This was written for a contest for vampiregirl50 with the theme of how Remus Lupin became a werewolf; I do believe it's the first writing contest I've entered where I haven't submitted (poorly-written) poetry. I'm way more of an artist than a writer. I also really quickly wanted to point out that all of the dates I use for full moons (in this and any other story I produce) are actual full moon dates. I don't just pick random days because that just bugs me for whatever reason. I also love the name of Delilah for Remus's mother and I'm probably misquoting Shakespeare. Ah well, enjoy the story.
The cold December air whipped flurries of fat snowflakes around, like tiny bits of paper caught in an updraft. It was really quite beautiful, and just cold enough that it was more comfortable to enjoy the sight indoors. December 27, 1966, a night made for curling up in front of the fire with family or perhaps a good book until the warmth of the dying embers put you to sleep. A night for chatting with a loved one on the sofa until the wee hours of the morning. A night that should be spent sipping eggnog and nibbling on cookies warm from the oven, not listening to the screams and howls of pain ripped from the mouth of your six-year-old son as he transformed into a monster, trapped in a spell-bound cage in the cellar.
John Lupin used to cast silencing spells to hide the noise. A few neighbors had heard Remus during the first change. It had been everything John could do to prevent a scene. A lot of galleons and a few illegal memory charms later, the family decided to move to somewhere quieter, more remote, away from anyone who might cause trouble. John didn't bother casting the silencing charms anymore. He needed to hear, needed to know what his son was going through.
John felt Delilah trembling beside him and he gripped her shoulder, drawing her close to him. The soft fur of Remus's stuffed dog, the one he'd received not two days ago for Christmas, brushed lightly against his hand; it was clutched so tightly in his wife's grip that he feared the stitches would pull and unravel and the stuffing would erupt into cottony wads on the floor. She pressed her face into his sweater and he felt a slight dampness form from her tears. Twenty-eight moons and this still wasn't any easier than the first time.
John sighed heavily. Another threatening note left on his desk, another thing for his wife to worry about. He felt a migraine building. Probably a combination of his glasses and stress bothering him again. He removed the thin wire frames from his face and rubbed the bridge of his nose.
Ever since he had put down that crazy loon Greyback two weeks ago, the notes had appeared with surprising regularity, all written in the same messy chicken scratch. All were anonymous. All had the same message: And where the offense is, let the great axe fall. Shakespeare, clever. Who'd ever expect a mangy mutt like Greyback to have read anything, let alone Hamlet.
The warm scents of chicken and potatoes wafted toward him as soon as he opened the door. "Delilah? Del, are you here?"
"I'm in the dining room!" she called back. "That's good, sweetie. Could you go get the forks?" he heard her direct their son. He sighed in contentment. This was perfect. This was what he worked so hard for. This was home.
He set down his beat up dragonhide suitcase and placed his coat on the rack. In the dining room was his wife, the wonderful, beautiful Delilah. His parents had been terribly unhappy when he had announced his plans to marry a muggle, but he loved her more than words could express. And she had given him Remus, their wonderful little ball of endless childhood energy: quick, intelligent, a little quiet, and absolutely perfect, just like his mother. She smiled gently and approached him for a kiss. "Hello, dear. How was your day?"
"Long, but that's to be expected. Incidents rise in every department once fall hits and today was fairly busy. Thomas down in Muggle Affairs had to assist a poor woman who accidentally bought a talking mirror by mistake at an antique shop. Frightened her so bad, she nearly had a heart attack."
Delilah smiled at that as she poured drinks for everyone. She remembered her own introduction to the wizarding world; she still didn't trust any cleaning supplies her husband brought home every now and then, though she found the owl post to be rather convenient and charming. Remus had returned and placed the silverware on the table, completely intent on his task until he noticed his father beside his mum.
"Dad!" He rushed over and flung himself around John's legs. John chuckled and carefully pried his son away and into his arms. He tossed the little boy lightly and spun him in a circle, Remus giggling and shrieking in delight.
