This was originally written and posted for the Obscuro! Challenge on AO3. It has now been beta'd by the following (many thanks to each of you for making the story better): Jojo, Blackamberblack, Purpleyin.
Burn everything you love, then burn the ashes.
My childhood spat back out the monster that you see.
~chap 1~
Full moon Tuesday, 21 August, 1956
A stocky little boy, arms laden with shopping, kicked open the wooden door to their farmhouse. The door slammed back against the wall. Behind him, his little sister jumped, nearly dropping her parcel, then their baby brother jolted awake in their mother's arms and let out a keening cry.
"Fen, you woke the baby." His mother juggled the infant as she followed her older children into the house, rocking the baby with one arm while levitating several packages through the door with her wand.
"Sorry, Mum." Fen dumped his load on a metal-backed kitchen chair and dug into one of the bags. He drew out a plain white oblong box but before he could pry the lid off his mother smacked his hand.
"You can play after you've put your things away."
Mrs. Manion shook her head as she followed the family into the kitchen. "Children these days, always in a hurry." With a flick of her wand she set her own packages on a chair beside the blue Formica table. "I swear I don't know what the world's coming to."
"So true," Fen's mother sighed.
Fen lifted a set of scales gently from one package and ran a finger along the perfectly balanced brass crossbar. It tipped one way and then back the other.
"Nellie, fetch a jar of pickles from the cellar, then help your brother with his things." Fen's mother transfigured her outer robe into an apron which covered the bodice and skirt of her floral patterned dress before setting a pot to boil, bouncing the baby on one hip. "Did you hear about the Grady girl?" she asked the other woman.
"I did and I was horrified, Mary." Mrs. Manion sat in another chair and patted her hair with one gloved hand. "A girl from good family ending up in that situation and no father in sight. You'd expect it of a muggle-born but her parents were upstanding pureblood wizards. Her father was a Flint, for Merlin's sake. I blame that Abbott girl he married for raising their daughter with such an appalling lack of morals. One of that family even married a muggle, if you can believe it."
Fen unpacked the number 2 size cauldron next. It was heavy as he set it on the tabletop and laid out the other items to take upstairs to his room. He eyed the white oblong box with longing. Soon he'd be able to levitate things wherever he needed with a swish of his wand.
His mother shook her head sadly. "I fear for the world our children will inherit. Just last week my Phineas and a few of the men had to run off that half-giant who tried to settle in town. Imagine, the nerve of him pushing his way in amongst decent folk."
"What are wizards coming to? Accio." Mrs. Manion caught the small hand mirror that jumped from her handbag to her outstretched hand and tucked a strand of brown hair back into her chignon.
Fen's mother flicked her wand again and set potatoes and carrots peeling before adding a dash of salt to the pot on the stove. "Next we'll have werewolves wanting to move in amongst us."
Mrs. Manion's hand froze. She still held the mirror but her gaze fixed on something beyond her own reflection. "Don't even joke about that."
Fen paused in the act of collecting his things to carry upstairs.
His mother caught her breath, one hand going to her heart as she spun to face the other woman. "Em, I'm so sorry. I forgot. That must have been terrible for you."
Em Manion's hand shook as she carefully set the mirror on the table, her face pallid. "It was." Her voice was hoarse. "I've never seen anything like it in all my years. The whole family murdered, bodies so badly mauled they were nigh unrecognizable except for their shoes and hair."
Fen stared at Mrs. Manion, his precious bundles temporarily forgotten. "You saw the werewolf?"
"Thank Merlin, no. They're evil creatures." She shuddered. "But I saw what one of them did to his own family."
His own family? Fen blinked.
"No one's safe near them. They're not human, just rabid beasts who should be locked up, every last one."
Nellie skipped back into the kitchen carrying a kilner jar in both hands. She held it out to her mother, then squeaked in surprise when Mary crushed her in a hug.
"Mum, you're squishing me."
Fen's mother kissed the top of his sister's head and let her wiggle away.
He reached for his new wand again. At school, he'd learn to use it to fight monsters like werewolves and then he'd keep his family safe. He swished it in the air in a figure eight pattern, remembering how silver sparks erupted when he tried it in the shop. No evil creature would ever hurt his mother or his sister or even his noisy baby brother as long as he was around.
Mrs. Manion took a breath, then ran a hand through her hair and smoothed her skirt. "I have to get home and get a meal started before my man gets there." She gathered her parcels with a practiced swish of her wand. "I'll see you tomorrow, Mary."
"Good night, Em." After the door closed, Fen's mother lifted the baby to her shoulder, patting its back and crooning as she walked toward the bedroom at the back of the house. "Fen, leave the wand be and finish packing."
With a heavy sigh, the boy put his new wand back into the box, gathered up a pile of black school robes, and stuck his pointed black hat on top. Excitement bubbled up again at the pile of treasure. It was the first time he had ever owned new robes – well, two out of three were new – and his stomach flip-flopped with elation knowing he would be wearing them at Hogwarts. He was finally old enough for school. He would be learning real spells and potions and how to use his wand.
His little sister set the jar of pickles on the counter and stared at the packages Fen had spread across the table. "Can I help?" Her eyes were round as she reached to touch the scales.
He pulled it out of her reach and tucked it inside the cauldron. "That's too heavy. Here, you can carry these."
He handed her a pair of imitation dragon-hide gloves, then tucked the telescope beside the scales and piled his robes and hat on top. He carefully lugged the lot upstairs, his sister at his heels.
In the bedroom he shared with his sister, he laid the neatly folded black cloth in the old trunk sitting open beside his bed and smoothed out a wrinkle. The pointed hat, used but in good shape, went on top. He paused a moment to run his finger over the telescope and imagine how he would amaze his teachers and classmates with his knowledge of the stars and moon. Then next year, Nellie would join him at Hogwarts and he would show her around, introduce her to the friends he would make, and help her with homework.
Nellie handed him the gloves before she flopped onto her bed, propped her chin on her hands, and stared at the half-filled, scarred trunk their father had used when he was a student. "When I go to school, I'm gonna have a cat."
Fen made a face. "You're not gonna have a cat." He had wanted an owl, but familiars were not required and his mother had made that embarrassed grimace she wore when they could not afford something.
Arms akimbo, he surveyed his packing. He had memorized the list, and he mentally checked off each item. All was ready. One more week and he would board the train that would take him to Hogwarts.
At that thought, he darted down the stairs again to retrieve the oblong box. He pushed aside the crinkly white paper and ran his fingers along the wood, feeling it quiver at his touch. Fen snatched the wand from its paper nest and darted to the back door.
His mother returned to the kitchen after putting the baby in his crib. "Fen, it's dinner time. Where d' you think you're going?" She put both hands on her hips.
