Written for Hogwarts School of Witchcraft And Wizardry. Magical Law and Government: Lycanthropy Task.
Note: There was no wordcount listed on this. I checked and I wrote for that specifically. No takesies backsies or de facto stuff pullling there, folks. No "fine print" for this law student. (Please.)
Birthday Gift for ragsweas
Red spilled into the snow. Abbey lay here thinking winter faded into the background in London. Christmas meant nothing to her husband; Hanukkah meant next to nothing to her, but it meant everything to the girls, for they got the best of both worlds. Except for the whole lying in the street dying thing, Abbey Smethmyck did quite well for herself. Cars and people raced down the street, above her, and she stayed there praying someone would notice her. Underneath the Millennium Bridge, she worried about dinner in the oven and whether she'd make it home.
She made a mistake coming here. A lycanthrope specialist, one of five in the world, Abigail stayed within the lines. A Muggleborn, she'd not been introduced to the harshness of the magical world until she left the safety of Hogwarts, and Hippocrates sheltered her even then. A Jewish girl with the round face and the prominent nose to prove it, Abbey wanted nothing more than to make a difference. She'd initially turned down Hippocrates Smethwyck's attempts at romance, for she had no business falling for her supervisor. Seven years her senior, he could've made her life on the Dai Llewelyn ward a living hell. But he'd gotten down on one knee after her residency completion and asked her a question.
"Which daughter do you love more?" Pulling her roughly back to the present, the old werewolf, Greyback, held her face at odd angle with his hand. Abbey stared into his eyes and shook her head, which he locked in place, smiling at her. Nauseated, Abbey got hit with the blood, the sweat, the tears, and the drink lingering off his body. "I can hurt you."
Abbey, gathering any strand of courage left to her, spat in his face. Greyback, complimenting her in his raspy voice, wiped the mess away with a dirty hand. If she was going to die, Abbey figured she might as well make her point. "You will burn in hell, and I'll attend your funeral simply to see they put you in the ground. You …you don't scare me."
"Abigail." He took her hand and crossed a line. It hardened at her touch. His twisted smile leaked through his voice. "I'm sure you pleasure your husband."
Abbey stayed there, shocked and appalled, tried desperately to imagine Hippocrates climbing into bed with her. She pictured his face and his hazel eyes, but the stench wouldn't allow it to bulge. "I get you off and you let me go?""
"Yes." Greyback traced her lips. "I could break you right now and dispose of any traces of evidence, Abigail. Your foolish blind-sighted husband will make a mistake. Every thing you love, every thing you hold dear, will be nothing because you are nothing."
"Please." Falling, Abbey shivered as he touched her blouse and placed his hand to her side. He didn't whether to congratulate her or toy with her like a cat and mouse. Did Hippocrates even know she left the hospital on foot? She closed her eyes when he slipped a hand underneath her dress. "Remove your hand, sir."
She followed his instructions. If this were another werewolf, she might have pitied the creature. Abbey both hated and enjoyed this, and a feeble sound escaped her as Abbey had struggled to fight off the man who reminded her of an experienced cage fighter. Greyback, enjoying it, arched his back and closed his eyes. She'd followed a child down here, lured here underneath well organized false pretenses.
Abigail let go moments later. "What a sick bastard. You're a monster."
"You are nothing." Greyback stepped away as he fixed his trousers. "I won't kill you. Not when you're with child. You know how I like children, Abigail. Your husband and I have that in common."
He never addresed Hippocrates by name, and Abbey suspected he had a laundry list of dirty names for the Healer-in-Charge. She shook uncontrollably, for she put nothing past him in wartime. "You …you wouldn't dare."
"You're a thorn in my side, Abigail, but you shouldn't be so frightened. It isn't my seed you're carrying."
Greyback grinned when she unconsciously rested a hand on her abdomen after he helped her to her feet. Something quivered inside her, and Abbey knew he felt it, too. Few things put the savage werewolf in a such a fervor. He picked his dirty fingernails with his teeth.
He flashed three fingers in her face. "Meredith likes strawberries and creme, and Margaret Rose, the dear one, the elder one, she plays hopscotch with the Muggle families across the street. She's called Maisie. What if something should happen to your girls?"
"No." She shook from head to foot, trembling.
