“Look on the bright side, Remus,” Peter said cheerfully, “at least it wasn’t you.”

The answering growl from his friend sounded ominous, but a werewolf’s bite was worse than his bark and Peter had never known Remus to stay angry for too long...

“C’mon, Moony, how was I to know he’d lick the memory potion I spilled?” Peter asked, wheedling, “it’ll be a cinch to find him, even if he thinks he’s a dog, Padfoot’s bound to be in the kitchens, so all we need is a nice juicy steak or something and then you can fix him — right?”