"To visit Eoin. You promised I could show him my wand."
Eoin had returned from Diagon Alley last week, blue eyes shining as he recounted how many wands he had to try before his final selection.
Fen's mother looked out the kitchen window, her forehead creased. "It's late. Supper'll be ready in a few minutes."
"But you said I could. I won't be long, I promise I'll be home in time for supper." Fen clutched the 10 ¼" length of hawthorn, rigid and straight at the grip with a bend part way and a crooked tip. "Please." He folded his hands and peered up with his best pleading expression.
Her features relaxed into an indulgent sigh. "Okay." As he flung open the door she called, "But you come right back. You can't be out after dark."
He shouted his agreement as he darted out the door and raced for the path that led across the meadow. He felt like skipping but that would be too babyish and he was eleven now.
Eoin was crouched beside the rocky edge of the neighbour's duck pond, a place the boys often met to skip stones or scare the ducks, staring intently at the ground by his feet. Fen slowed his pace, watching as Eoin's brow furrowed in concentration and his arm jerked up and down as his lips moved.
"What're you doing?" Fen asked.
Eoin jumped up, startled, and hid his hand behind his back. "Nothing."
"Huh." Fen dug a toe into the ground where Eoin had crouched. There was nothing but a few grains of barley stuck in the mud. "Were you trying to do magic? You know that isn't allowed outside school and you haven't even gone to school yet."
Eoin's face reddened under his freckles. "I know that."
"You were, you were trying to do magic."
"What if I was?" He stuck out his chin and stared up at Fen, no longer hiding his wand. Even though Eoin was five months older and not a small boy, Fen topped him by a head.
Without speaking, Fen pulled his new treasure from his back pocket and held his palm out. It felt slightly warm in his hand, sending a tingle up his arm.
His friend's eyes widened. "You got your wand."
Fen glanced around, but there was no one in sight. He lowered his voice, bending closer to Eoin. "Can you show me the spell?"
The red-head likewise looked around before both of them crouched down at the edge of the pond. He pointed to the barley abandoned in the sticky mud. "It's a spell to levitate. Say wingardium leviosa and you have to kinda wave the wand like this." Eoin demonstrated.
Fen held out his wand, hand trembling despite his effort to appear calm and confident, and said the funny words. There was another tingle in his arm but no silver sparks. He repeated the words and actions but the grains remained stuck.
"No, like this." Eoin tried again without success.
Fen nudged him aside. He said the words louder and waved his wand with a bit more force. The barley did not levitate.
They continued taking turns.
Finally, there was a shimmer and a faint whisper of smoke.
"There!" Fen cried. "It moved."
"No, it didn't." Eoin shook his head. "My turn."
Fen's wand grew warmer as the minutes passed. His elbow ached. The only consolation to his repeated failures was that Eoin was no more successful with the spell than he was.
The sun sank lower as they continued their fruitless attempts, growing more frustrated and snapping at each other, until Fen had to squint to see the grain in the twilight and still the barley refused to budge. Jumping to his feet, Fen dug his heel into the ground, kicking and gouging at the mud until the seeds had been obliterated.
Panting, he frowned at how dark it was. The ducks floated noiselessly across a patch of water in the twilight, the area silent except for crickets chirping. The failed magic was forgotten as dread curled in his stomach at the scolding waiting for him for being out this late. He shouted a farewell to his friend and bolted across the meadow.
He slowed, dragging his feet as a dozen possible excuses ran through his head, each discarded in turn as unlikely to pacify his mother. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and kicked a stone aside.
It was the smell he noticed first. He paused, nose scrunched at the stench: a combination of wet dog hair and foul breath. Heart pounding, he lifted his head and looked around but it was too dark to see far.
A rumbling growl reached his ears. He began to run. His toe caught a rock and he stumbled, palms and knees skidding across thorny weeds and rocky dirt of the path.
A blurry form streaked toward him, silvery grey in the moon's glow. For a moment, Fen thought Tom's sheepdog had gotten loose again, but it was much larger than a dog. He jumped to his feet and began to run again.
Then the creature leapt on him, jaws open. He cried out in pain, trying to shield his head with his arms. Sobbing with pain and fear, he fell to the ground.
Fen heard voices, but they were muffled as if his head was stuffed with wool. The back of his skull throbbed, the skin of his arms stung, and there was a heavy weight on his wrists. Tears sprang to his eyes when he tried to move. The muffled voices and pain faded to unconsciousness.
He woke to the sweet smell of herbs. He blinked and cracked open his eyelids. Needles of dust drifted in a beam of sunlight from one tiny, dirty window. The floor beneath him was hard and level. It was no longer night and he was not in the meadow but it was not his bed; he was on the floor in the attic. There was a bad taste in his mouth. His head still ached.
The pain was less this time as he shifted, but he was unable to push himself to a sitting position. When he lifted his head, he saw that his shirt was gone but he still wore his trousers, which were torn at the knee and filthy. He turned his head slowly to see that his bandage-wrapped arms were manacled.
There were voices again, clearer as they came closer, possibly in the hallway or on the stairs leading to the attic.
"How did this happen?" his stepfather demanded.
"I let my attention lapse." Fen did not recognize the man's voice. "I allowed myself to be distracted by a report of another werewolf spotted in the City. I believed that was the greater danger – an unregistered werewolf in a highly populated area – and trusting enough to suppose the creature I was assigned to oversee had properly secured himself."
The man did not sound like anyone Fen knew. Was it an Auror or an official from the Ministry? Fen tried to recall what had happened. He and Eoin had attempted magic. Were they in trouble? Was his friend locked up somewhere? Would they be banned from school?
"By the time I realised the report was false, I found my charge had fled. I tracked him here, catching up only minutes after the moon rose, but it was too late. All I could do was destroy the creature and tend to your boy there."
"He's not my lad," Fen's stepfather snapped.
Fen suddenly wished his father was there. He remembered warm brown eyes and a kindly smile. His father would know what was happening and who the stranger was and he would explain it to Fen.
"Will he be all right?" It was his mother's voice, though high and strained.
"The wounds will heal. I've put a mixture of powdered silver and dittany on the wounds and poured a blood-replenishing potion down his throat," the stranger said.
Nose wrinkled, Fen tried to spit the bad taste from his mouth. Then he raised one arm as high as it could go. His skin was glittery under the white bandages. He had been hurt. There had been a dog or something. Images flashed of teeth and claws and horrible breath. The memories hurt and Fen pushed them away.
"But will he be all right?" His mother's voice was still high and thin but much quieter, a desperate whisper. "He's not … he can't be one of them."
"We'll know soon enough."