"You go behind my back and steal one of my werewolves at the hospital." Greyback nodded at the moon and brushed the loose strands of hair from her neck. Abbey weakened, slipping in his arms as he whispered as his back constricted and his eyes dilated. "I didn't attack you, Abigail, dear, but I let your new boy, Michael, start the chase. I do love hide and seek. Let's play."
XxXxX
Abbey feared nothing, yet she imagined every single move on the chessboard because they were mere pawns. Months later, she opened her eyes as Fenrir Greyback's face and voice swam into her lingering thoughts. When she married Hippocrates, he'd said, and he actually put this in writing, she felt like coming up for a breath of fresh air. He loved the hospital. The old man lived for this place because Saint Mungo's reminded him of a sanctuary. Like a church, blood rarely got spilled because of a violent act within the confines of the hospital. Healers, matrons, administrator wizards, and orderlies signed a contract to this effect.
Careful not to disturb Hippocrates and he lay beside her, Abbey got up, wiped the wrinkles out of her nightgown and pulled on her light dressing gown. After his best friend passed away and Sirius Black got laid to rest, Remus Lupin stayed with them. They'd treated him since he was a small boy. Hippocrates always offered him houseroom with no strings attached and this door never closed. Michael used to stay with them in the spare bedroom. Adjusting to life as a werewolf, especially with the lycanthropic symptoms, proved to be no walk in the park, especially when Abbey shared her body with another human.
Remus sat at the kitchen table. His sleep cycle, Abbey guessed, followed the lunar calendar, so he didn't sleep well most nights. She walked over and ran her fingers lovingly through his greying hair. He returned to their place to get his head on straight before heading back to the underground thriving werewolf community. There was actually an entrance at the London Underground, though any wizard or witch would miss it with the naked eye if they didn't know it was there.
The cycle ended last night. She pressed her lips to his hair and smiled when he patted her arm. The last thing people wanted, especially the werewolves and their packs, was a traitor in their midst playing both sides. Funnily enough, even though they stuck to their own kind, werewolves lived by a lot of misconceptions. Perhaps this was because they couldn't get their hands on the literature or Greyback wanted to keep them uneducated and in the dark.
"Remus, you need to sleep." Abbey walked away, busying herself with the zombie sleep-deprived tasks of tapping the tea kettle as it whistled to life and charming the coffee marker to brew its own brew.
"So do you," said Remus, damaging the spine of one of Hippocrates's healing journals. A cardboard box full of Hippocrates's thoughts, findings, and research packed the pages of this collection. Remus drummed his fingers on a closed journal, his train of thought leaving the station. He stumbled upon it eventually. "Your husband? He makes my head hurt."
Abbey, a short, plump woman whose figure went to hell in a hurry, stood on her tiptoes as she grabbed something from the kitchen cupboard. It was late April, and they would have another mouth to feed soon. She got the bottle before it slipped from her fingers and tossed it at Remus. Muggle remedies sometimes dulled the pain, too. Remus proved a sloppy potion maker on his best day. He caught the bottle, fussed about the child lock, and laughed when Abbey opened easisly it as she read aloud the instructions on the lid.
"It's magic." Abbey tipped three or four capsules into his hand.
Remus took them at once. He busied himself with knocking up a simple breakfast and served fried potatoes, eggs, and leftover bacon. The pills took fifteen minutes to kick in. He'd worked as a kitchen hand in a handful of restaurants and locally owned establishments. They sat at the table.
"You can lie and say you're a matron," he suggested as Abbey sat down at the table and read a rejection letter. Another the hospital learned their lycanthrope specialist contracted the condition they let her go with a severance package.
"Would you hire me like this?" Abbey gestured at herself with a fork. She scoffed when Remus said yes and snatched the classifieds away from her. "My back aches and my feet are swollen. Not that I can see them. And my ass? It's humungous."
Remus saw this pregnancy took a toll. "You're not …"
"Fool." Abbey sliced through two eggs as toast shot from the contraption and landed on their plates. "You hesitated!"
"No." His compliment had unraveled before it left his lips.
"Remus, my eyes are up here, thank you very much." Abbey redirected his wandering gaze with a snap of her fingers. The board of directors at St. Mungo's, all gentlemen, some of them elderly, got lost here, too, when they gave her the boot without so much as a hello and a goodbye.
