He is finally eleven, and he can finally take his place among the defenders of Hogwarts.

He looks up and catches his father's eye, grinning. This is what he has spent years waiting for. He can finally prove himself and show his father what a powerful fighter he is.

Still grinning, he takes his sword. It feels strange in his hand, but it's a good sort of strange. A jolt seems to shoot through his arm, and he feels invincible.

He is one step closer, and he will not fail.

…

Something triggers his trap. James only sees a blur of shadow dart past, only to crash to the ground. It swears loudly and just as fluently as any human James has ever met.

Raising his sword, he steps closer. This is it. This is his final test, his way to prove himself. He wonders if anyone else has caught a wolf yet. A proud smile plays at his lips. He could be the first to bring back a wolf.

In the silvery moonlight, he can see the beast's yellow eyes…

But that's the only thing monstrous about his captive. The wolf looks like a boy around his age, scarred and frightened, desperately trying to untie the rope around his ankle.

"Please," the wolf whispers. "Please. It isn't my fault. I'm cursed."

Why did he have to look so human? James' sword shakes in his hand. Can he really take this boy's life?

Not a boy. Wolf. He is a monster.

"I never asked to be moon-touched," the wolf continues, shaking his head. His tawny hair thumps against his scarred face. "My father lived in Hogsmeade. He angered Greyback, and… I never asked for this."

"What is your name?"

It's a mistake to ask. Why would he want to learn the name of a monster? It will just make him even more human. But the question is out there now; James cannot take it back.

"Remus," the wolf says. "Remus Lupin." He groans and gives up his struggle with the rope, seeming to accept his fate. "Sometimes I just want to disappear."

James sheathes his sword and kneels, pulling a dagger from his boot. "If I let you go, what will you do?" he asks.

"Hide," Remus says. "I always hide. I do not like this little game that Greyback makes us play."

Wolves are dangerous. It's what he's been taught for years. Wolves do not have hearts, and they cannot be trusted.

There's something sincere in Remus' eyes, though, and James cannot bring himself to deal the killing blow. Instead, he brings the knife down, slashing the rope.

Remus scrambles to his feet, smiling kindly. "Thank you," he says, bowing. "What will you do?"

James turns. In the distance, he can see faint pinpricks of light, the smallest burst of an amber glow against the darkness. "I'm going to wait at the treeline," he answers. "Be safe, Remus Lupin."

"You do the same."

With that, the wolf runs off into the night, and James heads for the treeline. His father may be disappointed in him when morning comes, but James knows he has done the right thing.

…

"Daddy, Daddy!" Harry rushes forward, his yellow cloak dirty from his chores in the goat pen. "Why do we have to be Yellow Hoods?" He wrinkles his nose. "Daisy bit me. Again!"

James chuckles and picks his son up, kissing his nose. "What would you rather be?"

"A Red Hood! Just like Gra'pa!"

"Maybe when you're older," James says.

He hopes Harry will change his mind when the time comes. He doesn't want his son to learn the hard way that wolves are people too.