"You should've let him die rather than live like an animal." His stepfather's deep voice was rougher than usual.
"Phineas." His mother's voice quivered in horror.
The fear in her voice stirred a lump of cold dread in the pit of Fen's stomach. The ache at the base of his skull began pounding its way up the back of his head.
The door to the attic room cracked open. The light slanting in the window was in Fen's eyes, making it hard to see who stood there. He squinted. His step-father was wide-shouldered with a bushy black beard; the man in the doorway had a slimmer build and smooth chin. He wore a long grey coat with black buttons.
Fen's step-father shouldered the stranger aside. Fen's mother peered past her husband.
"Mum!"
"He's fine." She turned in relief to the man in the grey coat.
The stranger shook his head. "They look normal enough in daylight." His thin lips compressed in a tight line. "They look very different by moonlight. There's nothing human left when they change."
His mother's gaze came back to Fen, her lower lip trembling. "No, he's human. He is."
Her voice rose. Frightened, Fen yanked against his restraints.
His stepfather grasped her shoulders and gave her a little shake. "Mary, you got to be strong. You can't do anything for him if he's already gone. Think of the little ones."
She huddled closer to her husband's broad shoulders, blinking back tears as she nodded.
"Moonrise is only a few hours away," the stranger said.
"The full moon was last night." His step-father's statement sounded more like a question.
"The symptoms are less harsh the night before and after a full moon but unmistakably present. We'll know for certain very soon."
"Here?" His mother's voice was higher yet. "If that's a … a … one of those creatures we'll be cut to ribbons. My daughter's only nine, and the babe …"
Fen tugged at the metal around his wrists. He had to protect his mother and his little sister and baby brother from whatever was threatening them. Even his stepfather sounded frightened. Why did they not explain to him what was going on?
"I can't put my wife and little one in danger," his stepfather said.
"He's restrained and I'll be watching him. There's no danger to your family."
"Seems to me you ain't that reliable." Fen's stepfather shuffled back into the hallway. "Mary, you and Nellie and the baby stay at the Manion place tonight."
A shiver crawled up Fen's spine along with a horrible suspicion he pushed aside as too terrifying. His head ached worse now than when he had woken.
His mother's face was pale and her lower lip trembled as the stranger's arm reached around her to pull the door closed. Why were they leaving him here?
"Mum?" Fen whispered. His throat was scratchy. He coughed. "Mum?" he yelled louder.
The door remained closed. The cold lump in his stomach spread. His fingers trembled. The ache in his skull pounded behind his eyes. He pulled against the restraints that held his arms at his sides.
Something bad was out there. It was coming for them. It had scared his family into leaving and he would not be there to protect them. His gaze was pulled to the tiny window where the white skeletal outline of the moon was visible in the bright blue sky. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled.
"Mum!" he shouted.
There were occasional thumps below and once Fen heard raised voices, but the door to the attic did not open again. His stomach churned and a restless energy grew as the light outside the window faded to a red glow. His mouth was dry and his bladder uncomfortably full, but his thoughts were mired in a rising flood of nausea and dread.
It was dark beyond the window when the wooden door creaked open. The stranger with the grey coat and black buttons stood there again, a single candle in his hand.
Fen craned his neck to see past the thin figure in the doorway, but there was no sign or sound of anyone in the hall beyond. "Where's my mum?" His voice was hoarse in his dry throat.
The stranger did not answer, only came closer to set the candle on a short table near the door. He glanced at the dark sky through the grubby pane of glass, then settled himself in the single metal chair, arms crossed, and leaned back. His wand was tucked into a pocket of his long coat.
There was a glimmer of light in the starry sky beyond the window. Fen found his eyes drawn there, as if he was searching for something. He opened his mouth to ask the stranger if he had called Fen's name, then the first pain hit.
It was worse than the gashes on his arms and leg, worse than the pounding in his head. It felt like he was being stretched in all directions and simultaneously stabbed with hot pokers in his joints. He screamed, but it came out as a croak. His ears felt as if they were being yanked from his head. His jaw cracked and his finger bones splintered. The ache from his injuries vanished in the burning that engulfed his whole body. He heard more than saw the strange man in the long coat draw his wand, but even that small observation was overshadowed by agony.
When the pain subsided, Fen still lay shackled on the floor, his eyes fixed on the purple sky outside, lightening to pink as the sun rose. Every limb was sore and his torso and hair were soaked with sweat. Fen was breathing hard, his lungs gasping for air as if he had run all the way from the duck pond but he was certain he had not moved in many hours. He remembered lying here, screaming in rage, jaws snapping. Jaws? And he had clawed the floor.
Fen looked at the floorboards beneath the shackles on his hands. There were gouges in the wood, ragged strips torn from the weathered grey.
The stranger stood, pocketed his wand, and moved to the door. He was gone for several long moments, minutes or maybe an hour, Fen was too exhausted to tell. The sky slowly turned blue and birds shouted to each other outside, but it remained utterly quiet in the house.
Fen tried to make sense of the images in his head, images tinged with a fuzzy edge and overpowered by smells and sounds. He had sensed, but not seen, a mouse that sniffed at the attic door last night before he growled and it scampered away in fright. He had tried to get at the stranger who sat in the chair so close that Fen could smell his loathing. The sensations felt like memories more than dreams, yet they were too simplistic to be human memories: full of sensory input but devoid of deep thought and fuzzy around the edges.
Downstairs, a door slammed. When the strange man returned, he carried a thick iron key which he used to unlock the shackles that held Fen to the floorboards. He tossed down a clean shirt and trousers and motioned for the boy to get up and dressed.
Rubbing his wrists, Fen complied. His neck was stiff, but the gashes on his arms and leg had nearly healed. There was barely a twinge as he slipped his arms into the shirt and buttoned it. The stranger's potions were effective, even though he did not seem to be a healer. Fen's head still ached. "What's going on? What happened to me?"
Without answering, the stranger picked up the shackles, shrunk them, and tucked them into a pocket of his long coat along with the key. Then the stranger motioned Fen to precede him out the door and down the stairs.
"Where are we going?"
"Down to the kitchen."
Fen did not think that was their final destination. "And then?" He paused to look back over his shoulder.
"Somewhere safe."
The stranger's impatient tone discouraged further questions. Fen faced forward and continued down. His mother would explain.
As he passed his room on the second floor, he glanced inside. His school trunk still sat in the middle of the floor and he glimpsed the telescope and scales perched atop his clothes and robes. Then they descended the last flight of stairs to the kitchen.
His mother and stepfather were there, his arms around her shoulders and her face pressed into his neck. His little sister clung to their mother's leg, hair straggling from her blonde braids.
"Mum!" Fen tried to run to her but the stranger's hand clamped on his shoulder.