"Sorry," he muttered, throwing up his hands in a gesture of surrender as he stared at her. "I'm a man, Abbey, they are right there."
"Not that good of a Catholic boy, are you?" Abbey, annoyed, tightened the strap of her dressing gown. Abbey leaned in to listen to his report. He worked as an agent for Dumbledore. Remus could hardly walk away from the clinical trial he'd been a part of for thirty years. "What?"
Remus got up, whisked her plate away, and gave Abbey a heaping second helping. Like Remus, she did not eat during transformations. She starved two for three days and nights. Remus worked for the Order, but Abbey needed to support three daughters, her husband, and two grown men. Hippocrates made an impressive salary as Healer-in-Charge, but when it got divided, going here and there, they went for broke.
"Michael abandoned us," he mused, scratching his chin. Remus pretended to go back to his reading as he let this sink in. Abbey, a vegetarian, got a hankering for meat and the lycanthropy made her cravings almost unbearable. "If you eat rare meat, you'll get ill. And it's not good for the baby."
"The baby. What about the mummy?" Abbey pushed away from the table. Hippocrates did not listen to her. They'd been down this road before. "I hear everything. I smell the drink on your breath."
"Butterbeer." Remus let the rules side because he acted as Hippocrates's marionette, and he danced for him, no matter the consequences. He conjured a bottle and twisted it off before he offered it to her. Butterbeer only had a trace of alcohol, and it wasn't severely alcoholic, so Remus carried no guilt about this whatsoever, but he still didn't want Hippocrates fussing. "I did not give you this, and if it comes to light I did such a thing and old Hippocrates hears, I will deny it until my last breath. This? I don't even know where this come from."
"Old Hippocrates." Abbey took a swig and clinked bottles. "It's not the same."
"I think you ought to come down with me as a liaison for the Nightcrawler Network," said Remus, watching her put away impressive amounts of food.
He nodded, apparently convincing himself this was a fine idea. He'd met Michael Pherson while visiting Arthur Weasley in hospital last year. Michael hadn't exactly warmed up to Abbey at first. Michael, an angry man with his own secrets, lashed out at her for days and days, though she eventually peeled back the layers like wallpaper. Michael's lover, a young man who worked at the Ministry as a scribe, had gone on record with Delores Umbridge to denounce the behavior of what he marked as a lunatic. Yet Michael ended up going ranks with Greyback.
"Michael fell down the rabbit hole, Remus, I can't save him." Abbey's coffee stirred itself with a spoon. Abbey blamed herself for this. She had a little girl and a baby. She'd not tended to Michael enough. She saw now why he turned to desperate measures. "My fault. It's all my fault."
"Yes, you had a life. Shame on you."
Saying what she wanted to hear though he meant not a harsh word of it, Remus frowned at her, shaking his head sadly. He played along merely for her benefit. Michael, nineteen, still blamed anyone else but himself for his actions and failed to take responsibility. Remus had been a werewolf for three decades, and while he'd gone down the same dark paths, he consistently chose differently. Abbey credited his father and his mother for raising this scared little boy into a young man with a heart. Remus often called Hippocrates and Abbey his second set of parents, the ones he went to when he tired of his father.
"I think I am going to die," she said, speaking into her coffee. She set the drained Butterbeer aside.
"You should never read tea leaves." Remus smirked, merely humoring her. Abbey frowned, reading through this act. "Why would you say such a thing?"
"I don't know, Remus, I think about it all the time. My grandmother died in childbirth. And if something happens to the girls." Hysteria leaked through her tone. She muttered about hormones and paranoia. "I fear it. If and when Delores Umbridge catches word of this, she'll want to see me swing."
"We don't hang people here, and the hospital should not have terminated your contract or your research without cause. You need to negotiate under different terms in summer session. I thought it was against the law to fire a pregnant woman. Why isn't Hippocrates dragging in the lycanthrope specialist from Texas or Switzerland?"
"John David doesn't know. Henri isn't speaking with me, but he is corresponding with Hippocrates because he can't help it. They aren't penalizing me on grounds of the pregnancy." Abbey wished to keep this hush hush until she absolutely needed to face the truth. Remus slammed his fists on the table, furious and fuming. Nobody vouched for Abbey.