"And how was your day, Remus? Did you do anything special?"
Remus nodded excitedly. "Yeah, mum started reading me the greatest book; it's about a dragon! And we went by the park this afternoon. There was a lady with a big dog there and she let me pet him. He was really nice and soft, and he gave sloppy, wet kisses. Could we get a dog sometime, dad?"
John chuckled and set his son down. "We'll see, Remus. Now go sit down so we can have dinner."
It had started to rain a bit by the time Remus was put to bed. It wasn't entirely uncommon for sudden storms to flair up every now and again this time of year. They tended to mild and never lasted very long, though they were often cold and made traveling rather miserable.
Remus wasn't sleepy just yet. He was watching the water drip, drip, drip from the leaves of the trees outside, illuminated by the soft light of the street lamps lining the drive. But there was something off. He squinted against the darkness, hoping to get a better view. There! A man was sitting on the sidewalk beneath one of the trees; he looked rather shabby in the dim light. Remus wasn't supposed to talk to strangers and it was past his bedtime, but the man looked really lonely and he might be hurt or hungry. He was certainly cold and wet from being outside. Remus made up his mind; he knew what to do.
He scrambled away from the window and quietly made his way downstairs, careful not to disturb his parents, who were talking softly to one another in the kitchen. He snatched his coat from the rack and cautiously made his way outside, closing the front door behind him with a soft click.
The man appeared to be quite tall and muscular, but he looked rather ragged and worn. His hair was almost completely grey and it was plastered to his face from the rain now falling in earnest. When his gaze fell on the boy, Remus had to stifle a gasp. The man had yellow eyes! Remus had never seen anything like that before. He stepped forward, his bare feet slapping the wet pavement.
"H-hello. You look wet. Aren't you cold out here?"
The man nodded silently, his intense yellow gaze fixed on the child in front of him.
"Don't you have anywhere to sleep?"
The man shook his head at this question. Remus looked over his shoulder at his house and then back at the man in front of him.
"I live just over there." Remus pointed to his house, just a little ways down the street. "You could get dry there and stay inside where it's warm until the rain stops. Then you won't be so wet and cold anymore."
"What's your name, boy?" the man asked. His voice was soft and a little raspy. It seemed to come from deep in his chest, almost like a growl. The sound made Remus shiver a little bit.
"Remus," he replied with minor hesitation.
"Remus," the man growled, "I'll do well to remember it."
He grunted and reached into his coat, drawing out a somewhat crumpled piece of paper. He stuffed it into the boy's hand. "Be a good boy, and give that to your daddy, Remus," he said with a smile. Remus smoothed the paper, folded it, and stuffed it carefully into his pocket, curious but not enough to read what was on the note; his dad would be upset if Remus read something not meant for him to see.
Suddenly the man doubled over and arched his back as though he was in severe pain. Was he hurt? Remus rushed over and placed his hands on the man's back.
"Hey, mister, are you okay?"
The man twitched and growled. His head snapped up and his eyes locked on Remus. His lips were pulled back, baring his teeth, and Remus could see the overly pointed canines. Something was very, very wrong. He stepped back, his heart pumping faster as he watched the man before him change into something else entirely. The fingers on his hands curled and shortened into paws, his ears receded and pulled themselves to the top of his head to become furred and pointed, his nose and mouth mutated into a muzzle, and hair broke out across the man's entire body like a rash, spreading and spreading until Remus couldn't see bare skin anymore. He tore at the clothing he wore until it lay in wet clumps of fabric at their feet. Remus felt his blood turn cold and he froze in panic. The homeless man had just become a wolf. He bolted, racing down the street toward home.
He hadn't expected the wolf to be quite so fast. The slap of his bare feet against the water-soaked pavement and the mad beating of his heart filled his head with sound, but he couldn't hear a thing except his own ragged breathing.
The rain stung his face, but he was so close to home. There! The door-if he could only reach it, then he would be safe, and his mother would scold him for being out of bed, but she would hold him and rock him to sleep and make him forget the monster outside that wanted to eat him. It was so close now. He felt the soft tickle of the grassy lawn beneath his feet.