His mother turned toward the stranger, her eyes red-rimmed. "Is he …?"
Fen looked at the man in confusion as he nodded.
His mother broke into sobs, burying her face in her husband's shirt.
"You scared her!" Fen twisted against the thin man's hold.
The man gave him a hard shake and his teeth rattled. The pounding in his head increased tenfold.
"Hey!" Fen's little sister let go of their mother and took a step toward him.
"Nellie!" Their mother grabbed her, letting go of her husband to hold the little girl tight. "Don't. Stay away from it."
Fen redoubled his efforts to get free. Something was very wrong for his mother to look so frightened.
"Stupefy!"
Fen felt his body freeze when the stranger's spell hit. He could not move, much less protect his mother and sister.
"What happens now?" Fen's stepfather asked.
"I'll take him to a safe house. They'll keep him fed and we'll ensure he doesn't hurt anyone."
"My boy is gone." Fen's mother clutched her daughter tightly and sobbed.
Nellie threw her arms around her mother and began crying as well.
Fen tried with all his strength to fight the effects of the spell that held him immobile. He cold not let the stranger take him away when everything was so confused.
"This is your fault," Phineas accused the stranger, patting his wife's stooped shoulder with one thick hand. "It's your fault the boy's lost to us. We deserve compensation."
The stranger sighed deeply. "It is my fault but there is nothing more I can offer you than my regrets. I'm sorry for your loss."
They act like I'm dead, Fen thought. He tried to open his mouth to scream. I'm not dead.
With a sad shake of his head, the thin man collected Fen's stiff body and Disapparated them both away. Fen wanted to call out to his mother, reassure her, hug her, but his entire body was frozen. His last glimpse was her tear-stained face pressed against his sister's blonde braids.
The morning sun was shrouded by thick grey clouds when they landed in a cobblestone alley squeezed between tall brick walls. The air was dank and smelled like a compost heap during rain, though few raindrops reached the bottom of the well of dirty buildings.
Fen flexed his arms and legs, glad to have freedom of motion again, though the stranger retained his grip on Fen's shoulder. Unsure where he was or which direction led home, Fen allowed himself to be steered toward a wooden door in the back of one of the buildings. The stranger knocked three times and then waited until it was opened just enough for an eye to peer out.
The eye blinked once before a short woman with an apron tied around her ample belly opened the door wide. "Lyall, come in, come in, you'll catch your death out there." Inside the entryway, she peered at Fen, bending slightly to bring her wizened face close to his.
Her lips were big, her breath was sour, and he flinched.
She shook her head and looked up at the thin stranger. "Another?"
The man nodded.
"Recent?"
"Night before last."
The woman turned back to Fen and laid a plump hand on his cheek.
He shook it off. "Where's my mum?"
"Your mother isn't able to take care of you anymore." She straightened and led the way into the dark depths of the tall brick building.
Fen glared as her wide backside disappeared down the hallway. His mother could take care of anything. Then panic crept up his spine as the man shut the wooden door to block out the mist and stink of the alley, trapping Fen inside with strangers. He felt the hand on his shoulder push him toward a room lit by candles and oozing steam.
In the kitchen, another boy sat at a spindly wooden table in a corner. He spooned up something that looked like gruel and smelled like sour milk. His elbows were on the table, his head bowed low over his wooden bowl with dirty-blond hair obscuring his face. Fen thought the boy peered up at them through his fringe of lank hair.
Despite the unappetizing smell, Fen's stomach gurgled.
"You must be hungry …" The apron woman looked inquiringly at the stranger.
"Fenrir is his name. This is his." The man she had called Lyall withdrew a familiar length of hawthorn from one of the pockets of his long coat.
"You must be hungry, Fenrir. I'm Mrs. Jackson. Sit in the chair at the table and I'll fetch you a bowl of porridge." She tucked his wand into her apron.
"I'd rather go home," he said. He looked pleadingly at her, ashamed of having to beg mercy from this unknown woman but too tired and hungry and confused to hold it back. "Please, I don't know this man and I don't know you and I don't know my way home. Mum will be making breakfast soon and I want to go home." He was slightly out of breath at the end of this entreaty.
It was the stranger who answered instead. "This is your home," he said curtly.
Fen ignored that ridiculous statement. He stared at the woman's broad face framed by a few frizzy grey-black curls which escaped from a kerchief on her head.
"This is your home for a little while." Her tone was gentler than the stranger's, though nothing like his mother's voice. "This is a safe place, that's why Mr. Lupin brought you here."
"I want to go home," Fen whispered. "I don't want be here."
"Well, it's only until you're old enough," Mrs. Jackson said. She gestured to the chair again and turned to collect a bowl and spoon from her creaky wooden cupboards before moving to the stove. Her broad back blocked the pot and most of the stove from view.
"I'll be going, Connie."
She said farewell without looking back.
For a moment, Fen stared into the dark corridor where the thin man had vanished, panicked at the disappearance of the person who had brought him here and knew where home was, even though he hated the man.
Mrs. Jackson turned with a second bowl of sour-milk-smelling mush in hand to see Fen had not moved. "Go on, sit. After you eat, Pippin will show you where you'll sleep."
Torn between running from the room, out of the house into the stinking alley, and simply curling into a ball on the floor, Fen stood, knees shaking. He had never been further from home than their one shopping trip to the City to buy his school supplies and he did not know how to get back to the farm. He heard the far door close and the crack of Apparition. Lupin was gone. Fen was stranded here.
But he was not going to curl up on the floor and cry. Slowly, he took a seat across from the fair-haired boy while Mrs. Jackson set a bowl and spoon in front of him. The gruel did not taste much better than it smelled, but it filled his empty belly. As soon as he was done, Pippin got to his feet and jerked his chin toward the dark corridor.
"Fenrir, keep this in your room." Connie Jackson handed Fen his wand. "You'll only be allowed to have it during lessons."
He took the wand and clenched it tightly. She said he would only be here until he was old enough. That must mean old enough to board the train to school next week. He only had to wait a week to see his family. He followed the other boy down a hall and up a narrow set of creaky stairs.
"This 'ere's the bedroom." Pippin gestured to a cramped space barely big enough for two single beds, one chair, and one wardrobe. "That's my bed there. You c'n have t'other."
The other bed was a thin mattress with a single blanket, no sheets or pillow, tucked in a corner. It was dimly lit by a windowpane on the far wall with a view of the brown brick wall opposite. The room was sweltering.
"You got any things 'sides your wand?" Pippin asked.
Fen shook his head. "It's all at home."
The other boy gave him a sharp look from beneath his ragged fringe of hair. "Well, you c'n share the wardrobe when you get extra clothes." He gestured again with one skinny hand. "We share most o' the space 'cept what's under our beds. That's private."