"Delores Umbridge wants to burn your research project to the ground." Remus laughed mirthlessly, pointing out his own flaw in his plan. "She wouldn't see you as a woman. You're a filthy halfbreed carrying a child who shouldn't belong to you. She wants you to burn … and you and your unborn daughter can burn in hell."
Abbey's warm eyes got big as saucers. Frightened as she recalled Geeyback holding her, she accidentally knocked the mug and the Butterbeer bottle to the floor. They shattered. Only Remus and Hippocrates knew what had happened under the bridge. Her face drained of color. "I went for Michael, and this child belongs to my husband, so don't you ever…"
"No, Abbey, no. I'm a fool." Getting hurriedly to his feet, Remus cleaned the mess with a lazy swish of his wand - the bottle and the mug both repaired themselves seamlessly as the shards fell back in place. He wrapped his arms around her, hugging her from behind. "Forgive me. I didn't mean it."
"He can't have my babies." Abbey wiped her sudden tears hastily away with the back of her hand and sniffled like a bawling child. She patted Remus's wrinkled face. "I love you. I love all of you, and if anything should happen to you, or the girls, or Michael, or Hippocrates…"
"Abbey," said Remus, pulling out her chair and massaging her shoulders. "The weight of the world is on your shoulders, but you are not alone. Hippocrates, the pacifist, would beat anyone within an inch of their life. My dad? He says you're his hero. With your short stature and your tiny, infectious fists. You're tiny, but you can take it because you're a tiny titan. Lyall's words. Not mine."
"Remus." Abbey offered him a hand send he pulled her to her feet. He hugged her, and she rested her head on his chest. "You smell like chocolate and peppermint."
"Oh, well, I might have gotten the girls on a sugar high. Maisie is adorable. She asked for sweets and pulled this face." Remus stuck out his lip. Abbey burst out laughing, for she remembered Remus pulling a similar stunt in his bag of magic tricks back in the day. He adopted a little girl's voice, slipping into an uncanny imitation of Maisie. "'Uncle Remus, I want this and I need this, and this, and this.' And I want hug her and Meredith to death. You make the cutest conniving children."
"Thank you," she said, feeling better. "Maisie has Merry do her bidding."
"Crafty con artists." Remus turned out his pockets, showing Abbey he had no sweets.
"I need a nanny," said Abbey brightly. "How did I not see this before? Remus, you can stay here rent free. And I will make sure the girls don't bother you."
"Not a nanny nor a housekeeper." He turned down her offer. "I was there when Maisie was born, all right? But I am on assignment … things I can't talk about. I can't."
"I'm going to apply at the apothecary tomorrow because I think I still have connections at the one serving the black market. Not Knockturn Alley. Peter's Pendulum."
Excited, riding on a sense of renewed confidence and determination to send an owl. She might not be a certified Healer, but she was a catch. People sought her ought for endless services. She returned and sat in the chair. Later in the morning, maybe after she got some proper shut eye, Remus would take her down to the underground.
"You're beautiful. The girls are as pretty as you." Remus stroked her cheek and wished her good night or good morning in the wee hours. Abbey flushed when he confessed he once had a crush on her. Remus didn't put himself out on the dating scene as a kid. Abbey guessed he feared backlash from others finding out his secret. "Abbey."
Hippocrates, carrying a light blanket under his arm, came out and held a lantern aloft. He literally worked until he dropped. A mellow, kind-faced man, he stood there in his pajamas. He operated a department within St. Mungo's, and when he finally managed to walk away from the hospital and leave it alone for a spell, he morphed into this family man mode; he put his wife to shame.
"Abbey, come to bed." Hippocrates sounded like he came done with a cold. He bustled around the kitchen, sighing when Abbey handed him a citrus concoction. "What would I do without you, wife?"
"I dunno," she said, setting a motor and pestle to work to knock up a home remedy. Non-verbal spells saved a Healer's life. Hippocrates frowned, asking for the good stuff, Culpepper Concoction, a secret known to the hospital staff that was better than Pepperup Potion; it sapped the cold, flu, and general aches and away like nothing else. "Yeah, I'll knock some up, baby, go to bed."
"I like the lemon and honey tea," added Hippocrates.
"We've been married for twenty years, Hippo, I think I know," said Abbey, rolling her eyes at the ceiling. Who knew him better than her? She made the tea, leaving the lemon wedge in the mug. "You need to call out because you're dead not your feet."