He was taken down by a searing pain in his right side. It almost didn't register, the agony was so great, but when he looked at his torso to see a great grey muzzle latched firmly to his side, teeth tearing his clothing and skin as if they were paper, it all set in. He screamed.
The quiet pattering of the rain on the windows was suddenly interrupted by a high-pitched scream from outside. John and Delilah spurred into action, John bolting out into the soggy September night and Delilah racing up the stairs to check on their son, praying harder than she'd ever prayed before that Remus was safe and sound. When she reached his room, she flung the door open and stopped dead in her tracks. The bed was empty.
John saw the wolf before it raised its piercing yellow eyes. Its muzzle was slick with water and blood so dark it looked nearly black in the dim light. John felt his heart clench and fly up into his throat. That was Remus's blood; his baby's blood staining that monster's fur. His wand arm moved almost of its own accord and purple light struck the beast on its side, knocking it to the ground, its teeth still firmly latched to Remus's side. The boy was unconscious, probably for the better.
"Let him go!" John yelled before striking the wolf again. It released its grip as it fell and John made a mad dash for his son, grabbing the boy before the creature's teeth could find him once again. He held out his wand before him like a shield, daring the beast to attack once more. The werewolf stared at him, its grey fur standing in pointed clumps, heavy with water. It growled menacingly and bolted; John could almost swear he saw the wolf smirk before it disappeared into the night. The rain fell steadily on.
His wife was standing in the open doorway, silhouetted against the yellow light of the living room, when John approached. She raced to him, without a thought for the rain now soaking through her shirt.
"Oh, no. No, no, no. Please, John," she whispered, her voice desperate and searching.
"Just take my hand, sweetheart. We need to get Remus to a hospital. I can Apparate us to St. Mungo's faster than any ambulance can reach us, and I don't know that…" he trailed off for a moment, his voice catching in his throat. He couldn't meet her eyes. "I don't know that a muggle doctor can do much for him just now."
Delilah felt her heart stop, though she didn't protest. She moved into her husband's embrace and gripped the arm he had wrapped around their son. She felt the strange pull of Apparation and everything melted away. The world rushed by in a blur of color and sound and she hoped the wind she felt was wiping away the tears she could no longer keep to herself.
St. Mungo's wasn't much different than any other hospital Delilah had been in, worked in, before though she didn't have much experience being on the waiting side of things. The sleeve of her blouse and the entire front of her husband's sweater were becoming stiff from the drying blood. She didn't have the energy left to feel uncomfortable, or much of anything, really. Everything was just a strange, cold numb. She twisted her fingers harder into the fabric of her son's coat, the right side now almost completely shredded.
John was rubbing his hand up and down her shoulder, his lips pressed into her wet hair. It was all too surreal, and the waiting was killing them.
A young nurse approached them, dressed in pastel healer's robes, light and cottony and smelling very sterile, like the rest of the hospital. He held a notepad in front of him and had his wand tucked behind his ear, tangled in his curly brown hair. "Mr. and Mrs. Lupin?"
"Yes? Do you have news on Remus? Where is he? Where is our son?" The words fell fast from John's lips like water, almost too fast to be understandable. Delilah kept silent, not trusting herself to speak.
"It's…not good." The nurse looked hesitantly at Mrs. Lupin. "Mr. Lupin, may I speak to you in private?"
He looked back at his wife who nodded at him. "Go, John. I'll be fine. Just…tell me if he's okay when you get back."
He nodded and kissed the crown of her head once more. The nurse lead him into another room where Remus's doctor was waiting for them. He looked grim.
"Where is my son?"
"Be calm, Mr. Lupin. Remus is resting at the moment. We needed to speak to you alone concerning your son's condition." He was silent for a moment before continuing. "Mr. Lupin, do you know what attacked your son tonight?"
John didn't answer. His voice seemed to have died in his throat. He knew, though. He didn't want to, but he knew all too well what had ripped apart his son.