Fen glanced curiously at the bed the older boy had claimed. A cardboard box was tucked beneath.
"I gotta be at work by 9:00." Pippin glanced out the window, though the cloud-shrouded sunlight made it difficult to tell how late in the morning it was.
Surprised, Fen examined the skinny boy, not much taller than Fen. Even though Fen was bigger than most boys his age, Pippin could not be more than fourteen, too young to be finished school. "Where d' you work?"
"At the warehouse. I reckon you'll be workin' there soon enough."
Fen blinked. "But school starts next week."
The other boy gave a startled snort. "No school 'd take the likes of us. I gotta go. Make yourself at home. See you at supper." Pippin disappeared back down the stairway.
Fen stared after him. No school? Mrs. Jackson had mentioned lessons. Maybe Pippin was too old for all he only looked a few years older than Fen.
"Fenrir," a voice called from the bottom of the stairs.
He went into the hallway and squinted down the darkened stairwell. Mrs. Jackson stood there, her arms laden with cloth, a limp pillow on top. She gestured him closer and he descended the stairs.
"Here's some bedding for you and an extra set of clothes. They might be big." She eyed his stocky form. "Well, they might be long in the arm and leg but they'll fit good enough. Did Pippin show you your room?"
"Yes."
"Good. Make your bed and hang up your clothes, then you can help me around the house today. I have a few chores and my back aches like the dickens so an extra hand'll be useful today." She passed the armful of cloth to Fen. "Tomorrow, breakfast is at 8:00, then Pippin'll take you to the warehouse and introduce you. Supper's at 7:00. Wash your hands before meals, keep your room neat, help with the dishes, and be polite. I do the laundry and cooking and cleaning."
Fen frowned at the thick layer of dust on the doorframe above his head. His mother would be horrified. Perhaps it was just as well there were no portraits on the walls; at home, his mother dusted each framed family picture daily. Here, only faded flowery paper covered the top half of the bare walls.
"Meet me in the kitchen after you put those away." Connie Jackson turned and waddled back down the hall without any of his mother's natural grace.
He watched her go. Then he took the bedding and clothes up to his room, made the bed, hung up the shirt and trousers, and tucked his wand under his pillow. He sat on the thin mattress and stared out the dirty pane at the brick wall on the other side of the alley.
Much of what had happened in the last day was confusing, but there were a few things he knew. First, the creature that attacked him had not been Tom's dog. The stranger with the button-up coat had spoken of a werewolf, a monster that that had once been a person. Second, Fen was still alive, that meant he was now one of those monsters even though he felt human, at least in the daytime. Last night, the moon had called to the monster inside him and his mind had twisted like his body. He could recall smells, the incredible strength that tensed powerful leg muscles, and the instinct that drove him to seek raw flesh, but while in that form his awareness was clouded. His human mind was there but not in control, just as his human sight was overshadowed by his heightened sense of smell and hearing. That monster frightened his family. That monster frightened him. Because of that monster, the stranger took him away.
Fen thought Lyall Lupin must know a lot about werewolves, but the sour-faced man had not offered information, nor had he seemed inclined to answer questions. Fen wanted to know how long it would be until he was cured, or at least well enough to safely go home. He wanted to learn about this curse and how it was treated. But Lupin had left and the plump woman did not seem like a healer or official, so he would have to wait until he got to school for answers. Professors knew about all kinds of magic and magical creatures, plus they would have mountains of books. He would learn about the changes that happened to him and how to live with them.
He wished he could talk to his mother. He would see her at the train station on Saturday. He would promise to study hard and learn to control this monster. His mother would give him a hug and kiss and wish him well and his sister would say goodbye and tell him to write her all about it and he would probably see Eoin on the train. Everything would be back to how it should be. One week from now, he would be off to school and leave this dismal place behind.
It was just one week.
Fen was used to hard work. He was used to chores. But he was not used to labouring for nine hours straight, indoors, without the company of family or friends. Mrs. Jackson did not sound or smell or look like his mum. By the end of the day, he was hungry and he missed his mother and his sister and even the irritating wails of his baby brother. He would have happily listened to one of Nellie's endless annoying made-up stories just for the sound of her familiar little girl voice.
At 7:00, as promised, Mrs. Jackson had a meal ready. Pippin had returned and was already seated when Fen entered the kitchen. The room smelled like boiled cabbage and there was a haze of smoke as well as steam. Fen's nose twitched but his mouth watered at the sight of the steaming bowls on the table.
He picked up a spoon and dug into the watery broth. It was bland, but the potatoes and cabbage were cooked and he had finished his entire bowl before Pippin had eaten half of his. Mrs. Jackson lifted one black brow and then refilled Fen's bowl before she set the pot to soak and then sat down with her own supper.
The meal passed in silence. Pippin's pale hair hid his face, bent over his bowl. When Fen had finished his second serving, Mrs. Jackson set him to washing dishes. Having his hands in hot water in the warm room sent sweat trickling down his back in a steady stream and his shoulder blades itched.
After the water was drained and the last pot left to sit upside down beside the sink, Fen followed Pippin up the stairs. Pippin knelt on the floor and pulled a cardboard box from under his bed. He retrieved parchment and a piece of charcoal and began sketching, sitting on his bed with the parchment on his bent knees.
Fen went to his own bed and watched the other boy but Pippin never looked up from his drawing. Outside the dirty window pane all Fen could see was grey. A cat yowled and a bin rattled. Fen lay on his side on top of the scratchy wool blanket, pulled his knees to his chest, and stared at the bare wooden floor until he fell asleep.
Pippin did not take Fen to the warehouse the next day after all; instead, Friday was a repeat of the first day at Mrs. Jackson's. On the weekend, Pippin helped with the household chores alongside Fen, then Monday he went to work again. For Fen, each day was the same: breakfast, chores, supper, then sit in his room and stare at the floor until he fell asleep. Except for the daylight that filtered into his bedroom between the brick buildings outside the window, Fen would not have known the world outside continued to exist.
At breakfast on Wednesday, seven days after his arrival, Mrs. Jackson announced Fen would accompany Pippin to work. Fen found himself looking forward to being outside. Saturday, September 1 was still three days away and the prospect of spending that entire time inside these walls made him cringe.
Fen finished his porridge faster than usual, then waited impatiently for Pippin to take his last spoonful. Finally, the older boy slid off his chair and ambled down the corridor. When the door opened to the alley, Fen shouldered the skinny boy aside and darted through the doorway.
The smell of rotten food and urine was stronger in the morning sunlight than it had been that cloudy dawn he had arrived. Fen sucked in a lungful of air but the smog made him cough. He blinked several times, looking around at the towering brick walls coated in grime which blocked any breeze there may have been. High above was a narrow rectangle of sky, blue with wispy shreds of greyish cloud.