Cursing and grumbling, Hippocrates ambled like a zombie back into the kitchen.
"You're not awake," said Remus, raising his mug to Hippocrates. Chances were, Hippocrates wouldn't remember a moment of this encounter when he woke up later this afternoon. "You're not here."
"Nope. " Hippocrates pointed towards their bedroom, struggling to string coherent sentences together. "Abbey."
"Hippocrates, honestly, you're like Merry whenever you're this under the weather. Bed, now." Abbey gestured at him to return to bed and walked over to smack Remus with a tea towel as she stowed away the honey jar and poured him another coffee. "What's funny?"
"I've never seen him like that. And you two are quite adorable." Remus accepted the cup with thanks, grinning like a schoolboy catching someone in the act.
"Healers and physicians make the worst patients."
Abbey contacted the hospital via the Floo Network and told those in the know Healer Smethwyck would be missing in action. Funnily enough, Abbey didn't hold that title anymore. She got up, leafed through the pages of a random journal, and laughed when she found a ring from a wine glass on a blank page. Checking the date, some months previously. She read a list on the opposite page: nausea, tenderness, vomiting. Remus cocked his head like a dog, curious. Abbey flashed the journal, touched. "That's when he found out I was pregnant this time round. Thanks to Patient Y."
"He's a good father and a good man." Remus made to make sure the coast was clear and groaned when Abbey winked at him.
They had an interesting relationship, Remus and Hippocrates. Ever since Remus was seven and Lyall Lupin finally caved and asked for professional help, Hippocrates had been Remus's friend, father, brother, and counselor. Remus went through a slightly rebellious stage where he downright hated and loved Hippocrates in equal measure. They'd scream and grumble and patch up their differences in no time.
"You can't tell him, Abbey. Come on." Remus dog-eared his journal and marked his spot in a general anatomy textbook. "I'll do you one better than the apothecary position. What if they turn you down because you can't get a reference from St. Mungo's? They know you, yes, but they don't know you as a werewolf."
"Remus, you can't say yes and no to me." After brewing some Culpepper Concoction, Abbey poured herself a cup of tea and added two extra spoonfuls of honey. She licked the spoon.
"Yes. No, hear me out! That was poor phrasing, and I'm dreadfully sorry." Remus held up a hand, staying what he thought might be tears. "You really want to deny Umbridge? Take the Nightcrawler Network and devote yourself fully to the cause. She can't sanction you because you aren't 'Healer Smethwyck', but you are, in effect, a healer. If push came to shove, you are still a lycanthrope specialist."
"Remus," she sighed, fighting an urge to tell him how many ways this was wrong.
"No. You want Michael back?" A shadow of something passed over Remus's lined face. He got right in Abbey's face. "Some woman once told me to get up, brush myself off and get through the day. I had to choose to save myself."
"That's why you're going underground." Abbey held up a finger, asking him to wait, and went to change into comfortable clothes. Hippocrates passed out in the bedroom. She scribbled a note on a bit of spare parchment and crossed her arms over her belly when she headed back in the kitchen. "You're saving Michael."
"Nobody gets left behind." Remus, apparently getting a second wind though he was tired, took his traveling cloak off the chair, pulled it on, and snatched hers off the hook by the front door. They stepped outside. He cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable. "When I got back to London, I went to visit Nymphadora Tonks and we …"
"Not very Catholic of you." Abbey, grateful for the cover of the early morning light, felt the color rush to her face. Remus said sorry. Abbey shrugged. "I'm not your mother. The night this happened, Hippocrates dragged me into the sleeping quarters at the hospital in between procedures. He's a good lover."
"And this turned strange …"
"For Hippocrates's age, Remus, he's in top notch form." Abbey laughed, looping her arm through his. She turned serious. "How do you think I get this way? Hippocrates enjoys … he'll never stray far from my bed."
"Yeah, so, we haven't been talking much."
"You love her? Like really love her?" Abbey squeezed his hand reassuringly and dropped all pretense to wrap her arms around him. "You've found someone. She's your someone."
"How did you know Hippocrates was your someone?" Remus rolled his eyes when Abbey laughed her head off. "Forget I said anything. It's … nothing."
"No, Remus, no, come on." Recovering, Abbey pulled a straight face and magicked a small black book out of thin air. "It's a receipt book. It holds all of his potions and stuff. Whatever. Page twenty-nine."