"A werewolf, Mr. Lupin. Remus was attacked, was bitten, by a werewolf. Your son's files list his mother as a muggle, so we were not certain that she would understand exactly what this means for you and your family. We can make him comfortable; there is a new potion that we can administer. It's painless; it'll be almost as if he simply took a sleeping draught." The tension grew thicker and thicker until John finally snapped. The doctor found himself pressed up against the wall with John Lupin's hands clasped firmly around his neck, his feet dangling a few centimeters in the air.
"That's my son you're talking about! Not some animal to be put down, my son!" he yelled, his face turning purple with rage. The nurse was attempting to pry his fingers from the doctor's throat. The wand he'd had tucked behind his ear had long since clattered to the floor and rolled to a corner where it now sat, useless.
"Please, Mr. Lupin, calm down!"
"No! You want to kill my son! That's my boy…" His grip lessened and the doctor fell to the ground in a heap, gasping and holding his bruised neck protectively. John fell to his knees and started sobbing. His face brushed the cool linoleum of the floor; it was like ice to his tear-streaked face. "That's my boy."
"We're very sorry for your loss, Mr. Lupin." The nurse helped the doctor to his feet and carefully stepped toward the door.
"No! Don't you dare touch my son! I-my wife and I-we'll, we'll take care of him. Just, please, please, don't…" his voice trailed off.
The doctor was hesitant. His right hand was still gingerly wrapped around the rapidly forming bruises on his neck. "All right, Mr. Lupin. Please calm yourself," the doctor broke the silence, his voice quiet and slightly hoarse. "We'll provide you with some potions to help with the pain and the wound, but it won't heal, not entirely, and he'll scar badly-wounds from a werewolf, be they from tooth or claw, nearly always scar. You know what you're sentencing him to, don't you? Please consider our option Mr. Lupin. Think of your son and what's best for him." Silence fell for a moment and the doctor peered out the tiny glass window of the door to see Delilah Lupin, still clutching her son's ruined jacket like a lifeline, her face twisted in grief. "You should return to your wife; we'll have someone down in a short while to escort you to Remus's room."
John lifted himself to his feet and brushed away the hot tears from his face with his sleeve. "Thank you, and I'm sorry. I-I didn't mean-" the doctor cut him off with a raise of his hand.
"It's all right, Mr. Lupin. You aren't the first family member to react violently to bad news and unfortunately, I don't expect you to be the last. I do wish you hadn't gone for the throat, though." He rubbed his neck lightly and winced. "Take care." He and the nurse were then gone, leaving John alone with his thoughts.
Was he doing the right thing by letting Remus live? What kind of life could his son, his little boy, have when the whole world saw him as nothing but a monster? What kind of toll would that take on Remus? He looked out the window and saw his wife, the center of his whole world, sitting alone in the white waiting room with her stained blouse and their son's little jacket. Her beautiful face was red and blotchy with tears, and he didn't think he had ever seen her so full of grief as he had in that moment. John made up his mind. He knew what he had to do. Remus would live; his death would be the end of all things, and John simply could not let that happen. He pushed open the door and joined his wife.
It wasn't until two days after they had gotten their son settled in at home that John was able to get a hold of his son's jacket, the one he'd been wearing during the attack. He'd fingered the fabric longingly, remembering when he'd bought the thing, how happy Remus had been at the color, the feel. He paused in his reminiscing when he felt rather than heard the crinkle of paper in the pocket. What on earth?
He reached in and pulled out the crumpled piece of paper. Its folded edges had been crushed and there was some warping from the water it had absorbed that dreadful night. He was afraid to open it, but did so anyway; he couldn't live with himself if he didn't.
His wife found him there, hours later, hunched over and sobbing, his hands still gripping Remus's frayed coat. The note had fallen from his fingers. Delilah picked it up and read, knowing what she would find-the words and the horrible, scratchy, all too familiar letters.
And where the offense is, let the great axe fall.
I win, John.