"Comin'?" Pippin had paused a few steps away to look back over his narrow shoulder.
Fen nodded and the two of them set off towards the street. When they reached the mouth of the alley, the foul smells abated but the noise level increased. Fen walked close behind Pippin, trying not to stare at people lounging in doorways or hurrying along the pavement. Occasionally there would be a pop of Apparition and once or twice voices raised in argument echoed down from an open window or doorway.
Two streets up, Pippin turned right and continued until he came to a two-story building without windows and walls made of concrete blocks. He pushed open a metal door that screeched against the cement floor as it swung inwards.
A short man in coarse navy blue shirt and trousers hurried over. "Pippin, you can get straight to work. I'll take the new boy to the boss." The man made a flapping motion with his hands and Pippin ambled further into the recesses of the huge storeroom while Fen waited uncertainly. "This way, this way."
Fen hurried after the supervisor, weaving around stacks of wooden crates and barrels until they reached a narrow stair leading up to a glassed-in room that overlooked the warehouse floor. The man opened the glass door and waved Fen inside.
The office was crowded with metal filing cabinets each of which had scrolls of parchment stacked on top and spilling from the overflowing drawers. In the middle of the room was a wooden desk buried under more scrolls.
Sitting on a straight-backed chair, head bent over the desk as her quill scratched across a parchment that trailed down to the floor, was a woman with grey hair cropped short, the ends curling at her nape and forehead in the warm office. "What?" she barked without looking up.
"This here's the new one from Connie's."
"Ah." The woman put down her quill and sat back. She folded her arms across her plump chest and looked Fen up and down. "You're a sturdy sort. How old are you? Thirteen? Fourteen?"
"Eleven."
Her grey brows went up. "Well. We'll get a good few years out of you then."
Years? "I start school on Saturday." Fen puffed out his chest.
The woman narrowed her eyes at him. "Your kind ain't safe around other children."
His kind? Fen frowned in confusion at her malevolent expression. He was not a danger in the daytime, and soon he would learn how to restrain the monster that came out when called by the full moon. Maybe Mrs. Jackson had not explained that to these people.
"Put him to work cleaning section seven. Some idiot tried bringing in a load of gurdyroot without proper permits from the Ministry and the whole lot ended up going bad sitting in our warehouse. You can't scourgify that stuff, so it won't matter this one's underage."
"Yes, ma'am." The short man executed a near bow, and then tugged Fen out of the office by his sleeve.
Fen followed down the wooden steps that led from the office to the warehouse floor. In section seven, Fen was told to carry each mouldy-smelling crate to a bin in the alley behind the warehouse, pry off the lid, pick through the mushy contents for any pieces still salvageable, then dump the rest. After he had emptied about a dozen crates, he had to scrub them with cold, soapy water and then stack them by the door. The salvaged gurdyroot went into another crate near the door.
Several hours later, Fen tucked his wrinkled hands under his armpits to warm them. The gurdyroot smelled like garlic and looked like green onion. He glanced down the alley to ensure he was alone, then took a bite of the least squishy piece. He immediately spit it out and wiped his tongue with the back of a hand, then coughed and spluttered until none of the horrible-tasting root remained in his mouth though the foul taste lingered.
Friday passed much the same as Thursday, except Fen did not meet with the boss lady in her office before being taken to section seven. Friday evening he lay on his cot, staring out the window, unable to sleep. Tomorrow he would see his family. Tomorrow he would collect his trunk and be on his way to school. The bossy woman at the warehouse would have to find someone else to clean up her nasty gurdyroot mess. He could barely wait to feel his mother's hug and see his little sister's smile. His baby brother might even have another tooth by now.
He wondered if Mr. Lupin would be the one to take him to King's Cross Station or if his mother would pick him up. Probably Lupin would take him since the thin man was the only one who knew where he had taken Fen.
Beyond the window, the brick wall faded into darkness, then eventually lightened to grey again, and finally it was bright enough to see individual bricks stained with soot and mould. Pippin remained asleep but Fen could not lie still any longer. He slipped from under the blanket and dressed in the clothes he had been wearing when he arrived in this house. The clothes Mrs. Jackson had given him he folded and laid on top of the cot. He retrieved his wand from beneath the pillow and tucked it in his pocket, then slipped down the stairs and into the kitchen, feeling his way through the darkened halls.
The kitchen was eerily silent. Fen had not been in this room without Mrs. Jackson bustling about, cooking or cleaning. The only light was from the banked flames beneath the oven, a faint red glow that emphasized the room's dark corners. He felt his way to the shelf where he had seen Mrs. Jackson get fresh candles and lit one from the oven.
"What are you doing awake, Fenrir?"
He spun at the sound of her voice and nearly dropped the candle.
"Breakfast won't be ready for an hour yet." She regarded him for a moment, arms on her wide hips. "You can help me since you're here. Give me the candle and fetch the cooking pot."
Fen helped Mrs. Jackson make breakfast. Just before they finished, Pippin ambled in, his lank hair messier than usual.
"You boys are going to wash windows today," Mrs. Jackson said as she served them each a bowl.
Fen looked worriedly at her. Was there time for chores before his train left?
"Pippin, you know what to do. I'm leaving Fenrir in your care."
The fair-haired boy nodded without looking up from his breakfast.
Fen fidgeted in his seat but held back his questions. Surely she would know what time he needed to be at the station so the Hogwarts Express must not leave for a few hours yet. That was a disappointment.
After he and Pippin had eaten, they washed the dishes and then Pippin led the way to where buckets and ladders were stored. As he dipped his rag in lukewarm soapy water and scrubbed the inside of each window in the dingy house, seeing rooms he had not been in before, Fen watched anxiously outside. By pressing his face against the highest windows, he could catch a glimpse of the sky and he carefully tracked the sun as it came closer to being overhead. A few times, Pippin spoke sharply to him and Fen snapped his attention back to the task at hand, but for the most part they worked in silence.
Finally, he tossed down his rag, shouted to Pippin that he had to see Mrs. Jackson, and raced toward the kitchen. Fen stood awkwardly in the doorway, shifting his weight from foot to foot while Mrs. Jackson hummed as she put away clean dishes.
She turned and started, then put one hand on her ample chest. "Mercy, Fenrir, what are you hovering for? You can't be done with them windows."
He clenched his hands and stuffed them into his trouser pockets. "I'd rather wait here."
Her black brows drew together. "Wait for what?"
"For the stranger. I mean Mr. Lupin."
Her forehead crinkled more. "Lyall Lupin? We won't see him for three more weeks."