Remus, still skeptical, pulled a face as he turned through the pages. He'd known Abbey and Hippocrates before they were Abbey and Hippocrates, a couple, and now he made the confession quite plainly, Abbey saw Remus was rather smitten over her. He always purchased her a coffee at Christmastime.
Abbey showed him her Star of David pendant. "You understand I'm Jewish."
"Yes. I tell you 'Happy Christmas' because I don't think …" Remus read the message aloud. "'We should get married. I stole an Acromantula sting for you, Short Stuff. You ought to work on that getting taller thing. P.S. You're short. But I still love you. See you at 18:00. Say yes. -HS.' When did he write this?"
Abbey smiled at him. "I don't remember. He asks me to please stop reading over his shoulder in one of the healer journals. If and when those get published for an academic paper, especially for the Nightcrawler Network, those will need a lot of love. He does things like this. Makes lunch for the girls before he leaves and writes them jokes and stuff. Small, stupid stuff."
"It's not the same," said Remus, suddenly stubborn and sullen.
"I beg your pardon? Oh, you're hurt because some girl loves you? Genuinely loves you? And she can shift her appearance to be any woman you want. Or she wants. But you're sad and broken? Because you're a werewolf? Poor, sad Remus." Abbey, her face set, turned around to face him. She took no sympathy, and she certainly took no whiny, sniveling prisoners. Abbey tightened her grip on his hand. "Hippocrates thinks I might die this time because my hemoglobin changed with the genetic makeup of …"
Remus paled, white as a sheet. This hadn't crossed his mind. "Is that likely?"
Abbey shrugged. If anyone had a shot of knowing the answer, it was her, and she'd hit the books hard since her so-called "suspension with pay". A Muggleborn, she suffered from anemia. She watched as an owl soared through the skies and dropped a parcel at her feet. Curious as to why why this got delivered at this hour without the morning paper, she weighed the Owl Order in her hands. Addressed in French, it came from somewhere in the lively city of Zurich.
"None of us have ever come across a pregnant woman when she received her bite. Oh, Henri." Abbey, her hand trembling, read through a letter written in broken English; he wrote on both sides of the paper. Wrapped in a crocheted red blanket were two large boxes of Swiss chocolate and a plush toy of a grey and white wolf. The further she read into the elegant apology, she cried.
"The man from Switzerland?" Remus buried her face in his shoulder, holding her and shushing her.
They stopped. Not knowing what to say, Remus returned her nod. Abbey had no idea how long they stood there. Passerby, mainly elderly people milling about and starting their day off early, stopped and asked if Abbey needed anything and she tried and failed to get back to her normal self. She dropped her gift.
"No, no, thank you, she's fine," said Remus.
Remus kept things polite and casual, as always, but he clearly acted out of his depth here, and the people moved on their way. Abbey had expected Henri to ostracize her, and as she'd heard nothing but silence from her European counterpart, Abbey blamed herself for stepping right into Greyback's trap. Her friends at the hospital, except for the Welcome Witch who frankly told the board of directors they could go to hell, had abandoned her.
Werewolves got cut off from the world and lived on the fringes of society. Those who wanted help had to fight to get it because services provided by the Werewolf Support Services were a running joke at both the hospital and the government. If those involved in the Nightcrawler Network had a prayer of success, the experts needed to stand together for a common cause.
"Oh, someone's begging you to forgive them." Remus picked up the boxes of chocolate and sniffed them. "What did this man do?"
His offense or his wrongdoing no longer mattered in Abbey's eyes. Abbey went for a simple explanation, sounding as though she didn't believe her words. "Henri changed his mind."
Abbey walked away, taking a moment to gather herself, and cracked her neck. If anyone could handle a frightened man, especially Michael, it was her. She snatched the chocolate from Remus, stuffing everything back into her box pellmell, and she readied herself to make another move. Michael didn't get to take this lying down because it was easier for Fenrir Greyback and his lackeys to feed on the rewards of horrifying crimes. She'd have none of it.
"Abbey's back." Remus saw something in her face.
"Michael deserves a life," she said, marching off in the opposite direction as Remus quickened his pace to catch up with her. She focused on the task set before her. "He's going to fight for it. Because I will drag him from the dark into the light."