Fen frowned. Had he remembered the date wrong? No, September 1 was definitely the date the train left for school. "Who's taking me to the station, then?"
Mrs. Jackson put her hands on her hips. "What station? What are you talking about, boy?"
"The train to school." He bit back his impatience. "Mum has my trunk. Will she meet me at the station? Is she coming here? What time does the train leave?"
An incredulous expression came over Mrs. Jackson, followed by an odd mix of irritation and pity which confused him more. "Fenrir, do you mean the Hogwarts Express?"
Finally they were getting somewhere. "Yes," he said eagerly. "When does it leave?"
She glanced at the mantel clock on a high shelf beside the door. "I expect it's leaving about now."
He felt his heart stutter in his chest. They had waited too long!
"But, Fenrir, you're not going to school."
His heart began pumping again, pounding in his ears. "Yes, I am. I'm old enough now. I waited the week."
She shook her head slowly, tight grey-black curls shaking underneath her kerchief. "You'll stay here until you're old enough to be out on your own, but you won't be going to school."
Her image wavered in front of his eyes. He blinked and tried to make sense of her words. "I'm old enough for school," he whispered. "I'm eleven. Mum has my school trunk; we bought everything on the list. She'll be waiting for me at the station."
"No, she won't." Mrs. Jackson hesitated, then reached a hand toward him. She had not attempted to touch him since he had been here.
He flinched away. "Yes, she's waiting for me. I have to be on the train to school."
"Now, listen here –"
"I HAVE TO GO!" Fen spun and raced for the outer door.
"Come back here," Mrs. Jackson shouted.
Ignoring her, he threw open the wooden door and raced down the alley to the corner. On the street he paused and looked both ways. Where was the train station?
He grabbed the shirt of a man in dingy trousers passing by. "Where's King's Cross Station?"
The man frowned and brushed Fen's hand away. "North."
"How do I get there?" The train was leaving. His mother must be anxious by now. Fen grabbed at the man's sleeve. "Please, sir." He felt tears start but he was helpless to hide them.
The man looked down. His features softened. "Just stick out your wand. The Knight Bus'll get you there. You got the fare?"
Fen's breath caught in his throat. He had no money. Tears welled up in earnest.
"Here." The man shoved a sickle into Fen's hand. Then he hurried away.
Squeezing his fingers around the precious coin, Fen drew his wand, stuck it out, and closed his eyes. A BANG echoed between the tall buildings and bright light flashed behind his lids. Blinking, Fen stared at a woman with purple hair and purple uniform who hopped out of the triple-decker purple bus and shouted a welcome.
"King's Cross," Fen said, jumping on board and shoving the sickle at her.
She mumbled about young people and how rude they were these days and then there was another bang. Fen lost his footing, landing sprawled on the sticky floor. Before he could pick himself up, the purple woman shouted "King's Cross" and the doors opened.
Fen raced out. He barely heard the loud bang of the bus's departure as he halted in surprise, nonplussed by the number of people converging on the station. Then a train whistle jarred him into motion again and he dodged among the travellers, weaving in and out and heading for the platforms. Shouted curses followed him but most people were intent on their own destinations, greeting each other or hurrying to catch trains or cabs.
He paused to get his bearings, then spotted platforms nine and ten. There was no sign of his mother, so she must be waiting on the other side. What must she think of him being so late? He raced toward the ticket barrier between platforms nine and ten only to choke when his shirt was grabbed from behind.
"There you are." It was the stranger's voice.
Fen twisted in his grasp. "The train," he gasped with the little bit of air he could draw in.
"The train's no concern of yours."
Fen struggled harder. "My mum's waiting for me."
The stranger shook him and Fen's head snapped back and forth. He tried to catch his breath.
"No one's waiting for you here. Let's go."
Mr. Lupin dragged him back toward the station entrance.
Eyes watering and ears ringing, Fen watched the barrier disappear behind the crowd.
Mrs. Jackson pursed her lips when Lyall Lupin escorted Fen into her house with a strong grip on his arm. She wasted breath scolding him about running away, but stopped when it was clear he was not listening. For the next few days, her expression was cold and she spoke to him only when necessary, and in clipped tones.
Pippin gave him a sour look for skipping out on washing windows and made certain Fen did the larger share of their Sunday chores. By Monday, he had gotten over his pique and things between them went back to indifferent silences.
In the passing days, the biggest change was a weekly visit from Lupin. He would seek out Fen, scrutinize him carefully, then speak with Mrs. Jackson in hushed voices. The other change was that Fen began to take special note of his surroundings; memorizing each hallway and room so he could find his way by touch alone. He also stole a moment to try the exit door at various times, finding it locked every morning and night until they left for work. It was also locked during the weekend.
After Lupin's second visit, two weeks after the incident at King's Cross and three weeks after Fen had been taken from his home and deposited in Connie Jackson's care, he waited until the house was dark and Pippin had begun to snore lightly.
Fen sat up and removed his blanket, fully clothed. He reached beneath his pillow for his wand and then moved quietly down the stairs, avoiding the squeaky third step. He did not need a light as he trailed his fingertips along the dry paper covering the walls. When he reached the door leading to the alley, he turned the handle and tugged. It was locked.
He felt in his pocket for the key Mrs. Jackson usually kept in a jar on the shelf above the stove. Fen had knocked it into the dishwater after supper and then slipped it into his trouser pocket. There was probably a spell to unlock the door but he would never learn it until he got to school, plus he knew there was a way for Them to track underage magic. Until Fen could get safely to his family, he wanted to avoid anyone who might alert Mr. Lupin or Mrs. Jackson to his whereabouts. The metal key rubbed against the other bit of metal in Fen's pocket as he drew it out.
He opened the door just far enough to squeeze through, leaving the key in the lock after he pushed the door to. There was enough moonlight to avoid stumbling into any bins. A cat hissed at him, yellow eyes gleaming, but not loudly enough for anyone else to hear.
The night was chilly for September and Fen wished suddenly for a cloak. It was possible he would have a long walk; he was not really certain where the bus would drop him off.
Remembering the loud bang the magical transportation made when it arrived and left, Fen walked several streets, heart pounding, ears twitching at every little sound and nose quivering as if he could recognize pursuit by scent alone. He kept his hands in his trouser pockets, the fingers of his left hand clenched around a precious coin and the other grasping his wand.
After several minutes he found himself in an unfamiliar street. The tall, brick buildings looked much the same as every other street but the smells had changed from rotten food and urine to smoke. He could not sense any people in this area, though cats still slunk through the dark out of sight.
Hand shaking, Fen drew his wand, closed his eyes, and held it out in front of him. For a moment there was nothing. Maybe the bus did not run at night? He shivered, thinking it would be a long, cold wait for dawn. Then there was a bang and the cats hissed and scattered.
The three-decker purple bus belched and the door opened. Fen bolted inside before the conductor could get a single word out, pushing the sickle into her hand and grabbing the nearest handhold which turned out to be a bedstead.
The woman in purple uniform scowled but asked, stiltedly polite, where it was he wanted to go. He named the village nearest his family's farm, stomach doing somersaults that they might ask him where exactly that was or how to get there, but she only gave a curt nod and turned away. Fen let out the breath he had been holding, then grabbed tighter to the bedframe as the bus jolted forward.
The trip was longer this time. He saw the purple-haired woman twice more as she passed him to wake up one of the sleeping passengers that occupied another of the beds sliding back and forth as the bus rocked along on its journey. No one gave Fen more than a passing glance.
The large slice of moon was fading in the lightening sky when the purple woman poked Fen and pointed to the door. "Your stop."
He blinked several times, realizing his eyes must have shut though he remained standing, holding tight to the cold metal of the empty bed. He stumbled down the steps in the dimness before daybreak and glanced around. There was no movement along the dirt road. Excitement started his heart pounding again even as the loud bang behind him signalled the bus's departure.
Fen took a hesitant step in the direction of his family's farm, then another and another. He glanced over his shoulder, certain there would be someone behind him, but no sound, sight, or smell indicated pursuit. He hurried his steps until he was running, raising puffs of dirt and scattering pebbles in his wake.
He stopped when the farmhouse was in sight, washed grey in the pre-dawn. His whole body quivered, his attention now entirely on the house in front of him.
He dashed forward again, throwing open the front door. "Mum! I'm home, Mum! I'm okay!" He hoped she had not worried too much when he never showed up at the station.
A baby's cry from the back room his mother shared with her husband was followed by sleepy grumbling, but a gasp from the stairs caught his attention. Nellie stood on the fourth step in her nightgown, her blonde hair loose around her shoulders, one hand over her mouth.
"Fen?" Her surprise quickly turned to a bright smile. She bounded down the last steps and threw herself into his arms.
He squeezed his little sister tightly. She smelled of sunshine and grass and sweat.
There was another gasp, this time deeper and from the short hallway that led to the bedroom at the back of the house. Fen looked up to see his mother standing stock still, baby in her arms.
Her brown eyes were wide and he smelled panic. "Phineas!" she shouted. "Nellie, come here." Her voice was thin and strained as she reached out as though to grab her daughter and drag her away though her feet remained rooted to the spot.
Nellie pulled away from Fen and looked uncertainly between her brother and her mother.
"Come here now!" Their mother's voice had risen. It nearly hurt Fen's ears.
His little sister moved away, edging away from him and closer to her mother with her gaze darting between them.
As soon as Nellie was close enough, their mother grabbed her with her free arm and began backing down the hall holding tightly to both her younger children. "Phineas!" she shouted again.
"Mum?" Fen asked. He wanted to hug her; he wanted her to hug him, but he could only stare.
"Merlin's beard, woman, what's all the noise?" Fen's stepfather came up behind his wife hitching up a pair of trousers. When he saw Fen, he stopped dead.
He glanced out the window at the lightening sky.
Fen's mother followed his gaze and the blood drained from her face. "Is it …?"
His thick brow furrowed. "No."
"When the babe woke me, there was moonlight out there," she whispered.
"It wasn't full, Mary." He pushed her aside in the narrow hallway and squeezed past her and the children. He stared down at Fen. "What're you doin' here?"
Fen frowned at him. "I'm here to see Mum." He turned his gaze back to where she peeked around her husband's wide shoulders. "Mum, I'm okay. I missed the train but I'm okay." He took a hesitant step forward.
She flinched and pulled further back. The baby protested her tightened grip.
Nellie looked up at her in confusion. "Mum? It's Fen."
"It isn't." She gave her daughter a shake with the arm around the little girl's shoulders. "Fen's gone. He's never coming back." Tears welled up in her eyes. "Never."
Fen stared at her, a roaring in his ears, and felt as if his chest would explode. He blinked, trying to clear the red from his vision. He was only conscious that Phineas had moved when the man slammed his hand onto a delicate glass owl perched on the windowsill where there used to be a family picture of Fen with his mother and siblings.
There was a high-pitched screech as the glass shattered and Fen bent double, hands clamped over his ears at the stabbing pain. There was a loud crack but Fen was in too much pain from the echo of the screech to look up until a hand landed on his right shoulder.
"Thought we might find you here."
At the sound of Mr. Lupin's dispassionate voice, Fen's stomach coiled into knots. He looked desperately toward his mother. "I'll study hard. I'll learn how to control this thing. I won't let it hurt you."
Lupin shook him, fingers biting into his shoulder. "You can't change what you are." He turned to Fen's stepfather. "You did well, Mr. Greyback."
"That's the boy's name, not mine."
"I'm sorry. You did well, Phineas. Your family is safe."
"No thanks to you. That creature got all the way into my house and threatened my wife and child."
"It isn't dangerous right now. The full moon is a week away, and I was on my way here when I got your signal, this being the most likely place for him to run." With his left hand still clamped on Fen's right shoulder, he drew his wand. "Reparo." The glass owl reassembled itself with another screech and Fen winced.
"How we gonna sleep tonight knowing he can get loose?" Phineas demanded.
Fen's mother whimpered.
"I wouldn't..." he whispered.
"We keep a closer net on them as the full moon approaches until two days after it begins to wan. Besides, this one won't be going anywhere for the next ten days."
Just before he felt the sucking sensation of side-along Apparition, Fen met his mother's eyes. They were still wide and full of fear as she hugged her two younger children close to her body. She did not say a word as Lupin took Fen away again.
Fen was unresisting as Lupin pulled him through another alleyway door. It was not Mrs. Jackson's house. This place was dirtier and smelled of something rotten. Even when he was shoved into a room smaller than the attic he had shared with Pippin, a room without any window and only a blanket on the floor for a bed, Fen made no protest. Lupin pulled the door to and muttered a locking charm, leaving Fen in darkness.
He leaned against the heavy wooden door, sliding slowly down until he was hunched on the floor. The floorboards were cool as well as gritty but he slumped sideways until his cheek was pressed against the dirty wood. His mother had been afraid of him. His mother had let a stranger take him away. She had not been worried about him at all. Maybe she had never even been at the train station.
He closed his eyes. They were itchy but not wet. His throat was tight. He thought about staying in this dark room for the next ten days. He wondered in a detached way if they intended to bring him food or water. He wondered if he would live here now, not that it mattered. It made no difference where he was, because he was a monster with no family and no home.